The Warrior and the Dove - A Short Novel (Medieval Chronicles) (2 page)

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.

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.”

“What manner of
man would do such a thing?” she wondered aloud.

His mouth quirked.
“A man with too much power, little maid. Such abuses are common. Why do you
think Simon de Montfort gathered so many to his army? He was the hero of the
common folk, who’d had no voice until he spoke for them. But power went to his
head, also, and it seems when that happens, common sense is evicted.”

“But when Lord
Corbel refused to act, could not the people of Crofton have applied to the
King?”

He sent her a
curious glance. “King Henry has been a captive of de Montfort since the Battle
of Lewes last year, used as a puppet king until we rescued him during the
fighting at Evesham. Besides, though Henry is a good man, that doesn’t mean
he’s a strong ruler. He is not his grandfather, the great law-maker, Henry II,
nor does he resemble his lion-hearted uncle. But Prince Edward believes in
justice. He’ll see matters put right over time.”

“I knew nothing
of what was happening here,” she murmured. “Poor Master Purcell must have been
among the victims.”

“How could you
know?” he asked. “You told me, yourself, that you came to stay with Master
Fletcher only a few days ago.”

“Oh… Oh… So I
did.” And now that intent scrutiny was back, causing her to stutter like a
fool. Just when she’d been feeling more at ease with him.

“In what
relationship does he stand to you, mistress?”

“A…a cousin.
Very distant.” When he continued to study her, she wondered if guilt at the lie
was emblazoned across her face. The suspense was too much, it was better to
know.

“Why?”

To her relief he
glanced away. “I would like speech with him,” he said. And immediately threw
her into turmoil again.

What did he mean
by that? He didn’t know her. She was sure of it. No amount of blows to the head
would make her forget a man like Hugh de Verney. But why did he want speech
with Martin? Did he suspect something wasn’t right? Even if he did, why would
he care?

“Martin and
Herleve have been very good to me,” she said, in case he was thinking
otherwise. “I would be lost without them.”

That was
certainly the truth.

“’Tis clear
they’re diligent in their care of you,” he murmured, and indicated the house a
few doors down, where Martin was looking out to see if she was on her way home.

“Annith.” Martin
glanced curiously at her escort when they reached him. “I told Herleve you
could hardly fall into danger between here and the church, but she took to
fretting. I was about to set out in search of you.”

“No danger at
all,” Annith said, forcing a smile, “with my lord de Verney accompanying me. In
truth, I think everyone we passed gave us a wide berth.” Actually, she couldn’t
remember passing anyone. What with her senses torn between fascination with
Hugh and the fleeting glimpses of her past, she’d had no attention to spare for
anything else.

“My lord.”
Martin indicated the room behind him. “Will you come in and accept our thanks
with a cup of ale?”

“I will, with
pleasure,” Hugh said, and ushered Annith through the doorway.

Herleve was
already bustling in from the kitchen, a tray laden with ale mugs in her hands,
but alert and ready to whisk her charge away. “You won’t mind sitting here in
the shop, my lord?” she asked.

Annith stared at
her, wondering why they weren’t entertaining their guest in the solar. She saw
Hugh smile slightly.

“Not at all,
Mistress Fletcher.” He accepted a mug of ale and used it to indicate a pile of
shafts and arrowheads on the bench in front of the window. “’Tis Master
Fletcher’s work I wish to discuss with him. I understand you supply the castle
garrison,” he continued, turning to Martin.

“Aye, that I
do,” Martin replied. “There are good fletchers in Gloucester and Worcester, of
course, but I’m the only one in these parts, and there are plenty of manors to
keep me busy.” He exchanged a glance with Herleve that had Hugh looking sharply
from one to the other. “In fact, I was away near to Evesham a few days ago,
making a delivery.”

“Then your work
must be well-known and valued. Do you have time to return with me to the
castle? I would have you meet Sir Ranulf fitzWalter, who will be constable here
when I return to my lands near Hereford.”

“Of course, my
lord,” Martin said with alacrity. He drained his mug, placed it on the tray,
and reached for his mantle in one quick movement. “I am at your service.”

Annith saw
Hugh’s brows rise at Martin’s readiness to be gone, but he merely finished his
ale and handed the cup to Herleve with a word of thanks.

“Mistress
Annith.” He held out his hand. Her heart immediately started leaping about
again. All this exercise couldn’t be good for it; there was certainly no benefit
to her nerves. And she couldn’t just let him stand there with his hand extended
while she dithered.

“Thank you for
your escort, my lord,” she managed to say, and placed her hand in his.

He closed his fingers
about hers and smiled straight into her eyes. “Thank you for your company,
mistress. I have seldom spent a more interesting morning.” He raised her hand
to his lips, held it there for several heart-shaking seconds, and released her.