Where Love Has Gone

by Speer, Flora

  Lord Bertrand stood dry eyed next to Flamig, the two of them surrounded by six men-at-arms whom Flamig referred to as an honor guard. Desmond knew the men were there to make certain Lord Bertrand returned to Warden’s Manor immediately following the burial. The same six men-at-arms later conducted him to the Daisy and saw him aboard. On Flamig’s orders, one of the men remained on the ship to guard Lord Bertrand until he was delivered to Royce.

  The sky was cloudy with the distant promise of more rain, but the slight wind that Captain Piers had mentioned continued to blow. Shortly after noontime the Daisy sailed slowly out of Gorey Harbor bound on a southeast course.

  At Elaine’s suggestion Ewan and Richard occupied the same cabin, each on a narrow bunk. Richard was pale and wan after two days of being sick. He made no protest when Elaine dosed him with an herbal infusion that she promised would settle his stomach. As for Ewan, he was still groggy from the sleep inducing medicine she had given him to make his transfer from the castle to the Daisy a bit less painful.

  “I have left Jean to watch over them,” Elaine said to Desmond when she joined him and Cadwallon in the cabin they were using. “Both of them should be able to walk off the ship when it reaches Caen.

  “I also spoke to Lord Bertrand,” she continued. “He says from Regneville to Caen is a four-day ride.”

  “What did you tell him?” Desmond demanded.

  “Nothing of importance,” she said with a faint smile. “I am not foolish enough to reveal anything we’ve learned, not to him. I merely reminded him of how I was sick all the way to Jersey and stayed sick for two days after I first arrived there, and said I have no wish to repeat the unpleasant experience. I told him I was going to try to convince one of you to travel with me overland, and I asked how long it would take. He accepted my explanation without questions.”

  “Four days to reach Caen,” Cadwallon repeated. “And half a day to find Royce and tell him in confidence what we’ve learned, so he can warn King Henry. Just enough time.”

  “Providing nothing goes amiss,” Desmond said. “Unfortunately, in my experience, something always does go amiss. We will have to expect delays.”

  “That’s why splitting up is such a good idea,” Elaine insisted. “Desmond, you and I will ride to Caen. I promise, I will not be one of those delays you are expecting.”

  “No, Cadwallon and I will ride to Caen,” Desmond said. “The two of us together are strong enough to fight off anyone who tries to stop us. Don’t object, Elaine. Remember what happened to Richard, how he was beaten and drugged. I don’t want that to happen to you. We can be sure someone has been secretly established at King Henry’s court to direct the French king’s murderous scheme from there. Whoever it is knows about Cadwallon and me, for Lady Benedicta most certainly kept her correspondent informed about our activities on Jersey. If that person suspects we are aware of the plan to kill King Henry, then he is bound to send agents to stop us. They will be watching any likely port where we might come ashore from Jersey.”

  “But, don’t you see?” Elaine cried. “Those are precisely the reasons why you and Cadwallon must not travel together. If the two of you are prevented from reaching Caen, or if you are seriously delayed, who will believe me? Or Jean? Or two sick squires? Do you expect Lord Bertrand to reveal his wife’s perfidy to King Henry without either of you present to insist upon honesty from him? Given a chance, he will offer a story that makes him, and Lady Benedicta, look like heroes in the king’s cause.

  “And if Royce should be away from court, what will happen then? I know what will happen,” she went on. “I will be discounted as an ignorant girl who is half mad with grief for her sister, and I’ll be prevented from speaking to King Henry.

  “Besides, the man-at-arms whom Flamig sent to guard Lord Bertrand cannot stay on duty all day and all night until we reach Caen. A second strong man needs to be here, just in case Lord Bertrand decides to attempt some desperate action.”

  “She does make several good points,” Cadwallon said. “With the weather so uncertain, who knows how long it will take Captain Piers to sail this ship to Caen? From his dire predictions about a severe storm at sea, the Daisy could be blown far off course. We could be sailing for weeks, and by then it’ll be too late for us to save King Henry. In the meantime, who knows what will happen here aboard ship? Like Elaine, I don’t trust Lord Bertrand to behave honorably.”

  “Admit it, Desmond,” Elaine argued. “If you and Cadwallon travel separately, there is a much better chance of one of you reaching Royce in time to keep King Henry alive.”

  “If I let you go with me, you will be in danger from the first moment you set foot on shore, all the way to Caen,” Desmond said to her.

  “King Henry is in greater danger than I will be. By the way, the excuse I offered to Lord Bertrand is true. I really do dislike travel by sea,” she said, daring to smile at him because she was sure he was about to give in and accept her plan. “I will ride astride, as you know I did on Jersey, and I will keep up with you,” she promised.

  “I don’t like it,” Desmond said, “though I confess, I do see the sense in the arguments you and Cadwallon have made. Very well, then, Elaine will ride with me. Cadwallon, I leave four lives in your charge. Guard them well. Even here on the Daisy, it’s possible that King Louis’s spies will seek to harm some or all of you.”

  Because of the light wind, the Daisy traveled slowly and night fell before they reached Regneville. Elaine, standing on deck to watch the ship sail around the point and into the sheltered dock area, saw that Captain Piers had been right; the harbor was a fine, spacious one. She counted a dozen ships tied up at the docks and several others moored out in the harbor.

  The town itself was so busy that, as far as they could tell, no one paid any attention to Desmond and Elaine when they set off just before dawn the next morning. Desmond wore his chainmail tunic and he rode his own horse, carried from Jersey aboard the Daisy. Elaine was mounted on Ewan’s grey gelding.

  “Ewan won’t be fit to ride any horse for some time yet,” Cadwallon had told her. “His father gave this horse to him on the day when Ewan became my squire. It’s a fine animal; you’ll have no trouble keeping up with Desmond so long as you are riding Smoke.”

  Elaine agreed with Cadwallon on the quality of her borrowed mount. Smoke accepted his unfamiliar rider with no difficulty and he seemed eager to run as fast as she would allow.

  They left Regneville and headed east. In mid morning they reached the hill upon which Coutances was built. Not wanting to stop so soon, they bypassed the bustling town and continued riding eastward.

  “We will have to stop at St. Lo,” Desmond said. “Sometimes, King Henry moves his court there. We don’t want to ride right past him.”

  “Is that where we will spend tonight?” Elaine asked.

  “No; it’s too far for one day’s ride. We’ll have to find a village with an inn.”

  Their horses carried them along a muddy road that wound across green, rolling hills, past apple orchards heavy with buds that were ready to burst into flower on the next warm day. Cattle grazed in the open fields, and here and there houses clustered together in hamlets that added charm to the pleasant countryside. Once they were beyond Coutances the sun came out, but the strong wind kept the day cool and Elaine was glad of her warm cloak.

  “I hope Captain Piers has the same wind,” she said when they halted at midday at the edge of an apple orchard. “If so, the Daisy will reach Caen well before we do.”

  She was relieved that Desmond wanted to stop, though she’d never admit it to him. Having insisted she wouldn’t slow him down, she was determined to keep the pace he set, though she was finding it tiring. He helped her to dismount, then dropped his arms and stepped away from her. Aware that he was watching her with a slight frown, she walked about among the apple trees, trying to appear interested in them while she stretched her shoulders and arms and bent over a few times to relax the muscles in her back and thighs.

&nbs
p; With every fiber of her being she was aware of Desmond’s nearness and of their isolation from the rest of the world. They were alone together in a lovely land. She wished Desmond would hold out his hand to her, but he did not.

  She wished he’d say something. She was sure he wasn’t the kind of man who’d sulk after agreeing to a plan, so she didn’t understand the odd tension emanating from him. He’d barely spoken to her all morning.

  With Desmond scrupulously keeping his distance from her, they sat beneath an apple tree to eat the bread and cheese they had brought from Jersey, and they drank fresh water from a little stream.

  “Do you plan for us to ride the same horses all the way to Caen?” Elaine asked, seeking an end to the awkward silence between them. “I notice we aren’t pushing them as fast as they could go.”

  “We’ll change horses at St. Lo, at the royal stable there, and leave orders for both animals to be taken on to Caen after a day or two of rest,” he told her. “Don’t worry about Ewan getting his beloved Smoke back; he will, and well before he is healed enough to think of riding. We will probably continue to Caen on animals left at the stable with orders that they are to be returned to their owners.”

  “I just wondered if you are protecting the horses or me,” she said. “I don’t want you to hold back for my sake.”

  “I wouldn’t do that, not even to spare you. Our errand is too urgent.” He jumped to his feet, leaving her to stand up without his help. “I can see no sense in mistreating a horse by riding it at top speed until it dies of exhaustion. Or a person, either.”

  Catching her around the waist without warning, he tossed her into the saddle. She was about to ask him what was wrong, but she saw the grim set to his mouth and thought better of it. Desmond was already mounted and galloping down the muddy road. Elaine hurried after him. They continued on their way until almost sundown, when they entered a tiny village. A few small children paused in their play to gape at the strangers, but there were no adults to be seen.

  “The grownups are most likely finishing their work in the fields,” Elaine remarked.

  “We will stop here for the night,” Desmond said.

  “I don’t see any building that looks like an inn.” Elaine bit her lip to keep herself from confessing that she had been looking forward to warm water for washing the dust off her face, and a hot meal and wine.

  “I do see a little church,” Desmond said. “Let’s ask the village priest if he knows of a place where we can sleep.”

  He dismounted in front of the whitewashed cottage next to the church and knocked on the door. A plump, elderly woman opened to him. Her blue woolen gown was clean, as was the white linen headdress that completely covered her hair. She looked from Desmond, tall and handsome though dusty from travel, to Elaine, still mounted on Smoke. Desmond made a formal bow.

  “This is Lady Elaine of Dereham,” he told the woman, using the Norman French that most folk in King Henry’s lands understood. “I am escorting her to Caen, but she can ride no farther tonight. Do you know of a room in the village where she could sleep?”

  “No.” The woman looked at him doubtfully.

  “Is this the priest’s house?” Desmond asked. “Are you his housekeeper?”

  “Aye, to both questions,” the woman answered. “But Father Paul is in the next town, seeing to a funeral.”

  “Then, could my lady sleep in the church, since it’s not being used?”

  “Certainly not!” The woman looked as if she wanted to slam the door in Desmond’s face. She stepped back and placed a hand on the edge of the door, but she paused when Elaine spoke.

  “I really cannot ride any longer today,” Elaine said, in a slow, sad voice. She did her best to droop as if she was ready to fall out of the saddle. It wasn’t hard to feign exhaustion. Her legs and back ached after her long day on horseback and her stomach felt hollow with hunger.

  “There’s no room to be had in this village,” the woman said in a kinder tone, “but ye can stay in the shed out back, so long as ye leave at sunrise. In return, ye can make a contribution to the church mitebox. Father Paul wouldn’t object to me offerin’ shelter to the stranger at his door.”

  “Thank you.” Elaine knew she sounded utterly weary.

  “It’s that way.” The woman pointed around the corner of the house.

  The shed, which was much too small to be called a barn, was as neat and clean as the old woman, and it housed one brown and white cow. Two empty stalls suggested that horses were kept there, too, though not at present.

  “I gather that Father Paul rode to the next village,” Desmond said, “and apparently took someone with him. How convenient for us.”

  Together, in the tense silence that had marked most of the day, they cared for the horses, removing the saddles, watering them, brushing the animals down, checking their hooves for embedded stones or any other problems and, finally, filling the small trough in each stall from the supply of feed that Desmond found in a barrel.

  “I’ll leave coins to pay for what we use,” he said.

  Having finished with her horse, Elaine gathered some straw into a pile and sat down on it.

  “I don’t mean to complain,” she said, “but I am very hungry.”

  “So am I. Perhaps I can buy a loaf of bread from our hostess. Stay here.”

  Elaine wasn’t sure she could move if he wanted her to. The pile of straw was as comfortable as many a mattress, the shed smelled of clean, sweet cow, and she was happy to stretch out her weary limbs. She drew her cloak around herself and closed her eyes.

  “Elaine?” Someone was shaking her shoulder. Only slowly did she realize it was Desmond. “I’m sorry to waken you, but you ought to eat while the broth is still hot.”

  She felt pleasant warmth just under her nose and smelled a delicious fragrance. Early spring greens, she decided, with just a hint of chicken, perhaps the final rendering from the bones of an aged hen who had stopped laying eggs and thus could be sacrificed to the soup pot. Elaine inhaled deeply and the tempting odor gave her the strength to open her eyes and sit up. She winced at the ache in her hips and thighs, then forced a smile when she saw Desmond watching her in the light of the lantern on the shed wall.

  “We have been given a feast,” he said.

  Next to her on the dirt floor of the shed sat a flat basket in which rested a wooden bowl containing the soup she had smelled, along with a wooden spoon, a few thick slices of brown bread, a tiny wedge of cheese, half a dozen slices of dried apple, and a large pottery mug full of milk.

  “Oh, how lovely.” Being careful not to show any sign of discomfort, Elaine pushed herself up to sit with her back against a solid wooden post. She accepted the bowl of broth that Desmond handed to her. “My nose did not deceive me; greens and herbs and new, little carrots.” She scooped up a spoonful of the soup and tasted it. “This is wonderful. Are we to share the bowl, or have you already eaten your portion?”

  “We share,” Desmond said in the same clipped tone he had used with her all day long. He pulled out his knife and began to cut the cheese into small pieces. “Eat yours first. I’m more interested in bread.” He tore a chunk from the bread on the tray and popped it into his mouth.

  “No, you are not,” Elaine said. “You would prefer a roasted partridge and a meat pie. And an almond custard.”

  She was pleased to see her imaginary menu bring a quick smile from him.

  “Eat,” he said, indicating the bowl in her hands. “Before it grows cold.”

  Elaine finished what she judged to be a little less than half the soup, then held out the bowl to him. Too hungry to think of saving any food for the morrow, she devoured a piece of the bread, a bit of cheese and half the apple slices, then took a few sips of the milk before passing the mug to Desmond.

  When only the empty bowl and spoon and the mug remained in the basket, Desmond pushed it away and settled down beside her, shoving some of the straw into a pillow. He looked relaxed, but Elaine wasn’t fooled. He hadn’t
removed his chainmail. She knew if anyone came into the shed, he’d be on his feet, sword in hand, ready to do battle.

  “Do you think there’s any danger here?” she asked.

  “Probably not. I haven’t noticed anyone following us today, so it’s possible our arrival at Regneville went unnoticed by King Louis’s spies. Still, I have learned always to be on my guard.”

  “How could anyone know where we’d land?” she asked. “We were so careful. You didn’t even tell Flamig about the parchment I found, did you?”

  “The thing is, everyone on Jersey knows how Lady Benedicta died. People must be questioning the circumstances behind her suicide, and asking why Lord Bertrand departed so abruptly. The French king’s scheme is so important that Louis’s spies dare not take any chances. Just the slightest suspicion that we know anything about the plan will be reason enough for them to attempt to kill us before we can reach Caen.”

  “That thought is not conducive to easy rest.” When he did not respond but only looked more serious, Elaine asked, “Is this how you live? Suspicious of everyone, never really trusting, always looking over your shoulder to see who lurks in the shadows?”

  “I am a spy,” he said quietly.

  “So is Cadwallon, yet he isn’t constantly alert against betrayal, the way you are.”

  “Cadwallon has never been betrayed by a friend. Yet.”

  “And you have? What happened?” She reached to brush a lock of hair off his forehead. He caught her wrist before she could touch him and moved her hand away, then immediately released her as if her flesh had stung his fingers. “Desmond, please tell me who betrayed you. I want to know, to understand.”

  “Why?” His voice turned suddenly sharp and his gaze became hard and cold.

  She sat beside him in the straw with her back straight and her legs curled under her, while he lounged apparently at his ease, with one knee drawn up and an elbow resting on that knee, yet Elaine knew he was on guard. Desmond was always on guard, most especially against her.