“Again, good woman, I thank you, and I thank you even for your dire predictions,” Dirick said, flashing a brief grin, “but I’ll be on my way.”
Tsking to herself, the woman followed in his unsteady footsteps to the doorway, and leaned against the wall as he let himself into the cold air.
“Have a care, milord,” she called as he mounted upon Nick. “An’ most especially, be yourself ware of the dagger!”
Though it had been nearly a full day since Dirick collapsed at the old woman’s hut, it wasn’t difficult to pick the trail left by a tired horse carrying two women. Since there’d been no snow, and the winds were low, he was able to see faint hoof prints and, more than once, the sweep of a skirt in the powdery white. Thank God women were prone to stop more often than a man for relief.
It was not long before he came upon an abbey. He rode to the entrance gate, hailing for entry. A robed sister accompanied a male serf to the gate and invited him inside.
“Sister, I seek a noble woman and her maidservant with only a single horse between them,” Dirick told her, declining to dismount until he learned if Maris was within.
The nun bowed her head. “You must speak with the Mother Abbess, my lord, an’ you seek information about any of our guests. Please come within.”
Gritting his teeth, Dirick slid from Nick and handed the reins to the serf. He forced himself to retain a grip on his patience as he followed the calm sister. She trudged so slowly he was tempted to take her arm and yank her along in his wake, but that would certainly not endear him to the Abbess.
In fact, once in front of the stern looking woman—whose disposition reminded him more than a little of his father’s hawk-faced mother—he managed to state his query in a calm, unhurried manner. He felt the Abbess’s look keenly upon him. She did not appear to be fooled by his seeming nonchalance.
“A lady such like you describe did just leave our gates early this morrow,” the woman told him. “A party of traveling monks and their escort did pledge to see the lady safely to her lands, as they rode in that direction.”
Dirick felt a keen sense of disappointment. Maris was in good hands to be returned to Langumont and he no longer had reason to be involved. As it was, Lord Merle’s lands lay in the opposite direction as Westminster, and ’twas well past time for Dirick to report to Henry on his findings about Bon de Savrille.
Alas, he’d not see Maris of Langumont again. It was only as he was drifting off to sleep on a pallet in the abbey that he remembered that the old crone had predicted just that.
Nearly a sevennight after she’d been abducted from Langumont, Maris and her escort rode up to the gates of the imposing keep.
“Hail, guard!” she called, urging her mount to the raised portcullis and separating herself from the rest of the travelers. “Do you raise the gate for me!”
She heard the shout of surprise from the watchman and the sudden scrambling to comply with her wishes. The portcullis rose quickly and easily as the drawbridge came down, and Maris, not waiting for the monks behind her, eagerly cantered across the slanted bridge.
“My lady! My lady!” The greetings and men at arms surrounded her so that her horse could go no further.
“We thought you dead, my lady!” cried one of the knights she recognized from her father’s retinue.
“My lady, ’tis horrible bad!” another man called, grabbing the bridle of her horse.
Maris slid from the saddle unassisted, smiling with relief, and patting the shoulders of the men she recognized. “But I am here and now all is well,” she told them, looking toward the keep. Verily her mama had been informed of her arrival, but there was no sign of anyone coming to greet her except the men in the bailey.
“Nay, nay, my lady!” Bern of Tristoff, the captain of the men-at-arms, urged her forward. “Nay, my lady, all is not well. You must see to your mama, as she is distraught and will not rise from her bed.”
“Aye, Bern, I’ll see her and she will regain her life, for I am safely returned.” She smiled gaily, so glad to be returned home…but none of the men and serfs seemed to share in the joy of her homecoming. “Send to me a messenger and I’ll see to Mama.”
She hurried toward the keep, noting that it seemed oddly quiet for the normal bustle of Langumont. She’d need to send a messenger to find Papa and relay the news that she was returned; their paths must have missed each other as he was on his way to find her. But first, she’d kiss her mama and show her that all was well.
“Lady Maris!” Bern dogged her heels, an urgent frown creasing her face. “Lady Maris, ‘tis the lord!”
“Aye, I must send to him that I am returned—”
“My lady!” The frustration in his voice was not to be ignored and he was at last gratified by his lady’s full attention. “Lady Maris, ’tis because of Lord Merle that the lady rises not!”
“Papa? He is here?” Maris’s heart leapt for joy. “I’ll not need the messenger, then.”
“My lady, the lord—he is dead.”
~ Part II ~
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Three months later
“’Tis only his right that the king requires my presence at court,” Maris told her mother wearily.
“But your papa has been gone for a mere three moons,” Allegra wailed, her ever present handkerchief fluttering to the face that seemed much more weary and old since her husband’s death. “Can his majesty not leave us in peace until we have finished mourning?”
Maris shook her head in frustration as she pulled a bolt of finely woven linen from a trunk. In a terrible twist of fate, her father had been slain by a loose arrow as his men prepared to besiege Breakston—at a time after she’d already made her escape.
The irony and horror that she’d already been safe when her Papa was killed had sat like a heavy black stone in her belly for months.
“Mama, I must go to the king to pledge mine own fealty to him as heir to Langumont. ’T has been more than time enough since Papa’s passing in King Henry’s eyes, and it’s my duty as his vassal.”
“I’ll not go,” Allegra told her.
“Aye, Mama, you’ll not. ’Tis I who must pledge to my lord. You’ll stay here.” Maris didn’t think that her frail mother would last the journey to London. In the last few moons, her grey streaked hair had become almost pure white and the lines that creased her face bespoke of a great weariness and worry.
“Aye. An’ I’ll offer a score rosaries a day for your papa’s soul.” The words came out in a moan.
“Agnes, this green linen I’ll have for an over tunic,” Maris announced, turning from her mother with relief. She handed the cloth to the woman who’d become an invaluable support since her return to Langumont and the death of its lord.
Taking the bolt, the maid added it to a growing pile of other fine cloths. If the Lady of Langumont was to be summoned to court, she’d be dressed in all the finery and fashion that her position warranted. The seamstresses had been working night and day since the missive from Henry arrived two days earlier, and still Maris delved into the stores of imported fabrics held in Langumont’s storage chambers. Most of her gowns would be made whilst she was at court to be certain that they were of the latest fashion, she thought to bring her own fabrics rather than pay the higher price most certainly demanded in London Town.
As Agnes took the cloth, a corner fell and something clattered to the floor. “Peste!” Maris exclaimed in surprise, reaching under the stool for the object. It was a dagger—one she’d never seen before—and she examined it with interest.
Allegra, brought from her trance of woe by her daughter’s unladylike language, sat upright when she saw the small weapon. “I’d forgotten. . . .” she murmured, reaching to take the ornate dagger from Maris.
“How did this come to be in a trunk of cloth?” Maris hadn’t taken her eyes from the delicate but lethal dagger, replete with filigree and carved roses on its handle.
“It was your papa’s,” Allegra said dreamily, turning the wicked looking knife around in her hands.
“Papa’s?” Maris couldn’t imagine her father owning something so feminine and delicate.
“Nay, ’twas a gift of his to me,” her mother explained.
“I’ll take it with me,” Maris said, knowing she might very well be in need of protection. The small weapon would be easily hidden and transported, yet would do very nicely slipping betwixt the ribs of a thief or other danger. She suspected that court could be more dangerous than a battlefield…with its dark, dank hallways and ears that listen betwixt the walls.
She leaned over and pressed a light kiss to her mother’s worn face. “God willing, I’ll see his majesty and return to your side before two moons,” she told Allegra.
London!
Maris straightened in her saddle, straining to take in every detail of the bustling city. The streets were narrow, beaten paths, lined with buildings and strewn with refuse. Hawkers selling their wares crowded between the people on foot and darted out from under the hooves of well reined mounts.
It was even louder than she’d expected, and much dirtier. But, to Maris’s innocent eyes, there was beauty in the variety of people that filled the streets. Since she rode Hickory, she had no concern of treading in the garbage that was everywhere. Instead, she gawked like the country girl she was as Raymond of Vermille led the entourage from Langumont to the king’s palace.
When he rode up beside her, she beamed upon him in a smile rare since her father’s death. “’Tis wondrous loud,” Maris commented. “And it seems as if it will never stop moving.”
“Aye, my lady, loud and filthy,” Sir Raymond responded. “And unsafe, Lady Maris. You’ll not venture out without several guards.” His words were the merest tentative, for he well knew that she was used to coming and going as she pleased. “I’ve sent Sir Garrek with the news of your arrival to his majesty. ’Twill be some days before the king will see you.”
