by Ken Johns
Reginald had not yet seen her but the dogs leapt to their feet and rushed to greet her as she approached the fireplace. She leaned over to pet and nuzzle them. “Good doggies. Good.”
“Hello… Evelyn,” said Reginald without turning to look at her.
She smiled. Her father’s dogs had always liked her better than Reginald, and while these were surely not the same dogs, they seemed to have inherited that same good sense. She drew out the moment to remind Raymond of that fact. “Have you been starving my babies? They look so thin.”
“They are not your…” He stood, took her hand, and held it for the briefest moment. “Thank you for coming.”
She controlled the urge to slap him. Patience. You’ve waited this long. Just play it out. She glanced at the fire, expecting to feel more warmth. This used to be her home. One day soon, it would be again. “Did you think I wouldn’t?” You ungrateful swine.
“No, no. I just thought it should be said.” He sat down. “I have prepared your old chamber.”
“Thank you.” Reginald always had babbled at these functions, and his conversational ability had not improved in her absence. She glanced around the hall to be certain all eyes were still upon her, then took a seat next to his.
“Where is Mary? I had thought I would meet her at the feast.”
Reginald’s eyes opened wide. “You know of Mary?”
“How could I not? News travels, Reginald. Little passes that I do not hear.” And her well-paid network of spies helped enormously.
“I see.”
“And Mary is…?”
“In her chamber.”
“Whatever for? Is she ill? Has something happened?”
“Calm yourself, Evelyn. She is quite well.”
“I do not understand. Should she not be at your side at such an event? How do you expect her to become a lady of manners if you do not give her these experiences?”
“Evelyn.” Reginald raised his voice.
“Why are you so stubborn when it comes to Mary? You should have sent her to live with me when her mother died.”
“Do not speak of the Lady Catherine.” Reginald’s face flushed red.
Lady? She was barely a woman. It was little wonder she died in childbirth. “But still, you should have sent her.”
“I do not need nor seek your counsel. Let that be the end of it,” said Reginald.
“Very well. I only pray Mary has not suffered because of your foolishness.”
Reginald whipped his glare toward her. “Why do you test me?”
“Do forgive me, Reginald. Father charged me with your care from his deathbed.”
“I am quite certain he meant only until I came of age.”
“Have you come of age?” She raised one eyebrow.
“Evelyn! How dare you speak to me in this manner?” Reginald stood up, knocking his chair over. “Do you think you are untouchable?”
The crowd uttered a collective gasp and stared at Reginald. Evelyn stifled a smile. If he was trying to look intimidating, he needed practice. With his hands on his hips, it only served to accentuate his little paunch.
“You have met Raymond, have you not?” She paused to let him think about that for a moment then raised her voice just enough that those closest would hear her clearly. “Oh yes, you chose not to attend my wedding. But surely you must have heard of his prowess in the tournaments, otherwise you would not have featured him so prominently in your announcements.”
The hatred in Reginald’s eyes did not bother her in the least. She had disturbed him, and that was sufficient for now. “I think I will retire to my chamber.”
She smiled sweetly, stood, and gathered her dress. “I shall return shortly. I do hope Mary is in attendance.”
As she moved through the staring, open-mouthed crowd, she cringed at the crooked tapestries and cracked floorboards. She had hoped Reginald would have taken better care of her castle. There was work to be done.
Evelyn left her chamber and climbed the stairs in search of Mary. She was not about to rely on Reginald to introduce them. He might yet find a reason to keep them apart.
From the third-floor landing she entered the hall of tapestries. Reginald’s chambers took up the entire third floor, but there were some small rooms built into the walls. Evelyn left the north tower stairs and made her way along the narrow hall. She had walked three sides of the square before she found a lone guard. He stood in front of the door to one of the wall rooms, with his hands behind his back. This had to be the place. “I wish to see my niece.”
“I am sorry, Madam.” The man bowed his head but did not meet her eyes. “Baron’s strict orders. No one goes in.”
“You are new here, are you not?”
“No, Madam. The baron has been my lord these past three years.”
“What is your name?”
“Nigel.”
“Do you know who I am?”
“No, Madam.”
“I am the baron’s sister.” She raised an eyebrow. Nigel was handsome enough. A bit timid, but he definitely followed orders well. “Do you doubt my word?”
“No, Madam. I am sorry if I have offended you.”
“Shall I drag the baron away from his guests to prove who I am?”
“No, Madam.” The keys on his belt jingled as he dropped his hands to his sides and stood up straight. “That will not be necessary.”
“Will you open the door for me?”
“I cannot, Madam. Baron’s orders.”
“I see.” She put her hands on her hips as she turned away. Holding down the bodice of her dress, she stretched her head and shoulders backwards. When she released the dress, its bodice cupped under her breasts and brought them higher as it eased back into place. She stepped in front of Nigel as if to pass in the narrow hallway but paused directly in front of him and leaned forward.
He struggled not to glance at her décolletage as he stepped backward, bumping his back on the door. “What are you doing?” His hands came up, but he hesitated. He had no idea where to put his hands to ward her off.
Evelyn struggled not to smile as she moved toward him until her breasts touched his chest. When she was sure he could feel her body heat through his thin tunic, she flexed her chest muscles as she placed her hands on his waist. Her breasts shuddered from the movement, as she knew they would. She almost laughed when the shudder seemed to continue from her body directly through his, but she maintained her composure and held Nigel’s eyes. “Would it be all right if I just stood here and spoke with Mary through the door?”
“Yes, Madam.” He blushed and stood there, shaking.
Evelyn took as deep a breath as she could without popping her breasts out of the dress. She watched the sweat break out on his brow, and she let out the breath against his neck and said, “Thank you. Would you be so kind as to get me some wine?”
“Yes, Madam, of course.” He stepped sideways to get clear of her.
She glanced down at his privates and was not surprised to see a bulge in his breeches. Men were so simple. She put Nigel’s key in the lock and opened the door with one hand while she pulled the neckline of her dress higher with the other.
Mary lay on a bed in the corner with her back to the door, but she rolled over at the sound of Evelyn’s entry. Evelyn’s heart stopped when she saw the girl’s face. It was like looking through a window to the past, and for a moment, she couldn’t breathe. Mary was her, twenty years earlier, right down to the bloodshot eyes, red nose, and soaked sleeves.
“Hello, Mary.”
“How do you know my name?”
“I am your father’s sister.”
“Auntie Evelyn?” Mary’s smile was both hopeful and sad.
Evelyn nodded.
Mary stood and rushed into her arms.
Evelyn hugged her for a long time. “Let us have a look at you.” She squatted and held Mary at arm’s length. “You are a beautiful young lady.”
“Thank you.” Mary smiled bravely.
“Wh
at is the matter, child?”
“Nothing.” The girl clenched her jaw and dropped her eyes to the floor.
“Mary, you do not have to be brave with me. You can tell me anything. I will not think any less of you for it.”
“Father says I must be brave always. I must learn to hide my feelings.”
“Has he been training you to be a knight?”
“No. If only he would.” Her face brightened. “That would be so exciting.”
“Your father means well, child, but he has no idea what a noble lady is, let alone how to raise one on his own.” She took Mary’s hands. “Do you think I know more about being a lady than your father?”
Mary giggled and nodded.
“Good. When a woman asks you what is the matter, jump at the chance to tell her. Even if she cannot help you solve your problem, just the act of sharing it will make you feel better. Do you understand?”
“I think so.” Mary nodded.
“Good. Now let us hear your story.”
Mary glanced at the door before returning her eyes to the floor.
“Your guard is not at his post,” said Evelyn. “Just keep your voice low, and no one will hear you.” Mary raised her chin and searched Evelyn’s face. Evelyn smiled encouragingly and nodded. “It will be all right.”
“Father says I am to wed the Lord Wessex.”
The words took Evelyn’s breath away. How could she not have heard of this? Her spies were everywhere. This must be new, or it surely would have leaked. Evelyn stood and almost stormed to the door, but Mary’s upturned face stopped her. The child was on the verge of tears. Evelyn took Mary in her arms. “But surely you are not yet twelve years old. Is he mad? I will speak with him. Perhaps I can make him see reason.”
Mary wrapped her arms around Evelyn’s waist and held on.
Evelyn stroked the back of Mary’s head. “When is this wedding to occur?”
Mary’s tiny voice was muffled in Evelyn’s dress. “Sunday.”
My Lord. Not only was this new, it was soon. Evelyn had only a day and half to try and stop this madness.
Nigel’s boots echoed from the stairwell.
“I must go.” Evelyn pulled free of Mary’s grip. “When I return I shall bring glad news.”
Mary’s eyes were glued to Evelyn’s. Evelyn broke the contact as she stepped from the room and locked the door.
Nigel arrived with a goblet of wine and handed it to her without meeting her eyes. She tipped her head back and guzzled the wine, making sure plenty poured down her chin and snaked between her breasts. When she had drained the wine, she let out her breath. The bulge in his breeches had returned, and she upended the goblet and tried to place it over his member. He instinctively pulled his hips to the side. She had shocked him enough to finally look her in the eyes. She smiled at him and held out the goblet. He took it mutely as she walked toward the stairs.
Nigel’s gasp told her he had just discovered his keys within the goblet. She hoped all of this groundwork would make it a little easier the next time she came to see Mary.
Chapter Twenty-Six
April 28, 1341
John opened his eyes to wooden rafters supporting a thatched roof. They weren’t drinking ale in the forest anymore. A foot scraped the floor and he lifted his head. Sandra walked toward the bed he was lying on.
“So, you’re awake?” She stopped next to him.
He put his head back down and took a breath. With three little words, she’d told him that she was pissed, scared, and that it was his fault. “What did I miss?”
“The girls are gone.”
“Where?”
Sandra burst into tears. He sat up and reached for her. She stepped back and crossed her arms. “Jess has been captured by the guards, and Mila has decided to go off and play the hero.”
“Are you serious? What can she do?”
“I tried to stop her, but she just ignored me.”
He lowered his legs off the side of the bed. The room dimmed. He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head. When he opened them, the room was light again, but it tilted to the right.
“Okay, give me a chance to get my balance.” He gripped the edge of the bed to brace himself against the tilt of the room. He was only sitting, but his pulse thumped in his throat. He took a deep breath. “Where are my pants?”
Sandra stepped in front of him and bent over to look in his eyes. “You’re not going anywhere.” She touched his shoulders. “Your pupils are spinning like pinwheels.”
“I can’t just lie here.” His girls were out there. Alone. He leaned forward and started to push himself into a standing position.
“John! Don’t do it.” She held him down.
“Dammit, Sandra.” He wiped her hands off his shoulders and struggled to his feet, using her as a human crutch.
“Fine.” She stepped back. “If that’s the way you want to be, fall on your ass. Maybe you’ll learn something.”
The room added a spin to the tilt. Crap. His head twitched to the side like a sprinkler. “Will you please tell me where my pants are?”
“On the bed.”
His head followed one of the room’s rotations around to the bed behind him. His pants came up to meet his face. He closed his eyes and lay there.
Sandra’s hand rubbed the back of his head. “Just rest, tough guy. Margaret’s bringing supper.”
Mila walked among the pavilions. Brilliantly painted lances and shields leaned against each tent, proclaiming their owner’s identities and reputations. It was like a theme park, except this was real. She kept her eyes moving, alert for danger, but taking in all the bright banners. Campfires burned between each pavilion, surrounded by men focused on eating. No one paid any attention to a solitary armored man walking among them. She’d developed her man walk on the fly, settling on a half swagger, half stomp with her legs well apart, as though she carried something important between her thighs.
She went behind the last pavilion and stood in the shadows by the curtain wall to study the gatehouse and its two flanking towers. She kept her back to the wall and moved toward the nearest tower. She edged around it, stopping before she reached the spill of light from the entrance. Voices drifted out of the passage, one feminine, one masculine, both speaking French.
“Bonsoir, Claude!” said the woman.
“Bonsoir, Madame Evelyn.”
“Have you seen my husband?”
“Oui, Madame. Sir Raymond was here not long ago.”
“Merci, Claude.”
Footsteps echoed from the stone tunnel, then the woman emerged and moved toward the pavilions. Mila stared at Lady Evelyn’s green silk gown shimmering in the torchlight. With its ermine trim and matching gloves, it was much like the blue dress Mila had seen in the cart. So, this was what that dress would have looked like. The cloth hung perfectly and flowed like water over the curves of Lady Evelyn’s body. It was exquisite.
“You there!” Lady Evelyn called to Mila and stopped.
Too late to run, Mila lowered her chin to hide her face. “Yes, Madame,” she answered in a low masculine voice.
“Why are you wearing my husband’s sword?” Lady Evelyn said.
“You are mistaken.”
“I assure you I am not mistaken.” She poked the ornate sword belt around Mila’s waist. “This is the very belt I gave my husband last season.”
What were the chances of running into somebody who would recognize the stuff she’d stolen? She had to talk her way out of this, or her search for Jess would end right here.
“Well, have you nothing to say?” The woman crossed her arms over her chest.
Mila breathed in through her nose and let herself react to the moment. Damn this pushy bitch. What had Claude said her husband’s name was? “Raymond gave it to me,” Mila said without disguising her voice.
Lady Evelyn grabbed Mila’s chin and lifted her face to the light. “And why would he give it to you?”
“Why do you think?” Mila batted the woman
’s hand off her chin.
Lady Evelyn appeared shocked, but it was more than that. Her anger seemed to lose some of its intensity and she almost smiled. “So, my husband is an adulterer?”
Lady Evelyn left the question hanging and hurried away.
Mila massaged her chin as she watched Lady Evelyn’s receding back. Okay, so maybe don’t rile the locals.
She needed to move. The woman might be back soon if she found Raymond quickly. Two men approached the gatehouse. One carried a basket of swords over his shoulder. The other carried a yoke with empty buckets hanging from each end. Mila came out of the shadows and entered the passage ahead of them.
“Halt. What business have you in the castle?” said the porter in poor English.
“Bonsoir, Claude!” said Mila in gruff French.
“How do you know my name?” asked Claude, switching back to French.
“Lady Evelyn told me. She lost one of her gloves and asked me to come and fetch it.”
Claude took his time considering her request. The two men behind Mila shuffled from one leg to another. The man with the swords puffed out a sigh, the weight of his load growing on fatigued muscles.
“Come on, Claude. Do us a favor?” said the man with the buckets.
Claude glanced at the impatient men behind Mila. “Vite.”
Mila stepped past him into the inner bailey. She made a show of walking slowly and looking down at the ground. She spotted the stairs that led to the keep and drifted in that direction. She reached the foot of the stairs and snuck a glance over her shoulder. The man with the swords moved toward the smithy. The man with the buckets had reached the well. Claude watched her from the gatehouse doorway.
Mila started up the stairs. She took one step at a time, stopping to search it from one end to the other. At any moment, she expected Claude to come running toward her, but she reached the landing, crossed it slowly, and stepped through the giant door into the keep. Now what?
The entranceway led to a large room. The din of a crowd told her which direction would bring immediate trouble. On her right was a hallway. She peeked around the corner. A boy approached, carrying a platter heaped with small cooked birds. The aroma called to her stomach, and she swore she could hear it reply. She rubbed her tummy and forced herself to focus. On her left, an archway led to a circular stairway. She started down the stairs. Voices, growing louder, came from below. Crap. She rushed back up the stairs, two at a time. She passed the archway and kept going up. The next landing opened onto a long, narrow hallway.
