by Sarah Hegger
Gregory yoked the bullocks. He must have fed them, because he removed their feed sacks first.
“Did you sleep?’’
“I rested.” He shrugged and threaded the traces through the yoke.
Her chest warmed. He had stayed awake to make sure her sleep was undisturbed. No wonder she loved him. In a hundred small ways, he cared for her. “I will drive the cart and you can rest in the back.”
He gaped at her.
“What?” Faye battled to hold his incredulous stare.
He shoved his hands into his belt and tilted his head. “You will drive a bullock cart?”
“I have driven horses.” Her face heated. His incredulity had substance to it, given her life to this point. “How difficult can it be? It is not like they will take it into their heads to bolt.” She motioned at the phlegmatic beasts between the traces. Bolting might not be bad idea. At least that way, they could achieve some speed. She climbed aboard the cart and picked up the traces. “You need to rest.”
Gregory shook his head and ambled over. “I am well.”
He was such a good man. The sort of man a woman wanted to throw her arms about and show him her gratitude. It was not her right and she tightened her hands on the traces. “I need you strong and rested or you will be no good to me.”
He nodded.
At least, that he believed. Always duty with Gregory, before anything else. The cart dipped beneath his weight as he got into the back and lay down. Faye flicked the reins.
The right bullock raised its head and lowed.
Not a good start. She needed to get them moving but she didn’t want to hurt the poor things. She flicked harder.
A foot stamp was all she got.
Flinching she gave them a good, sharp slap with the traces. Leather cracked through the air, the bullocks jerked and the cart jolted as the beasts lumbered forward.
“I am here if you have need of me.” Gregory’s voice came from the back.
Faye nodded. She would do her best not to have need of him. Maneuvering the cart onto the road, she blessed the empty path before her. The cart did not handle as a horse and she didn’t trust her ability to turn the beasts. The bullocks plodded forward. They were not the brightest of God’s creatures, but they seemed content to follow the road.
Gregory slept, his chest rising and falling in an easy rhythm. Faye wagered he would wake fast enough if she had need of him. She relaxed into the motion of the bullocks. A clear arc of uninterrupted blue stretched above her, the sun warm but not uncomfortable. She shifted position to shade Gregory from the glare. The crops would need rain if this dry spell continued. For now, she was glad of it. She adjusted the path of the right bullock. He showed too much interest in the grass along the verge. The trees thinned as she traveled. The forest broke into thickets and then meadows.
Large thickets used up good land that should be turned to crops to feed people, which would explain why there were only a handful of cottages scattered about the place. It was too late in the season for wildflowers, but the verdant swathes of green would be dotted with color in the spring. The faint toll of a bell signaled a monastery nearby. They must be sounding Nonce.
Gregory would know, but he slept deeply and she didn’t want to disturb him.
The shadows lengthened on the road and her shoulders ached, but she let him sleep. It was the first time, in all the years they had known each other, she had done aught for Gregory. Always, he cared for, soothed her hurts and cleared difficulties from her path. A bubble of satisfaction swelled in her chest. In some small way, it was good to be taking care of him.
The sun hung lower in the sky and a slight chill dampened the air when Gregory moved. Half in a stupor, Faye jumped.
He climbed forward and sat beside her. Sleep roughened his voice as he took the traces from her. “My thanks.”
Faye rolled her aching shoulders.
His face looked more rested and the lines of exhaustion that bracketed his mouth had eased.
Faye offered him the water skin and he took it with a nod of thanks. The afternoon softened into evening.
“Brynn.” Gregory pointed.
Faye squinted against the low sun. The battlements of the castle were visible on the horizon. The next step in their quest and nerves fluttered in her belly. She prayed they would find Simon and be able to free him.
They stopped before dark to water the bullocks and stretch their legs. The lights of Brynn grew stronger against the darkening sky. Soon now, she whispered to her son on the wings of the birds flying home to roost.
* * * *
Faye tried not to fidget, but it was hard when she was moments away from having her son safe and with her again. They huddled together in their hiding place and watched and waited.
Brynn Castle settled for the night. Gregory had been right. Robert of Brynn was a careless lord. The single guard slumbered before a small fire in the gatehouse. It had been laughably easy to slip into the bailey.
Around the stone central keep, smaller, wooden buildings stood amongst large piles of unused stone, as if the building had stopped. One would pass a drafty, damp winter in Brynn. Noise from the keep filtered into the bailey. The kitchens stood outside and serving drudges dashed between the donjon and the kitchen condemning Brynn’s diners to an icy meal. Few torches lit the bailey. She and Gregory took advantage of the deep shadows and watched from a corner where the stable joined the curtain wall. Their view included the entire bailey, from the gatehouse to the keep door and the wide sweep before the stable to the kitchens.
Gregory’s hand tightened on her arm.
Faye winced and glared at him.
He motioned with his head. “There.”
A small figure trotted out of the keep and into the bailey. Faye’s heart stopped. Her limbs froze. Simon walked with his head bowed toward the stables. Toward her. Faye lurched for him.
Gregory jerked her back.
Faye lashed out at him. That was her son and nothing would keep her from him.
“I will get him.” Gregory caught her fists in his. “Stay hidden.”
Thank you, God. Tears blurred Gregory’s tall form as he strolled into the bailey. He slid in behind a small group of men headed for the keep. When he neared Simon, he stepped away from the group and ambled over to her boy.
Simon started and turned. A smile of recognition lit his face.
Do not shout out! Faye shot to her feet.
Gregory clapped his arm about the boy’s shoulder and shook his head. He bent to whisper in his ear.
Simon nodded and turned with him.
She wiped the tears to clear her vision. She could barely contain herself in her hiding place. His face was dirty and he hadn’t changed his tunic in days but he was hale and here.
They reached her and Simon was in her arms. Faye wrapped him close to her. His familiar weight, a sweet ache right through her. She ran her hands over him. Two legs, two arms, chest, back, neck, all accounted for and well.
Simon trembled and Faye tightened her hold.
“Mama.” Simon wriggled free. He blinked rapidly and ducked his head to hide his tears.
Faye wanted to pick him up and cradle him to her. Simon was too old for that, so she spared his boyish dignity. Her mother’s heart throbbed in protest. It seemed an age since she could hold him.
“What are you doing here?” Simon spoke to Gregory.
Gregory cleared his throat. “We have come for you.”
Simon’s face crumpled and his lips trembled. He dropped his head and jammed it into Gregory’s belly.
The big man wrapped his arms about Simon’s slight shoulders.
Simon’s shoulders shook as he buried his face deeper, clutching Gregory’s waist.
Faye’s tears ran fresh. Her son was small and fragile against the big man.
“Master Simon!” A plump young woman stepped into the bailey.
Faye’s heart missed a beat.
<
br /> Gregory tensed and swung his head toward her. “Who is it?”
“Brynn’s nurse.” The reply was muffled by Gregory’s tunic. “She has come looking to put me to bed.”
The woman’s features were pinched, shrewish. Her son should not be in the hands of a bad tempered woman. “Where is Ruth?”
“At table.” Simon shrugged. “She will come to me later.”
“Master Simon.” The shrew thrust her hands on her hips and glared about the bailey. She stopped a kitchen drudge. “Have you seen that boy?”
“We have little time.” Gregory crouched in front of Simon. “You must listen and you must be very, very brave.”
Simon blinked, his expression intent.
“No one can know we are here.” Gregory gripped him by the shoulders.
Simon nodded.
Her son should not have to be brave. Already, he had weathered a large storm. If it were up to her, she would snatch him up, right this instant, and run with him until her legs could no longer carry her.
“You must go with her now.” Gregory motioned the shrew with his head. “But we will come for you.”
Simon’s gaze seared into her. “Take me now.”
Faye burned to do just that, but they must be careful. Leaving her son here went against all her instincts, but she had to let her head rule.
Simon glared at her, willing her to give him what he wanted. Her betrayal twisted sharp enough to catch her breath. There were things a mother had to do that made her heart ache. This was by far the worst and so much more important than denying him extra sweets because his belly might ache, or sending him to bed because he needed his rest. All their lives depended on her holding firm against the entreaty in Simon’s face.
“We cannot.” Gregory turned Simon to face him. “If we leave now, they will know you are gone too soon. We need time so we can put some distance behind us when we go.”
She had not come this far to lose him in a mad, ill-judged escape.
“When will you come?” Simon’s voice shook.
“Tonight.” Faye cupped her son’s cheek. Not one moment longer than that. “We will come tonight.”
Gregory frowned and nodded. “Tonight.”
Gaze glittering in the dark, Simon drew his shoulders back. “I can sneak out and meet you here. They never check on me once they think I am asleep.”
Gregory pursed his lips. “After Compline, wait until all is quiet before you go. You must dissemble. Can you do that?”
“Aye.” Simon’s chest swelled. “Like Sir Gruff in the story about the fire dragon.”
“Indeed.” Gregory ruffled his hair. “Just like Sir Gruff. If the dragon knows what you are about, all could be lost.”
Exasperation laced the nurse’s tone. “Master Simon?”
“You must go before we are discovered.” Gregory’s hands tightened on Simon’s shoulders. “But mark me well. Do not put yourself in danger. If you cannot escape tonight, we will find another way.”
Simon shifted in his grasp. “But—”
“Mark me.” Gregory gave him a small shake. “We will find another way. You must trust in your mother and me. Can you do that?”
“Aye.” Simon gulped as he peeped at Faye. “You swear it?”
Her heart and soul if he asked. “I swear.” Faye kissed his forehead and inhaled his little boy scent, drew it deep, a tonic for her ache.
“Master Simon! This is no time for your mischief. Where are you?” Footsteps approached their hiding place.
“Go.” Gregory gave Simon a small shove. “Go now and remember, tonight if you can, but do not put yourself in danger.”
Simon backed away and his footsteps faltered as he stared at Gregory. “You swear.”
“My solemn oath.” Gregory put his hand over his heart. “You must be brave but not foolish. Now, you swear.”
“I swear.” Simon solemnly repeated Gregory’s gesture.
A lump lodged in Faye’s throat. Part of her walked away as Simon dragged his steps into the light of the torches, dwarfed by the large, dim bailey.
“There you are.” The nasty shrew grabbed his arm. “I have been looking everywhere for you. Where have you been, you naughty boy?”
Faye curled her hands into fists so hard her nails dug into her palms. Nobody grabbed her son like that. She wanted to dash out of her hiding place and cuff the woman.
“I was getting some air,” Simon said.
“‘Getting some air.’” The nurse snorted. “What will you say next? Come along now. It is time for your prayers and then bed.”
“Aye, Nurse.”
Faye hummed with the need to follow him, to snatch up her child and take him away.
Gregory’s hand covered hers. One by one, he unclenched her fingers and laced them with his. Serious as the grave, he nodded. “Tonight.”
Faye latched onto his strength and his certainty. “Tonight.”
Chapter 10
Faye paced the patch of grass beside the wagon.
Gregory crouched beside the cart and dragged a whetstone against the side of his blade. The steady scrape had her near to screaming. “How much longer?”
“Not too much longer.” Gregory kept his head bowed his large hands working his blade. “We will hear the bells for Compline shortly.”
She had no clue where he found his patience. It must stand him in good stead at the Abbey. He didn’t look like a monk now. Dressed as a normal man, performing a task she had seen him do countless times. Blade across his knees, whetstone in one large, scarred hand as he worked it over the edge. Gregory never liked to be still for long. Always, he had to keep his hands busy. He tested the edge of his sword against his thumb.
Faye braced for renewed scraping.
He slipped the sword into the scabbard and stood.
Thank you, Lord. “Now?”
“After Compline.” Painfully slowly, he fastened the sword about his waist.
She would go mad. Her ears strained to catch the toll of the bells. The jagged scream of a vixen broke the still night, and Faye leapt.
“Soon now.” Gregory perched on the edge of the cart and crossed his ankles.
Faye pressed her hand to her racing heart. “What if he has encountered difficulty?”
“We will find out soon.”
A bullock lowed. They were yoked to the cart, their harness fastened to the trunk of a small tree. Everything stood in readiness for them to fetch Simon home.
Gregory adjusted his sword belt.
“How can you stand it?” It burst out of her. Any more of this waiting and she would snatch up his sword and charge into Brynn.
He shrugged. “I am accustomed to it.”
The silence stretched between them. A nightjar sang, crickets chirped, the bullocks munched their cud, and still, no bell tolled.
“It is not much different from waiting for battle to join,” he said.
Any conversation would be better than this strained, pressing silence. “Do you miss battle?”
“Nay.” He shook his head. “I never craved battle as some men do. It was something I did because it was my duty. The violence is sickening.” He tensed and cocked his head. “Listen.”
“Wha—”
He held up his hand.
A gentle carol of bells rose from the valley.
“Compline.” Gregory stood.
Vigor surged through Faye. Perspiration broke over her and she wiped damp palms against her rough wool bliaut.
Gregory led the way deeper into the thicket, skirting the outer wall of Brynn. The postern gate lay hidden behind an outcropping of rock.
Jaw tensed, Gregory stopped. A guard’s footfalls clipped on the stones. He turned and went back in the other direction.
On a nod, Gregory ran for the concealing rocks.
Panting, heart thundering, Faye followed.
The postern gate was still open, as they had left it when they departe
d earlier. It was shocking how easy it was to slip within Brynn. Her father would never have allowed a gate to go unguarded, never mind it remaining open hour after hour. The keep stood like a great, dark, silent sentinel.
Gregory returned to their former hiding place and crouched.
Faye stayed behind him and copied his movements.
In the deserted bailey, smoldering fires cast a faint orange glow outside the kitchens. One stray spark and the keep would be lost. Untended flames would devour the kitchen and find an easy meal of the wooden parts of the main structure. It was mete she get her son out of this place.
Gregory blended with the shadows.
Her breathing rasped louder than a file. She pressed her hand over her mouth to silence it. The air carried the stench of horse manure. Faye shuddered to think of the state of the stables in this place. Her knees grew stiff, and she stared so hard at the dark, still keep door, it blurred. Faye eased her knees to the damp ground.
Anything could be happening within that slovenly keep. Mayhap Simon had been stopped and confined. Or he waited, like her, for the chance to escape but couldn’t. Had he fallen asleep from waiting for so long? He was only seven years and it was an awful lot to ask of a young boy. She should never have allowed him to return with that careless nurse. She should have grabbed him and run with him when she had the chance. “I—”
Gregory held up his hand.
She measured time by the tramp of the single guard’s footsteps. At least this one was not dozing beside the fire, but walking the keep as he should. Simon was not coming. She was sure of it. Something had gone wrong. She would have to go and get him. She rose.
Gregory tugged her back down.
“He is not coming.” Her whisper was like a shout.
Gregory pressed his finger to his lips.
Silence be damned. Her son could be in all manner of trouble. She had not come this far to skulk in the shadows until dawn and then make another of Gregory’s infernal plans. She hated plans. She must be more like her father than she supposed. Sir Arthur was a man of action. Even so, her father did nothing to aid her. He, too, waited at Anglesea and made one plan after another. He would secure Simon’s release through other means. Blast that to hell. The blasphemy soothed her ire a mite.
