Authors: Bertrice Small
Then, turning, she hurried off.
“Thank you,” Adair called after her. She tucked the bag into her breeches waist, and, taking her cap off, stuffed her braid beneath it. Then she affixed her saddlebags and, mounting her horse, she made her way out of the stable yard and from the castle. It was midday, and she knew if she rode at a fairly steady gait she could reach the convent in which she had sheltered the night before arriving at Windsor.
The next morning she joined a band of pilgrims heading toward York. It was safer riding in a group than riding alone. She gave the leader of the pilgrims a silver penny for the privilege, knowing she was very fortunate to be able to attach herself to this party. When they reached York Adair found a small convoy of merchants going as far north as Newcastle. She joined them, keeping to herself as much as possible, and leaving the merchants just before they reached the town.
For the next few days she rode across Northumbria toward Stanton. She rested most nights in religious houses, but two nights she was forced to shelter in barns, and one night she spent out on the moors, her back pressed against a rock wall, clutching the reins of her horse. She but dozed on and off that night, fearful of
wild animals and bandits. But finally, to her great relief, she gained her own lands, only to find Stanton Hall had been destroyed. Not a stone was left standing, even its defensive walls, but the village remained, and it was there that she found Albert, Elsbeth, and the house servants.
Elsbeth was outraged to learn that her mistress had been sent home in such a fashion. “You could have been ravaged, or robbed, or killed,” she said furiously. “What kind of a king sends a helpless young woman out by herself to travel such a distance?”
“I am not in favor with this king,” Adair said dryly. “I am stripped of my title and my lands, although Mags says she will try to get the king to relent on my lands.
But what has happened to the hall?”
“The Lancastrians finished what they started back when they slew your parents,” Elsbeth said bitterly. “A great party of men arrived shortly after you had gone south. They had orders, they said, to destroy the hall, and they did. Albert got them to give us a bit of time to get out your personal belongings, and we managed to save a bit of the furnishings before they began their destruction. They carted away the stones themselves, so, they said, the hall could not be rebuilt. They looted what we couldn’t take. Then they burned it.”
“The village, the fields, and the livestock,” Albert said, “they left, for they said the king would not harm his good people, only their masters who supported a tyrant. What did they mean by that, my lady?” Albert looked suddenly weary and worn, Adair thought.
“This new king has punished Stanton for supporting King Richard,” Adair explained.
“What are we to do, my lady?” Albert asked her fearfully.
“We shall go on as we have,” Adair said.
“But there is no hall for you,” he said.
“Where is Elsbeth living?” Adair asked. “I shall live in the cottage in which she has been living, but if that
place is already housing another family you shall build me a new cottage before the winter months set in on us again. I am plain Mistress Radcliffe now, and shall be content with a cottage.”
“You are the lady of Stanton, and do not forget it!”
Elsbeth snapped, and Albert nodded in agreement.
“We’ve all been living with our families here in the village,” Albert said. “Now that you’re back, my lady, we’ll begin building you your own house.”
“I will be content with a cottage,” Adair told him.
“We don’t want to attract the attention of those who came to destroy Stanton Hall again, do we?”
“And you’ll shelter with my sister and me,” Elsbeth said. “She’s a widow now, and her daughters are married. There is plenty of room, my lady.”
“Then it is settled,” Adair told them cheerfully. “Now I am going to walk my lands for a bit. Stable my poor horse.” She walked away from them, speaking with her people as she went. But finally she was away from the village and out in her meadows. While it was good to be home again, Adair considered what she had to do to help her Stanton folk survive this latest blow. The hall was gone, but at least the king’s men had left everything else intact. And she had shelter. She sat down upon a low stone wall to rest a moment. A cold nose suddenly pressed into her hand.
“Beiste!” She reached out to stroke the ancient wolfhound. “Poor baby. You’ve lost your nice warm hearth, haven’t you? But we’ll have another by the time the frost sets in. Oh, Beiste, I am so sad. Andrew is gone.
Our home is gone. I am so tired of having to start all over again, only to have it snatched away from me.”
Adair began to cry softly, and the dog laid his great head onto her lap, looking up at her with his dark and very sympathetic eyes. Adair’s fingers scratched Beiste’s ears, and she brushed away her tears, which were drop-ping onto his fur. “I have to be brave for them, you know,” Adair continued. “They wouldn’t know what to
do without me. But even I’m not certain what to do now. What if the king won’t return Stanton to me? Well, I suppose if no one else comes to claim the land I can remain on it. Someone has to look after the Stanton folk.”
“Urrrrrr,” the dog said, as if in agreement with his mistress.
Adair gave a watery chuckle. “You always know the right thing to say,” she told the dog. Then she stood up.
“We had best get back. We’re staying with Elsbeth’s sister, Margery. She always scared me as a child, being so sharp-spoken,” Adair said.
“Did you and the dog settle it then?” Elsbeth asked as Adair entered the cottage.
“How did you know I speak with the dog?” Adair demanded to know.
Elsbeth chuckled. “Ever since you were a wee girlie, you’ve gone and talked things out with Beiste whenever you are feeling sad or confused. Did you think I didn’t notice?”
Adair had to laugh. “You see everything, don’t you, Nursie?”
“I do,” Elsbeth agreed. “Now, what have you
decided?”
Adair took the chair by the fireplace. “We go on as always,” she said. “I don’t know what else to do. We can’t cease our way of life because of the king. Nay. It’s almost midsummer. The fields are green, and the cattle are in the high meadows. We will do what we always do at this time of year—we’ll make soap and conserves.
Were you able to save my apothecary? I should inven-tory what is there, and begin to gather what is necessary to make new salves, ointments, and medicines.”
“You’re a sensible young woman, my lady,” Elsbeth’s sister, Margery, said sharply. She had just come into the cottage, and had stood listening. “The Stanton folk need to feel that naught has changed for them. We’re simple folk, after all. It don’t matter to us if you’re a countess
or not. You’re our lady. Now, are you hungry? I’ve got a nice rabbit stew on the boil.”
Adair found that to her surprise she enjoyed the simpler life of her villagers. The summer moved on, and the new cottage was slowly being raised up. It was a bit larger, she could see, than the other homes, but she said nothing, for Adair realized that as the Stanton folks’
lady she was considered different from them. Still, until she knew that the land was hers again and no one could take away her new home, she could not rest easily. But no word came from Lady Margaret.
The grain ripened in the fields, and was cut and threshed. There had been a bit more rain this summer than in the past, and so the granaries were not as full as Adair would have liked them. Still, she knew from experience that she could get them all through the winter.
The day of her birth came and went. She was twenty-one years of age now. Robert Lynbridge rode over from Hillview to tell her that word had come that the queen had given birth to a fair son who was baptized Arthur.
Although Adair had written to him about the change in her fortunes, he was still distressed to see the spot where the hall had once stood. And he was unhappy to find her living in a cottage.
“Come back with me to Hillview,” he pleaded with her. “Allis would be happy for your company. You have been gently raised, Adair. You should not be living like a common cottager. With Grandsire dead now, there is no one to provoke you.”
“I thank you for the offer, Rob,” she replied. “But I am most comfortable. My own new home is almost finished, and as you can see it is twice the size of everyone else’s cottage. These are my people. I am their lady, whether I be the Countess of Stanton or nay. My place is here.”
“The Scots will have discovered by now that you are vulnerable,” he responded.
“What is the worst they can do, Rob? Steal some cattle? Let them. I will not leave Stanton ever again,”
Adair said stubbornly.
“Promise me you will reconsider,” he said to her.
“And send to me if at any time you feel threatened. I will come with my men, and we will protect you.”
After he had gone Elsbeth said, “You could go to Hillview for the winter months, my lady, and no one would think the worse of you for it.”
“I’m not leaving Stanton,” Adair said quietly. “It was the hall that attracted the Scots. They are hardly interested in a little village.”
But Adair had misjudged her neighbors, and one morning in late September a large party of Scots borderers swept down from the hills into Stanton village.
The village was filled mostly with women and the elderly. Most of the men were either harvesting apples in the orchards or tending the cattle. The villagers were herded into the square, and the Scots sorted them out efficiently and quickly. The elderly and infirm were told to return to their cottages. They were instructed to take the small children with them.
Adair finally stepped forward. “Who is in charge here?” she demanded to know.
“And who wants to know that, my pretty?” a tall borderer asked, leering at her.
“The lady of Stanton, that’s who, you border cur!”
Elsbeth snapped.
“Why, you’re a hot-tempered piece of goods.” The tall borderer chuckled. “You’d keep a man busy and warm on a cold winter’s night.” He chucked Elsbeth beneath her chin, then, howling, drew back his bloodied hand, for she had stabbed him with her knife. “Bitch!” he roared. “You’ll pay for that!”
“Jock!” An older man of medium height with white hair and a commanding presence came forward. “Do not damage the captives. I’ll have no rape.”
“Are you in charge here, sir?” Adair asked the man.
“I am,” the borderer replied. “I am William Douglas.
And who be you?”
“I am Adair Radcliffe, the lady of Stanton,” Adair responded. “I assume you have come for my cattle, sir.
Please take them and leave us in peace.”
“Your cattle, your grain, now that you have so nicely threshed and stored it, and captives, lady,” William Douglas answered pleasantly. “While the cattle have more value, of course, there is a good market for slaves at the Michaelmas fair in the borders. I will, of course, be happy to accept a ransom for you, if you will direct me to where I may apply for one, lady. Where is your husband?”
“Dead,” Adair said. “But recently.”
“And your bairns?”
“We were not wed long enough,” she replied.
“Your parents?”
“On the hillside, sir,” Adair answered.
“And your relations?”
“Alas, I have none living, sir,” she told him.
“Have you gold hidden away that can buy your free -
dom?” he inquired politely.
“If I had gold hidden away, sir, and I do not, what would my guarantee be that you would take it, and leave us all be?” she asked him.
“I am a man of my word, lady,” he told her with the utmost seriousness, “but if you have no gold then I have no choice but to take you with me and sell you at the Michaelmas fair. I am a poor borderer, and must make my living where and when I can.”
“Sir, I beg you, leave us be,” Adair said softly.
William Douglas smiled gently at her. His face, in contrast with his white hair, was a youngish one. Tipping her chin up, he met her gaze. “Madam,” he said, “I regret I must refuse someone as fair as you are, but I must.”
His blue eyes were as cold as ice. Turning away from her, he said to Jock, “Are we ready to go?”
“Aye, milord, we are,” Jock replied. “I’ll signal for the
carts to be brought. It’s a good haul of strong women and younglings. You’ll make a pretty profit on this lot.”
Hearing the tall borderer, Adair thought to herself,
Why am I standing here letting this happen to us?
She bolted from the group and dashed up the village street.
“Run!”
she shouted to her Stanton folk.
“Run!”
Behind her she heard the others scattering, the Scots swearing, and then a great deal of shrieking. Where were the men? she wondered. Why hadn’t they come to her aid?
She heard the sound of hoofbeats behind her as she reached Margery’s cottage. She screamed as she was scooped up and deposited across William Douglas’s saddle.
Then, to her dismay, Beiste came forth from the cottage with a fierce roar. He leaped for the horse’s throat, but he was old and missed the mark. Still, his devotion to Adair bade him act to save her. But as he jumped again at the horse, William Douglas severed Beiste’s head from his shoulders with a single clean stroke.
Adair caught but a glimpse of her dog, dead in the street, as William Douglas rode back with her to where the three wagons were now being filled with sobbing women and older children of both sexes. Unceremoni-ously he dumped her into a wagon, and suddenly, to the Stanton folks’ amazement, Adair began to cry. Astonished, they could but gape as she sobbed, not understanding this sudden outpouring of great grief on her part.
They could not have comprehended that Adair wept not because all of their lives were about to be turned upside down. She wept for everything that had happened to her in the last fifteen years. For her mother and father murdered so cruelly, and a childhood cut too short. For Richard of Gloucester, her beloved Uncle Dickon, who had loved her. For Andrew, the husband she had accepted and come to love. Aye, even for poor FitzTudor, whose young life had been cut short by these damned Scots. And for Beiste, her beloved wolfhound,
who had died not gently on a warm hearth, as he had deserved to do, but in a gallant attempt to save her.