“Ye won’t hear no tales about any devil hounds here,” Maud said with a gentle smile. Her weathered face had clearly seen many days working in the sun. “The folk ’round here know of the creature ye speak of, but it’s like ye say—he’s a spirit who protects those in need. Now, I can see you’re needing a rest. We’ll work out everything on the morrow, Lady. Pray, what do we call ye?”
With everything that had happened, she’d failed to introduce herself. She’d forgotten her manners. “Forgive me. I am Lady Rayne from Norwich.”
She was led to a small mattress that was unfolded on the floor near the fire. Nothing else mattered to her once she sat down upon it. A pillow of feathers was handed to her, and she wondered if it had been taken from their master’s bed. She slid her precious box against her side and felt a woolen blanket lowered over her body. Hushed conversations fell away to the sound of wind howling over the rises and valleys as she fell into a deep sleep.
Rayne must have been thoroughly exhausted from her journey, for her eyes did not open again until morning when she found herself blinking up at Maud hunched over her. It was nearly as dark in the hall as it had been the night before, but the upper windows revealed a soft glow from outside.
“Good morrow, Lady.” Maud straightened up and returned to the cooking pot at the stone hearth. “I expect Master hither shortly—thought you’d want to meet ’im. He slipped in after ye fell asleep.”
“Indeed,” Rayne answered and straightened up.
With the fresh eyes of a new day, she discovered that the trim of her chemise and gown were a mess, dirtied with brambles and grass. Beside her, she found her wimple had been pulled from her head as she’d slept and concluded with disappointment that she must be a frightful sight.
“Emma, stop your gawking and help with this,” Maud hollered at a servant girl who appeared no older than fifteen. The girl scurried to the woman’s side, casting one last curious glance Rayne’s way.
Low conversations were being carried out at a nearby table, where some manservants sat bowed over bowls of steaming breakfast. Before Rayne could rise to her feet, Maud chastised them. “Ye can talk anon. Better finish your bellytimber and get to the fields—Master needs each of ye on planting day.”
The men glowered at her until she raised her eyebrows and her serving spoon. They finished their last bites in a hurry and rushed out of the hall. She gestured to one of the tables and said, “If ye take a seat, Emma will bring your porridge.”
Rayne wanted to put her wimple in place before anything else. It wasn’t proper to leave her hair exposed. So she shook out the cloth, finding dirt and a few stray particles of grass.
Movement came from the other side of the hall. A man wearing a dark blue tunic and breeches strode past, his boots rising nearly to his knees. He settled at the head table at the end of the room, paying no notice to the visitor standing at its center. Renard followed him in, clutching a roll of parchment. He laid it out beside his master before he said, “Everything is getting prepared for the autumn planting, sir. Wheat, just like you wished.”
“Good,” a deep voice answered.
Maud shooed Emma away from the hearth while clutching a bowl of steaming breakfast cereal. Her woolen dress barely moved about her knees as she delivered it to the darkly dressed man. He paid no notice to the servant who brought him his porridge or the bowl that curled steam into his wavy brown locks. Dark eyes stared down at the parchment as he rubbed his bearded jaw.
Rayne hastily pulled on her head covering, securing it in place, and gave a despondent glance at the trim of her gown. Given the circumstances, she hoped her appearance would not matter.
Renard looked her way and leaned in to speak to his master. “Sir, we have a visitor—may I present Lady Rayne of Norwich.”
She took a few steps toward the head table and slid her foot back so that she could offer a proper bow in greeting, keeping her eyes lowered to the ground. When she straightened up, Renard introduced the man seated before her. “Lord Willelm of Hundby Manor.”
“I am honored to meet you, sir,” she responded and tried her best at conversation. “I hear you are a knight of the king. Would I have seen you at tournament in town?”
She dared to raise her gaze to his face. His russet eyes were focused on her, his expression unreadable. She did not detect the kind of airs she might have received had she been in the city, or had she been in the presence of a noble who cared much for society.
His response was bitter. “When I was a young braggart, I fought for things such as wealth and fame, but I am not so foolhardy anymore. I only fight for honor and to protect the defenseless.”
It was clear she had said the wrong thing, and they had not started off on good footing. She returned her focus to the floor, cleared her throat and said, “I find myself at your manor due to misfortune and ill luck. My escorts were attacked and murdered by the men hired to take me safely to the nuns of Grimsford Abbey. My dowry and belongings were stolen, and I am now without protection or means of travel. I beseech your kindness, if you might deign to direct me to a messenger who can deliver a letter or to a carter I could hire to take me to my destination—”
“If you are without anything of value, how will you pay a messenger or carter?”
The question hung in the air, and Rayne felt her cheeks flush in embarrassment and aggravation. She did not like his tone, nor did she appreciate his manner. She had not been put in her situation by choice.
Rayne lifted her chin and raised her eyes again to address his question. “I am not a witless lady, sir. I can offer my pen as a scribe to any man in need, and once my father has been notified, he can send payment. On my honor.”
“But I do not know of you or your honor,” Willelm retorted. He tilted his head, observing her while she tried her best to remain polite to the man whose hospitality she was indebted to. “I think it not wise to send word yet to your father, for the scoundrels responsible have not been found. Did this just happen?”
She thought it best to hold her tongue. She did not trust herself in that moment to make any response that would not insult him. So instead, she nodded.
Willelm sighed and appeared highly inconvenienced. He pushed his cooling porridge away and looked to Renard. “Go fetch Godwin and Hicket. Tell them to bring their horses and blades.”
“Aye, sir,” the steward answered and hurried from the hall.
After his departure, Willelm returned his attention to Rayne. Without any sign of emotion, except possible irritation, he said, “I cannot allow you to depart without protection. And I think it unwise to ask for provisions from your father until the fiends are caught or your treasure recovered. I am honor-bound to help, so I must away on this busy day to search for your bandits.”
Rayne was unsure whether he sought her gratitude, apologies or animosity. She had not intended to inconvenience him so, nor did she ask for him to put aside his day’s work. However, she’d been raised to be polite, and she was standing in his manor, so she bowed her head.
He stood up and wound his way around the table. “Tell me of the men I seek and their manner of travel.”
“There is just one man,” she answered, avoiding looking at him. “He goes by Roger, and I believe him to be mute. He has a short trim, and he rode away south in a covered wagon led by two chestnut ponies. There were two wooden chests—one containing my dowry, and the other my personal effects.”
“I best not waste more time,” he mumbled to himself. Willelm called to Maud as she walked through the hall, “Send John to fetch my courser. I am off to ready my mail and blade. Pray keep the lady from more trouble while I’m gone.”
Maud offered an apologetic smile to Rayne before running from the stone hall, calling as she went, “Johhhhn! Master needs ’is horse!”
Emma was left holding the serving spoon with widened eyes. She sighed and returned to stirring the porridge in the metal pot. Rayne took the opportunity to catch her breath. The banter between herself and th
e lord of the manor had agitated her, and she needed to calm down. A true lady remained in control of her emotions, but she’d never made a good, proper lady. For a lady wouldn’t imagine herself a poet like she often did.
Rayne went to pick up her decorative box from her mattress on the floor and took it to one of the tables. She settled upon the bench just as Maud scurried back into the hall. The servant grabbed the long spoon from Emma and poured some steaming cereal into a bowl before delivering it to Rayne. She set it down before her, patting her shoulder. “Don’t mind the master. ’Is bark’s worse than ’is bite. There’s no truer knight than he.”
“Forgive me if I do not appear thankful for his kindness,” Rayne answered. She breathed in the steam rising up from the porridge. “Prithee, if I can help in any household duties, put me to work.”
“You’ve been through too much already, Lady. I couldn’t possibly.” Maud noticed the box beside Rayne and asked, “Ye can write?”
The servant’s attention had already begun to distract her from the annoyance created by Sir Willelm. Rayne smiled and placed her hand on her precious writing tools. “I do.”
“Master’s oft busy with his duties, and Renard has some skill with the pen, but he won’t lower ’imself to write a letter for me. Vicar helped me in the spring.”
Rayne turned to the woman and offered, “I could write a note for you.”
“You’re all kindness, Lady. You eat your fill, and don’t worry ’bout the master. Bet he’ll be back with your treasure by nightfall.”
The servants busied themselves at the hearth, and Rayne tucked into her food. It warmed her belly, which fought off the draft that blew through the hall from the high windows. Once she was done with the porridge, she opened her box and laid out all of her tools. She was grateful to be at a proper table again. Her inkpot was opened and set by her right hand, and her quill was cut to a point. A fresh piece of parchment was unfurled.
Rayne thought of the hound that had saved her the day before and wrote of the adventure. Prose flowed from the nib of her quill. She used her wooden ruler to measure and mark columns along the sides of the page like she’d witnessed the monastic scribe do. If she had gold leaf, she would have decorated the page with glitter and color, but all she had was iron gall ink. Pigments could be found from vendors or different sources in the countryside, but she was not in the position to decorate her parchment. Once she arrived at the abbey, she hoped to be given that opportunity.
Her back and hand grew stiff from hunching over the table, so she stood to take a walk about the hall. Light poured in from the windows, and she wondered how much time had passed since morning. She stopped to look at one of the many tapestries that hung about the walls. A woman was pictured sitting upon a fallen tree with a man holding out his heart to her.
“That’s Sir Wilmot and Dame Gisele, Sir Willelm’s parents,” Maud said from behind, surprising her. “She came from France with all of her finery. I remember her teaching little Willelm and ’is sister Heloise their writing before he was sent off to become a page.”
Rayne turned to the servant, her curiosity piqued. “He has a sister?”
Maud looked about the empty room and came to stand beside her. She crossed her arms and lowered her voice. “Had a sister. The master has lived a tale of tragedy. Sir Wilmot served King Edward before Willelm. He fought in Wales in ’is youth—was given this very fiefdom for ’is service. I never saw two nobles more in love than the lord and lady.”
Maud’s expression changed. A frown creased her brow, and her eyes filled with sadness. She sighed deeply before continuing, “’Twas two years ago Wilmot left to fight for the king, but he died at the hands of the Scots. Anon, his lady grew ill and joined him in heaven, leaving the manor to Willelm. Bitter and vengeful, Master was called to fight for the king. He rode to Scotland and fought bravely in Falkirk, but whilst he was gone, Heloise got it in her mind to visit a holy shrine. Poor thing never made it back—attacked by robbers on the road. Well, when Willelm arrived home, he wasn’t the same. Battle changed ’im—so did losing ’is kin. Bitterness taints ’is lips, but there’s no truer knight or lord. Driven mad keeping the countryside safe.”
Rayne stared at the servant, then returned her gaze to the tapestry. Learning of his unfortunate past helped her understand Willelm’s unpleasant manner. It made him no more tolerable, but she held compassion for his plight. She stared at the faces of his mother and father, trying to imagine the knight as a boy before he’d grown sour.
Before she could stop herself, she asked, “And he never married?”
Maud turned to look upon another tapestry of greens and blues. Vines and leaves entwined around a blade. She shook her head and anchored her hands against her hips. “Nay. He was too busy with knighthood to bother with chivalry. Nearly thirty years from ’is cradle and too temperamental for any lady to have ’im. Not that he’d bother.”
After that disheartening story, Rayne didn’t feel in the mood to continue her work on her parchment. She glanced toward the table, thinking about putting it away when she remembered Maud’s request. “I can write your letter, if you wish it.”
“Oh, aye.” The servant’s eyes widened, and she went to the table. “My! Your hand’s been touched with such skill. The letters are so lovely. What’s it say?”
Rayne went to sit before the parchment and shook her head. “Oh, nothing. Just drivel about the black hound. Nothing any proper lady should be spending her time on, really.”
She set it aside to dry and prepared a fresh piece of parchment for the cook’s letter. “To whom should it be addressed?”
“Me brother. He went to the city to gain ’is riches in the wool trade.”
“That was my husband’s business—why he traveled so often.” Rayne thought of the long months he’d been away, only spending a short time at home before returning overseas.
Maud clucked. “I did not know ye were married.”
“Widowed.”
The servant looked at her with softened eyes. “Here I was going on and on about the master’s troubles, and ye have enough of your own.”
“Gramercy, but I barely knew him before he met the bottom of the ocean. Tis why I seek the quiet of the abbey,” Rayne explained, tired of her own story.
“Quiet may be peaceable, to be sure.” Maud didn’t sound convinced in her agreement, but she clearly knew her place well enough not to say more.
It did not take Rayne long to pen the servant’s letter to her brother. It was entertaining writing all the gossip of the village, learning the names and drama that had occurred over the summer. It took her away from her own problems until there was a clamor outside.
“I wonder who that is?”
Maud went from the hall and Rayne decided to follow. They exited the thick wooden door and into the courtyard. A covered wagon driven by two unknown men halted on the gravel drive with two riderless horses tied to the back. At the sight of it, her heart pounded in excitement. It truly appeared to be the very transport that had carried away her treasure.
A lone rider appeared clad in chainmail. A metal helm covered his head, and he wore a surcoat with a curious pattern stitched upon his chest. A black figure akin to a wolf decorated his breast, and a sword was secured to his belt. She could not recognize any distinguishing features, but knew him to be Willelm.
“I told ye he would come with your fortune!” Maud exclaimed to her.
Some manservants ran to help the knight from his horse and to assist with the wagon. Rayne ventured closer to the caravan, eager to see if all of her belongings were secure. She walked around the back of the cart to peer in. Two wooden chests sat just where they’d rested the last she’d seen them.
The metal helm had been pulled from the knight’s head, and the chainmail covering his brow was being untied for removal. Once Willhelm’s sweaty face was freed, she found him just as unhappy as when he’d left. He brushed his dark locks from his eyes and growled. “I have found your dowry, lad
y. Roger will never bother you or any other henceforth.”
“Gramercy!” She curtsied and bowed her head. “Now the abbey may receive me and my dowry. I shall be able to pay for an escort and the messenger to send word to my father.”
“Write your letter, and I will have one of my men take it to Norwich for you.”
No matter what he said, he seemed displeased at every point. She had met numerous upper-class men. Either their tongues dripped with honey with false pleasantries, covering their true dispositions, or they thought themselves better and condescended to her with their presence. Willelm was neither sort of fellow. He made no effort to hide his displeasure, nor did he appear to think himself superior. He simply didn’t care. In some ways it was refreshing, but it did not endear him to her.
“I thank you for your hospitality. I shall pen my letter right away,” she answered. “And of an escort—”
His surcoat was lifted over his head, and he knelt so his manservants could pull the chainmail from his body. It looked tedious, heavy and unpleasant. It had clearly been an effort to go search out Roger and her belongings. She didn’t want to bother him any longer, since it was clear he was so inconvenienced by her presence.
He grunted as the heavy mail was taken from his shoulders and answered, “I would trust my life with the folk of this village, but they have their autumn planting at hand. I would not allow you to take them from their work. That leaves me to escort you to your abbey once some local business is settled in a few days’ time.”
The terms were more than acceptable and extremely generous coming from a gentleman who clearly resented his chivalrous obligations to her. If she were in the position to thank him graciously and turn him down, she would have. She resented it just as much as he did that she was forced to accept his help. Rayne would be no man’s burden.
She bowed her head, not wanting to elicit another response from him that would annoy her further, and she returned to the dark recesses of his manor. The men he rode with carried her trunks into the hall for safekeeping. Rayne tried to ignore the activities of everyone else as they came and went from the hall while she bent over a fresh piece of parchment, addressing a letter to her father.
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