The Warrior and the Dove - A Short Novel (Medieval Chronicles) (5 page)

The courier
stood before his liege lord, waiting to be sentenced without hope of mercy.
After the news he had just delivered, he knew the dungeon awaited him. Why else
would the sergeant-at-arms be standing a mere pace away?

“What do you
mean she is not at the priory?” His master’s voice grated with barely
suppressed rage. “Where else would she go?”

The messenger
cringed. “They have not seen her, my lord.”

His liege hunched
down in his chair until he resembled one of the gargoyles that crouched on the
castle walls. His narrowed eyes, sunk deep in pouches of flesh, glared like
those of a wild boar.

“Did you leave
instructions that they are to send a message immediately if she appears?”

“I did, my lord.
They will obey or suffer your displeasure.”

“Pah! Much they
care for my displeasure. They have the Princess Eleanor’s patronage and Edward
supports his wife in all things.” He fell silent, his eyes mere slits while he
thought.

The courier
passed a nervous finger around the neck of his cotte. A faint glimmer of hope
appeared when his lord waved him back and shifted his malevolent glare to the
sergeant.

“Countless days
spent searching for her on these lands because you thought she could not get
far on foot, or was lying injured somewhere. Another day wasted for this fool
to ride to Worcester and return with news I like not. What have you to say for
yourself?”

The sergeant
stood expressionless under an accusation the courier knew was unjust, his liege
lord being the one who had stated that the girl must be lost or injured, and
then when it became obvious that she’d run away, that she wouldn’t get far on
foot.

“What are your
orders, my lord?” the man enquired, wisely not venturing any defense.

“
Imbecile!
What do you think? Send men out. Enquire at every town and village between here
and Worcester, every castle and abbey, every manor and farm and serf’s hovel. I
want the bitch found.”

“Will she not
tell some tale to explain her flight?” the sergeant asked.

“And if she
does?” The man thrust his head forward, a boar about to charge. “What can she
say?”

The sergeant
took a hasty step back. “I don’t know, my lord.”

“Then don’t
speak until you do know. As for tales—” His mouth curved in a smile that made
the courier shudder. “She was treated well here, clothed in silks and fine
wool, fed the best meals my cooks could produce, even her own palfrey to ride
whenever she pleased. No tale she tells will stand against that. I only need
inform whoever has her that she fell into sulks over some thwarted whim and ran
away to vex me.”

“Then we should
send word when she’s found, rather than seize her?” the sergeant asked.

A frozen silence
hung on the air while his liege considered the question.

“That depends on
where you find her,” he said at last. “If she is sheltering with the Church or
some noble, send word.” His lips curled slowly. “We don’t want to startle the
prey into further flight before the huntsman is at hand. But—” The vicious
smile vanished. “If she has gone to earth elsewhere, seize her. And kill anyone
who protests.”

He glared at the
sergeant a moment longer, as though challenging the man to argue, then jerked a
thumb toward the door. “Go! Both of you. Find her. Fail and ’twill be you who will
suffer my displeasure.”

Almost unable to
believe his good fortune, the courier bowed himself out. He didn’t even
exchange a glance with the sergeant, but scurried away to his own quarters
where he locked the door behind himself. No doubt a useless precaution, but it
made him feel better.

Less than a half
hour later the thunder of hooves drew him to the tiny window slit in the wall.
The sergeant and at least eight mounted men-at-arms were leaving at the gallop.

The hunt had
begun.

The sun was low
in the sky when Annith walked down to the bridge later that day. Below her the
Severn swept by, flowing sedately in places then swirling suddenly in eddies
that told of dangerous currents beneath the surface.

Her mind was
like the river, she thought, pausing and looking over the low stone wall that
edged the bridge. She couldn’t see into the depths, but she knew something
frightening awaited her there.

But frightening
or not, she had to bring it to the surface.

A wagon rumbled
along the road, reminding her of the passing of time. Men were making their way
in from the fields. Behind her, along Crofton’s main street, shopkeepers were
beginning to put up their counters. The few people still about were walking
with brisk purpose. She could not linger here; Herleve and Martin would be
worried if she didn’t return soon.

Fortunately,
she’d had a good excuse to be out that afternoon: visiting the mother and son
who had allowed her to walk back to town with them yesterday. The boy, Matthew,
had been suffering from a fever brought on by a festering wound, and, with
Master Purcell at the castle to assist his mother, she had left a message for
Dame Eveta with the porter and had helped Matthew’s mother get him home. Once
there, she had given advice on the proper care of his wound.

She had known
what to do. She couldn’t remember who she was, but she had known what herbs
were needed to make a poultice to drain and cleanse the gash. She had known how
to brew a tisane for the fever. ’Twas likely she’d learned those skills in the
convent, but
which
convent? And why had she left it?

When no answer
was forthcoming, Annith huffed out a breath, turned, and continued across the
bridge. Since this morning when she’d had that vague memory of a journey, she
had thought to walk a little way along the road in the hope that more memories
might be prised loose. At this hour there would be few people about to distract
her, and if she emptied her mind and just walked, mayhap her destination would
come to her. After all, she must have been going
somewhere
before she’d
been caught up in that mob of boys and struck on the head.

A sense of
urgency was gripping her now. ’Twas not only the knowledge that she could not
stay with Martin and Herleve indefinitely that drove her on. There was Hugh,
and the glimpse of the future he’d shown her this morning when he’d kissed her.

She simply
had
to remember.

But a few
minutes later, when she reached a bend in the road, her past was still shrouded
in impenetrable fog and there was no time to walk further. Nor did she want to
go out of sight of the castle guards while she was alone.

Annith stared
down at the dusty road, shoulders slumped. Then, shaking off her
disappointment, she started back the way she had come. She had reached the
short stretch of road between the castle and the bridge when she heard hooves
and the jingle of harness behind her. A few seconds later a horse and wagon
drew level with her and stayed alongside.

She glanced up
at the driver. He was young and appeared respectable enough, if somewhat bold
in the way he looked her up and down. His face was also vaguely familiar.

“I know you,” he
said, not bothering with a polite greeting.

Her heart
jumped, spilling ice through her veins. Did this boy know who she really was,
or—

“You’re the girl
staying with Martin Fletcher and his wife,” he concluded.

And through the
pulse pounding in her ears, she remembered where she had seen him before. The
tingling sensation in her hands abated. She took a steadying breath and
quickened her steps.

“What’s your
name?” he asked, clicking his tongue to make the horse keep pace with her.

“Annith,” she
replied briefly.

“You’re out
late, Annith. On your own, too.” He glanced toward the trees on the other side
of the road. “So, who were you meeting out here that you didn’t want Martin to
know about?”

“What!” She
gaped at him, stunned by the question. “I have been out walking and am on my
way home.”

“Out walking.”
He chuckled. “That’s a good one. There’s naught to see along this road.”

“’Tis new to
me,” she said with dignity.

He grinned. “A
girl who attends church every day shouldn’t tell lies.”

“How do you know
I attend church every day?” she asked, startled that anyone had noted the fact.

“My mother told me.
She thinks you must have seen someone there you like the looks of.”

“By the robes of
the saints!”

He grinned
again. “Hop up. I’ll give you a ride.”

“Nay, thank
you.” She returned her gaze to the road ahead. “’Tis not far and I prefer to
walk.”

“Now don’t be
like that. If your fellow didn’t turn up, I’m always good for a little sport.”

Annith stopped
dead and plunked her hands on her hips. “I don’t know who you are,” she said,
fixing him with a severe frown. “But instead of waylaying and insulting innocent
people who are going about their business,
you
should be in church,
giving thanks that you were not hurt in that misguided rebellion and praying
for the souls of those poor unfortunates who died!”

“Uh…” He cast a
nervous glance toward the castle. “No need to bring that up. Besides—” He
flushed, suddenly appearing younger and less certain of himself. “I have prayed
for—”

He was
interrupted by the sound of a horse coming up fast behind them. The boy glanced
over his shoulder, promptly slapped his reins against his horse’s rump, and
removed himself and his wagon from Annith’s vicinity in a hurry. She turned her
head to see who had caused his speedy retreat.

Hugh de Verney
was riding toward her on the black destrier she had noticed yesterday. He did
not look happy.

Annith didn’t
have time to wonder about the grim expression on Hugh’s face. She was too busy
trying to suppress the warm color that instantly rose to her cheeks. It wasn’t
the first blush she’d had to contend with that day. Every time she’d remembered
how she had allowed Hugh to kiss her, remembered the way his lean powerful body
had felt against her softer form, she had felt warm and trembly all over.

Fortunately, he
was on horseback. If she didn’t look directly up at him, he wouldn’t be able to
see
her face.

That happy
thought was short-lived. Hugh caught up with her, reined in, and dismounted.

“What,” he
demanded without any preamble, “are you doing out here alone at this hour where
any yokel can accost you?”

Annith forgot
about blushing.

“’Tis still
daylight,” she pointed out calmly, meeting his stern gaze with a steady one of
her own. “I thought if I walked along the road I might remember where I was
going, or where I came from.” She paused and sighed. “But it didn’t work, so I
do not need a lecture. And besides, I was careful to stay within sight of the
castle guards the entire time.”

Hugh eyed her
narrowly for a second or two, then his mouth curved in a wry smile. “You are
the most tantalizing mix of practical resolve and sweet innocence that I have
ever encountered, little dove. I would feel like a veritable brute if I
delivered a lecture now, especially given your cause.” He sobered again. “But
promise me you will not do this again. The next youth to make a nuisance of
himself might be more persistent.”

“He was only a
boy. Over-bold and confident, but he forgot about that when I scolded him.”

“Indeed? What if
there had been two or three lads out looking for mischief?”

She beamed at
him. “I would have scolded all of them.”

Hugh raised his
eyes to the heavens.

“After I had
pointed out the guards, of course.”

He laughed.
“Come on, sweeting, I’ll take you home.”

“Oh, nay, ’tis
not nec—”

But Hugh had
already seized her by the waist and swung her up into the saddle. Her protest
flew out of her head when he mounted behind her, gathered up the reins, and
nudged his horse into a walk. She was sitting partially side-on to him,
enclosed within his arms and nestled snugly against the solid length of his
body. And with every movement of the horse,
they
moved, their bodies
brushing together, moving apart, pressing closer. She could feel the steely
muscles in his thighs, the pressure of his arms against hers, the controlled
strength of his hands on the reins. Close proximity to such overwhelming male
power was unnerving—and incredibly thrilling.

“We’re going at
a walk,” she observed faintly.

“Of course,
we’re going at a walk,” he murmured. “Do you think I’m going to forego whatever
reward I can get for not scolding you?”

“Oh.” Annith
felt herself blushing again. “How…how did you come to arrive at such a
convenient moment, my lord?”

He laughed
softly and nestled her more comfortably in the curve of his arm. “One of the
victims of that extortion business I told you about was too ill to come to me,
so I’ve been at his manor for the past hour, questioning him. And speaking of
convenient moments, my sweet.” He slanted a meaningful glance down at her. “You
have not yet given me your word that you will refrain from wandering about
alone.”

“I promise I won’t
wander about alone,” she vowed obediently. “Next time I will take someone with
me.”

“Next time that
someone will be me,” he growled in a tone that did not allow of any argument.
But, for a fleeting instant, he touched his lips to the top of her head.

The short ride
was over a few seconds later. ’Twas just as well, Annith thought, as Hugh
dismounted in front of Martin’s shop and lifted her down. She had been having a
great deal of trouble keeping her head from resting against his shoulder.

“I’ll be back
after supper,” he said, setting her on her feet. He studied her face for a
moment, then took her hands in his. “Don’t worry,” he ordered gently. “We’ll
find out who you are and where you were going, I promise you. Our future rests
on it, and I do not intend to let that go.”

He released her
hands, mounted, and rode off down the street, leaving her gazing wide-eyed
after him while his words echoed in her mind.

*         
*          *

Supper had been
eaten and cleared away, and night had fallen over the town when Hugh returned,
this time on foot.

Annith opened
the door and motioned him into the shop with a murmured greeting. Still shaken
by the unyielding purpose in his parting words, but afraid that a future with
him might be impossible, she would have turned at once toward the kitchen, but
Hugh reached out and wrapped his fingers around her arm.

“Still shy with
me, little maid?” The note of tender amusement in his voice set her senses
quivering anew.

“Everything is
so uncertain,” she said, torn between caution and longing. “I don’t know what
to do, or how I should be toward you.”

“Be yourself,”
he murmured, drawing her closer. “Believe me, ’tis more than enough. As for
what to do—” He tilted her face up to his. “Marry me.”

“But…”

“Sssh.” His
mouth touched hers, withdrew, then returned with a gentle pressure that was
impossible to resist. There was no demand this time. He held her only with the
touch of his hand and his mouth on hers, a tender cherishing that had her
nestling closer until she could feel the rapid beat of his heart against her
breast.

He ended the
kiss very slowly, supporting her when she swayed but putting a small distance
between them. “Marry me,” he repeated softly against her lips.

“I want to—” she
began. Her eyes snapped open. He was watching her with hawk-like intensity.
“Oh! Did you just kiss me to addle my wits so I would agree to marry you?”

He smiled
slowly. “My kisses addle your wits?”

Well! She wasn’t
going to answer
that
. With as much dignity as possible, Annith whisked
around and stalked toward the kitchen. Hugh was right on her heels. In the
second before she opened the door he leaned down and murmured, “When we kiss,
little maid, all
I
can think of is making love to you.”

She didn’t need
any experience with men to know he meant something that was likely to render
her completely witless. She could only hope that Martin and Herleve would put
the vivid color in her face down to the warmth of the kitchen fire.

To her relief,
no-one seemed to notice. Martin was placing more wood on the flames as they
entered, but straightened to greet Hugh. When they were seated Herleve handed
out mugs of ale.

“How goes your
task at the castle?” she enquired, sitting down beside her husband.

“Slowly.” Hugh
downed several mouthfuls of ale, reached out, and folded Annith’s hand in his.
He squeezed gently, possibly in apology for addling her wits, Annith thought.
But she wouldn’t count on it.