A Widow Plagued (8 page)

Sara lifted her hand and the music ceased.
By no
w
, she thought
,
Gavin would be beating a hasty retreat, readying for the next phase of their pla
n
.

Millie and Adam stood out of sight, awaiting her signal. “I see that ye do not enjoy music. Very well, shall we sit and dine?”

Glancing side long at the three trenchers lain out before them, the men looked at one another questioningly. At Sir John's nod, they sat.

“Please,” she offered, “break thy fast.”

The men looked uncomfortably at their food and then at the empty place before Sara. “Forgive me, Sirs, for not joining thee. I broke my fast a few hours hence and do not wish to ruin my appetite for tonight's supper.”

She looked at the men with the glistening eye of one viewing three plump, roasted pigs. The effect was immediate. They squirmed in their seats.

Sir John seemed to rally quickly, however. Slamming his meaty fist on the long table before him, he bellowed, “Enough of yer bewitchery, woman! T'would not surprise me in the least to find thy husband and stepson died by thy conniving hands. Produce thy stepdaughter post haste or suffer my wrath!”

Well, this is proceeding much more quickly than I anticipate
d
, Sara jumped nervously. Her deceased husband's rage had always been cold and calculating. This hot, unsettling impulsivity was beyond Sara's experience. Readying her resolve, she moved on to the next portion of the plan.

“Please gentlemen, I implore thee to eat and drink. Ill tidings settle best on full stomaches.”

Sir John's eyebrows rose in alarm. “What ill tidings?”

Lady Sara raised her own, awaiting his compliance. Slowly, Sir Polk grabbed a hunk of meat and raised it to his cracked lips. Biting down with tiny yellowed teeth, he tore the meat asunder and chewed, never letting his tiny boar eyes leave Sara's emerald gaze.

The man is a puffy, pimply pig
,
Sara shuddered in disgust.
He will lay hands on Hannah over my cold, dead bod
y
.

Eyes still locked on Sara's, Sir John lifted his tankard and drank deeply.
It cost us the last of our cider stock, but t'will be well worth it
,
Sara thought.

Silently, the other men followed suit. Thank the saints for manly pride. Despite their discomfort, they would not allow themselves to be intimidated by a woman.

“Allow me to serve thee,” Lady Sara offered, lifting the pitcher before her and walking around the long table to fill their tankards once more.

“Come, thou must drink with us,” Sir John cajoled, his tone making it clear he was making a demand.

They had all expected this, however, and Sara smiled. “Certainly,” Sara nodded. Returning to her seat at the head of the table, Sara lifted her right hand as she had done to summon the lute music. With her left hand, she surreptitiously lifted the goblet from where it dangled on a hook beneath the table. She sat, holding the stem of the goblet as if it had simply appeared in her grasp.

The slight of hand worked better than she had hoped. The men stood from their seats.

“What trickery is this?” Sir John stuttered.

Sara simply blinked back at him, bemused. “I assure thee, Sir Polk, I am most earnest in my attempt to be a competent hostess. Thou hast asked me to drink with thee, and I intend to do just that.” Swirling the dark contents of her glass about she allowed the viscous crimson liquid to cling to the sides of her late husband's silver goblet.

Ever so daintily, she lifted the goblet to her mouth and pretended to relish the taste of the chicken blood she'd placed there. As she had planned, the wide mouth of the goblet caused a few drops of the liquid to trickle down her chin.

Slowly, she placed the goblet upon the table and reached for the light linen handkerchief in her sleeve. Dabbing at the blood, she smothered a grin as the men took an involuntary step backwards. They were already feeling the effect of the drug.

Luckily, the late Lady Sanders had been a renowned herbalist. Her most treasured dowry had been the poppy seeds gifted her by her uncle, a wealthy tradesman. A few poppy flowers still grew behind the barn, mainly forgotten until the need had arisen. With Hannah's help, Sara had drained the plant's centers and harvested the seeds. Grinding them into a powder, she had stirred them into the cider. If their luck held, the dose of opiate would be strong enough to put these three men on their arses.

“Art thou quite alright?” Sara feigned concern, stepping toward her guests.

Again, the men stumbled back. “Stay away from us, ye vile witch!” Sir John slurred his words, wobbling unsteadily.

“Ye seem tired, wouldst thou like a place to rest?”

“Nay, not here. We will leave and rejoin my troops,” Sir John stumbled forward.

“Nonsense, ye are clearly fatigued. Come, Adam, and help our guests to their chamber,” Sara called.

On cue, Adam appeared and offered a hand to Sir John. Disoriented, John stumbled forward. Adam placed his arm beneath Sir John's, then led him through the back hallway. Sir John's men reluctantly stumbled after.

Leaving some distance behind, Millie and Sara followed. This had to work!

“Right this way, gentlemen,” Adam coaxed. “I have prepared for thee a room.”

Out through the back hall door Adam stepped with Sir John. Entering the dark space, Adam indicated the three floor pallets. “Rest here, gentleman, whilst I ready thy supper.”

The three men fairly fell to the beds, insensible. Quickly, Adam and Millie crouched by the men and loosed their belts just enough to remove their swords and daggers from their sheaths. Heavy laden, each backed from the space and Sara rushed to shut the slatted wooden door, sliding the heavy bolt in place.

Sighing, she turned to hear Adam whisper, “We'll not be able to shut this outer door until I hook the pig polk wagon to the horses and pull it away from the keep. Twas the only way to make the pig pen door seem like a chamber door on short notice.

“As we have yet to deal with Polk's men, we will have to find a way to disguise the polk, if we are to transport him back to his father...Ye don't think ye've killed them, have ye, Lady Sanders? I'm loathe to hang for this.”

“Nay, Adam. The poppy seeds only make one feel awkward and tired. Ye ken yerself how Lord Sanders liked to eat them on occasion,” Sara wrinkled her nose in disgust.

“They'll wake on the morrow none the wiser.”

Sara shivered with unease. She prayed that Lord Polk would overlook this slight to his position, and leave Hampstead Manor to its own devices. Sir Gavin had assured Sara that Sir John was by far Lord Polk's least favorite son. Third in line for the family title and one of six sons, Sir John had been forced to make his way in the world. When he had taken the money his father sent for him to make his place within the church and instead spent it on spirits and women, his father had cut him off without a dime.

Gavin was betting on the fact that Lord Polk had gifted Sir John with the small entourage of soldiers as a last ditch effort to get his troublesome son settled and out of his hair. He could just imagine Sir John wheedling and pleading with his father to lend him some men to gain the property. Too bad Gavin had been smart enough to ride ahead of his troops and take up residence first.

Now, he stood at the embankment, readying what was sure to be the next line of attack. For three days, Adam and Gavin had taken turns feeding the fire and watching the bank. The thump of boat oars warned Gavin that the enemy had arrived.

Sweat poured from beneath his arms and across his brow. Wiping distractedly with his linen sleeve, Gavin crouched low atop the jagged peek and bent his head to listen. He would wait as long as he could to light the cliff. If he were lucky, several men would attempt to scale the cliff face at once. If his luck held, he could keep them scrambling until reinforcements came.

Gavin's mind struggled to focus on the task at hand. His concern lay with Sara, Hannah, and baby Elizabeth back at the keep. How could he, in good conscience, be here, protecting against a more distant threat when the man who threatened the well-being of his family was nestled safely within the keep, in arms-reach of his wife?

Logic told him he was doing what was best for his family, guarding the perimeter, and allowing Adam to help defend the keep. His heart told him otherwise. What good was a land and title, if the people he had come to care so deeply for were hurt, or worse?

Shaking his head free from the reverie, he refocused. He would not fail in his duties, and he would have to trust that Adam would keep his family safe. At least five pairs of hands and feet could be heard pulling and scraping against the rocks and moss covering the steep embankment.

Sir John had shown up with twenty men. Accounting for the two with Sir John, taking out this handful would mean that there were still about thirteen out there, waiting for a second round of attacks. A rock tumbled just yards below him. He could wait no longer. Jogging around the shrubbery and behind the boulder where his fire burned low, Gavin lit two torches and dashed back to the precipice. “May the lord have mercy on yer souls,” Gavin whispered as he tossed the first torch onto to the tar pitched wick. The wick lit, snaking its way down the tar-soaked embankment. Without hesitation, he stepped to light the second wick.

The embankment was covered in fire. Men screamed and fell, others could be heard sliding down and barking a warning to the others below. One man, not ten feet off, pulled his burnt body over the top of the embankment. Pulling his sword from its scabbard, Gavin rushed over in time to kick the man back down.

It was going to be a long night. If his troops did not arrive soon, there would be no way he could hold them off.

“My lord!” a harsh, ragged whisper could be heard through the rustle of tall grass behind him. “All is well at the keep. The miscreants are safely encased in the polk, and I have hitched them to the wagon, as planned.”

“Thank ye, Adam,” Gavin breathed a sigh of relief. “Now, we need only hold the bank until my reinforcements arrive. Did ye see to it that the ladies barricaded themselves within the keep?”

“Aye, and I brought us three days worth of provisions here, so we can keep watch.”

“Let us hope we will not be that long out,” Gavin groaned, looking dubiously at the open embankment once more. What he wouldn't give for a few hounds right now, to help see to the defense of the boundary.

~

Sara peered through the slats at the men passed out in the wagon's cage. Her mind raced. These men were dangerous. In another twenty-four hours, they would awaken, and with a vengeance. She must act to protect her family, but how?

Breasts aching and heavy with milk, she returned to the keep to care for her daughters. A solution had to be found quickly, and she knew just the man for the job.

“Must we stay in this infernal closet?” Hannah moaned, leaning up against the cold stone dejectedly.

“Aye, Hannah,” Sara returned sternly as she switched Elizabeth to her other breast to suckle. “As I have told ye repeatedly, the men are only temporarily confined. Were they to escape, ye both would be in peril. Now, I have sent Millie to town to seek out the sin eater. He should be here shortly, and our troubles shall soon find themselves outside the manor gates.”

Hannah shivered. “The sin eater? The most plague-infested being in the realm? Why bring him here?”

“Precisely because he is the one man in this region whom no one would willingly approach and question, and he is just desperate enough to be willing to help us with our vermin infestation.”

“Have ye gone mad, stepmother? Yer words make no sense.”

“I ask only that ye trust me by staying put a while longer. Then, we shall see wheher I am maniacally mad or logically wrathful.”

Chapter
5

Captivated

Sara shivered as she watched the wraith-like man slither through the front gate before her companion, Millie. Was she doing the right thing? Shearing up her resolve, she strode forward and bowed her head in greeting. “Mortichai, I greet thee and pray thou art in good health.”

Lifting his head slightly to peer at Sara through long, greasy black bangs, Mortichai shrugged. “I fair as well as one might expect under such circumstances as mine.”

Sara shuddered again. Mortichai had been a stable boy in the keep before the now departed Lord Sanders had caught him filching a tankard of ale from the store room. Ruthlessly, the lord had cast the boy out into the streets as an example to others who might be tempted to take advantage of the Lord's hospitality.

Now, Mortichai had survived the only way he could-by becoming the village sin eater. An established “sinner” himself, Mortichai offered himself up to any family whose deceased had passed on without the benefit of a final confession. He would eat food placed on the dead and thus consume their sins, taking them onto himself.

Sara's heart ached for Mortichai. Once a fun-loving scamp of a boy, he had been doomed to repeatedly take on the guilt of others, over one simple youthful indiscretion. Sara knew how he felt, if not the depth of his isolation and suffering. She, too, had been a victim of Lord Sander's cursory judgment.

Now, she hoped, her desperate circumstances could spell relief for them both. “Mortichai of Hampstead, I have summoned thee with a most earnest and dire request.”

Mortichai's head rose slightly and tilted, taking in the Lady of the keep and patiently awaiting her explanation.

“I have recently married the new Lord Sanders; yet, a usurper has made an attempt at collecting the title, by attempting to kidnap my daughter, Lady Hannah. We have thwarted the knave's efforts, but are now in a predicament. How might we return the errant knave to his father, without leaving the keep unprotected?

“Twas then that I thought of ye, Mortichai. Thou art familiar with horses and wagons. Thou art also a man who is deserving of a second chance at life. Should thou be willing, I wouldst offer thee the wagon, pig polk, and horses, in return for thy efforts in returning the three men thus ensconced back to Lakeshore Manor.”

Silence ensued as Mortichai rose his head slowly, appraising Lady Sara. “Thou wouldst entrust me, a lowly peasant, a known thief, and sin eater, to return a wayward nobleman to his father? Seems thou art most desperate, indeed, My Lady,” Mortichai returned, his tone scathing.

“I have never thought of thee as lowly or sinful, Mortichai. We were children together here. Thou were always kind and helpful to me. I trust that the cruel fate which ye were dealt has not changed thee, at yer core, Mortichai. I trust thou art stronger than the weaknesses of yer betters.”

Mortichai's eyes flashed briefly before he again dropped his head. Raising it again a moment later, he squared his shoulders. “I would require a bath, new clothing, and provisions for my journey. I should not arrive at Lord Polk's keep looking a beggar.”

Sara shuddered and tilted her head in acquiescence. “Ye shall have all these things, in good time. I ask only that ye wear the heavy mantle of 'sin eater' a few days longer, whilst thou transports the knaves home. In this way, thou art unlikely to be questioned or approached by others. Adam is fashioning a sign for the wagon that will warn others they are plagued by disease. Then, before entering Lakeshore, thou canst bathe and change into the attire of a Lord Sander's man.

“Adam, will ye see to Mortichai's needs, and a proper sign for our prisoner's cage?”

Adam nodded his assent and waved Mortichai to follow him into the barn. No one was heedless enough to risk infection within the keep. However unjust Mortichai's fate had been thus far, no one was willing to share it.

Sara knew that the gift of a wagon, horse, and pig polk, could go far in helping Mortichai establish himself as something other than a sin eater. New clothing would be enough to reinvent the man into an independent farmer. As a boy, Mortichai had experience tending live stock and could do so again.

To ensure his loyalty, she would ask Sir Gavin to offer Mortichai the use of a few acres on the boundary of the village, should he return with positive results. Now, she need only provide him a writ, explaining his duty to any who might stop him along the way. As unlikely as it was that a man would be able to read the message therein, Lord Sander's seal would sway all but the highest of officials.

~

“Ye did what?” Gavin bellowed from his hip bath in the solar.

“I-I asked the local sin eater to deliver Sir John to his father.”

“And how is he possibly to be successful in that venture? I have yet to fully depose of Lord Polk's troops.”

“I-I had not thought of that eventuality, Sir Gavin. I had only thought that the longer the men remained within our keep, the longer Hannah faced untold danger. Besides, the men are busy at the slope. Were some to have stayed in the woods before the keep wall, all they will see is a bedraggled man leading a cart of pigs.”

Sara sank upon the bed, chin trembling and head aching from the exhaustion and stress of the last several days.

Standing boldly from the water and striding to the linen cloth lain across the chair, Gavin dried himself and eyed Sara balefully. “Lucky for us, my troops arrived and have been stationed. Adam told me of yer hair-brained venture. I have assigned three men to flank the wagon and escort this “sin eater” to Lakeshore Manor.

“When they return successfully, we will, ourselves, embark upon our own mission.”

Sara's heart raced. “Leave the manor? At this juncture? Is that wise?”

“Tis necessary. My second in command will protect the keep. We will deposit young Hannah with Lord Anther's household and continue on to pay homage to King Edward. Tis necessary to establish my authority here at the manor. His majesty readies his troops to leave again for Calais. Were we to wait, it could be years before we establish my authority here, if at all. I cannot possibly maintain such a tenuous position for long.”

Sara shuddered and prayed silently that their luck would hold. Millie bustled in, Elizabeth in tow, and placed her unceremoniously in Sara's arms. “I've a score of folk to feed, and Adam is useless if I'm not about to keep him at his duties. Ye'll need to keep track of the bairn tonight, I'm afraid, My lady.”

“Think nothing of it, Millie. I am grateful for thy unfailing service. What would I do without thee?”

Millie blushed and waved away Sara's gratitude as she bustled out the door.

Sir Gavin watched curiously as Sara scooted herself against the bed's headboard and lowered her gown to nurse. Although nothing but the rounded curve of her breast could be seen above Elizabeth's head, Sara blushed at the intimacy of nursing before Gavin.

She barely knew this man, and yet, he had been present at the most vulnerable moments of her adult life. No husband was ever present at the birth of their children; yet, he had physically moved her infant within her womb, lifted her, and assisted with the birth of her daughter.

It all felt too close, too intense. She was not yet ready to see him again. And yet, there he stood, with nothing but a bit of linen wrapped around his narrow waist, staring at her exposed breasts as if he, too, wished to partake of their contents.

“Is the keep secure?” she asked, hoping to remove his focus from her person.

“Aye, tis,” he responded, never removing his eyes from her exposed collar bone and breast.

Slowly, he moved closer to her position on the bed. At that very moment, Elizabeth chose to unlatch, and mew in contentment.

Before she could move to cover herself, Gavin swept in and lifted the infant to his shoulder. Sara's puckered nipple showed wet and pink against the cool night air.

Shaking she lifted her gown back over her shoulder and looked away from Gavin's hungry gaze. “She needs burped,” she whispered, blushing.

“I ken what she needs,” Gavin whispered back, patting the infant tenderly against his shoulder. Elizabeth mewed again and rubbed her head demandingly against Gavin's tunic.

Chuckling, he nodded in Sara's direction. “Pull down the other shoulder of yer gown, Sara. My daughter demands her second course.”

Sara's chin tilted up, and her face flamed. She lifted her arms to take Elizabeth, and Gavin grinned ruthlessly. “I'll have ye remember who is lord of this keep,” he rumbled. Nodding his head toward her gown, he waited.

Elizabeth's cries grew more insistent, and milk began to drip from Sara's left breast, leaving a tell-tale stain upon the expensive fabric. Seeing the resolve in Gavin's gaze, Sara slowly lowered the left shoulder of her gown, exposing the round, eager breast to his greedy gaze.

“Now was that so difficult, Sara?” he crooned, as he lowered Elizabeth into her arms, purposefully grazing the top curve of her breast with his knuckle.

She did not honor his gloat with a response, instead, preferring to gaze at her cherubic daughter.

How odd it was to be married and have children with a complete stranger!

Gavin seemed to be enjoying his power over her; something shamefully carnal pooled within Sara, at his bold ownership of her person. Long after she had lain Elizabeth in her bassinet and snuggled deep beneath the bed covers, unspeakable parts of Sara's anatomy hummed in response to the heat in Gavin's gaze.

~

A bloated fly buzzed through the wooden slats of the mobile pig polk. The make-shift cage swayed along the rutted trail to Lakeshore Manor. Resting lightly upon the mottled cheek of Sir John, the gluttonous fly rubbed his two front legs together in anticipation. If Sir David did not know better, he would have sworn the wee beastie had read the sign attached and was gloating at their humiliation.

“Property of Lord Polk,” it read, with an image of a hand crossed out to indicate to the local illiterate masses that the contents within the slatted cage were dangerous and not to be touched. He'd heard Sir Gavin's soldiers laughing about it over their warm fire last night. Yesterday, Sir David had spied a young imp peering through the slats at an angle necessary to see within but he was soon run off by the attending soldiers.

It was damn humiliating, being bested by a woman and some lowly serfs. Why, a man with his experience on the battle field should be able to have at least faced his enemy with sword and strength, rather than being outwitted by his lessors. He outranked every man woman and child within that keep, and yet, he had left it in a pig pen, drugged and disarmed.

If he were to arrive at his father's gates, his older brothers in tow like this, Sir David was certain that his father would have them all thrown out in disgrace. Twas a privilege a man with six sons could afford. And without a name to attach his limited experience to, he was unlikely to be hired as anything but a mercenary, any time soon. Truth be told, he had never been the least interested in helping his wayward brother gain such a choice piece of property and title. The fool would lose it through incompetence soon enough.

At only seventeen, Sir David was also not so ignorant as to raise his hopes to such a lofty position for himself. Yet, he was the son of a baron, a newly knighted soldier, and well-versed at the ways of the gentry. He, at least, could eek out enough of a living for himself, to establish himself at the head of another Lord's troops. He could make a living and earn a life for himself that no one in his family ever expected. He could make his father proud enough to acknowledge his youngest son.

Now, that dream seemed very far away. The effects of the drug had lasted so long as to have carried the cart two days out of the three towards his father's keep. If he did not rouse himself to act soon, his dream of being anything more than a lowly soldier would vanish.

The nails used to fasten the pig polk to the base of the wagon were numerous and securely placed. He would not be able to pry enough lose to slip from the bottom of the structure. Yet, the polk itself seemed older and had not been reinforced. If, by some miracle, he could distract the guards, he might be able to loosen a few slats in the top of the pen and slip out that direction.

Sir David cared not whether his fat brothers would escape. They had vacillated between ignoring and tormenting him his entire childhood. He was a man now and would make his way on his own, without their aid, just as he had grown accustomed.

Then what? He could not return to his father's house a failed man. He had to accomplish some feat to be welcomed back into Lord Polk's militant graces. What if he were able to achieve alone what his brother could not with twenty troops? Now that would be a coup!

Slowly, he stood, and began wiggling a corner board above his head. His plan would work. It had to work.

~

A week had passed since the new Lord Sanders had sent Sir John back to his father. And, yet, no word from the most unsettling Mortichai. Why had he entrusted such a tenuous situation to such an unwholesome character? He should have never allowed a woman to take the lead in this way. He was blinded by Sara. That was the problem. As much as he tried to keep his distance and avoid the distraction she posed, all he could think of was Sara. Sara's golden waves spread across the pillows as the morning light caressed her cheek... Sara's strong set to her jaw when she bit her tongue against something contrary she wished to speak...