by Alexa Aston
Next, she pulled a blue wool tunic over her head and fastened the wide neck hole closed with cloth ties that she’d attached. Jessimond had crafted it with slits up the sides to afford her more freedom of movement. This tunic struck her mid-calf, unlike all of her cotehardies, which fell to the ground. She knew from observing Kinwick’s servants and farmers that many of the woman shortened their tunics at times, based upon the chores they did. She’d learned she could tuck the ends of it up in her belt and had even watched one woman tuck and fold the excess fabric in order to create a pouch to carry chicken feed while another did the same to carry fruit.
Jessimond made sure that the wool she’d used was finely woven but lacked the quality of one a noblewoman would wear. She’d noticed blue was the most common color worn by peasants, who used woad to dye their cloth. Two of the three tunics she’d sewn were shades of blue, while the third was a dark green in color. She knew the dyes she’d used would cause the colors to fade over time since average laborers couldn’t afford more expensive ones. To make hers look worn, she’d left the material out in the sun for several days.
Last, she slipped on a cheap, leather belt that she’d bought in the nearby village, cinching it so that her shapeless clothes now hugged her body better instead of hanging lifelessly around her.
The one thing she refused to compromise on was giving up her boots. She’d had the pair several years and they would last many more, thanks to their fine craftsmanship and her good care. Not only would her feet remain comfortable until she returned home in the autumn, but the boots also afforded her a place to hide her baselard. Her brothers always insisted she carry one for protection. All three of them at one point over the years had given her lessons in how to use the dagger, each sharing different ways of how she could not only protect herself but attack another who threatened her. Jessimond never left her chamber without the blade tucked into her boots. Leaving the safety of Kinwick made it even more important for her to have the small weapon with her at all times.
She’d wondered about how to explain the expensive boots if someone asked why she didn’t wear shoes typical of a peasant, ones made of calfskin or goatskin, with leather shoelaces. She’d even practice her story until it sounded believable to her ears and she thought anyone asking would believe her.
Touching her hands to her hair, she knew the single, unadorned braid would suffice. She glanced down and, for a moment, felt naked. The amethyst brooch she always wore attached to her cotehardie had remained in place when she’d placed the gown inside her trunk. It wouldn’t do for a poor country girl to go about flaunting a jewel of such value. Still, it seemed a part of her was missing with the brooch not in its usual place.
Smoothing down the skirts of her new, simple clothing, Jessimond left her room and hurried down the stone staircase, exiting the keep without running into anyone. She crossed through the inner bailey and then the outer one and went through the open gates. The vendors always set their booths up in the large meadow adjacent to the castle’s walls and the mummers would construct a couple of stages for their plays in the same area. The troupe would pitch their tents on the far side of the meadow. Already, she saw the line of wagons in the road and dozens of people milling about like worker bees.
Jessimond shielded her eyes from the strong sun and skimmed the meadow and road but did not see either Vawdry brother. She decided to ask the two men unloading a wagon near her where the owners might be. As she approached, she noted both men were tall and stripped to the waist, their torsos gleaming with sweat from their endeavors.
The one on her left was lean and wiry, with dark blond hair on both his head and chest. His companion’s shoulders were broad and his chest heavily muscled. A fine matting of dark hair on it matched the hair of raven’s black atop his head. Both men slowed their activity, watching her with curiosity as she came toward them.
The blond greeted her with a charming smile that must have melted the hearts of most women who received it. “How can we help you?”
For a moment, it took her aback that his question hadn’t ended with the inevitable my lady. She smiled, knowing at least that she looked the part. Now, she simply had to play it.
“I need to find Elias and Moss,” she explained.
“And what would a pretty girl like you want with those two ugly brothers?” the dark-haired man asked casually as he eyed her appreciatively.
Coolly, she responded, “The earl and countess would like to speak with the Vawdrys before the faire opens tomorrow.”
“So you work in the keep at Kinwick?” the blond man asked. The look in his eye told her that his interest was growing.
Jessimond did her fair share of work and so she honestly replied, “Aye.”
“I’ll show you where they are,” the dark one volunteered. He lowered the trunk that had rested on his shoulder to the ground. “I’ll be back soon,” he told his fellow worker.
“I’m sure you will be,” the man muttered and returned to unloading the wagon.
The dark-haired worker came to her and pointed. “The Vawdrys’ll be this way.”
Jessimond began walking in the direction the man indicated. He fell into step beside her. She kept a quick pace, as usual. Once she spotted the brothers, she would need to send this man on his way. She wanted to join the troupe without anyone other than the owners knowing who she was, hoping it would lead to enjoying her time more. If anyone knew she was a de Montfort, though, the word would spread like wildfire. She’d never have a chance at making friends on her own terms because others would hold her at a distance.
She thought she had a decent chance of remaining anonymous. Though the mummers had come to Kinwick five years in a row, Jessimond had been gone for the last three. One summer had been spent with her cousin, Cecily, who’d given birth to her last child, a most welcomed girl. Both Cecily and William had been grateful for Jessimond’s help with their other five, all rambunctious boys who adored Jessimond. The other two summers she’d been away from Kinwick, first visiting Edward and Rosalyne at Shallowheart and then Nan and Tristan at Leventhorpe.
That meant no one in the troupe had seen her for a while and hopefully, she wouldn’t be recognized. She didn’t know how much she’d changed in the four years since she’d seen the mummers, much less how much turnover had occurred within the troupe itself.
“I’m Marcus de Harte,” her companion said. “What’s your name?”
“Jess. Jess Vernon.”
She’d decided Jessimond sounded too formal for a group such as this. A peddler by the name of Vernon used to call at Kinwick over the years until he passed a year ago. She liked his friendly face and his name and had decided to take it as her own for this summer of adventure.
“So, Jess Vernon, do you plan on attending our faire?”
She thought his gaze far too bold and curtly replied, “Mayhap.”
“I would love to show you around the stalls.” He gave her a lazy smile. “Why, I’d even buy you a sweet or two. What say you?”
This man was far too inquisitive—and far too attractive. Already, she felt her pulse quickening as he studied her with sideways glances while they walked. She needed to concentrate on what she would say to the Vawdrys and not worry about a flirtatious mummer.
When she didn’t answer, his fingers grasped her upper arm and brought her to a halt. For the first time, Jessimond looked into his eyes, which she’d avoided.
For good reason.
They were a piercing blue in color—and seemed to see right through her. She swallowed and tugged hard, forcing him to release her arm. Even though his fingers were now absent, she still felt them searing her skin.
Moving quickly away, she saw a thatch of wild red hair and breathed a sigh of relief.
“I see Elias now,” she said curtly. “You needn’t accompany me further.”
“I don’t mind—”
“But I do,” Jessimond said, her eyes narrowing. “Thank you for escorting me to his tent. Good day.”
<
br /> She turned and kept an even pace though, for some odd reason, she wished to run away. She wouldn’t give this handsome stranger the satisfaction of knowing he’d flustered her. As Jessimond widened the distance between them, she sensed Marcus de Harte’s eyes drilling into her spine.
Elias entered the tent. Jessimond saw the flap was opened and followed him inside. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust from the glare of the summer sun to the dim interior.
“Elias Vawdry?” she asked.
The tall, redheaded man turned, a puzzled look on his face. She also caught sight of his brother, Moss, who studied her a moment and then smiled.
“Lady Jessimond, I’ll wager, though I wouldn’t have guessed by your clothes,” Moss said. “We haven’t seen the likes of you in a few years. My, you have certainly grown up.”
“I have been visiting various family members during your recent stops,” she explained. “I’m sorry I missed the faires. ’Tis something I always looked forward to.”
“We always enjoy coming to Kinwick,” Elias said. “Lord Geoffrey and Lady Merryn are most generous to us and local support of our shows is strong.”
“Mother and Father would like to have you come to their solar and dine now,” she told them.
Elias said, “Why, we’d be delighted.”
“Before we go, I have something to ask of you,” she said.
Immediately, both men’s faces shone with curiosity.
“Go ahead, my lady,” Moss encouraged.
“I have a favor to ask. Nay, more than a favor. I have a proposition for you.” She paused and then plunged ahead. “I would like to travel with your troupe the remainder of the season. Work for you as a member of your company.”
Elias frowned. “Doing what?”
Quickly, Jessimond explained how she was skilled with a needle and could not only repair costumes that needed it, but whip up new ones.
“We haven’t had a seamstress since last year,” Moss pointed out to his brother. “We’ve been having to make do and patch when we can.” He looked at her. “But why, my lady?”
“I want to see something of the world. In a different way than others do. Besides my needle, I know much about the healing arts and can minister to anyone who falls sick. I also am a fair shot with a bow and arrow and a crossbow and could run a booth where others demonstrate their skills. I promise that I could be a valuable member of your troupe.
“But I would ask one thing in return,” she continued. “I don’t want to be known as Lady Jessimond de Montfort. I will be plain Jess Vernon, one of your workers. Would you agree to hire me—and keep my secret?”
Moss scratched his chin in thought. After pondering it a few moments, he looked to his brother. “I don’t see why not. Do you, Elias?”
The large man shrugged. “I can be happy with that arrangement. But are you sure, my lady?”
Jessimond frowned at him.
“Are you sure, Jess?” he corrected and gave her a sheepish grin.
“I am. I’ve always traveled well on the road and can cook a bit. I work hard and will do whatever you ask of me.”
“Is this why Lord Geoffrey wishes to see us?”
She nodded. “He will probably scare you to death and demand that you keep me safe.”
“Of course, you’ll be safe,” Moss proclaimed. “We take care of all our troupe members. We are a family.” He gave her a smile. “I hope you will come to look upon us that way, Jess.”
“Excellent. Can you accompany me to the keep now?”
“Lead the way,” both brothers responded in unison.
They crossed the field. Already, several booths were taking shape, with wares being displayed. Elias, the more outgoing of the two, pointed out workers by name to her, while Moss merely waved a greeting to all. Reaching the end of the line of wagons, Elias noted the two men Jessimond had already encountered.
As they passed them and turned toward the gates, Elias said, “Those are our newest additions. Marcus de Harte and Rand Trammel. They joined with us almost two months ago.”
“Are they mummers?”
“Sometimes. They’re very strong and load and unload most of our wagons and set up the backdrops. Marcus has acted some, with a few lines here and there. Rand has only stood in the background of a few scenes. But they also know how to fight as well as knights do.”
“How do you know this?” Jessimond asked.
“’Tis part of our shows this season,” Moss said. “They duel with their swords before some of the plays or sometimes in a separate area. They also do a bit of jousting.”
“Jousting!” she exclaimed. “That can be very dangerous.”
“The crowds love them,” Elias confirmed. “Especially the women.”
Jessimond could understand that, especially having seen both men up close. In fact, she thought the two men were knights. Probably knights-errant, attached to no liege lord. Ones who traveled about, seeking adventure and ways to show off their prowess with weapons.
That didn’t sit well with her. All three of her brothers had fostered for years, first becoming pages and then squires before they took their sacred oaths of knighthood. The knights at Kinwick were all loyal to the de Montforts, as well as the king. Jessimond didn’t think she could trust men who refused to commit and swear allegiance to a single liege lord. It didn’t speak well for their characters.
At least she wouldn’t have much to do with them. More than likely, they both enjoyed swapping stories with the men in the company and spent time wooing the few women in the troupe until they stopped on an estate. She could see the two cozying up to local women, young and old alike, especially since they had both already vied for her attention. Let them concentrate on the females in the areas the mummers stopped. Jessimond had better things to do.
They reached the keep and she stopped a servant, asking her for a meal to be brought to the solar, and then accompanied the Vawdrys upstairs. She knocked upon the solar’s door and was granted permission to enter by her father. Ushering in the two owners, Jessimond hoped by the time they left that her next few months would be settled.
Geoffrey de Montfort offered the men a seat, while Merryn de Montfort assessed both brothers as she poured wine for everyone.
“Thank you for coming,” her father told them. Looking to her, Geoffrey said, “Jessimond, fetch Peter Gilpin at once.”
When she hesitated, he smiled. “Don’t worry. We won’t talk of anything significant until the two of you return.”
Jessimond left to find the blacksmith’s son, who’d been a childhood playmate of hers.
Why on earth did her father wish for Peter to be present?
Chapter 4
Jessimond went to the blacksmith’s shed and saw Peter and his father hard at work. Peter held a sword’s blade in the fire and then lifted it out, placing it on an anvil. He pounded the heated metal, shaping it with his hammer and subtle turns. He raised it and frowned. Once more, he dipped the blade back into the flames and returned it to the iron block, slamming the hammer down several more times. After lifting it, Jessimond saw the satisfied smile touch his lips as he inspected the sword. Peter turned and plunged the hot steel into water.
She stepped into the shed and immediately felt the blast of heat hit her in a wave.
“Peter!” she called loudly since his father also hammered on the far side of the shed.
Peter turned and grinned. Jessimond motioned him to come away from the fire and moved back into the bailey. She inhaled deeply, drawing fresh, cooler air into her lungs.
Peter joined her, a rag in his hand. He wiped the sweat from his face and took a deep breath.
“I admire you for being able to work next to such heat,” she said. “You seemed pleased with the sword you were working on.”
He ran the cloth over his neck and bare chest. “It can get hot, I’ll grant you that, my lady. But I love what I do.” He paused. “What brings you here?”
“Father wants to see you. Now.”
<
br /> “Now? Hmm. Let me tell Father.”
Peter returned to the shed and touched the older man’s shoulder. “The earl has need of me, Father.”
“Then wash off, Son. And put on a clean tunic.” The smithy saw Jessimond standing there and gave her a nod. “Good day to you, my lady.”
She returned the greeting as Peter stepped to the trough just outside the shed. He plunged his head in and quickly withdrew it, shaking his head like a wet dog would.
“Be right back,” he told her.
Moments later, Peter appeared in a new tunic, his face dry but his mop of brown curls still damp.
“Your hair is going every which way,” she cautioned him. “Run your fingers through to tame it.”
He did as she asked and then grinned. “’Tis more fun when one of the girls from the village combs their fingers through my hair.”
Jessimond punched him hard in the shoulder and then began walking toward the keep. Peter fell into step beside her.
She glanced up at him, realizing that he must have his fair share of attention from women. At ten and eight, he was very tall and strong, thanks to the time spent swinging his hammer. He had a strong jaw and warm, brown eyes that forever seem to twinkle. His thick, curly hair would certainly be tempting to any female who caught sight of it. If Jessimond hadn’t looked upon Peter as one of her brothers, she could see it would be easy to be attracted to his good looks.
“What do you think your father wants of me?”
In truth, she had already figured out Geoffrey de Montfort’s plan. While Jessimond would have vetoed sending one of Kinwick’s knights along with her, she could understand her father wanting to have Peter accompany her when she joined the mummers on the road. He would be useful to the Vawdrys in many ways and could still keep an eye on Jessimond. They had been playmates from an early age and Peter remained protective of her, even now.
