She smiled to herself. Roger used to do that to her, too, back in those happy days when their parents were alive. Those days he had forgotten.
She glanced at her dirty, stained woolen gown and took off her wimple. Although filthy, the fabric was very good. Maybe these two lads had a mother who would trade for some fabric, or even a change of clothes, Madeline thought as she watched them. Maybe she could even get some food in addition to more suitable garments. But Dafydd had told her to stay here....
At that moment, her stomach growled. With sudden resolve, Madeline began to stealthily follow the boys.
They went a fair distance before they reached a brook and an open glade, in which she could see a simple farmhouse. It was not large, but the wattle-and-daub walls were in good repair. Smoke curled out of a hole in the thatched roof. Some hens scratched in the yard and there was a pig in a small pen. As Madeline crept closer, the smell of fresh-baked bread wafted to her, making her mouth water. She could also see, spread out upon the banks of the brook to dry, a woman’s much-mended gown, a linen shift, a man’s tunic, some aprons and what she took to be children’s clothing.
A slender young woman, also towheaded, came out of the farmhouse and called to the boys, who ran to her, their competition forgotten. Madeline waited as they all went toward what looked like a small barn. She heard a cow moo. Milking time.
Swiftly Madeline stood up and removed her gown so that she was wearing only her linen shift, which was in better condition than her outer garments. She folded the gown carefully and wrapped it in the wimple. If she left everything, surely that would compensate for an old gown, a tunic and a loaf of bread.
She dashed toward the farmhouse, staying under cover of the trees as long as she could. She entered the house, spotted the bread, laid the bundle on a stool, snatched up the still-warm loaf, ran back outside, grabbed the gown and the tunic and sprinted across the brook. Once back in the covering undergrowth, she sat panting a moment until she could catch her breath. Then she began to hurry toward where she thought she had left the horse.
Before she had gone very far, however, Madeline halted in confusion. She had left no markings to guide her and had paid more attention to the children than to the trees or bushes.
She was quite lost.
* * *
Father Gabriel sighed softly as he rode behind Sir Roger and Sir Albert. Up ahead he could hear the huntsman, who moved as silently as a cat, leading his huge and various hounds along the side of the road.
If Father Gabriel understood matters correctly, the hounds had picked up a trail heading northward, confirmed by the muddy hoofprints of a horse traveling fast but weighed down. The huntsman had been most emphatic that the horse must have borne more than one rider, to account for such tracks. Unfortunately, the hounds had lost the scent not many miles from Sir Guy’s ravaged manor, and the road had joined with another ancient track that was made of stone, leaving no clear marks.
Nevertheless, after they had seen to the disposal of the bodies of Sir Guy and his men, Sir Roger had insisted on searching as far northward as they could until dark, then they had camped in the forest close to the road.
Now they were riding through a large beech wood and the road wound away under the heavy canopy. There was little underbrush here and Father Gabriel could see Bredon, the huntsman, and his dogs some distance ahead. Sir Albert and Sir Roger rode at the head of the cortege, and a line of several soldiers fanned out from the road, by their bowed heads obviously searching for any signs of tracks. Other men had spread even farther afield in the search.
Father Gabriel watched as Sir Roger dropped back beside him.
“Are you weary? Do you wish to rest?” Sir Roger asked with the merest hint of courtesy in his tone, and with his eyes still alertly scanning the trees and bushes.
“Not at all,” Father Gabriel answered. “But what of yourself? That was quite a blow you took and—”
“And I have had worse, I assure you, Father.” He gave the priest a shrewd, measuring look. “How did you sleep?”
“I confess that although I have slept on plain boards and spent countless vigils kneeling on bare stones, nothing quite compares to the torture of sleeping on the damp, cold ground with a small rock lodged against my back.”
Sir Roger gave a deep bark of a laugh. “I know that pain myself, Father, and trust me, it shall pass. At least it does not look to rain again. This day promises to be one of the finest we have had all spring.”
“And you, Sir Roger? How did you sleep?”
“I’ve had better nights.” A moment passed. “Is there some religious house to the north?” Roger demanded.
“Not that I am aware of,” Father Gabriel answered honestly. Apparently the time for polite pleasantries was past, brief as it was. “The nearest is some miles farther north.”
“This outlaw you think Madeline may be with, what kind of man is he?”
“Kind, my lord?”
“Yes. He is a Welshman, you said?”
“I believe so, my lord.”
“Believe? It was my understanding he had been in your care for over a year. How can you not be sure? Did he speak French? Or Saxon?”
“He did not speak at all, my lord,” Father Gabriel admitted.
Roger turned an aloof, dark eye on the holy man.
Sir Roger was a marvel, really, Father Gabriel reflected. The epitome of the Norman nobleman. He was bold, fierce, determined, handsome, and his smile not without a certain charm, perhaps because of its rarity.
“Yet you are convinced he is a Welshman, and an honest one, at that,” the nobleman noted dryly.
“Whatever race he belongs to, Sir Roger, I believe he is an unusual man.”
“Sir Guy de Robespierre was an `unusual’ man.”
“Oh, the Welshman is nothing like that!” Father Gabriel protested. “He is quite honorable, I am sure. He also has an amazing will to live, or he would have been dead long before he reached us. He is clever, for it would take a clever man to realize that his speech might betray him as an outsider, possibly an enemy.”
“Or a rebel. And need I remind you that he has now stolen two horses, as well as the abbot’s money?”
“Out of necessity, I firmly believe. He did help your sister, Sir Roger.”
“But if he is so good and honorable, why has he not brought Madeline back to me? Or left her in safe hands?”
“Perhaps that is what he was trying to do. As I said before, he may not have understood the few things he might have heard about Sir Guy, and even then, Sir Guy was seldom spoken of at the monastery. Would Lady Madeline have heard about Sir Guy?”
“I doubt it. Sir Guy’s manor was farther from the convent than the monastery, and most people were loath to talk of his disgusting way of life.”
“Then you see, Sir Roger, it could very well be that he was taking her to what he thought was a safe place, the manor of a Norman lord, especially if they were not certain of your whereabouts.”
Sir Roger nodded. “It is not impossible, Father.”
Father Gabriel’s perceptions did not just pertain to wounded, silent men in the monastery, so he said, “Pardon me, Sir Roger, but I have been wondering why Lady Madeline might not have gone back toward the convent or the monastery? She certainly knew she could find safe haven at either place, yet she is apparently going in the opposite direction.”
“Despite what you think, perhaps she is not free to do as she pleases,” Sir Roger replied sternly. “If this fellow is, or was, a rebel or an outlaw, she may not be able to go where she chooses.”
“I must say again, Sir Roger, that if she has met with the young man who has lodged with us at the monastery, you have little to fear for your sister’s safety. Is there no other reason she might not seek you out?”
“Explain yourself, Father,” Sir Roger demanded.
“I meant no criticism. It is my understanding, from Sir Albert and some of the others that she is on her way to be married. Sometimes, when a yo
ung woman does not wish to be married or dislikes the intended bridegroom, she runs away.”
The Norman raised his eyebrow skeptically. “It is my understanding, Father Gabriel, that you have lived all your life within monastery walls. What can you know of marriages and brides?”
“Because I have lived a secluded life does not mean I am completely ignorant of the ways of the world,” Father Gabriel replied placidly. “I am merely trying to think of reasons as to why we are having such a difficult time finding her. If she does not want to be found, that would explain many things.”
“That’s nonsense.”
Father Gabriel eyed his companion shrewdly. “Is your sister’s nature like your own, Sir Roger?”
“Why do you ask?”
“Because, my son, if she is like you, I think you should consider where she might lead the Welshman.”
“Are you saying you think my sister would willingly travel through the countryside with a man she does not know?” The young man looked as if Father Gabriel had suggested Madeline might deliberately infect herself with leprosy.
“If the alternative is unwelcome to her, it is not impossible.”
“Madeline would do no such shameful thing.”
“You sound certain, my lord.”
“I am.”
“I beg your pardon, my lord. Sir Albert gave me to understand that you had not seen your sister in some time.”
“Be that as it may,” Sir Roger said tersely, “I am quite certain Madeline has more pride and sense than that.”
“Is there no other place Lady Madeline might have gone to seek help?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, my lord, that perhaps she believes you have come to harm. Might she not seek out some friend?”
“There is a friend of the family, Lord Trevelyan, whose castle is some miles away,” Sir Roger said after a moment’s thought. “And it lies to the north.”
“Perhaps she is going there, where she is sure to find succor,” Father Gabriel suggested hopefully.
“A wise idea, Father,” Sir Roger said with a fleeting smile. “I will send Albert on ahead to inquire.” Sir Roger nudged his horse forward, then glanced back. “Wherever she has gone, we will find her, and soon.”
Chapter Eight
Dafydd stood in the middle of the small clearing in the bramble bushes and wiped his sweating brow with the back of his hand. Where was Madeline? The black stallion was still tethered and placidly munching on grass. The ground did not look disturbed as if a struggle had taken place. Nor were there signs of other people, such as a brother discovering his missing sister. Of course, had that been the case, the horse would surely be gone, too.
And he would probably have been captured and condemned to death, despite Madeline’s naive assumption that she could sway her brother. More likely she had merely gone a short way to tend to some natural needs. Nevertheless, dread flooded through him.
He tossed the sharpened sticks, which had proven useless as weapons, onto the ground. “Lady Madeline?” he called out softly.
There was no answer. Could it be that she was keeping silent out of spite? He did not think her vindictive, but he did not know her well. And he had been harsh toward her, justifiably, of course, but still... “Lady Madeline?” He searched the ground for any clue as to where she might have gone, but he could see no signs in the decaying vegetation and dead twigs.
She would not have decided to go ahead on the journey by herself, would she? It was too dangerous. She was too intelligent not to understand that.
Or had she felt that she could acquire another escort in the village? If she revealed herself as Lady Madeline de Montmorency, she would surely be able to find an escort. That would mean a return to her brother, but perhaps that was of little consequence now.
Maybe she had indeed abandoned him here. He would not be disturbed or dismayed, he told himself. He would not worry about her. He was happy to be rid of her, and now he had a much finer horse, too.
There! He spotted a recently broken branch lying on the ground, likely caused by the passage of a person, and going away from the village. Would Madeline go that way voluntarily?
“Madeline?” he called again, his tone more intense, and he paused to wait for an answer. “Madeline!” He followed the narrow trail. “Madeline!”
“Dafydd?” came a quiet whisper.
“Yes!” I should not be so pleased, he thought, willing his face to reveal nothing.
The bushes rustled as a woman stepped out onto the path. Something was different, but it was Madeline, thank God. She had not left him.
It took considerable effort for Dafydd to survey her rather than run toward her. Her wimple was missing—what marvelous hair she had!—she was not wearing her habit and she was holding something in her hands. He kept his eyes on the bundle, although he was very aware of the gown that was clinging to her body. It was of a dark-dyed linen, with lacings straining to hold the bodice together at the front. It looked as if the bodice would tear asunder at any moment, revealing her perfectly shaped breasts encased in the very thin white shift. Because the dress was obviously too small for her, her shift showed at the neck and also at the bottom.
He swallowed hard. “Where were you?” he demanded, marching up to her. “What is that you are wearing?”
“It’s a dress,” she answered matter-of-factly.
“I can see that.”
“Then why did you ask?” She started to walk past him, as if he did not deserve an explanation.
He fell into step beside her. “Where did you get it?”
“I traded my habit for it.”
“With who?”
“Some peasants. I’ve got a tunic for you and some bread, too.” Triumphantly she held out the bundle and unwrapped it, revealing a round brown loaf and a garment. “Were you worried about me?”
“No,” he lied. “If you want to find more outlaws, it is no concern of mine. What peasants did you meet?”
Her dark, shapely eyebrows knit together with annoyance. Obviously Madeline expected him to congratulate her for taking a foolish risk. “They live back that way.” She gestured behind herself vaguely. “If I had seen outlaws, I would have hidden. You did not see me, did you? And you were searching, weren’t you?”
“Did you tell these peasants who you were?” he asked, not deigning to answer her last question.
She gave him a withering look. “Do you think I am such a fool? What if my brother should come seeking me? I assure you, the peasants never even saw me.”
Even though she had just confirmed that she truly wanted to avoid her brother, he kept his thoughts on this unwise act. “What do you mean, they didn’t see you? You said you traded.”
“I mean that I left my habit in payment,” she explained in a rush. “There was no one in the house and my habit is made of much finer fabric than these clothes and the bread is very coarse although naturally that does not matter since we are both so hungry and I do think they got the best of the bargain—”
“You stole those things!” It was worse than he thought!
“In a manner of speaking, I suppose one could say that,” she replied haughtily. “What is the matter with you? You act as if I murdered the whole family while they slept! But we are both hungry, and we needed the clothing. Besides,” she said archly, “you are not an innocent when it comes to thievery, are you?”
“In a manner of speaking,” he said, his voice hot with anger, “you are quite right. About everything, including my past. But you have stopped short, my lady, in your considerations. You have not reckoned on what my fate would be if we are caught with stolen goods. I could get hung!”
“But it was I who stole the things,” she countered.
“You, my lady, are not an outlaw. A rebel. A Welshman. You are a highborn Norman noblewoman, the sister of Sir Roger de Montmorency. Who do you think the justice of the peace will accuse and convict? And if I am convicted, I assure you, I will be hung.”
> “I would not permit it.”
He gave her a look that was both dismissive and scornful. “You would not permit it. Oh, my lady, I cannot tell you how safe I feel now.”
“I will explain—”
“When you next see your brother, I suggest you inquire about Norman justice. It is swift and, I assure you, my lady, does not permit lengthy explanations, especially from Welshmen, or women. Have you already forgotten those corpses along the road? That could be my fate.”
She reddened, feeling very ignorant and ashamed and angry at being made to feel that way. She had tried to help, and he was acting as if she had betrayed him completely. Her lips started to tremble and her eyes to fill with tears, but she managed to control herself. “Very well, Dafydd. I humbly ask your pardon for getting us food and clothing. I should have sat under a bush like a rock and starved. In future, I suppose I should let you assume all the risks.”
“Madeline, I—”
“Lady Madeline,” she interrupted. If he was going to treat her like a simpleton, at least she would remind him she was from a higher class.
“How far away were these peasants you traded with, Lady Madeline?”
“A fair distance,” she mumbled, disgruntled, and picked at a hole in the tunic.
“That was why you were gone so long?”
“It...it took me some time to find the path again.”
“Dear God in heaven, you got lost?” He put his hands under her chin and forced her to look at him. “Don’t you ever leave me again!”
Her gaze searched Dafydd’s angry face and her heart started to beat wildly as she stared into his dark eyes. He was truly angry, yes, but beneath that, she knew it was because he had been worried about her. He really cared about her, and she had been a fool not to consider the danger she was putting him in—the danger she might keep him in, as long as he was with her.
But she needed him. And he cared about her, far more than anyone else in her life. She would see that nothing, nothing, happened to him because of her. He doubted that she was capable of protecting him, but he had yet to discover that what Lady Madeline de Montmorency willed, she would ensure came to pass.”It doesn’t matter, does it?” she said, no longer near tears. Indeed, she was hard-pressed not to smile as she slowly drew away. “I got back safe and sound. Here.” She held up the garment. “Put it on. And then we can eat.”
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