Widow

by Natasha Brown

  It would have been nice to imagine that he would be deeply upset for her well-being upon hearing the news of her robbery and attack, but she knew him too well. Once ascertaining the safety of her dowry, he would be ready for his next letter of business. He had been thoroughly disappointed in her unwillingness to remarry for more landholdings. It had taken him the four years since her late husband’s death to grow resigned to her departure to the abbey. The writing of the letter was more for appearances and duty.

  It did not take her long to briefly write a recount of the prior day’s events, save all the details of the apparition of the black dog. She folded the parchment and sealed it with wax.

  Rayne tried handing it to Renard when he passed through the hall, but he shook his head and answered, “Present it to the master.”

  That evening at mealtime, when she was placed at Willelm’s table to eat, she set it before him. “It has been addressed with directions on where to find my father in Norwich.”

  After taking a bite and wiping his mouth, Willelm lifted the letter to read its address and set it back down. “Fine.”

  He barely spoke a word to her all evening, which was satisfactory to her. She was content with little conversation. Although it was polite to engage in some form of discussion, she was relieved when he got up to retire to his private quarters upstairs. She turned her focus on his steward, Renard, who was more than happy to divulge all of the day’s happenings in the fields.

  That night she slept again on the mattress in the hall. The manor servants went to retire to their own cottages on the property, with a few staying to sleep in the hall so they could tend to the master. After her first sleep, she woke to return to work on her prose for a time before returning to bed.

  It was not Maud who woke her in the morning. She stirred, blinking into the dark room, sensing movement nearby. A shape lurked near the table where she’d left her parchment to dry. Rayne sat up straighter, trying to make out who was there. The man turned to look at her. His dark features cut through the dim, the rosy glow from embers adding color to his face.

  Willelm’s gruff voice mumbled, “I am out to the fields. The writing desk goes untouched in the solar. Best someone uses it—Maud can show you.”

  The offer surprised her, but she did not forget her manners. “Gramercy, sir.”

  He turned on his heel and left the hall, leaving Rayne alone. The other servants who’d found sleep at the tables and upon the floor on a patch of hay had already vacated the hall, presumably off to start their daily chores. Rayne thought it best to take the opportunity to change from her dirtied gown and chemise and take to a new set of clothing from her trunk. The wimple was put away, and she let her hair down to comb.

  Maud and the young Emma entered the hall and the older servant directed the girl to assist Rayne with braiding her hair. At first Emma seemed shy and unsure of herself, but the longer she focused on plaiting, the more comfortable she became. Maud walked up to admire her work. “Seems a pity to cover it.”

  After having their breakfast cereal, Rayne said to Maud, “Sir Willelm spoke of a writing desk in the solar—”

  “Aye, ’twas the lady Giselle’s. I will show ye to it,” the servant answered, exchanging a glance with Emma.

  Rayne gathered all of her writing tools and the parchment she’d caught Willelm looking over that morning and followed Maud out of the hall. She led her through a passage and into the opposite wing of the manor. A large room opened up. A four-poster bed with curtains was set at one end opposite two narrow windows overlooking the moat and nearby fields. A thick wooden desk sat in the morning light.

  Maud led her to it and pointed to the drawers. “The late mistress would sit and often write hither. Best something so grand be used.”

  Rayne was beside herself. She’d never touched such a beautiful piece of furniture designed for writing. Its surface was at a gentle slant. She trailed her fingers along the edge before setting her parchment down. Her quill and ink were placed beside it, and she sat on the wooden stool. She slid open the drawers, peering inside. A gasp escaped her lips as she discovered pigments hidden away.

  “What is it? A spider?” Maud asked, looking over her shoulder.

  “Nay,” Rayne answered in quiet tones. “Tumsole seeds, madder root and saffron fibers, all pigments for illumination.”

  “Ye know how they’re used?” the servant asked. She glanced at Rayne, who was sliding the drawer shut again. “Master wouldn’t ’ave offered if he didn’t mean it. Ye should use it if ye want.”

  The pigments were quite valuable, having been imported from all over the world. It was a very generous offer to be allowed to use them. Her cheeks flushed as she slowly drew open the drawer again, pulling out the small mortar and pestle that sat beside the pigments.

  “I would need egg,” she said softly.

  “I’ll ’ave Emma fetch ye some. Ye shan’t be disturbed—I’ll see to it, Lady.”

  Maud bustled from the room, leaving her alone at the desk. The eggs were soon delivered, and she got to work, pouring her attention into the illustrations lining the page. She was particularly careful forming the ears and jaw of the hound coming around the trunk of the oak. She’d discovered a fine sable brush amongst the pigments, and when the time came to make the paste from the egg and seeds to create the bright blue, her heart hammered with joy.

  When her back or arms grew tired, she set her tools down to stand by the window and gaze out of doors. The autumnal air licked at her cheeks as she stood watching the peasants and serfs busy in the fields. She thought she caught sight of Willelm with his exposed back to the sun, his arms busy holding the plow while following behind a horse. It surprised her to see a well-born man bent in labor over his own fields.

  More days passed with Willelm saying very little at dinner, taking his leave to his chambers early in the evening. The following day Rayne was left to her creativity at the late mistress’s desk, busily creating the scene surrounding her prose. It became a personal quest for her to complete it by the day of their departure. A story filled with fantasy would not be acceptable upon her arrival at the abbey. She would need to turn her attention to copying scripture if she was allowed to follow her interest in becoming a scribe and illuminator.

  Finally, the evening came when Willelm said in his gruff, aggravated manner, “We will no longer keep you here at Hundby Manor. Tomorrow I will escort you to Grimsford Abbey.”

  Disappointment crept into her breast, and she attributed it to losing the privileges of writing at such a lovely desk with use of such precious tools. She would soon be in a place where she wouldn’t be bothered by such a distasteful man. “I am ready to depart at your beckoning. Your hospitality is much appreciated.”

  He raised his cup of ale to his lips and took a sip. “It isn’t without repayment in the form of the wagon and horses I procured the other day.”

  “Of course,” she answered, offering a false smile.

  That night she struggled to find sleep until she thought of her protector, the black hound. She pictured it guiding her through the countryside, leading her to the abbey. But upon the crest of a hill, expecting to spot the bell tower, she found herself gazing at Hundby Manor in the twilight. Eerie howls echoed through her dreams, and she woke in the morning agitated, not knowing why.

  Chapter 4

  The wagon bumped over the narrow path. There was barely enough room for its width down the lane. Hedges reached out to brush at the canopy, something Rayne tolerated with distaste. Willelm had insisted that the safest way to her destination was not by way of the well-traveled roads that robbers and thieves poached, but the country lanes where there was less hospitality to be found and a longer journey.

  Rayne clutched her writing box, thinking of the parchment rolled inside. Her prose, which she couldn’t compare to the likes of Beowulf, was complete. Her maiden’s story, a tale of pure fantasy, was nearly fully illuminated along its edges with vines and a lady whose appearance closely resembled h
er own with a great black hound curled up at her feet. The parchment would have to be secured away from prying eyes, for little would be thought of time wasted on such a tale where a lady was saved by a hound. The tragedy lay in the soul of the beast, who was truly that of a man cursed to roam the countryside forever as an apparition. The prose would have to remain her secret.

  Rayne stared at Willelm’s back. He sat on the wagon’s bench, clutching the horse’s reins silently, watching the scenery change. If one of his servants had come, she might have had company and conversation. On the other hand, she was admittedly feeling peevish, so it was best she was without company. She thought of the start of her journey and her excitement to see Norfolk as she toured the countryside. Now, her mood had soured upon being delivered to the abbey.

  Their wagon jostled across the landscape until the sun drifted close to the horizon. Willelm guided the horses to a secluded spot surrounded by maple trees and shrubs. He climbed from his seat, and without a word unhitched the animals so they could graze.

  From the bench of the wagon, Rayne watched him. She couldn’t understand why he’d insisted that no others attend or protect them on their travels, but she hadn’t wanted to speak against the man whose hospitality had saved her in her hour of need. Her eyes remained on him while he secured the horses to a tree.

  When he approached the wagon, he uttered the most words he’d spoken all day. “We cannot be seen from the road, but I request you stay to the wagon. It will be dark soon. I will find a lookout nearby to get a better view. If you wake in the night, remain here until I come to you. On my honor, I will keep you safe.”

  “I shall remain here as you say,” she answered him in earnest, not wanting a repeat of her last frightful wagon ride.

  She returned to the back of the cart, pulling free a woolen blanket that had been packed along with the provisions. Rayne unwrapped the bread and cheese Maud had put in a bundle. It would not be like sitting in the hall eating a proper meal, but it would do. She put a portion together for Willelm, who had climbed back onto his perch at the front of the cart.

  “Will we have a fire tonight?” she asked.

  “Nay,” he answered and tore off a piece of bread with his mouth. “I know how to travel and remain safe. I am at a disadvantage going out with a lady and a wagon filled with wealth. It is best to hide away.”

  Well, it wasn’t the first time she’d heard that she was a disadvantage to a man, but for some reason she resented hearing it from Willelm. She sat away from him while she ate her meal. Before she reached the end of her food, the sun began to melt into the hills like tallow in a hot pan.

  Willelm climbed down from his seat and mumbled about going to find a good lookout. As she lay beside her trunk, waiting for sleep to come, snuggled in her blanket, she thought about her future.

  Soon she would be delivered to the abbey like so many other wealthy young ladies seeking a life free from unhappy marriages to gentlemen who were only such in title. At many a banquet, Rayne had seen girls betrothed to men many decades their senior, or to the kind of beast who enjoyed being superior to everyone, including his wife. That was not to say she’d witnessed no happy unions. It simply was less likely in the pool of greed and power that most nobles fished from.

  With the abbey so near her now, she felt trapped. It was certainly the best option she held. To be secured away from her father’s intent to marry her off to the highest bidder was a relief, and to be allowed to write in peace was a dream, although she knew she would be held to just as strict expectations within the monastic world to which she was headed. She wondered whether if she’d been born a male she might have become an adventurer like Marco Polo. Would her pen name be known? It was foolish to wish for a different life. She knew this.

  Her ponderings took her into the night. Before long, her mind was lost in a land of dreams. Worries took flight as birds and wishes turned into adventure at the heels of a hound racing against the winds of time.

  It must have been near the end of her first sleep when she opened an eye. Her place in the wagon was secure, although it took her a moment to remember where she was. Rayne sat fully upright and turned her head about. She could not see Willelm at the wagon, but he had warned her of such. At first she presumed that she’d woken out of habit, but then she sensed movement.

  Her head stilled like that of a statue while she listened for the direction of the noise. It wasn’t near the head of the cart where the horses were fastened. She slowed her breathing as she drew herself onto her knees to squint from the back of the wagon. She imagined herself as an owl sweeping its gaze over its nighttime world. Grass rustled nearby, and she stared in its direction.

  A black hound pressed its nose to the earth and looked up suddenly when it sensed her presence. She breathed a sigh of relief. It was her protector, back to watch over her. It was an indescribable feeling seeing him again.

  Rayne whispered into the night, “You are back—I missed you.”

  The dog stepped toward her and stopped. It sat on its haunches while its shaggy pointed ears rotated about. This was no mutt, but the enormous wolfhound she’d first met in the forest nearly a week ago.

  “I am being escorted to the abbey, but I do not find myself wanting to go,” she said with a sigh. Maybe she was seeking absolution, but she ventured to say things aloud that she may not have even admitted to her priest. “I am ashamed I do not find pleasure in my life when I have so much. I do not wish to be a pretty object that is passed about, or a lady without a voice. But I am a woman with few choices.”

  She rested her chin on the edge of the wagon as she stared at the hound. Its scruffy eyebrows twitched with movement. Rayne whispered at it once more, “You are fortunate to be an apparition who comes and goes as he pleases. If I were like you, I might find myself all over the countryside, nay, the world. Do not bother with me. There are more important sights to see.”

  Rayne stretched back out in the wagon, her head resting against the rear upright panel. She wondered if Willelm was awake and watching her speak to the dog, or if he could even see the beast. His esteem for her could not have been favorable already, so she doubted he could think any less of the peculiarity of her having a tête-à-tête with a four-legged creature.

  She let her eyes droop shut, secure knowing her protector was nearby keeping her safe as she slept. The blanket that covered her was not enough to fight off the chill in the air. She brushed her hands over her arms to generate more warmth, which worked for a few moments until the cold chased it away again. At some point she must have fallen back to sleep, for it was the sound of birds that woke her in the morning.

  No longer was she chilled, despite the cool breeze brushing against her face. As she became present in her wakefulness, she realized she was not alone. Rayne slid her eyes open. The enormous hound was stretched across the wooden chest beside her. Its foreleg and paw hung across her chest, creating warmth better than any fur-lined cloak, and its chin rested on the lip of the wagon.

  Rayne smiled and lifted her hand to touch the hound’s fur. Her fingers trailed along the animal’s temple to its back. Its brown eyes snapped open and focused on her face, so near its own. With suddenness that surprised her, it lifted onto its dense paws and leapt from the wagon onto the ground. She sat upright and turned to watch it run beyond the shrubs and out of sight. If it was truly a hound or simply an apparition, she knew it would not pause to say goodbye, but she was still sad to see it go.

  Sunlight began to spread across the land, illuminating the morning fog. The horses were snorting and moving by the tree, and there was still no sign of Willelm. Rayne pulled the blanket from her body, recognizing nature’s call. She knew she’d been told to keep to the cart, but she couldn’t wait.

  She threw a leg over the back rail of the wagon, clinging on so she wouldn’t fall. It took effort, and it was likely quite a sight to behold, but she got down without injury or tearing her dress. Rayne found a nearby thicket and soon returned to the small cleari
ng. She did not think it wise to call out for her escort, although she did not like the thought of sitting idle in wait. So she untied the horses to lead them to graze.

  It was on the grassy meadow that she spotted a man walking through the diminishing fog. She recognized his figure, for she had gazed upon him from his solar window at a distance for many days as he worked in the fields. Willelm’s dark hair and blue surcoat were visible against the pale light.

  He walked straight to her side. The unpleasant expression on his face prepared her for his admonishment. “I see my request meant nothing to you. How am I to keep you safe if you make no efforts?”

  Rayne lifted her chin and returned his penetrating gaze. “You were not to be found when I needed a privy. The horses needed grazing, and I wished a short walk. Your conscience be clear—I take my life in my own hands.”

  “You do, indeed,” he uttered softly. He said it in a way that confused her. There was no spite as she might have expected, but possibly respect.

  She sniffed and continued to hold onto the horses’ reins as they bowed their heads while they ate their fill. Willelm remained silently by her side with his hand resting on the hilt of his sword.

  Rayne decided to ask, “From your lookout, did you spot a black hound?”

  He looked at her before returning his focus to the meadow. “I have yet to spot the creature, though I hear much of its deeds from the village folk.”

  “It just departed from my side, doing your task of keeping me safe through the night.” She smiled and continued, “It was that ebony creature who saved me from the robbers and led me to your manor.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Indeed.” Rayne’s grin fell away, and she stated, “You must think me a silly woman, going on about such an apparition.”