Wicked

by Jill Barnett

  The bear sat back and put his paws down. He watched them, but did not move.

  “Keep talking to him and we’ll edge closer.”

  “Hallo, there Satan. Good laddie! ’Tis I, Ned. See?” She held her hands out to her sides. “That’s a good bear. Can you dance? Can you dance for me?”

  The bear continued to study her, then lay flat on his stomach like a hound and rested his head on those massive paws.

  Sofia kept talking quietly to him and to the little girls, kept asking the bear to dance.

  Tobin slowly drew his sword, then checked to see if his archers were still ready. The men stood with their bows between their splayed legs, the arrows notched and pulled back near the archers’ ears.

  They moved closer and closer.

  “Tobin, easy. I swear,” she said. “All will be well.”

  “That bear killed five men, Sofia.”

  “The outlaws?”

  “Aye.”

  “Good. I hope he ripped them to shreds.”

  He said nothing. He would not tell her that was exactly what the bear had done.

  “He will not harm us. Look. He is asleep already.”

  Tobin eyed the bear and stopped. ’Twas hard to believe but it looked asleep. Sound asleep. He could not fathom that the bear would suddenly drop to his belly and start snoring, but that was what he was doing.

  “He sleeps. Whenever he is supposed to dance, he sleeps.” She started to move forward.

  Tobin pulled grabbed her arm and her back.

  “No. Do not worry. He will not harm me. I must take the girls. If you are with me he might harm you.”

  Tobin gave her a look meant to make her understand he could handle the bear.

  She only said, “I will hand the children to you.”

  He did not like that, but kept his sword raised, because he knew she was right. This time. And he was certain of his men; the archers could hit the bear before anyone was hurt. “Get the children then.”

  Sofia reached out to them and called to them softly.

  The girls crawled forward, crying.

  She handed one to him and he tucked the child to one side, his sword still raised and ready. She grabbed the other little girl and handed her to Parcin, who had come down from the back side and was standing on the rock above the sleeping bear.

  Tobin looked up. Behind his captain stood four more of his archers. Ten in all. His men were making certain he and Sofia were safe.

  Tobin handed the other little girl to his man and he grasped Sofia’s arm. “Come.”

  She knelt and picked up the rope.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Taking Satan back.”

  “God’s blood! Woman—”

  “We cannot leave him. You will not kill him. We must take him with us.”

  Tobin looked up at Parcin, who gazed back at him with sympathy. Tobin gave up and said, “Take the children away. We will bring the bear. Then all will ride for Glamorgan.”

  Sofia turned. “Glamorgan? Why?”

  “The King and Queen are there for the christening of one of Earl Merrick’s children.”

  “I knew of the christening. That is where Alan was headed. To Camrose to perform for the guests. ’Tis why I left them.” Sofia said nothing else.

  Tobin kept his sword high as she tugged on the rope. The bear opened his eyes and stared up at them.

  “Come Satan. Come along. ’Tis time to eat.”

  “Eat?” Tobin frowned at her.

  “Aye. He will come along easily if he thinks he will be fed.”

  Tobin was not so certain the animal would come along anywhere easily. He had seen the outlaws’ bodies.

  But Sofia tugged on the rope and the bear stood, then she turned and it lumbered along behind them like a big dog instead of a man-killing beast.

  By the time they had come through the woods, all that was left of the horrific site were the charred remains of the wagons. She fed Satan bread and cheese and they locked him back in his cage. The lock was broken, but Parcin managed to make a bar from one of his knives and some rope to keep the door bolted tightly.

  They were all soon mounted, the little girls asleep, exhausted from the shock. Walter was holding one little girl and Parcin, the other. Both had the twins hugged tightly in front of them as they rode north and east, toward the Marches

  Tobin could feel Sofia’s teeth begin to chatter and she was shaking. He body was slack and she sat huddled before him, almost as if she were shrinking.

  He tightened his arm. He knew there was nothing he could do, nothing but hold her. He could not make what happened go away. He could not change it or even make the memory of it go away.

  He was not calm and unaffected by what happened. He was well aware that had he not found Sofia, she could have ended up like Miranda. And for the next few hours he did not know whose hands were shaking more—Sofia’s or his.

  Chapter 19

  Tobin chose to split their journey in half, for the sake of Sofia and the twins. But he sent his squire Thwack and a few of his men on to Camrose with news of what had happened. He did not wish to have the story retold in front of Sofia and the children. They did not need to relive the horrors of this day.

  So Tobin and the remainder of his men traveled more slowly because of the children. They rode along the winding road that led toward the Marches, which was not as well-traveled as the roads from London to the south and west. By nightfall they had found only a small tavern with one room to let. For the last two hours the skies had been clouding up and the taste of rain was in the air. Tobin decided not to search out better quarters but instead to stay put.

  It did not take long before they were seated at tables with wooden bowls of warm food in front of them. The twins perked up when they saw the food.

  “I like beef pie,” Maude said when she looked at the food and she picked the pieces of meat out of the crust with her small fingers.

  “I like butter,” Tildie said and slapped a huge chunk on her dark bread.

  “I like beef and butter, too.” Tobin said, then he handed the little girl next to him another chunk of warm bread and watched as Sofia picked at her food, staring into the bowl but taking little.

  “Mama says butter is too dear for us. We only get butter on special holidays. Huh, Maude.”

  Maude nodded at her sister, then picked a piece of beef from Tildie’s pie when her sister wasn’t looking.

  After a moment, Tildie put her bread down and she looked up at Tobin. “Where’s Mama?”

  Sofia’s head jerked up and she looked at Tobin.

  “Those awful men took her away.” Maude said.

  “Are you finished eating?” he asked the girls, changing the subject.

  “Aye.”

  “But if Satan killed those mean men,” Tildie looked at her sister. “Where’s Mama and Papa?”

  He stood. “Come with us, girls, and we’ll show you your bed for tonight.”

  “Sofia.” He held out his hand to her.

  “Why do you call him Sofia,” Maude asked. “That’s a girl’s name. He is Ned. Aren’t you?”

  Sofia looked at the girls. “Come upstairs and I shall explain.”

  They took the girls upstairs to the only room and only bed in the place. The girls ran over and plopped on top of the bed with its puffy goosefeather tick.

  Sofia stopped at the doorway and turned to him. “I will talk to them. I will try to explain.”

  “Do you want me to stay?”

  She shook her head and started to turn.

  “Sofia.” He said her name quietly. She turned and looked up at him with those huge eyes. They looked so empty. He reached out and stroked her cheek. “Get some sleep.”

  She didn’t say anything, but just turned and closed the door. He stood there for a moment, remembering. Worried. She had spent most of the meal staring off at nothing, as if her mind were hiding from what her eyes had seen.

  He turned and walked down the stairs. He kne
w that feeling. He knew what her look meant and knew that sleep would at least be an escape, one she probably needed.

  Once downstairs, after a few more rounds of ale, he and his men bedded down on the heavy oak tables or on the floor. Time passed so slowly, with the sharp crackle of the fire and the soft sounds of his men sleeping. But sleep escaped him.

  It seemed as if he’d been lying there awake forever, as if it had been hours since the tavern owner banked the fire and blew out all but the one small stub of a candle that sat in a cracked bowl on the bar counter.

  The floor was hard, but he’d slept on hard floors and even harder ground. The single saving grace was that he was near the fire. He lay there with his hands folded behind his head and he stared up at the ceiling, where he could see the woven thatch pattern of the roof. Vermin were rustling around in the straw above him, sending flecks of straw drifting down to land near his head.

  He could hear his men snoring, one of them was talking in his sleep, but even when Tobin closed his eyes, sleep completely eluded him. His mind would not stop for some reason, so he lay there thinking of Sofia and those twin little girls, thinking about what they had gone through that day.

  He and his men were used to war, used to carnage and blood, at least as used to it as one could become. They had seen before the cruelty man could inflict upon man. Yet what they saw today still made some of the men quiet and pensive, some were short-tempered, while others drank too much. For himself, well, he could not sleep.

  He remembered the first time he had seen men killed. He’d been squire to Earl Merrick when the Welsh had struck and killed, and later, when they had taken over Camrose and captured Merrick’s lady wife. Plenty of men were killed during the siege and Tobin had seen bloodshed many times since then, enough to make him accept what he had to do.

  But unlike other knights who could kill and never think of it again, never truly see the fear in the man’s eyes the instant he knew he had lost, Tobin remembered every look of fear, of resignation, of pleading. They were difficult images to wipe from his mind.

  And he never forgot the blood. The first time he saw blood spilling out of a man he turned away and vomited. His hands shook for two days and he could not sleep for a week.

  Now he lay here once again, not sleeping.

  There was a creaking sound, like that of a foot on a loose stair. He turned and looked in that direction.

  Sofia stood on the narrow steps, gripping the handrail and staring at him.

  He shifted and stood carefully, so he wouldn’t disturb the men. Then he picked his way across the room, stepping over man after sleeping man. He moved up the stairs, to where she was sitting.

  He looked down at her.

  She was hugging herself, rubbing her hands up and down her arms as if she could not chase away the cold.

  “What are you doing up?”

  She averted her eyes and shrugged, which was so unlike Sofia.

  Tobin sat down next to her, watching her shiver. He could stand it no more and opened his arms. “Come here.”

  She leaned into them instantly.

  “Are you cold?” He rubbed his hands up and down her back, over the bones of her shoulders and her tail bone.

  She shook her head.

  “Cannot sleep?”

  “Nay,” she whispered.

  He rested his chin on the top of her shorn head. This was not his Sofia, this vulnerable and quiet young woman with the pain and puzzlement that showed in her eyes. He only wished he could take away the events of this day.

  But he knew he could not, so they stayed that way for a while, then she shifted, pulled back, resting in the ring formed by his arms as she looked at him.

  Her face held little expression and her eyes were haunted, dazed.

  His gaze moved to her mouth, then back to her eyes again. When he looked at her face, he wanted her. Every single time. Whether he was angry or not, he still wanted her.

  But that was what he was feeling, not what she was feeling. He knew he could act, she was vulnerable and would succumb to whatever he wanted. Or, he could talk to her. He kept one arm around her and brought the other to rest on his bent knee. “Are the twins asleep?”

  “Aye, they fell asleep quickly.”

  “’Tis good. Sleep. You do not have to think when you are asleep.”

  “Aye, but you have to stop thinking long enough to fall asleep.”

  “True. Did they talk about today at all?”

  “Some. They are confused. Lost. They don’t quite understand that. Alan and Miranda are not coming back.” She stared at her hands. He wondered if she even saw that she was wringing them together, over and over.

  He slipped his arm lower around her, nearer to her waist and took one of her hands in his free one, then he slowly ran a thumb over her palm. “A child does not understand death. All they know is that their family is gone.”

  She looked up at him, then shifted her gaze to somewhere past his shoulder, her look miles away. “I remember,” she said quietly. “God above, how I remember that feeling.”

  He looked down at her, for she had spoken with such emotion. She had closed her eyes almost as if by doing so she could close out the past.

  “You were about their age when you lost your parents,” he said.

  “Younger, even. I was four when I lost my mother.” She paused, then added, “My father died a little later that same year.”

  “Yet you can still remember how you felt.”

  “As if it were yesterday.” She paused, then added, “I felt as Maude and Tildie must feel, lost and alone. Confused. Frightened and hurt. All those things at once. It becomes almost too much for anyone to experience. To have your life one way and then in just one single moment, in a single event, have it change and know it will never, ever be the same again.”

  “You remember feeling that way when you were only four?”

  “Aye.”

  “I am not certain I could remember anything from when I was four.” He glanced at her and said honestly, “I think perhaps I believed you had to be older to feel the repercussions of death.”

  “Just because you are young does not mean you do not feel. You might not know what it is that you are feeling, but you feel it all the same. You just cannot put a name to what it is, because you are too young to even know the words to describe it.

  “Perhaps you do have to be older to understand what you are feeling or to think about the consequences of losing someone, but you do not have to be older to do the suffering. You do not have to be older to be scared or to feel as if your life is suddenly gone.”

  He thought about what she had just said. He supposed she was right. “I was ten when my mother died. It was just after I was fostered to Earl Merrick, but he was Sir Merrick then. Before Edward gave him the title and the lands.”

  “Do you remember how you felt?”

  “Aye, I remember. I wanted to kill my father.”

  She looked at him and frowned. “Why?”

  “Because I was told that while my mother lay dying in her bed, my father was sleeping in his with her successor.”

  “Is that why you hate your father?”

  “I do not hate my father.”

  “You do not?”

  “No. I feel nothing for him. He is not worth hating.”

  She sat there, but asked no more and he was thankful for that. He did not mean to reveal that to her.

  After a pause she said, “You were gone from home when she died.”

  “Aye.”

  “Were you close to your mother?”

  “She was a good woman. Both my sister Elizabeth and I adored her.” He wanted to say nothing more about it, to stop this talk. He sent the conversation in another direction, one that was not close to the things he kept deep inside of him, things for him to know, but no one else. “You talked to the children for a long time earlier, before we put them to bed.”

  “Aye.”

  “What did they tell you?”

&n
bsp; “Mostly they wanted to know why I was truly a girl when I dressed as a boy and had a boy’s name. They say I do not look like a girl.”

  “I would have liked to have heard the explanation you gave them.”

  Her voice grew choked. “I lied to those people, Tobin. I lied to those kind good people. All because I wanted to have some freedom. All on a lark.”

  “You did not know what would happen.”

  “That does not make what I did right. I liked them. They were kind to me. And I lied to them.”

  He did not say anything. There was nothing he could say. So he just held her. “Did the children say any more?”

  “They talked about what happened. In a child’s terms. Children see so much but read so little into what they see. ’Tis just black or white to them, no middle ground.”

  “I suppose that is a good thing, a way for them to be protected until they are old enough to understand all they see and what it means.”

  “Perhaps. I truly do not know.” Sofia paused, then looked up at him. “Maude said Miranda pulled them down from the wagon and told them to run into the woods, and not to come out until she came for them.” She looked away, then added, “They did what Miranda asked. But Tildie told me that Satan had killed those bad men, which they had to have seen from where they were hiding.”

  Neither he nor Sofia said anything. The two girls had seen men mauled and killed by a bear, a bear they played with, the same bear that was protecting them when it turned killer. He wondered how black and white that would seem to those girls.

  He could feel Sofia’s shoulders begin to shake. She pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes. “God in heaven above, why? I don’t understand why? They were good people.”

  He pulled her into his arms and held her against his chest. “You never will understand. ’Tis not possible to know, I think.”

  “But it is not fair. It is not right. What kind of God takes good people away?” She cried then, just a slip of tears and a slight heave of her chest that showed him how vulnerable she truly was.

  “Good people die all the time, sweetheart, which is why death is difficult for those who remain behind.”

  “I know,” she said on a sob. “But ’tis not fair. ’Tis not right.”