Stooped shoulders straightening, Sir Daviess said, “You assume any force has come to attack. That’s not our experience here. We’ve had no trouble in this part of the country for years.”
He looked Giles in the eyes, his own clear and focused. “If you think these men have come for you,” he said, “tell me now.”
“The only threat is from Langley,” Giles said. “Lady Emelin was betrothed to Lord Osbert, but I discovered she was in danger. That’s why I took her away. Her brother will want her back.”
“Her brother? That would be Garley of Compton?” Sir Daviess nodded. “I remember his father. A meaner example of God’s creation I never saw. Like his father in that, is Garley? Poor little lady. I’ll see she comes to no harm. But if she’s betrothed to Osbert—that may be a problem.”
Another call came from above them. “Milord, looks like some of our men out there. Can’t make ’em all out, but the one in front’s waving at us. There. It’s Lord Paxton’s captain.”
“Open the gates then,” Sir Daviess ordered. “No harm in them. Must have run into some trouble.”
Giles wasn’t so sure. He motioned Davy over. “Tell Lady Emelin to remain out of sight until we know what brought these soldiers back.”
“Are you coming?” he called to Sir Thomas. The captain followed him to the top of the wall where they watched the soldiers approach. Some of the horses were loaded with what looked like packs. As they drew nearer, Giles realized the packs were bodies. He recalled, then, the injured man Sister Ressa spoke of earlier.
Who would attack what amounted to a small army? At least a score of riders filed into the open space inside the walls, bringing along the horses bearing the dead men.
“Carl!” Ran’l broke away from the Granville soldiers who stood to the side and raced to one of the mounts. He jerked back a blanket that covered the animal’s burden. “Carl.” The burly man’s voice shook. “Ye had t’ go lookin’ fer it.”
He untied the rope and lifted his friend’s body in his big arms. Linking the blanket with a finger, he elbowed through the crowd and disappeared out the gate.
“’Is sister’s man,” Davy said at Giles’ side. “’E was tellin’ me about Carl yesterday. Said ’e was always wantin’ the easy way.”
Nearby the commander of the returning troops barked orders to his men. When Sir Thomas tried to intervene, the other soldier narrowed his eyes. “You don’t worry, none. We’ll take care of what needs to be done here. My lord’s orders. He sent us back to secure the castle. Tell your crazy old master to stay out of the way.”
Giles couldn’t let that pass. “The man you refer to is Sir Daviess, and he’s the lord of this holding. You take your orders from him.” Giles hadn’t moved, but a circle opened at the sound of his voice.
“Who are you? Didn’t see you here before. Hidin’ so you wouldn’t have to fight?” Two men standing nearby snickered.
Giles stepped forward, but before he could react, Sir Daviess strode through the cluster of men. “Where were you attacked?” The old lord’s gray head was raised, his shoulders back. No trace of vagueness clung to him. “What about the rest of my men? Are they well?”
“They’re unharmed.” Faced with an authoritative lord of Granville, the soldier granted some courtesy. “My lord asked that you give us shelter until he can join us.”
“Were you attacked near here?” Sir Daviess repeated. “I must know if my people are threatened.”
“No,” the answer came at last. “It happened some distance away, early yesterday. Lord Paxton’s took care of the problem. He’ll be here in a few days, but he sent us ahead to fill out your garrison. I’ll assign my men.”
Sir Daviess peered through narrowed eyes. “I thank your lord for his thoughtfulness, but my captain of the guard will make those assignments. Consider yourselves our guests until he arrives.”
Giles left while they settled the dispersal of men. He needed to inform Emelin that the newcomers weren’t from Langley. Still, the idea of sending her with the nun was good. No one would think to search in Lincoln.
At his side, Davy kept step. For once the lad had nothing to say. Finally Giles’ curiosity took over. “You’re very quiet. Did you learn something?”
Davy shrugged. “It’s Missy,” he said at last. “’Er brother’s bad off. Broke arm, arrow through ’is shoulder. She was cryin’ somethin’ fierce all night.”
Must be the wounded man the sister mentioned. Perhaps he could shed some light on the attack. Odd that he made it back to Granville before the others.
“Where is Missy’s brother?”
“Same place as you was. The tower room.”
“Find Lady Emelin. Tell her to stay out of sight.”
Davy disappeared into the returning troops, and Giles adjusted his course across the bailey. He slipped inside the chamber that served as sick room. The place didn’t look familiar, but then he’d been unconscious for most of his stay in it.
Lying on the low pallet was a youth who looked scarcely older than Davy. His face gleamed pale in the light from the high window and nearby brazier. What had the girl called him? “Will?”
Eyes opened. “Eh? Sir Thomas?”
Giles walked to his side “No. I’m Missy’s friend, Sir Giles. What happened to you?”
A wary expression spread over the boy’s face. “Why d’ya wanta know?”
“Your commander just arrived with the other men.”
Will’s guarded look became fearful. “Don’t tell’im I be here. He’ll finish me, sure.”
“Why would he hurt you? Did you desert?” Giles forced his voice to remain neutral. Deserters weren’t tolerated. That might account for his injuries.
“I’d never! Where’s Sir Thomas? Got news fer’im.”
“Sir Thomas is busy right now. He sent me.”
Will tried to sit but collapsed part way up. Giles grabbed the youth as he fell. The boy was burning up. How could he be so warm, yet look so pallid?
“It’s all right,” Giles reassured him. “Just tell me what happened? Where were you when the attack came?”
Will’s eyes closed as he lay down once more, his shallow breaths loud. Finally he murmured, “’T’weren’t no attack. I were on guard duty, up in a tree. Carl were on the ground. Reckon I closed m’ eyes fer a minute, ’cause next I knew, heard Carl yellin’. There’s these men wearin’ plaids, ridin’ right fer us. He tried to stop ’em, but one of ’em jest stabbed ’im down. Then they stopped right under me. I didn’t know what to do, so I jest kept my mouth shut.”
Eyes screwed tight, the boy chewed on his lower lip.
“Then what?” Giles prompted.
“After a bit, I heard another horse. I looked down, careful, and it was Sir Justus, him that’s our leader. They was talkin’, ’n they took off the plaids ’n put ’em in their packs. Said, ‘All’s well. Two gone.’”
“Two what?”
“Don’t know. Sir Justus says, ‘Hand ’em over. I’ll take ’em back.’”
Giles puzzled over the story. “How were you shot then?”
The youth groaned, but at last opened one eye. “Thought they’d all gone. Started to climb down ’n I heard someone shout. Then somethin’ jest hit m’ shoulder ’n knocked me right off’n the limb. Hit m’ head. Broke m’ arm. They came over ’n kicked me ’n laughed. Said, ‘Poacher’s brat. He’s dead. Leave ’im.’”
“They didn’t know you were with the army, then.” Giles nodded. “Good work, soldier.”
A broken whisper came back. “But…if I hadn’t slept, Carl wouldn’a died.”
“You couldn’t have helped Carl,” Giles said. “Those men would have killed you both for discovering their secret. By remaining hidden, you were able to report back valuable information.”
He doubted Will knew just how valuable. Giles would bet his crusader’s sword that reports would soon arrive of a raid by a band of Scots. Not an uncommon practice—pretend to be an enemy, stir up trouble to divert attentio
n from the real threat.
One last question he wanted answered. “How did you get back here before the others?”
“Knew a short cut. After a while, I come on a burnt up cottage. Found a ole’ mare in the pasture.”
Giles clasped Will’s good shoulder again. “Resourceful lad. Rest now. Sir Daviess will want you up and around as soon as can be.”
Outside, Giles avoided the soldiers and worked his way back to the great hall. He hated to be right at times like this. But the story he’d just heard verified what he’d come to suspect.
Lord Paxton, posing as “the king’s man,” schemed to foment trouble between England and Scotland. He dispatched fighters dressed as Scotsmen to raid and kill. But who would believe they came this far south into England? He answered his own question: Anyone who saw fighters dressed the part.
And everything Giles learned led to another conclusion. Lord Paxton appeared to be collecting an army en route, enlisting fighters from the lords he visited. This army would be ready to move the moment proof came that the Scots had attacked England.
When word reached King Richard, he’d be forced to split his attention and his soldiers between France and England. Philip of France would benefit. So would any man devious enough to take advantage of uncertainty wherever the battles occurred—say, in England.
Giles decided. Once Emelin was safely away from Granville, he’d ride to intercept Henry.
Chapter Twenty-Four
He ran her to ground in the solar. Nodding to the other two ladies, he took Emelin’s hands.
“You must go with Sister Ressa. This wasn’t your brother, but unless I miss my guess, he’ll be here soon, along with Langley.” He turned to the nun. “Can you offer Lady Emelin a place until I come for her?”
Sister Ressa nodded. “Of course. She’ll be safe with us.”
Emelin opened her mouth, but he shook his head. “No arguments, now. I’ll ride to Chauvere as soon as you’re gone. There’s more at stake than we thought.”
He glanced at the nun. “You must leave as soon as you can be ready. I’ll ask Sir Daviess to arrange an escort.”
“I think I can manage that.” Sir Daviess stood in the doorway. He leveled a forefinger at Giles. “You, sir, I want to talk with.”
Giles turned to Emelin. “I’ll see you before you leave.” Realizing he still held her hands, he squeezed them before walking away.
The old lord could be trusted, and Giles decided to tell him the truth. As much of it as he needed to know, that is. The two made their way down to the hall, while Giles outlined what he suspected. He even admitted he was under orders from the king. Sir Daviess simply nodded.
“Not surprised there’s trouble brewing,” he admitted. “We’re sheltered from politics, out of the way as Granville is. Knew Prince John had his fingers in things a few years back, but lately life’s been quiet. Still, I’d have to be deaf not to hear what has gone on at Langley. Don’t know what Osbert’s thinking. A good, steady lord he once was. Not having an heir can change a man, that’s the truth.”
Giles could hear the pain in the other man’s voice. What would he do if Giles revealed Osbert did have an heir? Or could have, had he kept the promise to Giles’ mother.
Now that more of his men had returned, Sir Daviess appointed four guards to escort the ladies to Lincoln. He carefully outlined the route, naming manors where they could shelter along the way, if need be.
While Emelin and Sister Ressa prepared for their journey, Giles made his plans. Best warn Davy or the dratted boy would trail along and likely land himself in trouble. He knew just where to find the youth. In the kitchen shack, the lad and Missy shared a small loaf of fresh-baked bread slathered in honey.
Giles pulled Davy aside for orders. “I depend on you to tell me what’s happened when I return. You must be careful.” He lowered his voice. “Stay out of sight. Do you understand?”
Davy nodded eagerly. “I’ll keep a good lookout, milord.”
“I’m not a lord,” Giles reminded the youth. “Now. Take no risks. Squire’s honor?” There was no such oath, but if it would keep the irrepressible Davy cautious, he’d create one. The boy gave a vigorous nod.
When Giles returned to the hall, he noticed an increased number of soldiers milling around the bailey. The main gate stood open, and he spotted another pair ride in. Best leave by the postern gate, to avoid explanations he wasn’t ready to make.
Emelin and the Sister stood at the bottom of the hall steps with Lady Clysta. Damn. He couldn’t say goodbye in front of the others. He grabbed Emelin’s hand and dragged her behind him as he tried the latch on a lower storage chamber. Finding it unlocked, they darted inside.
He jerked her into his arms, his lips finding hers for a final farewell. At last, she pulled away, gasping.
“Learn to inhale through your nose,” his rough voice teased.
“I would if you didn’t rob me of breath every time you appear,” came the pert whisper. But her eyes were solemn. “Will we meet again?”
He groaned. His arms enveloped her once more, pressed her cheek to his chest. “I’ll find you when it’s over. I vow to see you safe before I return to Normandy.”
Emelin’s hand scrabbled against his chest. Was she weeping? His fingers touched her wet eyes.
“Don’t ever cry for me.” His voice caught in his throat. When had any woman ever done so? “I’m not worth your tears.”
She rose on tiptoes and grasped his shoulders. “You are worth everything. Be careful. I won’t be nearby to bind another injury.” Her lips muffled his answer. Then she was gone.
Striding after, he insisted in setting her on the mare she’d ridden from Langley. His hand slid around her ankle for a quick caress before the group made its way through the gate.
With every step of the horses away from the castle, a vacuum opened in Giles’ chest. A gaping black hole he feared might never heal. He raised his hand in a last farewell, then ran up the steps to gather his pack.
Inside the small chamber he’d so briefly occupied, he set down the candle and donned an old tunic Lady Clysta had thrust at him earlier. He gathered the rough, excess fabric under a belt. Big man, Cook’s husband had been. But dressed as a servant, he’d escape notice. A quick brush of his side confirmed no pain from the wound.
Outside again, he took his time in an unobtrusive ramble to the stables where he met Davy. The boy had saddled Nuit. Giles opened his mouth in surprise. Davy shrugged.
“We come to an understandin’.” The youth threw the animal a glare. “’E don’t kick me, ’n I give ’im an apple. It works.”
With all the turmoil in the bailey, Giles hoped no one noticed a servant riding a knight’s horse. He mounted, slung the pack over the saddle, then leveled a finger at the lad who’d become his shadow. “Stay.”
Davy nodded and smiled. “Squire’s honor. ’Sides, you need me. I ’spect I’ll visit this gate right often ever’ day. Just in case.”
Missy materialized from behind a hay bale in the stables, Dammit tucked in the crook of her neck. Holding one of the kitten’s paws in her other hand, she waved it at Giles then stood at Davy’s side.
As the door swung silently shut, he heard Davy warn, “Not a peep o’ what you saw, aw’ right?”
A galloping horse would attract attention, so Giles meandered as if he had every right to be leaving the castle. In that leisurely manner, he made his way to the path Sir Daviess had outlined. Now to intercept Lord Henry.
****
Emelin rode quietly as the small group led by Sir James made its way along the dusty road. She couldn’t speak if she tried, not for the lump constricting her throat. No matter how hard she swallowed, it clung. Sometimes it bounced down into her chest where it lodged, like now, threatening to crush her with fear.
Fear for those innocent men and women left behind. Fear that Giles rode to his death. Fear that she’d be forced to wed one man when her heart lay with another.
For a distance Emelin
gave in to the emotions swirling in a morass that sucked her into the vortex. Tears filled her eyes. She tilted back her head to keep them from escaping down her cheeks. Sister Ressa would notice and expect her to explain. How could she tell the nun that her life stretched before her like a desert.
Oh, she knew her thoughts were overly tragic, but right now she didn’t care. She missed Giles, wanted his warm, strong arms enfolding her. Perhaps she’d never feel them again.
He faced a real threat with her brother, even more than with her betrothed. And the mysterious “king’s man” he sought? She didn’t understand why the mission was so important, but Giles had convinced her the man presented a real peril.
She had every confidence he would prevail, but that confidence didn’t prevent her worry he’d be hurt again. And she wouldn’t be near to tend him.
“Life is never so bad as we think,” Sister Ressa said.
The voice grounded Emelin, bringing her back to reality with a jolt and a vague wash of guilt. “I was indulging a bout of self-pity,” she admitted.
“The threat of danger and sadness always exists,” the nun said. “No need to live them before they occur. Trust in Our Lord to do the worrying. We cannot be certain of what will happen tomorrow. So for today, let us enjoy all His gifts.” She swept her hand to indicate the surrounding landscape.
The sun cast merry beams along the countryside, bathing a nearby pond in golden sparkles. Even fields, stubbled in remnants of summer crops, thrust their browned faces to the warmth.
To Emelin’s way of thinking, with all that had occurred today, the sun should be obscured by gray clouds, not taunting with brightness in an ocean of blue.
She recalled the trip to Granville with Giles in the cart. Sunbeams had danced through autumn branches then, as well, winking shadows across his face. It seemed a lifetime ago he had stolen her away from Langley, not just days. She’d lost track of the number.
The rich fragrances of earth and dried grass, the occasional pungent wisp of manure on the air, were like perfume. She loved the land, the people. In her short time at Granville, she experienced again the harmony of a home filled with love, with acceptance. How she longed for such a home of her own.
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