by Sarah Hegger
“Jesu.” William leapt to his feet. “I will kill him.”
“Someone tell me.” Sir Arthur’s voice thundered around the room.
“Calder beat her.” As if he somehow stood aside from himself, Gregory’s expression hardened into blankness. “He beat her often and so badly some days she could not rise from her bed. I would shield her from other people until the bruises faded. There is nothing he can do to her he has not already done.”
“Except to hurt my child.”
They could not even look at her. Henry stared at his feet. Roger paced to the end of the armory, his boot heels ringing against the flags.
William had his back to her. “I heard the whispers and I did not ask. You always looked well enough when I saw you, and there were other matters. King John. The rebellion.” He shook his head. “I should have asked.”
“Faye.” Her father’s eyes gleamed damp as he moved to her, hands held before him to embrace her.
“I do not want your pity.” If her father touched her, she would shatter. “I want you to do what you can to make sure we never have to go back there.”
“You have my word.” Sir Arthur dropped his hands.
“I am going with Gregory to Calder.”
“This is madness.” Roger paced back to them. “Now more than ever you cannot go. We will find another way, Faye. We will defy the king if we must, but I will not allow you anywhere near that whoreson again.”
“I lived with that whoreson.” Dizzy with the intensity of feeling rushing through her, Faye listed and caught her balance. “You owe me this much.”
Sir Arthur stepped forward. “Faye—”
“She comes with me.” Gregory’s gaze found hers and locked.
“But—”
“He is right. We failed her, all of us, and we will make it right.” William indicated the chair beside him. “Sit, Faye. If you are going with Gregory, we need to make sure you are not discovered.”
“What of Arthur?” Expression thunderous, Henry crossed his arms over his chest. “Have you forgotten that you have two sons?”
Faye curled her hands into her palms. She would slap her brother silly if he said one more word.
“Arthur will be safe here.” Her father gripped her arms. “If you must do this, Faye, know that we will care for the boy. Now,” he turned to the others, “let us factor this new development into our plan.”
* * * *
Faye carefully shut her chamber door. She had made it out of the armory and down the endless passages of Anglesea without collapsing. The wood at her back kept her on her feet. Her legs shook so badly, she feared they would crumple beneath her.
The plan was simple. She and Gregory would travel in disguise to Calder’s lands. Once there they would seek out Bess, the healer and midwife. Gregory felt sure they could trust her and Faye agreed with him. A year ago, Bess had aided her escape and the midwife held no loyalty for Calder. As village healer, Bess knew Calder’s brutality well.
“Faye?” Beatrice rapped on the door. “Let me in.”
She couldn’t face another person now. Not with the ugly, naked truth out there for all to see. “I must ready myself.”
“Open the door.” Beatrice pounded harder. “I am not going away until you do.”
Beatrice was quite capable of standing outside her door all night and yelling, the determined little besom. Faye opened the door.
Beatrice dropped her hand raised to knock again. “Garrett says you are going with Gregory to Calder.”
“Aye.” Faye moved like an old woman into her chamber. She needed to get ready, but there was nothing here she needed.
“Have you gone mad?” Quite possibly. Faye choked back a bitter laugh. This from Beatrice, who never hesitated to tumble from one scrape into another.
Lady Mary swept into the chamber behind her daughter. “Hush, Bea, the decision has been made.” Her mother held a bundle of clothing in her arms. “I brought these for you.” Lady Mary lay a pair of chausses and a tunic on the bed. “I believe these are the same ones Beatrice wore.”
They had agreed in the armory it would be best to disguise Faye as a young postulant. Traveling monks traveled where they desired and without question.
Lady Mary had procured boy’s clothing for her. Her mother, the perfect lady, had agreed to be a party to this. “You are going to let me go with Gregory?”
Mother tilted her head. “Could I prevent you?”
“Nay.” Nothing would stop her from getting to Simon. “I expected more of an argument.”
“Aye.” Resting her arms atop her belly, Beatrice nodded.
“I would do the same.” Lady Mary’s smile held a hint of sadness. “We are mothers and we protect our own.” As if preparing for battle, she drew a breath and straightened her shoulders. “I am not happy to see you do this, Faye. You are my child and putting yourself in danger cannot please me, but Gregory will protect you.”
Aye, Gregory would protect her and he loved her boys.
“I cannot believe Father agreed to this.” Beatrice shook her head. “He would never have agreed to me going to London.”
“You never asked.” Lady Mary sniffed. “Now, you must change. Gregory leaves within the hour.”
The chausses clung to Faye’s hips and legs. Her legs seemed naked and exposed without her skirts. They did free her to take longer steps, however, and she strode around the chamber, testing her new skill. It was little wonder men ran faster than women with their legs unencumbered by fabric. Lord, she hadn’t run since she grew old enough to let down her skirts. Ladies did not run, they walked or glided.
Before she slipped the tunic over her head, Lady Mary helped her bind her breasts.
“Hmm.” Beatrice and Mother stood back and surveyed their handiwork.
“A cap.” Beatrice nodded. “She needs to cover her hair.”
“Monks do not wear caps beneath their robes.” Lady Mary frowned at the top of Faye’s head.
“They do if it’s cold.” Beatrice glared out the window and sighed. The balmy summer night mocked her statement.
Faye snatched up her sewing shears from where they lay on her abandoned embroidery.
“Faye, what are you doing?” Hand held out for the shears, Beatrice took a step toward her.
At the barest touch of sharp shears, the first lock of hair dropped.
“Faye.” Beatrice shrieked and clapped her hands over her mouth.
“Oh, good Lord.” Lady Mary paled.
Another golden lock dropped to the stone floor and lay like a gleaming skein of sunlight against the dark stone. Beatrice should know what she was doing. The idea had fermented in Beatrice’s own mind a year ago. Except Beatrice stopped short of this point. With everything to lose, Faye could not afford to hesitate.
The shears slid through the braid at her nape. It slithered down her back to the floor. She shook her head, lighter without the heavy fall of hair.
Beatrice gaped at her over the hands clasped to her mouth. “What have you done?”
“What I must.” She was going with Gregory. It was her only chance of getting her son back. Shorn curls tickled her fingertips. Around her feet lay the scattered remnants of a lifetime of nurtured hair. She’d cut her hair. Oh, dear Lord, she’d done it now.
“I see you are determined.” Beatrice toed a shining lock.
“I have to, Bea, or I will go mad not knowing what happens to Simon. Calder is cruel and he has a temper.” It was the closest she could come to telling the full story.
Lady Mary stared at her for a long moment.
Suddenly self-conscious, Faye touched her shorn head. “What?”
“If you aimed to look like a boy, you have failed.” Beatrice pursed her lips. “I think it becomes you. It makes you look younger.”
“Like a young boy?”
Beatrice pulled a face. “A remarkably pretty boy.” She grinned. “But then, people see what they want to
see and dressed as a young postulant, you will pass inspection.”
“Well.” Mother took the shears from Faye’s numb fingers. “Let me at least tidy the ends.”
She was actually doing this. It made her head spin to think on it. Her baby would be without her. “Arthur?”
“We will watch over Arthur.” Beatrice finger combed her hair.
“Promise me.” Leaving her baby carved a deep, aching chasm inside her.
Beatrice touched her fingers to her swollen belly. “I swear it, Faye. I will watch him as if he were my own.”
“And I.” Lady Mary cupped her cheek. “But do take care of yourself, sweeting. And know we will not be idle at Anglesea.”
The enormity of what she planned slammed into her and her shoulders slumped. “I have to get him back.”
Beatrice’s face softened. “You will get him back. I know you will.” She enveloped Faye in a hug. “Let me see what I can do to help.”
A knock came from the door and it opened to admit William. “It is time.”
The time to act was upon her and Faye wanted to run and hide behind her mother’s skirts like a little girl.
William took in her boy’s clothing with a nod. His glance stopped at her head and he raised a brow. “You can still change your mind, Faye. We could send Henry with Gregory. Roger is needed here, but even I could go.”
She could remain at Anglesea with her youngest son. Her brothers would do all in their power to get Simon for her and her father had sent word to her uncles already. “I am doing the right thing, am I not?”
“I do not know.” With a groan Beatrice collapsed on her bed. “You could wait here for Henry or William to return. Or see what our uncles can do to help.”
If she followed William out the door, she committed to this path. She wasn’t daring like Beatrice or courageous like her mother. They would never have remained married to a man like Calder. She still couldn’t fathom how she had borne it for so long. The truth was, she couldn’t have, without Gregory. He had shared her shame and been her escape from it at the end, her salvation and her rescue.
Her family watched her and waited for her to make the decision. There was nobody telling her what she must do or how she must act. She was the sweet sister, the delicate lady who suffered her fate with grace and dignity. Except, she would not let her children share her fate. “I do not think I can do that. Not while Calder has Simon.”
Lady Mary pulled her into a fierce hug. “Then you are doing the only thing you can.”
Chapter 5
Tonight, Faye left a huge part of her behind.
Arthur slept so peacefully, she had not the heart to wake him and say goodbye. Little face flushed, his limbs flung across the bedding as if she’d tossed him there. Deep into her mind, she pressed the image of him to carry with her. She replaced the covers and smoothed them over his chest. She trusted her mother with her son, but Faye needed to say it one more time. “Take care of him.”
“As my own.” Lady Mary touched her cheek.
At the entrance to the keep, she parted from Beatrice and her mother. Her back tingled with their stares on her as she walked to the cluster of men outside the stables. She ventured into a strange new land. Behind her lay all she knew and loved and ahead were dragons.
Gregory stood taller than the men around him, her guide through this strange newness. At every major point in the last eight years, Gregory had been there. Standing beside Calder, his dark head averted, on her wedding day. Cradling her sons in his huge hands a few hours after their birth. The night they raced through the darkness to bring her and the boys to the safety of Anglesea.
William kept pace with her. Catching her arm, he stopped her halfway to the men. “I beg your forgiveness, Faye. I am your brother and I should not have left the rumors I heard unchallenged.”
Mayhap not, but she bore no anger toward William. “Calder is my husband. What could you have done?”
William’s gaze slid away from hers and hardened as he stared at a point beyond her shoulder. “Faye, I wish you would let me go for you.”
It was tempting to let him. People always did for Lady Faye. This time, however, she must battle her own demons and win. If William went, it would be as all the nights she had lain at Calder Castle, hurting inside and out, and condemning herself for not fighting back. The taint of her cowardice sank deeper into her bones each time Calder visited her and left her crying and broken. All those times had gathered to this point.
“I know you would.” She managed a wan smile. “But this is my battle.” Pray God, she had the strength for it.
“I understand. He has your boy.” William squeezed her hand before releasing it. “I may not have children of my own, but Simon is one of ours.”
They walked on a few steps through the dimly lit bailey. The moon rode high in the sky and the damp of first dew coated her skin.
“I know very little of what occurred during your marriage, Faye, but I was at court with Calder for many months.” William stopped her again.
She’d kept her secret for so long, his words jarred her. She would have to accustom herself to having her shame known throughout her family.
William, eyes cold as the grave, looked at her. “If only half of what I heard at court was true, we will make him pay in blood.”
William, her childhood defender and mischief-maker. How she thanked God for her brothers, even pompous Henry.
“Here.” William opened her hand and pressed something into it. “If you get the chance, do not hesitate.”
The dagger blade reflected the orange glow of the braziers. Against her palm it lay hard, cool and deadly “I do not know how to use it.”
“Slip it into your boot and keep it with you. Ask Gregory to show you how to use it on your journey.” His handsome face broke into a familiar William grin. “You will not be traveling fast.”
The cluster of men parted.
“Your carriage, my lady.” William sketched a lavish bow.
Faye stared at it. “A bullock cart?”
“Poor monks do not travel by horse.” Gregory made a jerky motion toward the cart.
“Aye.” Her grand rescue had humble beginnings and Faye laughed. It felt like an age since she had done so.
The bullocks stood in the traces, their mouths working at the cud with no care for the responsibility resting on their powerful shoulders. One of them reminded her of nurse and Faye laughed harder.
“She has lost her wits.” Henry scowled at her. “We cannot let her go.”
“Shut your cakehole.” Cuffing Henry so hard he stumbled forward, Roger saved her the trouble of doing so. Roger sidled closer to her and lowered his voice. “You might want to stop that. Father is within a hair of locking you up in your chamber.”
Faye stopped.
His mouth compressed in a grim line, Sir Arthur stepped into the pool or brazier light. “A sennight. I give you a sennight and if you are not back here with our boy, I will bring every man, woman and child who can bear steel and fetch you.”
“We will be back.” Gregory’s calm certainty spread around the waiting men.
Faye drew in a deep breath of it. Her quest began.
Gregory held out his hand to assist her. “My lady.”
Roger nodded at his outstretched hand. “You are going to have to stop that. A monk does not assist a boy into a cart.”
“She is not a boy.”
Like a caress, Gregory’s laden words slid down her spine. For a brief flicker his gaze rested on her as a man views a woman, warm and wanting. Faye added the memory to her scant hoard of others like it.
“Enough.” Sir Arthur grasped her by the waist and set her in the cart. “Go with God, Faye. Only do it fast and before I change my mind.”
* * * *
Gregory flicked the reins and set the cart in motion. A waning moon lit the path from Anglesea castle to where it disappeared between the soaring beech trees. Beyon
d the thicket, the road took them down into the village below. From here, they would travel east to Calder Castle. And Simon.
Lavender, the scent of Faye, twined through the calm night air. Many times, alone in his monastic cell, he’d sworn a hint of lavender lingered there. He’d had a dog as a boy, a scraggly beast that would find a scent it liked and roll in it. Legs waving in the air, the dog would press the smell deep into its coat. Dogs were clever beasts and not constrained by the tangles of mere men.
The danger on this journey increased tenfold with Faye’s presence. It prickled beneath his skin like an army of ants. Calder wouldn’t get her. He swore it before God and before her father. Let him try. Blood thrummed beneath his skin, warming him. In the bed of the cart rested his blade and it thirsted for vengeance. His score with Calder was too many years in the settling. Oculum pro oculo, dentem pro dente, manum pro manu, pedem pro pede. An eye for an eye and no mercy given. How would the Abbot judge his actions, a just cause or pure folly?
A lone dog announced their presence to the collection of sleepy cottages that made up Anglesea village.
Sir Arthur had set up sentries throughout his demesne following Simon’s abduction. Too late. The sentry slid out of the dark to see who passed. He waved to Gregory before returning to his post.
Sir Arthur blamed himself, and the man did carry a portion of blame. The larger portion rested with him. He should have expected Calder would strike out in anger. He had been too intent on gaining entrance to the Abbey and allowed himself to believe he left Faye safe at Anglesea. He wanted to believe that, because then he could leave with a clear conscience. What a damned fool. Now she paid the price.
* * * *
Faye rubbed her bruised elbow. Bullock carts were not made for comfort. With nothing to cushion her, she tossed around like a loose apple.
An odd identifiable shape slid past in the shrouded landscape—a house, a low stone wall and even the occasional cottage, but for the most part there was nothing to see.
She could walk faster than this. For a while, she had trod beside the cart. Until one too many bruising encounters with hidden obstacles on the road had sent her back to her perch. With the way the cart rattled about, sleep proved impossible.
