by Alexa Aston
“Gather your horses and any other belongings and meet me at this spot within a quarter-hour.”
The soldiers peeled away and Ancel went in search of Lady Margery. He spotted her and Will and headed in their direction.
The squire broke away and met him. “My lord, you must talk to the lady. She doesn’t realize what she’s doing is dangerous.”
Ancel frowned. “What’s wrong, Will?”
“She’s . . . petting Storm,” he sputtered. “She wouldn’t listen to me.”
Immediately, Ancel glanced over the squire’s shoulder and saw Lady Margery’s hand gliding along Storm’s enormous side. Then she began to stroke the horse’s neck down to his chest.
Storm held perfectly still.
His jaw dropped. No one could touch Storm except him without fear of losing a few fingers. While the horse had never given Ancel a moment of trouble, he possessed a nasty temper and snapped at anyone who came near. It was why Ancel usually cared for the horse instead of any of the squires attached to the royal household. Not that he minded. His cousins, Raynor and Elysande, had taught him much about horses and both Raynor and Geoffrey de Montfort had encouraged Ancel to always care for his own horse and not leave that task to another.
But to see the very petite Lady Margery engaged in a conversation with the warhorse as she moved her hands over him shocked Ancel.
He rushed over and heard her cooing to the horse.
“My lady?”
She looked up and gave him a brilliant smile. “I have made a new friend, Sir Ancel. I think I am in love with your sweet horse.”
Her smile warmed him as a summer day might. Without realizing it, he returned her smile.
As she stroked the horse, she said, “I was never allowed in the stables at Highfield. In fact, I’ve never been on a horse in my life, except for when you rescued me from the battlefield. But if they all are as sweet and friendly as Storm, I believe I would like to learn how to ride.” She glanced back at Ancel. “Mayhap you could teach me.”
“Lady Margery, did Will not tell you that Storm has a temper? That he snaps at others? That you might lose a few fingers—if not your entire hand?”
She shrugged. “He said that very thing but I cannot imagine Storm behaving so rudely. I believe Will was being overly cautious.” She looked at the horse and crooned, “You would never be ill-tempered with me now, would you, Storm?”
The horse nickered softly. Apparently, Storm had fallen in love with the fetching Lady Margery.
For a moment, Ancel thought he might have, as well.
Chapter 7
“Highfield will be up on the left,” Lady Margery said, turning toward him to make her voice heard over the thundering hooves of the horses.
They had ridden about three leagues from the outskirts of Billericay, which meant London lay less than twenty miles away. Ancel decided he would do what he could to encourage the king to place a large faction of troops at Highfield until peace had returned to Essex. It would prove an ideal location to send out an armed royal force in case unrest occurred in the area again.
A few minutes later, the forest ended. Ancel saw a long road surrounded by fields of wheat on each side and a large manor house in the distance. He led the group down the road and felt the noblewoman stiffen against him. Ancel knew she prepared herself for what they would find.
Open gates awaited them—as did the former baron’s head placed in a prominent place, resting on a spike. Ancel couldn’t blame Lady Margery for averting her eyes as they rode through without stopping. They’d already passed a few bodies on the edge of the fields and along the road and found others scattered about as they entered the outer bailey. He led the party past the training yard, seeing even more corpses, and then to the inner bailey, where he called for a halt.
He’d thought about what needed immediate attention on the ride here. They arrived mid-afternoon and he believed much could be accomplished since hours of summer’s daylight remained.
“You five.” Ancel indicated the soldiers to his immediate left. “Go into the forest to hunt for the next two hours and bring back as much game as you can carry. The peasants may have raided the buttery, so food will be a pressing need.”
The soldiers turned their horses and galloped off.
He yanked the helm from his head and raised his voice so that it would carry across the bailey as he said, “The rest of you need to tend to your horses first. I’m not sure how large the stables are, so they may need to share with the horses already at Highfield. See that any horses or remaining livestock are also watered and fed.”
Lady Margery spoke up. “No horses remain, my lord. I assume they were taken by the rebels. I’m not sure about the rest of the animals.”
He nodded. “Then care for your horses and once you’ve done so, divide in half. One group needs to bring back the dead. Place them in an orderly fashion next to the training yard.” He would need for Lady Margery to view the dead to see if she could identify either of her stepbrothers. “The others can begin to dig graves. Once the bodies have been retrieved, all can continue digging. I want the dead buried by the end of the day so that we can move forward to other tasks.”
Ancel knew that he asked much of the men to accomplish so many tasks in such a short time but the group was large enough that he believed it could be done. The sooner the dead had been placed in their graves, the better. Already, the stench of death hovered over Highfield.
“They will need to check inside the keep, as well,” Lady Margery said quietly.
“Of course.” Ancel instructed the men to search inside the keep and retrieve those bodies first before continuing to the grounds and beyond.
He dismounted and handed Lady Margery down before tucking his helm under his arm.
“Stay here,” he told her, not wanting her to overhear his next order.
Ancel summoned Sir Folcard and drew him aside. “Lady Margery’s mother was murdered in her bed,” he confided to the knight. “Find her now and wrap the body. Take her directly to the chapel. I don’t want the lady to see her mother alongside the group of bodies going rotten in the sun.”
“I’ll see to it at once.” Folcard motioned to another knight beside him. They handed their horses off to others and went inside the keep.
Ancel returned to Lady Margery, who stood close to Storm, stroking him and seemingly lost in thought.
“I know it is difficult for you to return and see your home this way.”
She nodded.
“Have you a priest at Highfield?”
“Aye. Father Martyn, though he is quite advanced in age.”
“We should seek him out.” Ancel signaled Will to his side. “I’m trusting you to look after Storm for me, Will. Are you up to it?”
A stubborn look appeared in the squire’s eyes. “Certainly, my lord. If Lady Margery can make friends with the wicked beast, then I can, too.” He took Ancel’s helm and then gathered the horse’s reins and said, “Come along now, Storm.”
Ancel suppressed a grin and offered Lady Margery his arm. He saw that she, too, hid a smile as she tucked her hand through the crook of his arm.
Wordlessly, she led him across the bailey and toward the small, stone chapel.
They entered the darkened space and Ancel blinked several times as his eyes adjusted from the strong summer sunlight to the dim glow inside the chapel. His eyes scanned the room and settled upon a white-haired man sitting on the steps leading up to the altar.
“’Tis Father Martyn,” Lady Margery confirmed.
He led her to the old man. As they drew closer, Ancel heard the priest softly weeping.
“Father, ‘tis I, Lady Margery,” she said softly.
The bearded priest raised his eyes. “Saints be praised,” he said, his voice breaking as he rose unsteadily to his feet. “I searched for you, my lady. When I could not find you, I prayed that you had escaped this nightmare.”
“Father, this is Sir Ancel de Montfort. The king has sent him
to fortify Highfield.”
The wrinkled face broke out in a smile. “Greetings, my lord.”
“And to you, Father Martyn.” Ancel paused. “I would like you to say a mass for the dead of Highfield as soon as possible.”
“Only one?”
“Aye. One for all of the dead. God will surely understand these are trying times. My men will soon gather those who are no longer with us and they will bury everyone who lost his life by day’s end. If you would like, you may pray over each individual’s grave.”
Father Martyn reached for Ancel’s hands. He bent and kissed the knuckles. “Thank you, my lord. I am old and weary. I had not the strength to attempt such a task.”
“Your job is here, Father.” Ancel looked to Margery. “I am having your mother brought to the chapel now. If you would like, I am sure Father Martyn could first say a separate mass for her soul and then one for the others.”
Tears welled in her eyes. “I would like that.”
Movement caught Ancel’s eye and he turned to see Sir Folcard and the other knight bringing Lady Margery’s mother to the front.
“Thank you,” the noblewoman told them as they laid the wrapped body at the top of the steps.
“I am sorry for your loss, my lady,” Sir Folcard said. “I must apologize, though. We could not find clean linen to cover your mother. I am guessing the peasants stole any spare bedclothes.”
The two knights bowed and exited the chapel. Father Martyn took a few minutes to prepare before beginning the funeral mass. Ancel eyed the bedclothes that encircled the body. He didn’t know how the baroness had been killed but he could see the large bloodstains on the sheets surrounding her body. Anger flared within him at the senseless death of a helpless woman at the hands of a crazed mob.
He led Lady Margery to a seat and sat next to her. As the mass began, he took her hand in his, hoping to offer comfort. She gave him a grateful smile.
The mass ended. Father Martyn offered words of solace to Lady Margery and promised he would now begin a separate mass for the men on the estate who’d lost their lives. Lady Margery thanked him and Ancel led her outside.
“Are you up to accompanying me to the training yard?” he asked.
“You need me to view the bodies,” she said. “To search for Thurstan and Gervase among them before the men bury them.” A pained expression crossed her face.
“Aye. Can you do this?”
She nodded. Ancel realized their hands were still joined. He released the fingers wrapped around hers and offered her his arm once more. Lady Margery took it and they crossed the bailey, moving toward the training yard.
Having all the dead gathered in one place would be convenient for burial but the area reeked. The hot June sun baked into the bodies as flies swarmed over them. Ancel found himself breathing from his mouth to avoid as much of the rancid smell as he could. As they drew near, the sight of the long row of bodies saddened him. He couldn’t imagine what Lady Margery might be feeling as he led her to the beginning of the line.
They walked slowly so she could study each body they passed. Some wore the clothing of serfs and he assumed these might have been those unwilling to join in the rebellion or ones who had even fought back. Others seemed dressed more as soldiers would be. He asked her about it and she explained that several of their tenants had deserted to join the rebellion, causing Lord Umfrey to send most of his soldiers into the fields for the harvest. Ancel supposed the soldiers had been unarmed and attacked there without warning, which explained the numerous bodies littering the road leading to Highfield.
Then she stopped. “This is Gervase.”
Ancel recognized her stepbrother was dressed differently from most of those they’d passed. The cloth he wore was of a finer material and dyed a rich color, though bloodstains had ruined the well-fitting cotehardie.
“You’re certain?”
Her cheeks appeared drained of all color. “I am. I know his face, even through the bruises and cuts. The color of his hair. ‘Tis Gervase. He’s the younger of my stepbrothers.”
Ancel signaled a soldier over and told him, “This is Gervase Vivers, Lady Margery’s stepbrother. He will need to be buried within the family plot. See that it is done.”
“Aye, my lord.”
They continued walking the rest of the line. Reaching the end, Ancel asked two soldiers who’d placed the last body before them how many more dead remained.
“This is the last of them, my lord. We’re off to join those digging the graves.”
He glanced at Lady Margery. “So you have another family member still missing.” He found it interesting that she wrinkled her nose at his remark and wondered about how close she had been with the Vivers who resided at Highfield.
“Sir Thurstan, my older stepbrother, is not among the dead,” she said flatly. “If anyone could escape trouble, it would be Thurstan.”
“Then we will wait and see if he returns. If he does, then he will be the new baron.”
“If he doesn’t, Highfield will be better off,” she snapped.
Curiosity led him to ask, “Why do you say that, my lady?”
Her eyes narrowed. “Thurstan Vivers is even worse than Lord Umfrey. He is lazy. Spiteful. Greedy. A lecher who cares more about his conquests than he ever would the people of Highfield. Though he has attained his knighthood, Thurstan holds to none of the tenets in the code of chivalry.”
Ancel saw anger heated her cheeks and her small hands balled into fists.
“He has gotten almost a dozen of our serfs and servants with child while another five women in the nearest village have also given birth to his babes. I will state in no uncertain terms, my lord, that most of these women were taken against their will and several were virgins. Yet, Thurstan takes no responsibility for his actions, accusing those who came to Lord Umfrey to complain as being liars. He also refuses to go to mass, saying he cannot waste precious hours of sleep worshipping something he doesn’t believe in. And Thurstan is all smiles when he is with his father, but the moment Lord Umfrey leaves a room, Thurstan is the first to belittle his father. He makes jokes with Highfield’s soldiers at his father’s expense. I hope you can see that the people of Highfield would be better off with no baron than with Thurstan Vivers as their liege lord.”
Ancel’s skin prickled at her words, his gut tightening at the abominations perpetrated by this so-called knight. It worried him that Vivers might have also hurt this brave noblewoman. Carefully, he asked, “Did he ever harm you, my lady?”
Her mouth set in a firm line. She remained silent for a few moments and then said, “Nay. He made me . . . uncomfortable, though.” Her eyes met his. “Thurstan had recently returned from fostering and earning his knighthood and was to remain at Highfield. From the moment he arrived, he began making . . . lewd remarks to me. To intimidate me. Only yesterday, he cornered me . . .”
Her voice trailed off as tears welled in her eyes. Ancel saw the noblewoman’s reluctance to share what might have occurred between them most recently. He also knew what he would do to Thurstan Vivers if the man surfaced—and then it would be certain that no one would ever find this knight again. Ancel would see to bringing justice to the bastard. Not only for his abuse of others, but for terrorizing this brave woman.
She composed herself and said, “I knew not to speak back to Thurstan but I’d begun to fear what might come to pass.”
“You didn’t go to your stepfather?”
Lady Margery shoulders sagged. “Lord Umfrey would have done nothing. In his eyes, his sons were perfect because they resembled him in every way, from their looks to their manners. I was little more than chattel to him, someone to cook and clean and make sure his household ran to perfection. If Thurstan chose to force himself upon me, there would have been no consequences.”
She paused. Ancel caught the fear in her eyes, then saw anger replace it. “I hope the serfs did find him, my lord. I hope they did to Thurstan what they did to his father.”
Chapter 8
Margery immediately regretted the words she had uttered aloud to Sir Ancel. She knew better than to give voice to any opinion, especially to a man.
Hoping to appease him, she said, “Forgive me, my lord. I am distraught. I did not mean to wish harm to come to my stepbrother. I misspoke.”
The knight frowned in displeasure. “Never show remorse for speaking the truth, my lady,” he gently chided.
“I know better than to speak my mind. I apologize. It’s been a stressful time for me. I forgot my place.” She cast her eyes downward, too upset to say anything more to him.
He placed his hands on her shoulders and squeezed gently till she reluctantly looked up.
“I come from a strong mother who makes wise decisions and never feels the need to hide her convictions. She raised my twin sister, Alys, and my younger sisters, Nan and Jessimond, to do likewise. I value the opinion of a woman as much as one from a man.” His hazel eyes grew warm. “Especially one that I admire as much as I do you.”
She didn’t know what to say to such outlandish talk. Why would he say he admired her? It was evident Sir Ancel was different from every man she’d ever met.
“Never hide anything from me, Margery,” he added softly.
She swallowed. “I won’t, my lord.”
“Good.” He dropped his hands to his sides. “I hope your stepbrother makes himself scarce. For if he does return, I will thrash him within an inch of his life for his untoward behavior to you.” He paused. “I meant what I said before. You have nothing to fear. You are safe with me. I won’t allow anything to happen to you.”
Margery’s heart began to beat quickly. He had called her by her Christian name. He would protect her from anything—even Thurstan Vivers.
“Thank you,” she said, her throat thick with unshed tears.
“Are you ready to go into the keep?”
“Aye.”
Sir Ancel took her hand and placed it upon his arm and escorted her from the training yard. Each step away from the corpses brought her relief but her heart continued to pound violently. Margery was afraid he would hear it and think her still afraid.
