by Jenna Kernan
‘Hello there, fellow travellers! I took my rounds of cheese to my brother and he gave me some fine ale in return,’ he said, patting one of the barrels that stood in the cart behind him. ‘Of course, I had to sample it first,’ he added, grinning broadly to reveal a missing tooth.
His brows furrowed, as if in vague recollection of their earlier encounter. ‘Have you gone astray again? Where were you bound?’
‘Fitzhugh Manor,’ Guy answered. ‘And we have yet to arrive, though our master is late. He has had a bit too much ale himself,’ the squire added, inclining his head towards Lord de Burgh.
Emery blinked, startled by the squire’s lie. She had not thought Guy capable of such quick thinking, but she could only admire it, for a drunk would not instil the fear that a sick man might. Indeed, the cart driver seemed amused by the news.
‘Well, toss the poor lad back there with the casks, and, as long as he doesn’t have a go at them, I’ll take you there myself,’ the man said, with an expansive gesture of welcome.
Although Emery was still wary, Guy gave her no opportunity to argue and they managed, between the two of them, to get Lord de Burgh situated in the cart. But Emery refused to leave his side, so Guy tied her horse behind the conveyance before mounting the destrier and taking the reins of the other.
Thankfully, the cart was littered with straw, so the ride would be far more comfortable for Lord de Burgh than the one they had planned. Emery put herself between him and the barrels and cradled his head in her lap, gently pushing the dark locks from his face. Although unwilling to trust their new acquaintance completely, she felt some of the tension leave her for the first time this day, yet just as she knew some ease, she heard it again, a faint rustling.
Heart pounding, Emery looked around her, but she saw nothing, and when the cart careened to life, the sounds of their movement obliterated all else.
Chapter Thirteen
The sun was near setting by the time they reached Ashyll, but Emery was so glad to see it rising from the green hills that she nearly wept with relief. Although it was home to a de Burgh, Ashyll was a manor, not a castle of the order of Campion or Stokebrough, yet it was larger than Montbard and boasted fortifications that would protect them well.
Although they saw no sentries at the outer walls that enclosed all who served the manor, at the inner bailey they were stopped and Guy moved forwards to speak over the drunken greeting of the cart driver. A sharp glance from the guard towards Lord de Burgh was enough to gain them entrance and someone must have hurried ahead, for when they reached the doors of the manor, a man already was rushing out to greet them.
He was so like Lord de Burgh that Emery looked from one to the other in amazement, but as he came closer she could see Geoffrey de Burgh was older and leaner, his features softer and his demeanour more serious.
Wondering whether they would share the same sort of bond that she had with his brother, Emery searched his face, waiting for his dark gaze to connect with hers. But when it did, she felt nothing, his brown eyes settling upon her as he whispered his thanks before moving on.
And suddenly Nicholas de Burgh was moving on, too, without her. Strong arms reached out to carry him, orders were shouted and servants surrounded him and his brother until Emery was shunted out of the way and left behind. She followed as best she could, but once inside the great hall they disappeared into the throng. Weak with weariness and emotion, she sagged against a wall and sank to the floor.
Emery shook with relief that they had managed to get the great knight here, where he could safely recover. She had been able to think of nothing else, but having accomplished her task, what now? As a strange woman in boy’s garb, she had no claim on Lord de Burgh or his family. And although her problems had faded in significance, they had not disappeared and she must face them.
In that bleak moment, Emery wondered whether she ought to leave the way she had come, slipping into the gathering twilight to be on her way to the life that awaited her. She had no heart for farewells or explanations and would sooner avoid both, and yet...the thought of never seeing Lord de Burgh again made her bury her face in her hands.
Just as despair threatened, she became aware of a presence in front of her and a soft touch upon her shoulder. Lifting her head, Emery saw a beautiful woman kneeling in front of her. Dressed in the finest clothing, thick hair shot with fiery strands coiled at her neck, she leaned close. ‘Emery?’ she asked. ‘Can you stand?’
Was she to be tossed out? Emery nodded.
‘Come, then,’ the woman said, her voice low and husky. ‘You need some rest.’
Before Emery could protest, she was helped to her feet. The elegant woman was surprisingly strong and Emery blinked, gazing into unusual eyes the colour of amber.
She called herself Elene, and Emery wouldn’t even have known that she was Lady de Burgh if not for the deference of the servants. Lacking the regal airs one expected of a noblewoman, she personally led Emery to a small chamber, where a bed and tub waited, along with the promise of food.
Emery felt spent, too tired to bathe or eat or prepare herself for bed, but somehow this lovely lady, who said little yet saw much, managed to get her to do all those things. And to tell her tale, as well. Later, she would not remember Elene de Burgh asking any questions, yet Emery willingly spoke of her frantic search for
Gerard, the parcel that he had sent her and the murders it had precipitated.
And Elene listened. Although the lady was not a nurturing sort, Emery somehow felt comforted, perhaps simply by the act of sharing her troubles. And while Elene expressed no dismay at her story and made few comments, she suggested that Emery show the statue to her husband.
‘Geoff will know what it is. He knows everything,’ Elene said, a smile of pride touching her lips. Having said goodnight, she headed towards the door, but turned to speak once more. ‘He can take care of almost anything, too. And if he can’t, his father can.’
Hand upon the latch, the lady paused to eye Emery from across the room, as though urging her guest to heed her words. But Emery closed her eyes and feigned sleep, for she had not told Elene all. And she knew that there were some things even the Earl of Campion could not change.
* * *
Emery awoke late, to bright sunlight and the sound of children’s laughter somewhere nearby. She blinked and settled back into the softness, and for once her heart did not hammer with panic at her surroundings. But all too soon her worries returned and she knew that instead of burrowing back into her bed she must face what lay ahead.
Emery had not known what to expect of Nicholas’s family. In truth, she had thought of nothing except the importance of reaching them. But she would not have been surprised had they tossed her out upon her ear, a girl in boy’s clothing, with nothing to her name.
Yet the de Burghs had welcomed her, without question or judgement, throwing open their home to her. Ashyll might not be as large and luxurious as Stokebrough, but it was clean and bright and filled with love. A haven in a dangerous world, ’twould be a lovely spot to linger, enveloped in the kindness and prosperity of the famous family.
But it was not her home or her haven. Long into the night, Emery had tossed and turned over her future, fear and duty and longing warring within her. But despite her determination and all the hopes and plans that she had clung to, she could come to just one conclusion.
This was the end of her quest.
Whatever Lord de Burgh had vowed to Gerard, Emery could not hold him to it. She only wanted him to rest and recover, to regain the strength to make new vows and take on new quests. But it would be too late for her.
Not that long ago, Emery had thought to continue the search for Gerard on her own, but the past two days had taught her the impossibility of that. Travelling even a short distance without the knight’s protection and guidance would be difficult enough. She knew n
othing of these lands or where to look, and if a de Burgh couldn’t find her brother, how would she?
Returning home was out of the question. The distance was too great, her resources too limited and the dangers all too real. Even if she could manage to make her way there, how would she live? Where would she go? She knew what awaited her and ’twould be no welcome. Emery had abandoned her responsibilities to try to help Gerard, but she had failed and she could delay the inevitable no longer.
’Twas time to resume her duties and there was a safe haven not far away where she could do so, if allowed. Perhaps someone there might be persuaded to ask after her brother, and she would receive news of him some day, especially if he returned to the fold. She could only hope.
Emery choked back a surge of emotion she had thought spent during the night hours when the loss of both Gerard and her...companions had seemed too much to bear. Swallowing hard, she focused on the task ahead. As with anything painful, ’twas better done quickly, sooner rather than later, and without any tearful goodbyes that would give her away.
Although Emery had considered asking the de Burghs for an escort, she did not want anyone to know where she was bound. And, in truth, she felt uneasy about sharing her plans with her hostess, who might not approve. Although Elene had been nothing but gracious, there was something about her that hinted at banked fires and formidable will, and Emery did not care to test them.
She had already said too much, regretting her long talk with Elene the evening before. Leaving the comfort of her bed, Emery resolved to avoid the lady of the manor. Yet she could not find her brother’s clothing and stood blinking in nothing but her shift until Elene appeared at her chamber door, with a cup of watered wine and female clothing, including a pair of slippers.
Emery started forwards in pleasure at the sight of the simple yet appealing linen kirtle. Unlike the bright hues she had worn at Stokebrough, this was a subdued shade of green that could only flatter her colouring, but ’twas not the garb she needed in order to leave Ashyll unnoticed. When Emery asked for her brother’s worn garments, she was informed that they had been whisked away for washing while she slept.
Disconcerted, Emery glanced at her hostess, but she could hardly ask for their return without rousing suspicion. Although Elene seemed unaware of her distress, Emery wondered just how much she had revealed, perhaps unintentionally, during last night’s conversation. However, she had no choice but to dress in the garments generously provided, and soon she was seated upon a low trunk, being served a late dinner.
’Twould be no hardship to linger at Ashyll, but having worked up the nerve to leave, Emery was eager to get on with it, lest her courage fail her. She suspected that the longer she stayed, the more difficult it would be to go.
Deep in thought, she was unaware of attention upon her until she felt a tug upon her kirtle. A little boy, probably no more than two, stood beside her, staring up at her intently. With his mop of dark hair and huge brown eyes, he looked so much like Nicholas that Emery choked back a cry.
‘Miles is just like his father, a friend to all,’ Elene said, shaking her head, but she spoke so lovingly there was no doubt the boy was her son. Any hint of shadows in her amber eyes was banished as she watched him and Emery knew a moment’s envy.
Another tug made Emery glance back at the child, who was now reaching up for a hug. Obliging, Emery caught him close, her heart squeezing at all the things she would never have. Then he was gone, heading towards his mother, his shyer, older sister not far behind.
Swallowing against a lump in her throat, Emery suddenly wanted nothing more than to see Lord de Burgh, as though a last look at him could ease all her aches. ’Twas foolishness, yet, when Elene suggested just such a visit, Emery hadn’t the strength to refuse.
Guy met her at the door, having slept upon the floor, and Emery felt a stab of regret that she could not have stayed so close to Lord de Burgh. But she was not the great knight’s squire, relative or healer, and she could make no claim to be here even now. Yet she walked past Guy and Geoffrey de Burgh towards the bed where Nicholas lay, sleeping peacefully.
Emery had known the day would come when they would part, but somehow she had pictured it differently, perhaps a reunion with Gerard making it less painful. Certainly, she had not imagined the knight ill and asleep, leaving her unable to say all that she might, but Emery told herself ’twas easier this way, though it did not feel so.
Leaning near, Emery looked upon his handsome face for long moments, committing each familiar feature to memory. Would he recall her so well when he recovered? ’Twould be better if he did not, she realised, with a pang. She hoped only that he would stay well this time and live a long, healthy life surrounded by those who loved him.
Blinking rapidly, Emery reached out to touch his forehead, relieved to feel the fever had eased. She smoothed away that dark hair near his closed eyes, lingering perhaps too long at her task. Then she deliberately drew her hand—and herself—away.
‘The fever is gone,’ Emery said, when she could speak.
‘For now,’ Guy said. ‘And Lord de Burgh’s brother has been searching through his accumulated lore for a new treatment.’ The squire no longer looked pale and drawn, but rested and hopeful and glad to be amongst those who could help.
‘The answer is more likely to be found at Campion, but I have sent a message to our father, who might have some knowledge of this illness,’ Geoffrey said. He drew a deep breath, as though willing it to be so, before turning to Emery and thanking her for bringing his brother here.
‘’Twas Guy’s doing,’ Emery said.
‘Yet he credits you,’ Geoffrey said, with a smile, and before she could argue he continued, ‘The de Burghs are in your debt. Should you have need of anything or a service of any kind, you have only to ask.’
His offer gave Emery pause and, for an instant, she wondered whether he had some special ability to divine her problems. But both Guy and Elene knew her tale and, no doubt, had discussed it with Geoffrey. Perhaps Guy had even suggested that Geoffrey assume his brother’s vow of aid to the Montbards. But she had caused the de Burghs too much trouble already and Guy had done enough. Emery could ask no more. She said so, simply and politely.
Geoffrey de Burgh nodded gracefully. ‘Nevertheless, I am at your service, should you ever have need of me, as is my family. And, in the meantime, I understand that you have an item you wish to show me?’
Since the onslaught of Nicholas’s illness, Emery had nearly forgotten the parcel that had loomed so large in their lives. But now she glanced at Guy, who soon produced the worn pouch from Lord de Burgh’s pack.
Although Emery knew well what was inside, none the less she held her breath as Geoffrey de Burgh unwrapped the old linen, revealing, bit by bit, the glitter of gold. To Emery’s eyes, it seemed brighter than before, but perhaps that was because of the dimness of the chamber where Nicholas slept. Even so, the treasure seemed to inspire awe and, despite all the troubles it had caused, a hush fell over the room.
Geoffrey lifted the statue high and, for one dazzling moment, Emery thought it really might have some power shining forth, as Guy had claimed. If so, she wished ’twas the power to heal and cure the man who lay before them, oblivious to its presence. But if the gleaming figure worked some kind of Moorish magic, ’twas not apparent and Nicholas slept on.
As though sharing her thoughts, Guy broke the silence with a nervous mutter. ‘Is it possessed of some force unbeknownst to us?’
‘I suppose that depends on your way of thinking,’ Geoffrey said, his own tone pragmatic. ‘It has witnessed the movement of armies, the deaths of rulers and the conquering of the world. Is it a talisman or simply one of the trappings of he who held it?’
Emery blinked, uncertain, and Geoffrey turned towards them, statue in hand. ‘This, my friends, is the mace of one of the finest warriors and empire-builders who eve
r lived. He was once King of Macedon, but you know him as Alexander the Great.’
Flashing a grin much like his brother’s, Geoffrey led them to the solar, where an astounding number of manuscripts were kept, the bulk of them on astrology and medicine and subjects Emery didn’t understand, along with histories of the ancient world. ’Twas one of these Geoffrey opened, pointing to a large, detailed illustration of a king upon his throne.
Leaning close, Emery saw that the king held an intricately carved staff that rested upon the ground and reached past his shoulders. The top gleamed golden and was crafted in the shape of a man, naked but for the wrapping round his waist and his tall hat.
‘That’s it,’ Guy breathed. ‘That’s the idol!’
‘The mace,’ Geoffrey said. ‘It must have once been part of Alexander’s own, probably created after he went to Egypt. ’Tis said that while there, he travelled alone to a remote temple devoted to the sun god. As the new ruler of Egypt, he sought confirmation of his own divine power. And though there is no record of what occurred, perhaps he returned with this, a statue of the god he claimed as his ancestor.’
‘But how did it get here?’ Guy asked, dumbfounded.
‘How do all things come from the east? With those who have been in the Holy Land,’ Geoffrey said. ‘I can only speculate, of course, but from what I’ve pieced together of your tale, I would guess that Robert Blanchefort and another man, perhaps more, came across the prize while serving there with the Templars. After Robert returned, somehow it fell into other hands, perhaps several, before reaching Gerard Montbard.’
‘It might even have resided in a Templar preceptory as a relic or one of the spoils of war for a while,’ Emery said, ignoring Guy’s surprised glance.
Geoffrey nodded slowly. ‘’Tis certainly possible, for some years have passed since Robert Blanchefort’s return. And ’tis possible that some, if not all, of those who are aware of its existence know only that it is gold and therefore precious, but do not realise its true significance.’
