Finding Kate

by Maryanne Fantalis

  Not again. “Yes. This morning, you said there would be no dinner today but that there would be supper. And since I haven’t eaten since dinner on Saturday—”

  He cut me off. “It is not time for supper.”

  I blinked. “It is not?”

  “No. We ate supper hours ago.”

  “What can you mean? The sun is still in the sky.” But in this ancient keep, a place built for defense, not beauty, there were only those narrow slits high up on the walls, and it was impossible to tell how much light remained in the sky. A fire burned, candles were lit. It might have been midnight, it might have been nearing dawn.

  He looked at me.

  I crossed my arms. “I think you are mad, sir. And if you are mad, there is no marriage and no dowry.”

  He crossed his arms too. “Nevertheless, you are mistaken. It is not time for supper. And I think you will not find any here who dispute me.”

  I went to the table and sat, putting my hands flat on the table. “Fine. Have something brought to me now. Nevertheless.”

  He just looked at me, a half smile on his face.

  Mad.

  “What? Now you will tell me that we do not eat in this house except when the lord and master so decrees? Then why was I not summoned? You call me the lady of this place and you treat me like one of those bloody dogs!”

  “My falcon is now sharp and passing empty,” he said with a wink.

  “What?”

  “My lady,” he said, “do you know aught of hunting birds?”

  My thoughts spun round my head. What had this to do with supper? “Nay, sir.”

  “Good,” he said. “Come.”

  He grabbed hold of one of my hands.

  “Nay!” I snatched my hand back. “What are you doing? Unhand me!”

  He took hold of both hands and pulled. I dug in my heels and sat hard in the chair.

  Far from getting angry, he smiled.

  Using one booted foot, he turned my chair so I faced him directly and pulled again. How much use could my resistance be against him, strong as he was? I fairly flew out of the chair and into his arms. The collision knocked my breath away. I blinked up at that damn dimple.

  He let go of my hands and slid his hands down to my waist. My heart began to race and I still could not breathe. Every inch of my skin was aware of that touch, and every bit of me was frozen, wondering what it meant, what would happen next.

  He dumped me over his shoulder like a sack of flour.

  I did not kick, and I did not scream—that would have been undignified, hanging upside down as I was—but I pounded his back with my elbows, and I think that could not have been pleasant. Judging by his grunts as he trudged up the stairs, it was not. So there was that.

  He kicked open the door to my room and tossed me onto the bed. I sank into the itchy, poking straw mattress, panting and wide-eyed, my heart galloping at top speed, suddenly and for the first time in his presence truly frightened. He was strong, we were alone, and he had been given every right under God’s law and man’s to do whatever he wanted with me, body and soul. This marriage was not a game I could play until I won, because there was so much, too much, that I could lose.

  But there was the dimple. There was that crooked, cocky smile.

  “Kate,” he said, looking down upon me, “you need a lesson all your many tutors never taught you.”

  My heart began to slow its pace. I blinked and breathed. I had not lost, not yet.

  I waited. He said nothing more.

  I raised my eyebrows, inviting him to speak. Still nothing.

  He was silent so long I had to ask, against all good judgment: “What is that?”

  His grin showed me that he had won. “Moderation, Kate.”

  He spoke for hours.

  His knightly training gave him the stamina to stand and pace and lecture me. His knightly heart gave him the cruelty to continue long past the point that any decent person would have. An archbishop would not have lectured me so!

  Tedium and exhaustion vied for possession of my wits, but he would not desist, and he would not let me sleep. He made me walk with him while he paced. He made me sit with him on the hard floor leaning against the bone-aching wall. He forced me to look at him all night, and if I closed my eyes—if I even blinked for too long—he tickled my ribs or cheek or the bottom of my foot to keep me awake.

  As the sun rose pink and gold through the arrow slits, I realized that his lecture on moderation had been rather immoderate in tone and length. I found that rather amusing and it set me to laughing. Tired as I was, once I had begun, I found it impossible to stop.

  Finally, he left. But not before he tore the bed apart, scattering the straw around the room so I could not lie down to sleep.

  Chapter 11

  If anything, I laughed harder, watching him destroy the bed. What matter if he pulled apart the mattress, since he was not going to let me sleep on it?

  A tiny part of me began to wonder whether it was not Sir William who was mad, but I.

  I lay among the straw on the floor for a long while, listening to the keep. It was entirely different from my room in Whitelock with its window overlooking the street. From there, I could hear the soft clop of horse hooves, the clattering of wagons on the cobbles, the voices of people on their way past the house going about their business, the splash of a bucket dumped into the street, and the honking of a gaggle of geese on its way to the butcher. All the hum and buzz of a busy town.

  Here, there was the whisper of a breeze whistling in the narrow window-slits, the singing of birds, the groan of the stable door, the call of one servant to another. It was nearly silent in comparison to the town. An entirely different world.

  If I could not eat and I could not sleep, at least I could become familiar with this place.

  It took all of my strength—which by now was greatly diminished—to haul open one of the stable doors. It was quiet and warm within, the air thick with the smells of manure and straw, thin shafts of sunlight piercing like blades through cracks between the planks of the walls. I was greatly disappointed to find it entirely empty but chided myself that I should not be. No doubt the horses had been released into a pasture for the hottest part of the day.

  Still, Conveyance was the only thing in this place that felt like mine. It would have been good to see him, to feel his breath, to rub behind his jaw and between his ears.

  “Contemplating your next escape, milady?”

  I turned swiftly to find Gregory behind me, his expression somewhere between concerned and amused.

  I smiled. “Your master need have no fear on that account, Gregory. I lack the skill to equip a horse.” Glancing back over my shoulder, I added, “And at the moment, it seems I lack even a horse.”

  Gregory chuckled and reached for the stable door. I backed out of the way and he dragged the door shut with considerably less effort than I had required.

  “Gregory,” I said. “All of these buildings here in the yard must have some purpose. Can you tell me?”

  “Of course, milady.” He came to a halt beside me. “That one there is the kitchen,” he said, pointing to the long stone building I had visited the day before. “There is storage in those sheds, and there is the brew-house and still.” His finger moved on as he spoke. “There’s a small garden just over that little fence there, herbs and vegetables and such. On this side of the keep, just here, are the stables as you saw, and beside them the kennels. Over there—” We turned about. “We have our own smithy, but of course…” Gregory’s face clouded and he frowned. “We haven’t had our own smith here in many long years. There’s just pigeons roosting in it now, but pigeons are good eating!” His face brightened again and he laughed. My stomach clenched, and my fists with them, at the mention of food. He must have seen something in my face for he hurried on. “Beyond that, there’s the sheds for the pigs and chickens and such, but my lady will have no cause to concern herself with them.”

  My head reeled, and not just wit
h lack of food and sleep. At my father’s house we had bought nearly everything we needed. The brewery, the bakery, the smithy, the stables were all elsewhere, businesses run by other people with whom our family traded. This keep was, or could be, self-sufficient, given enough money and enough manpower. Truly, a different world.

  “And what is that?” I asked to cover my astonishment, pointing to a tiny shed tucked between the stable and the hall.

  “Oh, that be the mews,” Gregory replied.

  “Mews? You mean, Sir William keeps falcons?”

  Gregory looked evasive. “I did not say that, my lady.”

  I planted my fists on my hips. “No, you didn’t, but I am asking you. Does Sir William keep falcons?”

  “Well, yes, but—”

  “Then I must see them!” I set out across the courtyard. I had told Sir William that my father desired nothing in the world so much as a hawk, and that was true, but I had not told him that I wanted one as well. All my life, I had heard stories of wealthy men and women with their hawks and falcons, and had seen images of them in the tapestries that came through the house in my father’s business, but I had never seen a falcon up close. They were said to be terrible, beautiful birds.

  Gregory followed behind me, his footsteps quick with worry. “Milady, I think you ought not go in there.”

  I had reached the mews, my hand on the latch. “Why not?” I challenged him, lady to manservant.

  He withered but replied, “Milord would not desire it.”

  That was all I need to hear. I jerked the door open.

  “Gently, milady,” Gregory implored in an urgent whisper. “They frighten so easily.”

  As he spoke I heard the rustle of nervous feathers and so slowed my steps. The shed was very small, just wide enough for the cages on their tables and a space down the middle for one person to walk. Most of the cages were empty, as the stalls in the stable had been, yet another reminder of this keep’s fall from prosperity, but two were occupied, and I caught my breath, freezing, at the sight of them.

  They were similar in looks but not the same, one being much smaller, about the size of my two fists resting on top of the other. The larger one had feathers of a bluish-gray on its wings and back while the smaller one was a plainer gray. Both had cream-colored breast feathers flecked with brown, cruel-looking yellow talons, and harsh, curved beaks. Both wore leather hoods so I could not see their eyes or the tops of their heads; from their claws dangled long ribbons with small silver bells that jingled when they moved.

  Gregory spoke quietly at my shoulder. “The larger one is a lanner hawk, the smaller one a merlin.”

  “They are beautiful.” I could barely frame the words, so lost in admiration was I. Then, “Why are their heads covered?”

  “To keep them calm and help them rest during the day,” Gregory replied. “But, milady, we really must go. We should not be in here.”

  “Why not?” My voice was petulant and over-loud even to my ears, and both the falcons bated, flapping their wings and keening in distress.

  “Milord is still training them, and they should not be disturbed while he does so.” Gregory hovered so close at my side, I thought he might dare to lay a hand on me and pull me out with him. With a regretful glance at the birds, I backed out of the mews and allowed him to shut the door. Only then did he breathe normally again.

  “Is it possible, Gregory….” I was suddenly shy about asking the question. “Do you know if one of those falcons is for me?”

  He would not raise his eyes from his boots. “Milady, I know it. The merlin is ever a lady’s bird. That is why I did not want you to see. For now, milord keeps them here, isolated from all but him, hungry save when he works with them, so that they come to know and trust him and—” He stopped abruptly.

  “And what, Gregory?”

  “Nothing, milady.” He avoided looking at me. In fact, his entire body was leaning away from me. “Nothing. It is only that I have thought of something I ought to be doing just now. I must not neglect my duties.”

  “No, you must not.” I frowned. I did not think forgetting his duties would cause his face to flush pink as it did.

  He started back toward the keep. I stared after him, puzzled at his sudden departure. Before he even made it up the stairs, I hurried after him.

  “Gregory,” I said, my feet stirring the dust. “Please.”

  The poor fellow turned, bit his lip. “Milady, you know I cannot.”

  “Even the beggars who come to my father’s door need only ask and are given alms. Bread or soup or coin.” I could see I was tearing at his heart, and I was sorry for it, but I had no choice. “I am starved for meat, giddy for lack of sleep, mightily abused, and for what cause, I know not. I have never wanted for anything in my life. I do not know what else to do.”

  Gregory looked around. “My lady, you ask me to lay my head upon the block to fetch so much as a crust for you.”

  I held out my hands to him. “But why?” I wailed.

  “True and perfect love,” said another voice from behind me.

  Gregory bowed low and fled up the stairs as though the devil himself had just appeared. As far as I was concerned, he had.

  “How dare you?” I said, turning to him. “How can you speak of love and behave in this manner?”

  He said nothing.

  “Have you sent to my father for my clothes yet?”

  “Nay.”

  “When? It is a journey of many hours from here to there, and I cannot go on wearing this dress!”

  He gestured vaguely. “It is on toward suppertime. If I send someone now, he will not be back until tomorrow.”

  I stamped my foot. “It is barely past breakfast. Oh, infuriating rogue! Will you now command the sun?”

  “Will it do my bidding any more than you?” he retorted.

  I wanted to tear my hair out. I wanted to tear his hair out. “Send someone to my father today.”

  I turned to storm away, intending to go into the keep.

  “Don’t forget,” he said, “you have to clean up the straw in your room.”

  I spun and glared at him.

  He raised his eyebrows. “You don’t expect the servants to deal with that mess, do you?”

  I swayed slightly. I could not even choose the best words to spit at him.

  He walked away from me and then stopped and looked over his shoulder. “Oh, and Kate. Please stop breaking the crockery. I am not a rich man, you know.”

  I moped on the steps in the shade of the front door. I was not about to clean my room if that was what he wanted me to do. Picking at the mud spatters on my hideous dress with broken fingernails, I drowsed in the heat.

  A door banged, jolting me out of my doze. I started to my feet, pressing against the wall behind me for support, but my knees wouldn’t hold and I plopped back down on my bottom with a grunt. How ridiculous! Was I too weak to stand already?

  The servant called Nathaniel came out of the mews carrying a wooden stand, which he carried to the far end of the courtyard. When he set it down, it was about the height of his waist. A few moments later, Sir William emerged wearing a thick leather glove on his left hand and one of the birds perched upon his fist. It was the larger, darker one, that Gregory had called a lanner hawk. It held itself alert and quivering, ready to take flight at any moment. Its bells chimed softly. Sir William set each foot with care as he walked to the perch Nathaniel had placed for the bird.

  I leaned forward to see better, moving out of the shadow cast by the door. When that was not enough, I scooted on my bottom to the top step and let my feet drop down, wrapping my arms around my bent knees. It was hot in the direct sun, but I was better able to see. It did not occur to me at first that I could also be seen, and once I did realize it, I decided I did not care if it meant watching the hawk.

  With a movement that was as graceful as a dance between them, Sir William swiped his fist next to the perch and the hawk stepped off his hand and onto the wooden stand. I could
hear Sir William’s voice as he spoke to the hawk, though I could not make out what he was saying. The hawk turned its head, listening but also looking around with bright, fierce eyes.

  Sir William turned and walked slowly away from the bird for several long strides. A long, thin line trailed behind him, and I realized it was still attached to the hawk somehow. For its part, the bird watched him intently, its fierce gaze on his every move. When he had reached the length of the line, he turned to face the hawk again. He reached into the pouch at his waist with his right hand and removed something which he placed in his fisted left, the hawk watching carefully the whole time. He raised his fist and called to the bird. It sprang from the perch, flying swift and straight to his fist, where it landed and began to tear with its beak at whatever he held there.

  Sir William ambled back to the perch and returned the hawk to the wooden stand. I watched, baking in the sun, as with infinite patience he repeated the action over and over. Every time the hawk left the perch, I was startled anew. It was utterly still, and then it was pure motion.

  After a short while, Sir William went with the hawk to the perch and lingered there. I squinted against the sun, trying to ascertain what he was doing. He removed the heavy glove and passed it to Nathaniel, who moved only as close as necessary. His voice drifted toward me on the air, low and soothing, murmuring to the bird words I could not make out. The heat and soft sounds combined with my half-closed lids to lull me into a doze.

  I snapped to myself when Nathaniel strode across the courtyard, a length of coiled line in his hands. Something dangled from the end of it, something bulky and fuzzy, about the size of a rat or a small bird.

  My eyes darted to Sir William, who stood near the perch with the bird back on his gloved fist, still talking softly to it and stroking its breast feathers. I began to have an idea of what was about to happen.

  When Nathaniel stopped and faced his master, I leaned forward, my arms gripping tighter around my shins. An anticipatory stillness settled over the courtyard. Even the hawk was tense, waiting.