Authors: Julia Latham
She shook her head and tugged on his tunic. Sighing, he lifted his hips, and she was able to slide up his tunic, as well as his shirt. As she suspected, the bandage appeared crusted with unhealthy pus.
Adam was looking at her face. “Not so good, I believe.”
Smiling, she put a hand on his forehead. “How do you feel?”
He shrugged, not quite meeting her eyes. “Wounded. It will pass.”
“Not without medicine, it will not,” she said.
“Florrie, I already told you—”
“You are fevered now, are you not? That means the wound is inflamed. We must find a healer.”
“Nay.” He sat up, pulling down his garments. “’Twould be too dangerous, and not just for us. I have harmed enough innocents.”
“And saved them, too,” she said crossly. “Lie back down, so I can change the dressing.”
To her surprise, he reluctantly did so without further comment.
But when they were riding south, skirting near the reeds of the low, damp fens, mud sucking at the horses’ hooves, Florrie could feel that he was not holding her weight across his lap so easily. She convinced him to allow her to ride astride, with
him behind her, and it was a mark of his illness that he did not fight too strenuously. They left the fens behind at last, and the countryside had more woodlands and meadows and farm fields. By midday he was slumped against her, heat shimmering between them, dampening her back. She called a halt at the edge of a stand of trees.
Adam lifted his head. “What is it? Is someone following us?”
She looked at Robert, whose usually cheerful face was now shadowed with concern.
“Adam—” Robert bit off his words.
“I am fine,” Adam said. He tried to dismount, and almost missed the stirrup, gripping the saddle hard to help him down.
Before Florrie could dismount, he took the horse’s reins and led them deeper into the woods. At least he was still in his right mind.
But perhaps not for long.
When Robert and then Michael joined them, Adam was already kneeling by a stream, drinking water from his cupped hands, then splashing his face.
She looked at the other two men. “He needs rest and medicine. This infection will only worsen.”
Robert hesitated, watching as Adam waved a hand dismissively.
“Feel his fever!” she cried at last.
Robert narrowed his eyes but did so, inhaling swiftly. “Adam, she is right, you are truly ill.”
Adam only laughed, leaning back against a tree
stump to look up at her. “Florrie, what happened to all of your optimism? ’Tis what I admire most about you.”
“One can be an optimist without being a fool,” she said. “I am not a fool. You must listen to me, Adam, or your future plans will dissolve into ash.”
“’Tis too dangerous to involve anyone else,” he said, his voice sounding tired.
“So you’ve said,” she replied, “but I have been thinking. The castle of my sister Christina’s husband is north of London. Surely we cannot be too far. She might be persuaded to give us aid and comfort. And of the men following us, who would ever think you would take me, your captive, to the home of my own sister? This is the perfect place to hide and heal.”
“Nay, we will not risk it,” Adam said. He started to get up, then collapsed back on his butt, frowning.
Florrie stared at Robert, who at last sighed. “Do you think you can persuade your sister to help us?”
Before Florrie could speak, Adam angrily said, “Robert—”
“Nay, you are no longer in charge, big brother,” Robert said. “Until you’re well, I am in command, as you trained me to be.”
Adam blinked at him, but said nothing.
“And we will attempt Florrie’s plan,” Robert finished.
She suddenly felt nervous, responsible for what she’d proposed. She looked at Michael. “I know not where it is. Her husband is the earl of Standon, in Hertfordshire.”
“Ah,” Michael said, looking to the south. “With enough time to rest the horses, we could reach her by midafternoon on the morrow.”
“Do you see?” Florrie said with excitement. “This will be perfect.”
“’Twill be dangerous,” Robert said before Adam could speak. “The roads are far more crowded now that we’re near London. And how can you know that your sister will help us? You have not spoken with flattery of your family.”
“She is the sister nearest to me in age,” Florrie said. “Of all of my family, I trust her the most.”
T
hey traveled as much as possible through the outskirts of forests as they sojourned through Cambridgeshire. Florrie understood the danger; she could see how much more populous this county was. Michael had told her that Ermine Street was only a league away in the west, and the large town of Cambridge a league away in the east.
She glanced again at Adam, now riding against his brother’s back. He slept, but his face grimaced with his dreams. The dread in her stomach grew tighter.
Robert smiled at her. “He has been injured before, Florrie.”
“But not because of me,” she said darkly. “This whole journey is the fault of my family.”
“He made his own decisions. He knew the risks associated with kidnapping you. Do not forget, he put you in danger as well. And you’re an innocent in all of this.”
“And are you saying you blame him?” she said in a stunned voice.
“Nay, how can I?”
Robert glanced over his shoulder at his brother. There was a fondness there, a love that Florrie had never seen in her own family. A cold feeling of worry swept through her at the thought of begging her sister Christina for a dangerous boon on the morrow.
“He is my brother, Florrie,” Robert continued. “He is doing what he thinks best to restore our family’s name and position. Our parents were unjustly murdered, and he needs the truth to come out.”
“Would you do the same in his position, challenge my father to a combat to the death?”
Robert’s hesitation said it all. But at last he spoke. “I am not the eldest, with the weight of this on my shoulders. ’Tis a burden to him, but one he bears without regret. I do not always understand him, but I can admire his determination.”
She nodded and looked forward again, across more endless pasturelands where cattle roamed. She thought again of Robert calling her an “innocent.” How could she be innocent, when she knew why her father had committed such unspeakable crimes? She was so afraid to confess the truth, for she couldn’t know who would be hurt the worst.
She glanced again at Adam, her gaze lingering in warmth and fear. She had begun this journey in terror, then in anticipation of an adventure. Now it was full of danger and confusion. She would not be the same when it was over.
They rode through part of the night, then the next morning, but it was slower going with only three horses. Michael and Robert took turns bearing Adam’s weight, and Florrie saw to his comfort whenever they stopped. At first, he was alert often, grouchy with having to be coddled, but resigned to being her patient. But the closer they were to Christina’s home, and the more ill he became, weakness overtook him. By late morning, it had begun to rain, and the men had to take turns tying him onto their backs. Never in her life had Florrie felt so ill with concern, her fear making her glance at Adam at Robert’s back again and again.
The hood of her cloak hung wetly on her cheeks, but she’d stopped trying to push it out of the way. At last, she said, “Talk to me, Robert, or my thoughts will drive me mad.”
“I do that to women,” he said, nodding in resignation.
She groaned.
He laughed. “Of what would you have me speak?”
Her eyes touched Adam again, yet she hesitated. How transparent was she to Robert, with all her focus on his brother? But why fight her inevitable curiosity?
“He told me how the three of you grew up,” she said slowly. “It must have been very difficult.”
“’Twas all I knew, and for a boy, it was exciting. And I had Adam.”
“He is only two years older than you!”
“Perhaps it was only our temperaments that made it seem like so much more.” Robert grinned. “He was the serious, studious, focused brother. Paul was much like him, especially when we were younger. But I…I did not feel the same goals in life that Adam did.”
“Yet you’re here with him.”
“Not at his request,” Robert said dryly. “But I do have my honor, and I could not let him do this alone.”
“You love him.”
“Men do not like to talk of such things, Florrie,” he teased. “But aye, how could one not love someone who puts your welfare before all else? Even when he was a young boy, he understood his role as the eldest. No adult had to tell us to go to bed at an appropriate hour, not when Adam was around. My favorite part of the day was training at the tiltyard, but Adam made sure I saw to my studies as well.”
“It sounds as if ’twould be easy to resent him.”
“Only on occasion. He never made one feel bullied or inferior. I knew he only wanted what was best for me.” His amusement faded. “Just as I knew the terrible things haunting him, the images that made him as driven as he was.
She said nothing, feeling sick.
Robert wasn’t looking at her. “He saw their lifeless bodies, and it never left him. I remember him screaming with nightmares, but in the end, he was the one who comforted me.”
She could not imagine having such a sibling to count on. She had never been close to her sisters, who treated her more as a servant than a friend.
“I…I hope that time and separation have helped bridge my relationship to Christina,” she said. “I always thought that once they lived away from home, my sisters would understand that we shared a bond that shouldn’t be dismissed.”
“I cannot help you there. I would have thought Paul would feel that toward us, but he’s been gone many long months, and we’ve heard nothing from him.”
Robert’s voice was sad, and it surprised her that he had such feelings within him. Not a fortnight ago, she would have thought he never took anything seriously. Everyone hid their truths beneath a mask, it seemed. She’d never thought that of herself, but now she wasn’t so sure.
“Though I think going to Christina is our best plan,” she said softly, “I admit that I fear asking for her help. What will I do if she refuses? What will happen to Adam?”
“Florrie, I have no doubt in you whatsoever.” He gave her his cheerful smile. “Look how you’ve manipulated us, your kidnappers. You’re practically in command now. And you have Adam doing whatever he can for you.”
Blinking in astonishment, she gave him a slow nod of thanks for the encouragement.
But in command? How could that be possible?
By late afternoon, Standon Castle reared above the trees of the surrounding woodlands. It had towering curtain walls, with a gatehouse, and a drawbridge over an old-fashioned moat. The moat was mostly marsh and reeds, but the fortress was impressive nonetheless. And inside, the main keep rose above it all, crenellated with battlements along the top.
They found a wooded copse nearby, where the three men would await Florrie.
Adam sat on a wet log, his hands braced on his knees. His eyes looked bleary, but lucid, his face ruddy with fever. “I like this not.”
Florrie put her fists on her hips as she confronted him. “You know it will be best if I go in alone. I shall be as any other villager, especially now that my gowns no longer look refined.” She spread her skirt. “The hems are ragged and the fabric stained. Who would think me otherwise?”
“But—”
“And if I have a strange man looming over me, will not my sister think I’m being coerced or threatened?” She put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. “This is Christina, older than me by a year, closest to me of all my family.”
“That is not necessarily comforting.”
“She will help us,” Florrie insisted. “And then I will return for you all.”
She stared at his flushed face, and the way he kept his hand on his wound, and felt a flood of worry and tenderness overwhelm her. She could no longer deny that she cared for him, that he mattered deeply to her. How did a temporary adventure dissolve into something that could change her life? If she fell in love with him, how would she ever be able to resign herself to her old life—or the one in the convent she was destined for?
She stepped away and pulled up her hood, then was shocked when Adam reached to grab her arm. She stared down at him in surprise, seeing the urgency in his gaze.
“Be very careful,” he said quietly. “Flee if you feel even one bit of suspicion.”
“I promise I will. But you need not fear. This will work.”
She put her hand over his and held it there for a moment, suddenly wanting to kiss him. But she did not have the right, and would not embarrass herself before Robert and Michael. She prayed to God that Adam’s illness would not worsen while she was gone.
She turned away, tugging the hood even lower over her forehead as she moved swiftly through the trees. The wet ferns lashed at her legs, and dripping branches splashed her face. But at last she left the line of trees, and was able to fall in
line behind two men pulling a cart of hay toward the castle.
She was tense crossing the drawbridge, but the guards on duty only let their gazes slide right over her, as if she were of no consequence.
Following the muddy road up through the inner ward, she passed the tiltyard in use by the soldiers even as it rained. There were wooden structures built against the curtain walls, housing everything from the garrison of soldiers to the dairy to the blacksmith’s shop.
But it was the great keep that drew her attention, rising up to overpower every other structure. She wondered about the people inside, the people now ruled by her
sister.
It was a strange thought.
Then an even more daunting thought occurred to her. What if her sister were not in residence? She looked up and saw that the earl’s banner was not flying over the battlements, so he was gone. Her heart began to race. If Christina had traveled with her husband, who would help Adam?
But no sooner had she entered the great hall of the castle, than she saw her sister speaking to a servant. All around her valets dismantled the trestle tables used during dinner. And Florrie’s stomach growled, as she realized she’d eaten nothing since that morn.
Florrie stood beside a tapestried wall, waiting for her sister to be alone. Christina was un
changed, which wasn’t surprising since she’d only been married less than a year. Her sandy blond hair was piled high beneath a flattering head-dress, and she wore an expression that could only be called…mature. She was four and twenty, after all, finally married to the man—and his title—that their father had wanted for her. Florrie prayed that she was content.
At last, Christina was alone, but to Florrie’s dismay, she turned immediately and started through an arched doorway. Florrie hurried after her, but she’d never been as fast as her sister. Once she was in the torchlit corridor, she saw her sister turn the far corner, and she tried to increase her speed before Christina could disappear.
Florrie caught the edge of the wall as she took the turn, and there was Christina, opening a door latch.
Her sister looked up in surprise, then frowned, ducking her head as if to see beneath the stranger’s hood. Florrie let the hood drop.
“Florrie?” her sister cried, gaping.
Florrie put a finger to her lips, limping forward. “I must speak with you,” she whispered. “’Tis urgent and requires the utmost secrecy!”
“But…how did you get here? Who else is with you?”
Florrie motioned to their door. “Can we speak privately in there?”
Christina slowly shook her head. “Nay, ’tis the sewing chamber. Follow me.”
They continued down the corridor, going up a circular staircase built into the corner of the keep.
On the next floor, Christina hurried past several doors, then opened one, drawing Florrie in before closing it quickly. “This is the bedchamber I share with my husband.”
For the first time, Florrie let some of the stiffness leave her frame. Christina had been surprised—but not dismayed—to see her, and so far Florrie was undiscovered by anyone else. She let herself study the impressive bedchamber, with its whitewashed walls between wooden panels. There were woven mats on the wooden floor, and a wide bed hung with luxurious curtains. Several coffers lined the walls, as well as cupboards displaying a collection of glass bottles.
And then suddenly Christina hugged her. Surprised, Florrie patted her back.
Christina looked almost embarrassed as she stepped away. “Forgive me for such a display, but you cannot imagine how good it is to see you. It can be rather lonely here.”
“You need ask no forgiveness,” Florrie said, smiling. “’Tis good to see you, too.”
Her sister smoothed a hand down her gown. “Did you notice anything different?”
Florrie shook her head, feeling guilty that her thoughts were too filled with Adam.
“I am with child! The babe will not come until the end of the year, so perhaps that is why you did not notice.”
“Oh, Christina, I am so happy for you!” Florrie said with honest enthusiasm—and guilt over her own preoccupation. “Your husband must be proud.”
“And relieved. His mother is relentless about the future succession, and his heir right now is a cousin no one likes who…” She trailed off, studying Florrie at last. “You seem…different. And you said you need to speak with me in secret.”
Florrie nodded, feeling uneasy again now that the moment was at hand.
“Whom are you traveling with?” Christina asked.
“I have come to you alone,” Florrie said, moving closer to take her sister’s hands in her own.
Christina’s eyes widened. “Alone? How is that possible? Father never even permitted you…” Sudden comprehension lit her eyes, which were as green as Florrie’s. “He does not know that you have come to me.”
“Nay, nor does anyone else know.” She took a deep breath, ready to repeat the lies she’d concocted—and feeling surprisingly guilty about it. “I am having an adventure the likes of which I had never imagined. There is a man who—”
“What?” Christina cried, then quieted when Florrie winced and glanced at the door. “A man? A strange man?”
Florrie nodded. “He is one of the guards escorting me to London.”
Christina smiled with relief. “Father allowed you to visit at last?”
“Aye, he did, as long as I promised to enter the convent when I return.”
Christina’s happiness faded. “I had so hoped he would change his mind.”
“You know he will not,” Florrie said. Her usual optimism and contentment was suddenly hard to fake.