There was no time to register any more details, however, as someone in a black cape stepped forward and blocked the view. The official-looking man read out a decree, most of which Jake didn’t catch. It was impossible to hear much with the crowd baying for blood and pushing at him from all sides. The only words he heard clearly were ‘… Roland … traitor to the crown … executed by beheading …’ Roland? The name wasn’t one he recognised, and yet it was as if he watched these events through the eyes of someone who did, because he felt no surprise. His mouth formed a silent scream of ‘no’ at the cruel sentence being read out, but he still couldn’t open his eyes and he was forced to watch what happened next.
The strawberry-blond young man was lead towards a crude block, a squarish piece of wood with slightly uneven sides. Someone shoved him between the shoulder blades and he was made to kneel and put his head on the rough surface. Jake saw him fight his gaolers one last time to raise his terrified gaze to heaven, muttering something. He guessed it was a prayer, because there seemed no chance of halting the proceedings.
With one final, anguished look at the crowd, the young man closed his eyes and placed his head on the wooden block. He seemed calm now, but Jake could see that despite this bravado, the youth couldn’t keep the rest of his body from shaking. He was quite simply petrified. And who wouldn’t be?
Although he wanted to intervene and stop this from happening, Jake knew there was no hope of doing so, and he couldn’t move in any case. He swallowed hard and resigned himself to the inevitable, the way the youth had already done. A huge man with his head covered by a dark hood stepped forward and lifted an axe with a wide blade into the air. The crowd quieted and held its collective breath. The only sound to be heard now was a muted chanting from a priest who was standing at the back of the scaffold.
The sharp blade flashed in the sunlight and came down with a sickening thud. Jake flinched, as if it had severed his own head from his shoulders, and he had to fight hard not to throw up at the sight before him. He knew the young man had been lucky in that the executioner had succeeded in his task with just one blow, but all he felt was nausea and a bone-chilling bleakness.
Invisible fingers plucked at his sleeve and a voice hissed, ‘Master, we must leave. We can’t stay here, it’s madness. They could take you next!’ He was aware of being pulled out of the crowd by someone with dark, straight hair, and followed blindly. Somehow he knew he’d been fortunate to escape the fate that had befallen the youth. It could have been him up there on the scaffold.
Slowly the images faded away and Jake was able to blink open his eyes. The modern living room came into focus all around him and he pushed himself upright, no longer feeling restrained. He couldn’t forget what he’d just seen though. Why was he dreaming of things like that? Was it a dream or some memory encoded in the cottage walls? He’d heard about such theories, but never believed them until now.
Or was it possible to relive the experience of some long-dead ancestor? Something embedded deeply in his DNA? But in that case, why was I seeing it through someone else’s eyes? There was no doubt in Jake’s mind that the youth on the scaffold was somehow related to him, yet Jake hadn’t been seeing things from his point of view. He swallowed hard and got off the sofa, too restless to stay still.
None of this makes sense!
Either way, he never wanted to see such horrors again.
Chapter Eight
‘So the high-and-mighty Sir Gilbert isn’t coming to your aid, eh?’
Sibell’s father smirked at her across the table and chewed noisily on a piece of coarse bread, before taking a large swig of ale and then burping repeatedly. He seemed in a particularly good mood for once and Sibell bit back a sharp retort. Instead she sent him a wide-eyed look, as if she had no idea what he was talking about, although she knew full well why he was gloating.
For several days after her visit to Idenhurst, he and her brothers had kept a close watch over her. It was as if they expected someone from the manor to come riding to her rescue, even though she’d taken Maude’s advice and pretended to agree to the marriage. Now that a week had passed, her father obviously felt able to relax, sure in the knowledge that she had failed to secure assistance.
‘Of course, he knows as well as I do that he has nothing to say in the matter. Still, he could have made a nuisance of himself if he’d so chosen,’ he continued. ‘Seems you misjudged him. He’s a sensible man, won’t meddle where he’s not wanted. And you are nothing to him any more.’ He chuckled.
‘I didn’t speak to Sir Gilbert, only Lady Maude,’ Sibell answered quietly. ‘It was she who sent for me after all. And I followed your instructions.’ She crossed her fingers under the table since this wasn’t strictly true.
Her father’s expression darkened at the mention of Lady Maude. ‘Meddlesome old crone. I don’t doubt she’d go pleading your cause with her husband if she felt so inclined. Just as well you said nothing, or else …’ He left the threat hanging in the air between them and Sibell suppressed a shiver. She didn’t think he would ever do any harm to Lady Maude if he found out she’d been meddling, but one never knew with her father. He was so unpredictable and his temper was definitely spiralling out of control. She shuddered again. No, he must never find out.
Thankfully, his improved mood meant that he also relaxed his vigilance. Sibell was at last able to go about her normal duties, both indoors and out, without a watchdog on her trail. After finishing her many tasks that morning, she took the opportunity to escape out of the back door while no one was looking, and headed for a small forested area nearby.
It was a beautiful day, unseasonably warm and with hardly a breeze stirring the branches of the trees. Spring had always been Sibell’s favourite time of year and she noted with pleasure all the signs of its coming. There were trees with fat leaf buds ready to burst, fruit blossom, birds serenading each other and flowers peeking up through the thick layer of dead leaves on the ground. All these lifted her spirits and she decided to simply enjoy the moment, leaving her worries behind. It was impossible to stay dejected on such a day.
Although she knew it was dangerous to venture too far into the forest alone, she thought she’d be safe as long as she stayed within hearing distance of the house. Surely any outlaws would be targeting travellers on the roads, rather than ordinary local people going about their business, she thought. Besides, she was wearing an old cloak borrowed from one of the kitchen maids. Everyone knew servants had nothing worth stealing so she hoped she’d be mistaken for one and left in peace.
Underneath the beech trees she found primroses peeking out here and there, and a veritable carpet of wood anemones brightening up the forest floor as far as the eye could see. Sibell stopped to admire this lovely sight. Although she’d seen it many times before, she knew she would never tire of it. She leaned her back against the nearest tree and closed her eyes, savouring the moment. There was a promise in the air, a hint of wonderful things to come, that made her heart beat faster in expectation.
‘So, the little bird has flown the nest at last,’ a deep voice said behind her.
Sibell whirled round so fast her cloak caught on a nearby branch. She wrenched it free with trembling hands and stared at Sir Roger of Langford, who had materialised behind her like a wraith out of the ground. ‘I … I …’
‘Forgive me, I didn’t mean to startle you again.’ He laughed. ‘It seems to be my misfortune to scare the wits out of you whenever we meet. I promise, that is not my intention.’
‘Where did you come from? I didn’t hear your approach.’ Sibell strove to calm herself and pulled the cloak together in front of her. Yet again he’d caught her unawares.
‘You must have been truly engrossed then. I made no secret of my presence.’
Sibell wasn’t convinced. Anyone walking in the forest was bound to step on at least the occasional twig, but she’d heard nothing. ‘You are on foot today?’ she remarked suspiciously, wondering what could have brought him so near her ho
me in stealth. Was he spying on her father?
‘Indeed. It is too beautiful a day to ride. I prefer to observe nature at close quarters and what better way than going for a walk? Isn’t that what you’re doing yourself?’
‘I, er … I merely came to look for herbs.’
‘Ah, but of course.’ The look he gave her told her clearly that he knew she was prevaricating and Sibell thought it best to change the subject.
‘Didn’t Sir Gilbert warn you there are outlaws hereabouts?’
Sir Roger laughed again. ‘I thought we established last time we met that neither of us feared them. As you can see, I have brought my trusted sword just in case.’ He gave the weapon an affectionate pat, then grew serious. ‘However, a woman alone shouldn’t venture too far from home. It would be foolhardy, I think.’
‘I haven’t. I’m still close to the manor,’ she defended herself, although she could see now that had he been an outlaw, she would have had trouble escaping him. It occurred to her to wonder whether he was actually one of those desperate men himself. Was that why he was sneaking around in such a furtive manner? Was he on his way to a meeting with other outlaws, supporters of the Duke of York perhaps? She frowned. If he was, he was taking a huge risk, wandering about in broad daylight.
‘You’re not enjoying this fine day?’ he asked, seeing her expression. ‘Perhaps you don’t care for flowers?’
‘Of course I do, only …’ She couldn’t tell him he had spoiled her enjoyment of them. It would sound too churlish. ‘You frightened me, is all.’
‘Well, perhaps you’d allow me to make amends? Come for a walk with me and we can appreciate the beauty of spring together.’ He held out his arm for her and looked at her expectantly.
‘But I barely know you.’
‘Nonsense. I’m a guest of the Presseille family. Surely you don’t think I would jeopardise their goodwill by mistreating one of their neighbours and a former daughter-in-law of Lady Maude’s at that?’ He smiled at her to indicate how ridiculous he thought her suspicions. ‘I only wish to walk and talk with you.’
Sibell felt foolish for doubting him. He certainly didn’t look like a brigand, nor act like one. Perhaps he was the opposite – someone sent to root out and apprehend the Duke’s supporters? With a sigh she gave up thinking about it and remembered her decision to enjoy the here and now. ‘Very well,’ she said and placed a few fingers on his forearm. ‘I see no harm in walking a little way. There is a brook not far from here which is in full flow at this time of year; a lovely sight.’
‘Then let us find it.’
The smile he gave her banished all her doubts for the moment. But they soon returned.
This is all wrong! Sibell knew that to spend time with a virtual stranger, and a male one at that, went against everything she had been taught. To do so in the seclusion of the forest was even worse. And yet, she couldn’t deny she was enjoying every moment.
Sir Roger’s enthusiasm for everything around them was infectious, as was his laughter, which rang out frequently. Here was obviously a man who lived life to the full, who never looked back with regrets, but only forward. Unlike the men in her family, who seemed to be forever brooding over something and always wishing for what they didn’t have.
‘Why so sad?’ he enquired, pulling her out of her reverie.
‘I’m not sad, merely thinking.’
‘You’re still worried about your father? Is he likely to have followed you?’
‘Oh, no. He’s busy this morning. It was nothing, really.’
He had stopped to face her and was regarding her with a serious look for once. ‘I wouldn’t want to put you in a difficult position. You must tell me if you wish me to leave.’
‘No! I mean, don’t leave on my account. I’m enjoying your company.’ The confession escaped her before she could stop it and she felt her cheeks heat up in embarrassment.
‘And I yours.’
The look that accompanied this statement sent her heart into a frenzy, but she told herself sternly that it was just his way. He was merely indulging in a light flirtation to pass the time.
He means nothing by it and I’d do well to remember that.
Roger was enjoying himself hugely, a fact which surprised him somewhat. Although he hadn’t sought out Mistress Sibell on purpose this morning, he realised now he’d unconsciously walked this way in the hope of seeing her. He was quite sure it was the last thing he ought to have done. So why had he?
The answer seemed to be that he couldn’t help himself. He simply had to see her again.
It was strange, for he wouldn’t normally have given her a second glance. He’d always liked small, merry, buxom armfuls, the kind of women who knew the rules of the game and gave as good as they got. Easy-going and worldly wise, never demanding any serious effort on his behalf. Sibell most definitely didn’t fit that description. If anything, she was the complete opposite.
She was tall and reached at least up to his chin. Although the full-length cloak she wore prevented him from assessing her figure properly, he judged her to be of slim build. But he remembered from their ride that she had curves; he’d felt them as she leant against him. Her face was almost gaunt, though, and an air of sadness hung over her like an invisible veil. She also appeared to be extremely innocent, despite having been married. His flirtatious glances and comments were mostly met with either a shy smile or a look of bafflement. It was as if no one had ever teased her before.
He couldn’t understand it.
Something about her fascinated him, however. He’d gathered from further gossip overheard at Idenhurst that she’d been well-loved as the daughter-in-law of Sir Gilbert and was a favourite with Lady Maude. With such patronage, her father ought to have been concerned for her welfare. So why was she walking alone through the countryside? For that matter, why had she been walking at all? Even Lady Maude had questioned her lack of a mount.
As he slanted her another brief glance, the wide grey eyes, thickly fringed with dark lashes, regarded him solemnly, almost apprehensively. There was none of the coquetry he usually met with, and Sibell seemed sublimely unaware of her own charms, such as they were. He had to acknowledge she wasn’t a beauty in the true sense of the word, but he would allow that she was passing pretty. The silvery eyes were set in a piquant face together with a small, straight nose, which was slightly tilted at the tip. The bridge of her nose was covered in freckles, which some men might have found offensive. Roger thought them charming. He knew she had dimples either side of her generous mouth and he suddenly had an irresistible urge to kiss her.
He shook himself mentally. This is madness and I should go.
There was something infinitely appealing about her, though. Her aura of fragility stirred his inherent chivalry to uncharted heights and made him want to protect her against the entire world. And when she tilted her head to one side and sent him a look full of trust and dawning hope, he knew he was lost. He couldn’t leave her.
Perhaps not ever.
On his return to Idenhurst, he forgot about Sibell for a while, however, when Hugone sought him out and drew him to one side.
‘Sir, I have some news. A servant of Sir Gilbert’s by the name of Walter came riding into the yard earlier, looking as though he’d been on a long journey. I decided to follow him and shortly after his arrival he met with his master in the stables.’
‘And why the secrecy?’ Roger’s interest was piqued. He suspected his host was a supporter of the Duke of York, but if so, he’d kept quiet about it. Officially, he was loyal to the King.
‘Well, they spoke about you.’ Hugone looked slightly uncomfortable and Roger frowned at him.
‘Me? What did they say?’
‘It sounded to me as though the man Walter had been sent off to find out more about you, check your background, as it were.’
Roger nodded. ‘Didn’t trust my story, eh? Can’t really blame him, I suppose. And what was the verdict?’
‘I heard Walter say that ev
erything you’d told Sir Gilbert appeared to be true and he’d had no bad reports of you, only good.’ Hugone bit his lip. ‘Although …’
‘Spit it out. What else did he say?’
‘He’d been told of your possible involvement with the Duke, sir. Nothing definite, but there were rumours, apparently.’
‘Hmm, no one can prove anything, but we’d do best to be on our guard. Not that I think Sir Gilbert will hold it against me, quite the opposite, but until we can talk of such things freely …’ He fixed Hugone with a stern gaze, but knew it wasn’t really necessary. The youth was completely trustworthy.
‘Not a word, sir.’
‘Excellent. Thank you for your vigilance, and remind me to pay you extra this month.’
Chapter Nine
‘A snowstorm in March? Now I’ve seen everything.’ Dorothy threw up her hands in disgust and let the heavy velvet curtain fall back into place.
Melissa, the room’s only other occupant, sneezed violently in reply and burrowed further into the huge winged armchair next to the fireplace.
‘Can I get you anything, dear?’ Dorothy asked.
‘No.’ Melissa blew her nose and added, ‘I mean, no thank you. Sorry to be so grumpy, but I don’t feel too good.’ Her head was aching like the very devil and she thought her sinuses might be in imminent danger of exploding.
‘Hmph. You’re a worse patient than my Charlie and that’s saying something.’
Melissa couldn’t disagree with that statement since she’d never met the late lamented Mr Cummings, so she merely sniffed and reiterated her apology.
Dorothy headed for the door. ‘Some hot soup is what you need. If anyone wants me I’ll be in the kitchen.’
‘Uh-hmm. Thanks.’
The oak-beamed sitting room at Ashleigh Manor was a warm haven, cocooning Melissa from the violent snowstorm raging outside. The log fire in the enormous inglenook kept the room at just the right temperature, and had the added advantage of making the dark oak furniture gleam warmly in the reflection of its bright light. Large Persian rugs in shades of russet and red added insulation and a welcome splash of colour.
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