by Janet Lane
“It’s understandable.”
“You’re Richard,” he said. “Baron of Tabor. You helped gain our release. I’m in your debt, my lord.”
“I’m glad you found justice. Where are you traveling?”
“Anywhere but Hungerford. We proved our innocence, and I, too, left Hungerford quickly.”
Tabor laughed. “We have much in common.” He noted the tattered state of his doublet. “Are you looking for work?”
“I am, but there are herds of people about from London doing the same.”
“But not all of them can write. Come, I wager Father Bernard could use some help, at least temporarily.”
They walked, and Will told him of the growing tension between Lord Hungerford and his son, and of the deteriorating civility between Gloucester and Hungerford.
“I was shocked to see Gloucester in Hungerford,” Tabor said. “Historically, Hungerford has opposed Gloucester in council.” And supported Gloucester’s enemy, Cardinal Beaufort.
“I handled Lord Hungerford’s correspondence,” Will volunteered. “He’s never wavered in his support for Beaufort, but Hungerford did start offering Gloucester support—financial that is. Secretly, a few years back.”
With my treasury, the cur, thought Tabor.
“The longer Gloucester stayed, though, the less friendly they became. Remember Ben, my friend?”
“The white-haired man, yes.”
“He was there day before yesterday when Gloucester and his party left.”
“He left? For where?”
“Bath.” He stopped and lowered his voice. “I prepared papers before Gloucester arrived, papers that involve your family, Lord Tabor, so I know of the issue of servitude.”
“Servitude?”
“I copied journals of servitude, records of one of your descendants serving in King Edward’s court back in 1270.”
So the old fox planned to blow a smokescreen from the past to create question of Tabor’s bloodline. Tabor grabbed the young scribe by the shoulders. “You’ve repaid your debt, Will. Wait in the great hall and Father Bernard will come for you.” Tabor hurried to the church and found Father Bernard in the scriptorium.
The priest gave Tabor a smile with teeth worn and stained from the years, but his blue eyes were kind and filled with affection. “Tabor.”
“Father, Gloucester left two days ago for Bath, where he’ll see the bishop and hear cases.”
“I see.”
“Is my heraldic chart complete?”
“It is.”
“How far back does it go?”
“Four generations. Why—”
“Further. Ten generations. Fast as you can get it down. Readable. Forget the embellishments and colors. I need it within the hour.
“Why?” The priest’s brows furrowed. “Tabor, your temper. Do nothing rash.”
“It’s an opportunity, and it requires haste, but it’s not rash, Father. I leave this morn for Bath.”
“What do you there?”
“See Gloucester. Ask him to hear my case early.”
After a moment’s hesitation the priest hurried to his writing desk, uncapping his ink. “Will Gloucester hear the case without Hungerford present?”
“He can. The heraldic chart shows all, and Hungerford has already filed his papers—items of servitude, if you can imagine.”
“How did you learn this?”
“Luck, a stroke of pure luck,” Tabor said. “All from a good deed. Your chart will refute his slur, which is why I want to present it before the London council.”
The priest referred to the original record and began copying it to the second parchment. “London’s just days away. Why the haste?”
“’Tis no whim. I spent the night thinking of nothing else. A certain argumentative young woman pointed out to me that I act when I should not, and do nothing when I should act. Gloucester’s decision on this claim is vitally important to me, yet I was willing to entrust my fate to Marmyl. Why did I not see it before? No other one will care so much for my affairs as I do.”
“But you’ve no audience with Gloucester.”
“Hungerford likes to play cat-and-mouse, as he did with the dead pigeon, luring me to humiliation in front of Gloucester. He doubtless has more games planned for London. Now it’s my turn to surprise him, to act when he least expects it, before he has a chance to surprise me.”
“But why would Gloucester see you now?”
“He needs me. Or at the least, he needs an ally in Coin Forest and Parliament. If I wait too long, Marmyl will easily buy Gloucester’s attention and sway his judgment to punish me for my treatment of Emilyne. For which I’m sorely regretful.”
“If you think Gloucester can be so easily bought, you think little of him.”
“I’m not judging him. I just think more of myself.” All these years he’d looked up to these men, just as he used to look up to William and his father. They were the competent, powerful nobles, and he was the second-born son who could do nothing right. “I see now what you’ve tried to tell me these years, that the siege was a huge misfortune that fell on my shoulders. Had William lived, he would have struggled as much as I have.” Tabor regarded the priest. “It took being insulted to see it.”
The priest smiled.
“Gloucester has fallen into financial and political crisis. He can ill afford to champion causes.”
Father Bernard clasped his hands. “But what if you are wrong, Lord Tabor? Will you not insult Gloucester? Harm your cause?”
“He’s vain, but fair in his decisions, and he’s a patron of learning, you know. He holds a great interest in books. I trust his intellect and his reputation.”
“And if you’re wrong?”
“I may lose all. But if I wait, the full council in London is heavy with my enemies. It may decide to waive reviewing my chart. They may arbitrarily decide in Hungerford’s favor. If I wait, I may lose all anyway.”
Hours later Tabor returned for the chart. He blew on the parchment, drying the ink. “Sir Cyrill will accompany me, but I’m leaving the garrison intact, should Hungerford try anything. Please give special care to Sharai and Kadriya while I’m gone.”
“Of course.”
“I’m taking two pigeons. Should I not return or send word within four days, please move my household to our family manor in Burley. Take this for Sharai.” He handed him a bag of silver. “If Sharai would rather go elsewhere, please see her there after you reach Burley.”
Tabor covered the heraldic scroll with light paper to protect the ink and slid it into the wooden box, securing the latches. “It’s a gamble, Father, but not one based on a random roll of the dice. It’s based on knowledge, experience and . . . hope. Keep this conversation between us and wish me luck.”
“Godspeed, Lord Tabor.”
Tabor exited the church and looked toward the castle, where Sharai approached with Kadriya. Her smile was tentative.
His pulse quickened. He smelled the lavender water she used to wash her hair. His gaze lingered on the curve of her cheek, minding the natural way her lashes lowered, adding to her charm.
She could shine warm, awakening the skin and soothing the soul, or she could be dark, like a storm, sapping the warmth with her temper. She was at once exquisite and annoying, and his head pounded with the urgency to make her his own forever. He reached for her hand.
She pulled away from him, her dark eyes holding question.
He lowered his voice. “Please forgive me for judging you. You had ambitious plans, but you were just a child, and they were based on dreams. I had dreams, too, but neither of us found the way, the fair way to make them come true.”
She smiled and guided Kadriya by the shoulders. “Into the church, Sprig. I’ll meet you inside.”
They walked to the side of the church.
“I’m sorry, too, for criticizing you,” she said. “You do what you must for your people, and I admire that in you. But—”
“I must needs leave th
is morn. I’ll return in a few days.”
Her brows furrowed. “To where?”
“I can’t say.”
“Why not? I’ll say nothing to the others.”
She was loyal, he knew. Loyal and brave. But Tabor was risking failure, and he would not risk humiliation on top of it, not in her eyes. “Worry not.” He attempted a light smile. “I’m not slaying or fighting.”
Not that he didn’t want to. He itched to sweep Sharai into his arms and stand at the watchtower and scream his defiance, to Gloucester, to Marmyl, to the royal council.
To live with the passion he so craved, he must first contain it, approach this calmly, and take a calculated risk based on facts and common sense.
He looked down at her hand, where colorful globes of silk peeked out among her fingers. “I would ask to borrow your prayer beads.”
Chapter Fifteen
Kadriya waited while Tommy took his turn rolling the dice. They sat near the well in the bailey, playing Tali on a barrel top.
Tommy’s hair, flattened on the right side from sleep, caught the late morning sunshine. His coarse linen tunic was soiled with grease and sand from cleaning amour. His eyelids drooped, as if he hadn’t had enough sleep last night.
Tommy rattled the sheep bone dice in the wooden cup with a flourish, shaking them near Kadriya’s ear.
She laughed and slugged him in the arm. “Just roll them.”
He dropped the knucklebones on the rough surface. The Tali bones danced across the wood and settled.
He pointed at the exposed surfaces of the bones and counted. “Three, three, four, five.” He mouthed to himself, counting fingers. “Eighteen. I win.”
Kadriya leaned closer. “Nay. It’s just fifteen, and I rolled vultures. That beats fifteen easily.”
“You had vultures of three. That makes only . . .” he paused, counting his fingers again, “. . . only twelve.”
“But all vultures beat a regular roll. I told you that.”
“Did not.” Tommy’s face began to redden. “You bend the rules to suit you.”
“I don’t. Go ask Sharai. She’ll tell you.”
He raised his brown eyebrows in an expression of superior annoyance. “Ask a sorceress? She caused all our problems, you know.”
“Tommy!”
“’Tis so. My da told me to stay away from her. Said to stay away from you, too, but you aren’t evil. I told him.” He smiled proudly, and it seemed to Kadriya that he waited to be praised for his loyalty to her.
Kadriya withdrew. “Sharai is not evil. Take it back.”
“Nay. You’ll find out soon. Lady Anne will send her on her way.”
Fear made it hard for her to breathe. As casually as she could manage, Kadriya collected her Tali bones. “I am not in the mood to play any longer. You spoiled it for me.” She dropped the bones in the cup. “Besides, Lord Tabor will not allow Sharai to leave. He wishes her to stay. He knows she’s not evil.”
“Lord Tabor’s gone, so Sharai will be going soon, too. You’ll see. You must be good, or you’ll go, too.”
Kadriya remembered the chatelaine custom when lords were away from their holdings. Lady Anne was in charge, and she’d been cruel to Sharai. Kadriya masked her fear with a glare and a harsh voice. “You’re a wicked, stupid boy, Tommy. I don’t want to play with you anymore.”
He flinched from the insult, and his face grew red. “Fine. My da will be glad.” He grabbed her wrist. “Listen to me.”
She struggled to slip away, but his grip was firm. “Let go.”
“You’re going to be thrown out on your ear and it’s just what you need. Go you back to St. Giles, and take your dirty skin with you.”
“Dirty skin? You’re the one who should bathe, you cur!” She punched him in the hollow of his shoulder hard enough that his fingers lost their grip. Pulling her wrist free, she ran for the castle.
* * * * *
Sharai and Father Bernard approached the castle, returning from the village market. She stifled a yawn. The implications of Marmyl’s contract rejection had caused such fear; she’d hardly slept last night for worrying.
She carried her parcel of herbs by the twine that bound them, its harsh fiber rubbing against her fingers. “I’m sorry you found no black ink.”
“I have enough to last until next market.”
They approached the drawbridge, where two knights stood guard. Above, a half-dozen more guards looked down from the muniment tower, and the watchtower flashed with the armor of at least twenty. “Why have they increased the guards?”
The priest’s eyes followed her gaze. “Common practice when Lord Tabor’s away. Worry not, Sharai.”
“Worry?” She laughed. “Father, everyone I saw today held either suspicion or fear in their eyes. There are more guards on duty now than when Lord Marmyl’s garrison joined Tabor’s.”
“’Tis an uneasy time. It will pass.”
She put her hand on his arm, stopping him. “Where is he?”
“He prepares for the meeting to discount, once and for all, Hungerford’s claim.”
“Why did he not tell me?”
“I don’t know.” His voice was neutral, but a deep frown between his white brows belied his words.
“He told you.”
The priest averted his eyes for just the smallest moment, but it was enough for her to know. Tabor had told Father Bernard, but not her.
“’Tis complicated, Sharai.”
“He thinks me too dull-witted to understand.”
“He meant no offense.”
She gave him a smile, which she hoped covered the disappointment she felt at Tabor’s not trusting her. “I know that. Will you tell me?”
He shook his head. “Be patient, Sharai. He’ll return soon.”
Disheartened by the determination in his eyes, she bade him farewell and continued to the castle. Crossing the drawbridge, she met two guards, their eyes cold and mistrustful.
Courtesy conquered them finally, and they nodded to her, but still did not speak. Their manner made it doubtless they, to, wished she would leave.
She rubbed her arms, trying to shake away a sudden chill.
Kadriya appeared, distressed and running toward the castle.
“Sprig. What’s wrong?”
She ran past Sharai and disappeared in the main door.
Sharai followed the quick slapping of the girl’s feet up the spiral staircase to their chamber.
Once there, Kadriya threw herself on the bed, her shoulders shaking with quiet tears.
“What is it?”
Kadriya grasped the nut necklace Tommy had made for her and tore it off her neck. The small nuts flew in all directions, bouncing on the floor. “That horrid Tommy.”
Sharai smiled. Kadriya’s friendship with the boy was marked with emotional outbursts and fighting. She’d bloodied his nose as often as he’d bruised her arm, but they were fond of each other. As fond as children of their age could be of the opposite gender. “Punch him back and be on with it, then.”
Kadriya rose on one elbow and faced her. “He said his da hates us. That he hates us, that everyone hates us and wants us to leave, and now that Lord Tabor has gone, she’ll make you leave Coin Forest.”
“She?”
“Lady Anne. And if you go, so will I.”
She rubbed Kadriya’s back to calm her. “You must have angered him well.”
Sprig’s neck muscles remained tight as a bow’s string. “Today he was mean, not angry.”
“You play too much with him. You may both be getting on each other’s nerves.”
“He said we were dirty and should go back to the fair.”
Sharai forced a smile. “’Tis hot today. What say we go down to the river and soak our feet? You can catch some frogs.”
“Lady Anne is sending us away, and you want to catch frogs?”
“Don’t believe all you hear, Sprig. Words spoken in anger, ’tis all. Tie up your sandals and we’ll go.”
; “Nay.” She fell back onto her pillow, her face turned away. “I would not see his filthy face again.”
Sharai patted her back. “Fine then. I shall lie down with you, and we will just rest and think this through.”
Sharai settled into the bed and held Kadriya’s hand. She would lie here with her until her anger and frustration passed, and then they would talk.
But what comfort could words bring? Sweet saints, the whole village wanted nothing of them.
And Maud. Maud didn’t tell her to leave, but she’d made it clear that Sharai’s presence placed them all in peril.
Tabor had said it himself. Every villager, every knight, peasant, and maid was at risk of losing his or her home. Because of her.
So, all but a priest and the man she loved wanted her to leave.
What could she do? If she had any idea where Tabor might have gone. . . .
A dark thought pierced her brain. Had he gone to Lady Emilyne? Had he become desperate at the thought of losing his lands and gone to her?
Nay. She shook her head. Nay, he was true to her. Tabor’s love was true.
Outside, clouds obscured the sun and the room became dark and gloomy, much like her future. If the Marmyls refused to help, who would? Tabor was one against many. Bloody pox, even though he was more honest and hardworking than his adversaries, her land-wealthy noble struggled compared to them.
She must be realistic. In all her life, whenever justice battled power, power won. Not good intentions and true words, but power. Her family was innocent, but they had been sold as slaves because the man they befriended had been in a position to trick and betray them. Wealth bought power. Tabor had flaunted it, buying her services and bringing her here from St. Giles against her will.
And who had wealth enough to influence this London council?
Marmyl.
And Hungerford, still spending the funds he stole from Tabor’s treasury.
Only Tabor lacked funds.
’Twas so unfair. Merely a simple love spell of frog bones and wishes, no different from their silly customs with bones and flower petals. The shepherd, Lady Anne--all the others. How soon before they condemned and imprisoned her?
