“Of course, sweetling. The next time we pass through, perhaps.” He looked up at the owner, following her lead. “Have you heard of this place, sir? How far is it from here?”
The man visibly relaxed and smiled again, clearly fooled by Emilia’s ploy. “No more than a half day’s ride. And an easy one at that. The roads from here to Melbourne are well maintained. Would it be a wedding trip, perhaps?”
“No, sir,” she simpered prettily. “We’ve been wed two years this September. We’re hurrying back to see our young daughter. Mama is keeping her, but I miss her so. I’m sure you understand.”
“I do, having three daughters myself. They are my heart and joy.” The bell over the door rang as another customer came in. “Excuse me. Call out if you need anything else.”
Anxiously, she watched him walk away and engage the newcomer in conversation. “Do you think he believed us?”
“How could he not?” he replied, with an arched brow. “You are utterly charming and quick to spin a tale, little one. It pleases and concerns me at the same time.”
She blushed, her eyes dipping to their still joined hands. “I believe Muriel may have rubbed off on me. She is a bard in the making, a true storyteller.”
“Hmm, so Alice has lamented many a time.”
“They’re late. Do you think something has happened to them?” She squeezed his hands tight. “I’m worried, Corbet.”
“We were early and on horseback. Our travel was fast and light. The rain could have slowed the wagons down. Don’t go borrowing trouble before there’s a need.” She nodded and watched as he brought her hands up to his lips for a kiss. “Finish your stew and ale. Maybe when we’re through it will have stopped raining and they’ll have arrived.”
Corbet’s prediction came true. For as they exited the tavern a half hour later, two wagons and three outriders were rolling down the main street. Muriel’s bright head was gleaming in the sun that had broken through the clouds and drew her notice first, that and the way she was waving and bouncing up and down on the high bench seat.
Emilia gaped up at the tall man at her side with a sense of awe. “How are you so wise when not yet thirty, sir?”
“Life experience,” he said with a half-hearted smile as he took her hand and watched the others draw near. “And not so young. I feel twice my age after living under Ervin’s thumb these past years. Let’s get the horses and go greet them.”
As the wagons drew to a halt a few minutes later, Corbet greeted Charles with a nod. “Any troubles?”
“The night watch stopped us on the way to deliver the saddles, but they let us go. As they rode out, I heard them say they were heading into town, which bought us some time, I believe. Since then it has been clear travel, except for the blasted rain.”
“Same here.” He lifted his chin, indicating the other wagon. “How about the rest?”
“No trouble there either, master.”
“’Tis sir, Charles. You’re all free now, remember that lest you give us away.”
“Of course, ‘tis a hard habit to break.”
“Clearly, since I granted you your freedom some three years past and you still refer to me as the same.”
Emilia exclaimed, “How generous of you, Corbet. But why didn’t you grant the same to Alice and Muriel?”
“It was safer that they remain in his keep,” Charles explained.
“How so?”
“All men, women, and children who reside in the district must pay an annual tax, Emilia; as the slave master I paid it for them. Without family, or work to earn a living, they would have fallen once more into debt.”
“To become indentured to the manor yet again.” Her mouth gaped open. “I’ve never heard of such unfairness. But Corbet, why not pay the fees for them and hire them as servants?”
“There is a residency application fee that must be paid to become legal citizens, and it isn’t allowed for a master to free a slave and pay it for them. And before you ask, there is another fee to move outside the district.”
“That is grossly unfair. The laws are obviously made to perpetuate their enslavement.”
“Precisely,” Corbet answered sardonically. “That is Lord Ervin’s way.”
“How has no one killed the vile man and put an end to his cruelty?”
Muriel stared at her for a moment. “You’ve never seen his guards apparently. They are like mountains. We met a few yesterday and the way they hauled me out of the wagon like I was a feather frightened me.”
“He also hires heartless mercenary knights and pays them very well for their loyalty,” Charles added with a grumble. “Or he would have been dead within a sennight after being made earl.”
She remembered Sir Ranulf had towered over Corbet, who was a full head taller than she. An army of Ranulf’s could well fend off an assassin.
“Will he send those knights after us, do you think?” she asked as she clutched Corbet’s arm, finding it terrifying to imagine him taking on one of those behemoths, let alone a whole troop of them.
“We can’t know what Ervin will do, Emilia; as for the other, he will get his due one day. Right now, however, we must move along. To gather in the middle of the street is begging for attention.”
* * *
The rest of the day was without incident and as planned, they made camp outside of Melbourne’s border. Emilia helped Alice and Muriel with a cold supper, while Corbet set up a watch and talked with a few local men who passed and called out in greeting. Too tired to do other than sleep, they shared blankets that night, snug and warm in each other’s arms.
Dawn broke with the fingers of pink, orange, and gold streaking across the sky, promising a day of dry travel, which was a blessing. Although she’d slept well during the night, Corbet insisted on taking her up in front of him again. Enjoying snuggling up in his strong arms, her back supported by his chest and her head resting on his shoulder, she’d soon dropped off, dozing the morning away.
She didn’t notice that their small caravan of horses and wagons had pulled off the road until he called his horse to a stop. Sleepy, she barely had time to take in a small country church before he dismounted with her in his arms.
“What are we doing here?”
“I believe I promised a smith and a priest. Or did you forget?”
Startled wide awake by his meaning, she glanced at the others, who were looking on with pleased smiles. Muriel was practically jumping up and down, beside herself with excitement.
“You don’t think we should wait for my family to bear witness?”
“No,” came his succinct reply, before he added, “We have our own family to stand witness and I’d prefer to greet your family for the first time with our vows said.”
Much of that left her speechless, mostly that he’d called himself, Muriel, Alice, and Charles their family. Blinking back tears of happiness, she didn’t question it further as he took her hand, led her to the parsonage, and knocked with a firm hand.
An hour later, following an explanation of their hasty nuptials, and several coins exchanging hands, the priest agreed to the waiving of the banns and agreed to conduct the wedding. Muriel and Alice had been busy while this had gone on, her friend gathering wild flowers that she’d woven into a circlet for Emilia’s hair and Alice shaking out her green gown for the occasion.
Now she stood with Corbet before the red double doors of the small church, the round little priest in front of them with his bible in hand. She listened to his words as best that she could with her pulse sounding loud in her ears, her heart in her throat, and both hands clutching her soon-to-be husband’s much larger ones like a lifeline. He squeezed them and offered her a tender smile of reassurance, and suddenly, she calmed. This is what she had longed for and she wasn’t going to let her silly nerves interfere with the moment.
“With the suddenness of these vows,” the priest intoned. “I ask the gathering to think hard and speak up, if any present knows of any reason why this couple should not wed.” When no one spoke
up, he focused on Corbet and Emilia. “I ask both of you, coming to God in this joining, if there are any reasons prohibiting this marriage.”
“No, sir,” she stated confidently.
“I am a widower several years passed and free to wed, father,” Corbet affirmed.
“So be it,” the man of God said with a nod. “Corbet Mills, wilt though have this woman to thy wedded wife, will you love her, honor and keep her, guard her in times of health and sickness as a husband should his wife, forsaking all other on account of her, keeping unto her only, as long as you both shall live?”
His eyes, gleaming with the golden color that gave them their glowing warmth, met hers and his strong voice rang out in the clearing for all to hear. “I shall.”
“Emilia Selkirk, wilt though have this man as your husband, will you love him, honor and obey him, support him in times of health and sickness as a wife should her husband, forsaking all others in his stead and keeping unto him only, as long as you both shall live?”
“I shall, and gladly.” Her voice broke on the last word and she heard sniffles from the audience, as all present were happy that the man they had called master, mentor, or friend had found joy after so much torment and sadness. Corbet, stoic in the face of his bride’s emotions and that of his witnesses, released one of her hands and withdrew a square of linen from his vest pocket.
“Continue, father,” he urged, his voice cracking a bit and revealing that he was as moved as the others.
The priests moved on to the exchange of rings. “Is there a ring?” he asked of Corbet who nodded and once again released her hands. This time it was to tug a small ring from his pinky, one Emilia had noticed he rarely took off. He took her hand and slipped it on her ring finger. “It was my mother’s.”
Through watery eyes she looked down at the simple ring, a cut ruby set in a swirl of gold. She gripped his hand as it settled snugly past her second knuckle. “I will cherish it, always,” she avowed, lifting her loving gaze to his.
The priest reached out and covered their joined hands with his own, saying a blessing of the rings and their union. Once done, they each pledged their troth and followed the robed emissary of the church into the small chapel where they knelt at the altar for another brief nuptial blessing.
And with that, she became Emilia Mills, bride of Corbet, formerly of Lancore, now a fugitive from the state and a runaway slave. She was also now a married woman, wedded in the eyes of the church and God. Once outside, her new husband took her into his arms and kissed her thoroughly, passionately, and inappropriately before the priest. He didn’t seem to mind, also caught up in the joyfulness of their joining, despite the precipitousness of the proceedings.
As they received congratulations from their friends, she felt Corbet stiffen beside her as Alice came up with her good tidings.
“You are free now, Alice,” he stated earnestly. “On this day, one of the first of our new life, whatever it may hold, put Lancore behind you and open your heart to your future.”
For a moment, she gazed up at her master of old, and then her eyes slid to the side. Everyone present waited with bated breath as she gazed up at Charles with all the love in her heart shining bright within her.
“You know I love you, lass,” Charles replied as though to an unspoken question. “Stop bein’ so stubborn and marry me.”
Staring at him through tear-filled eyes, she nodded, rushing into his arms.
A cheer went up amongst the others, whereupon Corbet turned to the priest and asked, “What say you, father? Do you have time for another?”
* * *
It was a happy group that continued on into Melbourne that afternoon, all except Emilia, who had become nervous, more than she’d been since leaving Lancore. Call it a sense of foreboding, or a premonition; either way, she felt a heavy dread that around the next bend in the road, something awful waited to destroy her newfound happiness—likely, Lord Ervin.
She had mounted her mare after a brief wedding lunch, and without Corbet’s constant presence to provide comfort, she became visibly agitated. Constantly peering into the trees as they passed, she searched for knights she was convinced were lying in wait. Every few minutes, she would look back expecting a troop of armored, mounted men to come charging up to arrest them and haul them back to Lancore for further torment. Corbet took all of this in, urging her several times to calm herself, but his insistence had little effect.
As they rounded a sharp curve in the road, the trees began to dwindle and they entered a lush green valley. It was then she became distressed for another reason.
“We’re almost there,” she exclaimed, urging her horse up alongside his. “The lane to our farm is about a mile ahead.”
She was so excited, she couldn’t sit still, her agitation transferring to her horse, who began to fret.
“You need to settle before you set your mare off and she bolts.”
“I can’t help it,” she answered, right as her mare, sensing her tension, tossed its head and high-stepped to the side. Emilia reacted by tugging sharply on the reins, which only made things worse. Clearly having had enough, Corbet reined in beside her and plucked her out of her saddle.
Once she was planted securely in front of him, with his arms curled around her, she did as he advised and settled. She didn’t realize what a state she’d worked herself into until his strength and composure surrounded her. Feeling comforted at once, she wound her arms around his waist and pressed her face into his chest, absorbing all the calmness he exuded.
“We should ride double always. It would save you from constantly having to drag me off my horse and onto yours.”
“You’ll hear no complaints from me.”
She laughed as he echoed her words from the day before. He lifted a hand to signal to one of the men and tossed him Buttercup’s laces as he came alongside them. It was Simon, one of Corbet’s apprentices. He had two such leather smiths in training, both stout young men in their early twenties. They were loyal to him without question, and hadn’t hesitated to make the journey with them, relocating their families in the process.
By this time, they’d arrived at the lane that led to her family farm. “Turn here,” she directed at the last moment.
After entering the long winding lane, they rode for what seemed to be an eternity to Emilia. Corbet noticed it too and commented.
“The land seems extensive, what crops does your father grow?”
“Crops?” she echoed back, tilting her head back in confusion. “No crops, other than grain for the livestock. Mama tends a small garden for household use. The rest we buy at the market. Why?”
“What sort of livestock?”
“He breeds Spanish chargers, the finest in the kingdom. Indeed, the king is so pleased, he is one of only four esteemed breeders of destriers for King Nordman’s palace guard.”
Corbet whistled. “I thought you were an everyday farm girl, not the daughter of an esteemed warhorse breeder for Nordman’s troops. He must have great wealth.”
“I suppose. His holdings and house are on par with your own, sir.”
“Why on earth didn’t your captors ransom you back rather than sell you as a slave? Surely your father would have paid more than three thousand in silver.”
She frowned. “I wasn’t dressed as a gentry maid on the day I was captured.”
“There is a story here, isn’t there?”
Embarrassed to share how childishly she’d acted the day of her capture, she averted her gaze, taking a sudden interest in the wildflowers that lined the lane.
“Emilia.” Her name, said in his low, stern tone, brooked no disobedience.
“I’m ashamed to tell it.”
“Do it anyway.”
“Fine. Bert and Alard made me so mad, I stormed out of the house in an old dress I used when I painted. It was a pastime of mine. Anyway, I stomped down the lane in a fit of temper and was picked up on the main road by the slavers who happened to be passing.”
“Me
rcy, you must have given your father a head of gray hair as a girl.”
“If you had two brothers as insufferable as mine, you’d understand,” she grumbled in a huff. Then she tilted her head as she asked, “Are you upset that my father has wealth? Does it matter? You’re a well-bred member of the gentry as well, aren’t you?”
“Yes, but what you’ve gone through at the slaver’s hands, and God’s teeth, what I’ve done with you without benefit of vows. He’ll have my head.”
“We won’t tell him about what you did, other than that you were my white knight who swooped in to save me from the ugly ogre.”
“Sweetling, this isn’t one of your fairytales.”
“To me it is, and you, my love, are my hero.”
Their conversation ended as they rode out of the sparse wood that lined the lane and into a busy yard. Emilia gaped as she took it all in. It was as though they took the wrong road and somehow arrived in town on festival day. There were several large carriages parked in front of the house, some bearing noble crests. At least two dozen horses were saddled and at the ready while chain-wearing knights milled about the yard making preparations to ride.
“What is going on?” she wondered aloud. “I’ve never seen such bustle.”
Corbet slowed his mount to a halt, having no other choice with the yard so crowded.
“There is my brother Alard.” She lifted her hand and waved, trying to get his attention. He was speaking to one of the knights and was soon joined by her older brother Bertrand. Emilia marveled, as she always did when she saw them together, how much they resembled one another, often mistaken for twins. Bert glanced around and spotted her. He nudged Alard with an elbow. When he got his attention, he nodded her way.
“Let’s dismount and walk the rest of the way,” Corbet suggested. He swung his leg over and held up his hands for her, gripped her around the waist, and set her down on her feet.
“No need,” she advised excitedly, “they’re coming our way.”
She made a move toward them as a knight was mounting nearby. Emilia noticed at the last moment, freezing as his stallion, agitated from all the activity, whinnied loudly and kicked up on his hind legs. Corbet’s muscled arm wrapped around her middle and hauled her swiftly back. He did it none too gently, yet if he hadn’t, she could have very well been trampled and crushed beneath its hooves.
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