by Julia Byrne
The sergeant gaped at him. Hugh suppressed a grin, and dismissed the man. “When you are in charge,” he said to his friend with heavy meaning. “Try not to horrify the sergeant with your odd notion of humor.”
“I don’t think you’ve convinced him, or me for that matter, that leniency is a virtue,” Ranulf retorted.
“I have no intention of killing children,” Hugh said mildly. “Some of those lads are no older than fifteen.”
“The age when you and I won our spurs, as I recall.”
Hugh’s eyes narrowed. “We were brought up to be knights, and in the royal household.”
“I can see I’m not going to win this argument,” sighed fitzWalter. “Especially as you’re now a baron, confirmed in your lands, and I was fool enough to swear allegiance to you.” He laughed when Hugh cuffed him on the shoulder, and peered at the parchment in his friend’s hand. “Well, the sooner we’re rid of those dung-brained fools, the better. How many are left down there?”
Hugh was about to consult the list in his hand when he saw the two women crossing the bailey. For an instant he couldn’t believe his eyes. His mysterious lady was here? Utterly dumbstruck, he stood frozen for a full five seconds, then, with a bitten-off oath, smacked his parchment against fitzWalter’s chest, barely giving his friend time enough to grab it, and leapt for the stairs.
He took them in three reckless bounds, landed in the bailey, and strode toward her, fuming. Even if she had kin here, what was she about? A girl so young and gentle would never have looked on the aftermath of battle. The thought that she was about to do so now, appalled him.
The implacable purpose in his approach must have swept before him like a rush of wind heralding a storm. She had been speaking to the old woman with her, but she looked up suddenly, and her lips parted on a startled breath of recognition. In the clear light of day he saw she was younger than he’d thought—no older than sixteen if he was any judge. Her luminous eyes, set beneath finely arched brows, were the deepest blue he’d ever seen, and her mouth had a sweet curve even in repose. She was wearing a grey wool gown that had clearly belonged to a larger woman and been altered to fit her smaller frame, and her fall of sable hair was braided and covered by a plain kerchief held in place with a simple ribbon.
Courtesy dictated that he address the older woman first, but he couldn’t take his eyes off his lady. And despite his shock at her presence, his voice was very gentle.
“Mistress, you should not go further. You clearly have purpose here, but let me be your proxy. I am Hugh de Verney of Buckland Manor near Hereford, the King’s man here until I return to my lands. What I can do, I will. You have only to command me.”
The old woman gaped at him, obviously baffled, but his lady seemed to be eased by his speech. Shy color bloomed in her cheeks, but she met his gaze steadily.
“You are kind to offer, my lord. This lady is Mistress Eveta Purcell, who is searching for her grandson. I am here because I thought she should not come alone on such an errand.”
“I am sure of that,” he agreed, wondering why she hadn’t given him her name. “But I’m also sure that you should not be here at all.”
Her gaze fell for the merest instant. “I am here because I thought Mistress Purcell should not come alone,” she repeated softly. This time the smallest, most demure of smiles accompanied the words, but it was the quick, unexpected gleam of mischief in the glance she cast up at him that enchanted him anew.
Delighted that she wasn’t as meek as she’d appeared, he smiled at her. “I see you have a mind of your own, mistress.”
She considered that, her head on one side. He decided not to give her time to deny it. “But mayhap you will be kind enough to indulge my sense of responsibility for your peace of mind, and remain here while I take Mistress Purcell to find her grandson. There are sights within not fit for your eyes.”
Mistress Purcell jolted into life at this. “Indeed, Annith, I hadn’t thought of that. I’ve seen enough wounds in my lifetime not to be shocked, but there is no need for you to distress yourself.” She lifted an anxious face to him. “He’s alive then, my lord?”
“All within are alive,” he assured her. And silently thanked her for providing his lady’s name. Annith. It sounded Saxon or Welsh, of the old nobility. No farmer or craftsman had fathered her, of that he was certain. She carried herself with all the grace and dignity of a great lady. That couldn’t be taught or acquired, it was bred into her very bones.
“And ’twas said in the town that we must hear what judgment has been passed,” the old woman continued, wringing her hands. “This is why my son should be here. What do I know of such things?”
Hugh wrenched his thoughts back to the business at hand. “Ease your mind, Mistress Purcell. Your grandson is free to return home. He and his fellows have learned a harsh lesson.” He glanced briefly at the bodies across the bailey. “We waited until the weakest could be moved from Corbel’s manor, but, despite that, they lost two friends, as well as those who fell in battle. ’Tis punishment enough.”
Annith looked up at him wonderingly. “Although they fought against you?”
“A mob of boys with tempers running high are easily turned into tools for a man with unlawful ambition,” he answered. “More so when they, themselves, have a grievance. Corbel swore them to his service with false promises.”
“Even so, you pardoned them. More than that. You brought them out of that place.” Her face lit with a smile of such dazzling sweetness it threatened to steal his wits. “Whatever your reasons, you showed great mercy, my lord. God will surely smile on you.”
“Lady,” he returned very softly, “I have all the reward I need, for you have smiled on me.”
The smile winked out in an instant, her eyes went round with surprise. More than surprise, he thought. She looked stunned, as if she had never received such a compliment and didn’t know what to do with it.
Amused, he was about to speak again when a troop of men on horseback rode into the bailey at the gallop. They reined in near the stables, raising a cloud of dust and exchanging boisterous insults on each other’s horsemanship. Clearly, a race had been in progress.
Hugh looked around, caught the sergeant’s eye, and made a slashing motion across his throat with the edge of his hand. Then abruptly realized how Annith might take a gesture meant as an order to quieten the men down.
But when he turned back to her, he saw her attention was not on him. Instead, she had taken a step to the side so that he was between her and the riders. The move had been quite deliberate, he saw, designed to partially shield her from view while she studied the new arrivals. Her eyes were deep pools of wariness.
“Have no fear, lady,” he said, watching her closely and wondering at such caution. “You will come to no harm here.”
She cast a quick glance up at him. “You know those men, my lord?”
“Indeed. They are part of the castle garrison.”
“Oh. Of course they are.” She looked away, blushing. “I have been here only a few days, so I am not…acquainted with the soldiers.”
“I should hope not,” he murmured.
Mistress Purcell’s chuckle brought him back to an awareness of her presence. One look at the bird-like interest in her eyes had him reaching for control of the situation.
“Wait here,” he instructed Annith, more tersely than he’d intended. “You will be quite safe. Mistress Purcell, follow me.”
Not waiting to see if Annith obeyed—after all, why would she leave without her charges—he turned and ushered the old woman toward the undercroft.
When he emerged a few minutes later, Annith was still where he had left her, but no longer alone. A balding man with pinched features was with her. He was scowling, his mouth opening and closing as he tried to speak. Unfortunately for him, Annith wasn’t letting him get a word in edgewise.
“So you had harsh words with your son, Master Purcell. Aye, he may have been foolish to leave his home, and more foolish still
in his allegiance, but is that any reason to threaten a whipping? At least he stayed loyal to his oath until the end. And what of your mother? She has had to come here with only myself as escort, not knowing in what case she would find her grandson.”
“She could have waited,” Master Purcell snapped, finding his voice at last. “I’m here now, aren’t I? And if I have to pay a fine for Adam then I’ll be the judge of what punishment is mete.”
She flung up her hands. “Is that all he means to you? Your judgment over him? You should be ashamed to speak so hardly. Tell me, Master Purcell, when it comes your time to be judged by a higher authority, where will compassion weigh on your scale?”
Hugh halted, fascinated. She was one surprise after another. No shy, retiring maiden now, nor overly-cautious lady. She was all fire and flashing eyes in her indignation. But Purcell’s face was darkening to puce, truculence turning to real anger.
“Master Purcell!” he rapped out. There was enough icy command in his tone to get the man’s attention. He strode toward them, casting a narrow-eyed glance at Annith that he hoped conveyed the message that she had said enough.
She stepped back immediately, her gaze cast down in a show of meek compliance that, given the scene he’d just witnessed, didn’t fool him for a minute.
“Dame Eveta will need help with your son,” he said to Purcell when he reached them. “As well as cuts and bruises, he has a badly wrenched knee that should be rested. Since you’ve brought no cart or wagon, you may borrow one to convey him home.”
Purcell immediately began a litany of excuses and obsequious thanks, but Hugh simply turned on his heel and walked off. “Follow me,” he ordered.
He fully expected Annith to realize the command applied to her, also. But when he reached the building that housed the baggage carts and looked back, she was speaking to the middle-aged woman who had preceded her into the castle, and who was now struggling to support a boy of about seventeen.
No matter. He would hand Purcell over to one of his men and return to her.
Alas for that brilliant plan. By the time he returned to the bailey, there was no sign of Annith or her companions. Cursing, Hugh leapt up the nearest stairway to the ramparts and strode around to the side that overlooked the town.
And there she was. Walking with the other two, reaching out a hand when the lad stumbled as they stepped onto the bridge.
Hugh braced his fists on the wall, surprised at the sharp disappointment that stabbed through him. Then rational thought reasserted itself. Mayhap ’twas as well she’d left. He wanted time with her, and that couldn’t be had here, where he was likely to be interrupted every five minutes.
He would find her tomorrow.
CHAPTER THREE
He was waiting for her when she emerged from the church the following morning.
There was an inevitability about his presence, Annith decided when she saw him. As if he would have been standing there, patient and relaxed, if she’d stepped out of the mill or the fishmonger’s shop.
She had stayed after the service to pray and be alone with her thoughts, grateful that Herleve, who had accompanied her, understood her need for solitude. She’d hoped that in the quiet serenity of the church, where she was surely safe, she might remember something. Anything. But the only image in her mind was that of Hugh de Verney as she had seen him yesterday. Tall and stern in his leather tunic, chausses and boots, the polished hilt of his sword gleaming ominously in the shadows of the bailey.
He had been utterly intimidating, striding toward them with his black brows drawn together above piercing hazel eyes. Her heart had given a frightened leap at the implacable purpose in his approach. Visions of being carried off to an unknown but terrifying fate had stormed through her mind.
But then he had spoken and fear had vanished. Despite the sharply chiseled angles of nose, cheekbones and jaw, and the hard set to his mouth, she sensed he was a man of unshakeable honor. Why that was so important, she didn’t know, because surely most men were honorable.
And at that thought nausea churned in her stomach and she felt the blood drain from her face. Even the tips of her fingers tingled. She almost dashed back into the church in a bid to be alone, to prise out the elusive memory that could evoke such sickening fear.
And wouldn’t that be odd behavior, she thought, when he’d seen her and was even now crossing the road toward her, a slight smile playing about his lips.
“Mistress Annith,” he said when he reached her. His eyes narrowed on her face. “Something troubles you.”
She shook her head, willing the nausea away while at the same time frustration gnawed at her. She was so desperate that she’d risk being sick right here on the church steps if it would bring back her past, but the opportunity had been snatched from her.
“You have a purpose here in town, my lord?” she asked a little tartly.
He raised a quizzical brow. “I do indeed, lady. Since our way lies together, mayhap you will permit me to escort you home.”
“Oh.” Confusion replaced annoyance. “If you wish, sir, but what about your business?”
“I’ll get to that,” he murmured, and held out his arm.
Annith blinked at it as though confronted by some sort of mythical creature. Very lightly and cautiously, she rested her fingers on his forearm. Amusement gleamed in his eyes. He took her hand, placed it securely in the crook of his arm, and started down the church steps.
Annith had perforce to follow, but for some reason she seemed to be having trouble putting one foot in front of the other. All her senses felt overwhelmed. He was so warm, and hard, and strong. Even through the leather sleeve of his tunic she could feel the power in him. It rattled her nerves, made her breathless. She felt incredibly small and fragile beside him, and yet a strange compulsion to move closer kept tugging at her.
And startling thoughts were darting through her mind. Mayhap he would kiss her hand when he left her. A sudden image flashed before her eyes, of being very small and watching a man kiss the hand of a woman standing with her. Childhood memory? If so, she would be better served trying to drag more recollections into the light, instead of wondering how it would feel to have that hard mouth touch her fingers? Or caress her cheek. Or…
Eyes of the saints! Surely such thoughts were sinful. They were definitely shocking.
They were also deliciously thrilling.
“Have you heard how Mistress Purcell’s grandson is healing?” he asked, breaking the long silence.
“Aye,” she said somewhat breathlessly. She felt hot color stain her cheeks when he glanced down at her, and hurried into speech. “His knee is sore, but improving.” She hesitated, before adding in a rush, “But I am ashamed. I went there this morning to apologize to Master Purcell for berating him yesterday. No matter what I thought when he was railing against his son, ’twas not my place to say anything.”
“’Twas certainly a revelation,” he murmured. When she looked up in puzzlement, he grinned. “Is that why you were in church again this morning, little maid? To confess such a small transgression. You are to be commended for your piety.”
The wicked amusement in his eyes was irresistible. She broke into laughter. “I doubt the nuns at—”
Shock stopped her cold. She almost stumbled in her tracks. Nuns? What nuns? And where?
She felt Hugh look at her, felt the sudden tension in the arm beneath her hand and struggled to erase the stunned expression she knew was on her face. “I…I’m sure the nuns who visited us would stare to hear you say so,” she managed, improvising wildly.
The heavy silence that followed almost took shape and form, looming over her like an ominous cloud.
“I expect they enjoyed their visit,” he observed blandly. “This is a fair town.”
“Indeed it is,” she agreed hastily. “How…how do you come to be here, my lord?”
She had seized on the question to distract him, but it suddenly dawned on her that he would know what had been happening in the
world. Whether anything of note applied to her was yet to be seen.
He studied her a moment longer, before releasing her from that all-seeing gaze. “By royal command. I was preparing to return home after the fighting at Evesham, and Crofton lies on my way.” When she said nothing, he added, “You would know of the conflict between the King and some of the barons, led by Simon de Montfort. God knows it’s been going on for years.”
“Mmm-hmm.”
“Then you know of the battle at Evesham last month between Prince Edward’s forces and de Montfort’s rebels. They were finally routed. De Montfort and many of his barons were killed, but the rest escaped. Corbel was one who thought he could continue the cause to his own advantage, but he needed more men to take the castle here. His opportunity came when a delegation of townsfolk told him the castellan was using extortion against them, and asked him to do something about it.”
That shocked her into speech. “Saints above! What did he do?”
“He sent them off time and again with empty words until some lads got together and incited each other to vengeance. When they descended on him in a mob he seized his moment and swore them secretly to his service, sending them out to recruit more youths, and promising to redress all injustices. They didn’t know he intended to hold the castle against the King once the constable was killed. But the man got word of what was happening and panicked. He sent to Edward for help. My men and I got here in time to intercept Corbel and his misguided followers.”
A mob of boys, marching along a road.
Annith frowned as the image fled, wraith-like, across her mind. But even as she tried to grasp it, the scene vanished like mist in the morning sun.
“So your task is done,” she said, struggling to pick up the conversation.
“Not entirely. I’ve been hearing petitions from those who were cheated in order to give recompense.”
“You know who they are?”
“Indeed. The castellan, bless his crooked heart, kept records. Thirty shillings from Gervase the tailor after falsely accusing him of killing his wife, five marks from Heldrid of Hay so he would not be imprisoned for his son’s trespass on a neighbor, ten shillings from Hamo of Lyshurst to have fishery rights in his own pond. And many more.”
