Winter Dreams

by Robyn Neeley

  “Oh! I haven’t shown you this.” Tilly set the book aside and Imma wondered if it would be forgotten again. Had she ever been so distracted by happiness? Maybe, when she was a child, and thought summer would last forever.

  Tilly walked to the clothes chest by her bed and opened the lid. she reached inside and pulled out a small object. “Osbrycht gave this to me as a betrothal gift. He and Robert have finalized the contract.” She held out the object for Imma to see. It was a small wooden box with a cloisonné enamel and gold lid.

  Imma stared at it. A beautiful trinket, of no little value. She had last seen it when Helen had tucked it into her traveling trunk before that awful morning in the forest.

  “It’s lovely,” she said, forcing a bright smile, trying not to recoil when Tilly thrust the box closer to her. Imma couldn’t bear to even touch it.

  “Osbrycht is very generous,” Tilly said, setting the trinket down. “Will you join me weaving today?”

  “Not just at present,” Imma said, getting to her feet unsteadily. “I have an errand. But later — ” Unable to keep the smile on her face, she grabbed Morfydd and her cloak and fled the room.

  She wrapped the cloak around her shoulders and went into the foreyard. Settling on her usual stone bench, she held the cat in her lap, stroking its fur to soothe her panicky feeling. She must think about what she’d seen. She was certain the cloisonné box belonged to Helen. She was equally certain she was the only person at Athelney who could recognize it as such. Elizabeth had probably never seen it before. How often had she been in Helen’s Canterbury home, looking at trinkets? It had fallen into the possession of the thiefmen, and from there to Osbrycht and thence to Tilly.

  Imma took a gulp of air, trying to catch her breath, to impose some discipline on her racing mind. How had Osbrycht obtained the box? That was the essential question. She remembered how he had asked her about the attack during their conversation at the welcome feast. If he had been one of the thiefmen, now he knew there had been a survivor. She had not thought his conversation remarkable at the time. But now … .

  When the attack happened, she had been among the trees on the trail of a crane, bow in hand, which was how she had escaped its violence. She had seen nothing of the attackers or the attack, only heard it happening and witnessed its aftermath. She would not recognize any of the thiefmen. She was no threat to anyone. She had said as much to Osbrycht. So she was safe, wasn’t she? He would have acted against her before now if she wasn’t, wouldn’t he?

  Why had he given the box to Tilly? He must know Imma might recognize it since she was an intimate of Helen’s. Why take the risk? Or perhaps he had not realized she would recognize the trinket. She had not told him she was a close friend of Helen’s, merely that she was in the company. Or perhaps like Lord Robert, he disbelieved her story. Or perhaps he had forgotten where it had come from. Or perhaps he had purchased it at the market at Glastonbury, never knowing its provenance. Perhaps —

  Her hands tightened in the cat’s fur. She forced herself to relax her grip. What should she tell Tilly? What purpose would it serve to relay her suspicions? If he were a thiefman — a murderer and worse — then Tilly should not marry him. But Imma had no proof that he was. If she told Tilly her fears, the concern would not be enough to make her refuse him, but it would be enough to taint her feelings with fear and doubt toward the man who would be her husband. If she told Tilly, Tilly would go to Osbrycht for an explanation. Tilly would think that was only fair. And Osbrycht would know what Imma suspected. Then — what would he do?

  She could ask Elizabeth her opinion, but it would be impossibly distressing for the older woman to hear her suspicions, considering how fond she was of both Osbrycht and Tilly. Imma couldn’t forget Elizabeth’s reaction when she’d thought Robert was lost. If she believed Robert’s household protected the men who had brutally savaged and murdered Helen, Elizabeth might have another heart attack. She would never survive a second one.

  Imma could approach Robert, but Robert had never believed her story in the first place. Why would he believe this one, especially since she had no proof? And if he did believe her, what would he do? Would he decide that since Osbrycht was being sent away, no other action was needed? Nothing could be proved against him. Imma was not sure how much Robert would care about Tilly’s fate.

  Except for Tilly, Imma would keep her peace. If Osbrycht were innocent, Tilly should enjoy her life with him. If not, Tilly must be warned and prevented from marrying the man. But how? Imma didn’t know.

  • • •

  She went into the lesser hall in search of Lord Robert, her arms full of the cat, stopping short when she saw Malcolm bent over the account books on Lord Robert’s desk.

  “What are you doing here?” she demanded, almost dropping Morfydd. She had nearly forgot her cousin was a captive at Athelney. At her question, Malcolm moved away from the desk and turned to face her.

  “I wish to speak with Robert,” his said, his voice cold, his eyes glittering with contempt.

  She didn’t believe him. “I would be glad to summon a servant to bring you to him,” she said.

  He smiled, but his smile was as cold as his voice. “That will not be necessary, my lady,” he said.

  “Oh, no,” she responded, making herself just as cold. “I insist.”

  She turned to the door but in two strides he was at her side. He grasped her shoulder and said, “Has he won your loyalty, then? Thirty pieces of silver, and you forget your family? My father raised you and loved you — ”

  “It isn’t like that,” she said, just as she had protested before, and he gave a short bark of laughter. Then he looked at her and said, “By God, you love him.”

  “No,” she gasped, pulling away, her heart thudding in her chest. No good could come of a conversation like this. She stopped and gathered herself. She mustn’t let him fluster her into doing or saying anything she’d regret.

  “I hope I’m wrong,” he said, then gave another unpleasant smile. “Although perhaps that is exactly what you deserve. Betraying your family for love of a man who is incapable of loving you back.”

  “That’s not true.” Even as she said it, she knew she wasn’t sure.

  Malcolm’s dark eyes never left her face. “Then you are willing to prove your loyalty,” he said. “You can — ”

  “I will prove nothing,” she interrupted. “I will not betray Robert. And I will not betray Gruffydd.”

  Malcolm gave a bark of laughter. “That, my lady, is an impossible task. You must choose.”

  “I will not do that.”

  “Then you have already chosen,” Malcolm said, and left the room.

  • • •

  “My lord.”

  Robert glanced over his shoulder. Imma hurried across the foreyard to catch up with him, the cat in her arms. He was on his way to meet with his horse-thane and to go for a quick ride with him while discussing the matter of horses that had been stolen. He had a busy day ahead and he hoped Imma would be quick. What business did she have that could not wait an hour until he returned to the hall?

  “Yes?” He tried to curb his impatience but he knew it sounded in his tone.

  “There is something I need to tell you, concerning Tilly,” she said.

  He stifled a sigh. “Must it be now?” he demanded. As much as he hoped Tilly would be happy, the women in his household tended to forget that not everyone had their entire focus on the girl’s upcoming wedding.

  “I think so,” she said, but she sounded doubtful.

  “Very well.”

  “Osbrycht gave her a gift — ”

  He could not help the sigh. “Well?” he demanded. “What of it?”

  She took a step back. “Never mind,” she said and turned away.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Imma pushed open the door to the we
aving workshop. She should have known better than to think Robert would hear her out patiently, understanding her concerns and acting on them. She must think, and consider a solution herself.

  The workshop was empty, as it often was this time of morning. No fire had yet been started in the hearth. She pulled her cloak closer as she shut the door behind her, then bent to lift a log into the fireplace.

  No prickles of unease warned her, no premonition demanded her attention. Without warning, the blow fell, slamming against the back of her head. Bright lights splintered all around her as she dropped to her knees. Rough hands grabbed her and bound her wrists and ankles. Before she could make a sound, coarse fingers stuffed a filthy rag into her mouth. Then the hands covered her with a length of fabric, blotting out the light. They carried her from the workshop and tossed her into an enclosed cart. As she tried to push herself to a sitting position, a driver called to the horses and the cart rolled forward through the gates of the keep.

  Her heart thundered. Confused and disoriented, she tried to make sense of what had happened. Had slavers captured her? Inside Lord Robert’s keep?

  No. Thiefmen had — Osbrycht.

  Why? Fear crawled along her skin. The fabric they had covered her with slipped aside as she moved. She cracked open an eyelid. The enclosed cart resembled the one that had carried Helen and her through the forest but the seats had been pulled out of this cart to make room for the weaving supplies. She made out bolts of fabric and bags of wool — and a tall, thickset man she had never seen before. When he saw her look at him, he gave her a repellent leer. She squeezed her eyes closed. She tested her bonds, then realized in their hurry to take her they had overlooked the dagger in her sleeve. That was promising. It suggested a plan. If only she could think what —

  She had instinctively distrusted Osbrycht’s charm and his too-ready smile. But he had gone to a great deal of trouble to kidnap her if he only wanted to kill her. It made no sense.

  “What does Osbrycht plan for me?” she demanded, warily watching her captor.

  Her question stopped him, and he ran his hand over his face, giving her a sly smile. She knew the disgust showed on her face by the way he laughed. “Why does Osbrycht want to hurt me?” she demanded.

  “Osbrycht is upset with you, my lady.”

  “Why?”

  “Why? If not for you, Lord Robert would be dead in the forest. And all the thiefmen would not have been murdered. There are only the four of us left.”

  “If Osbrycht had been cleverer, I would never have gone after Robert,” Imma said. It had been Osbrycht’s uncharacteristic failure to do his duty that had spurred Imma to find Robert herself.

  “Osbrycht is wroth,” the man said, ignoring her insult of his master’s intelligence. “He plans to rule these lands after Robert is gone.” He said it matter-of-factly, as if killing Robert was merely a small task to be accomplished. “He is Lord Robert’s second, as far as Lord John knows, and he will hold these lands for Lord John. And we can do as we please.” Again the repellent smile. “Osbrycht says Lord Robert will come away from the keep for you. And he will not wait to summon all of his retainers, but will ride with only a few of his men. And they will die.” He shifted so he was crouching closer to her, his warm, stinking breath on her face.

  Imma forced down the cry of fear that wanted to tear from her throat. Frantically, she pulled her hands against the bonds that held her. She must not let this happen. She had seen what they had done to Helen. The fear made her stomach clench and she thought she might vomit.

  The big man loomed over her. The bile rose in her throat and she turned her head away from his stench. He laughed and settled on his haunches to watch her.

  She clutched her trembling arms around her, rocking herself to soothe her outraged, frightened senses. When the cart stopped, she had to get free and run. She had a dagger, and what was left of her nerve, and sheer, cold terror.

  It did not seem like enough.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “My lord Robert!” Tilly shouted, throwing open the door to Robert’s library.

  Robert frowned at the interruption. He’d been discussing the horse thievery with his horse-thane , and he was surprised Tilly would bother him like this.

  “Imma is gone!”

  “What?” he demanded, rising to his feet.

  He could see Tilly visibly control her agitation. “Imma said she would meet me in the workshop, but she’s gone.”

  He expelled a pent-up breath. Good God, to get so worked up over a trifle, a small matter such as Imma’s delay. “Ask Elizabeth — ”

  Tilly turned and beckoned toward the doorway. “This is Hunydd, the healer,” she said as the other woman came into the room.

  “I know who she is,” Robert said. The healer lived in the loft above the weaving workshop. He had taken her in some summers ago when the man who had stolen her from Wales died.

  The woman came forward, inclining her head to Robert. He knew that was the nearest to the courtesy due his station that he was likely to get from her.

  “I was in the loft, sleeping,” Hunydd began, gesturing with her hands. “I was up late tending to a soldier hurt in training.” Robert had a physician for that, but he held his tongue. Some men preferred the ministrations of a wise woman. “And I heard Imma come in. Of course, I was not sure it was her at first, until she cried out. They hit her, you see.”

  “Who hit her?” Robert demanded, a fist crushing the air from his lungs. “What are you talking about?”

  “The men, Osbrycht’s men,” Hunydd said, and Robert’s stomach churned. “I scrambled to the stairs to have a look, and I saw the men tying her up and carrying her out the door. I think I heard a cart take her away. I did not dare follow until I was sure they were gone. It’s as easy to take two women as one if your heart is set on evil. When it was quiet again, I went downstairs and came over to find Tilly.”

  “How long ago?” Robert demanded.

  “Perhaps an hour.”

  “An hour!”

  “I was out looking for Imma,” Tilly explained. “Hunydd did not know where to find me.”

  “Why waste time looking for Tilly?” Robert demanded, speaking to Hunydd. “You should have come to me immediately.”

  “My lord.” Hunydd spread her hands. “I knew Tilly would believe me and act. Lady Elizabeth despises the Welsh, so she would not listen to me, but she would listen to Tilly, and she would make you send out riders if you were disinclined.”

  Robert felt sick to his stomach. He turned to Kenneth. “Summon my reeve.” Then he looked at Hunydd. “Why Osbrycht? Did you hear the men speak?”

  Hunydd shook her head. “They said not a word, not that I could hear. But it was Osbrycht. I smelled him.”

  “What?”

  “When he is excited, he smells sharply of sweat.”

  Robert had never particularly noticed this. He gave Tilly another look. “You are his betrothed. You believe he could do a thing like this?” He considered Osbrycht’s failures as a thane. They didn’t necessarily mean he was capable of a thing like this.

  Tilly hesitated. “I don’t like to think it. But Hunydd would not say something if she didn’t believe it was true.”

  Kenneth came in with Robert’s sword and his riding boots. “The reeve promises to meet you at the stable,” he said.

  “Call whatever thanes are ready to ride,” Robert told his bailiff, who was still seated at the desk. The ball of fear in his stomach had grown bigger. “The gift,” he said.

  “My lord?” Tilly asked.

  “Did Osbrycht give you a gift?”

  “Yes.”

  “What?”

  “A trinket. A small cloisonné box.”

  Robert was not stupid, even if he sometimes acted like it. Imma must have recognized the box. That was w
hat she meant to tell him earlier. Osbrycht had stolen the box from Imma’s party, perhaps from Imma herself. And she had given some sign of recognition. Which meant Osbrycht was one of the thiefmen.

  “If Osbrycht has taken Imma, then he means to hurt you,” Tilly said. “He took her so that you must follow. He will bring her to the place where the thiefmen killed her company.”

  “How do you know?” Robert snapped. “We can’t make a mistake.”

  “Where else would he take her? It’s the logical place for him to confront you.”

  “I will kill him,” Robert said.

  “I should hope so,” Tilly said crisply, and left him to his preparations.

  Chapter Seventeen

  The cart trundled to a stop. Imma tensed, then shifted to a crouch, testing her limbs to make sure every muscle was in working order, that nothing had gone numb from the long ride. The door swung open and Imma blinked in the sunlight, surprised it was still daytime. Then a shadow loomed across the opening.

  She threw herself forward, out of the cart. A hand closed around her arm but she had the dagger out and she used it, tearing herself away from her assailant. He fall back with a cry and she ran.

  Osbrycht gave a startled shout. A blow sent her flying off-balance but she scrambled across the road and into the trees, crashing through the underbrush, hearing the boots of the men against the ground as they dashed after her.

  A thorn drove into her bare foot and she fell to her knees. She pulled the thorn out but the injury had effectively halted her unthinking, headlong flight. She sprang to her feet, trying to catch her breath. She had no shoes. Her slippers had been lost during the struggle at the workshop. But she was going to die of Osbrycht’s plan long before she would die of exposure to the cold.

  She stepped more carefully on the forest floor, trying not to leave obvious tracks. Patches of snow and ice dotted the ground. By staying close to the underbrush and trees, she could avoid leaving telltale signs of her passage. She knew the men were right behind her. Osbrycht was a good hunter and could track her easily. There were at least two other men, possibly three, who were after her.