Beloved Abductor (14 page)

Joan slid off the bed and came over to her. ‘He lusts after you.’

Felicia turned swiftly. ‘I do not deny that he wants me. As for that lute player as you call Dickon, it seems to me that he has much sympathy for you.’

‘I doubt I will ever be able to trust a man again,’ said Joan in a strained voice. ‘I was in love with Philip not so long ago. He is a handsome devil, don’t you think?’

Felicia nodded. ‘I, too, fancied myself in love with him once but that was before I grew to know him better. He is, as you say, a devil.’ She paused. ‘I think it best if we do not talk about him anymore.’ She put out a hand and would have led her cousin to bed, but Joan moved away.

‘I fought him in the end,’ she said softly. ‘I scratched and kicked. But he would have choked the life out of me if I had not submitted.’

‘Joan, please!’ Felicia stepped forward and held out a hand beseechingly. ‘You distress yourself. You must try and put him out of your mind. At Chipbury there will be much to do to occupy our thoughts and hands.’

‘Forget? He set fire to your bed, saying he wished you were in it. He will not allow either of us to forget him. He haunts me night and day.’ She walked past Felicia, and drawing back the covers, she climbed into bed and shut her eyes.

Felicia shuddered, wishing she could ignore what Joan had just told her. But she feared that just like her cousin, Philip would haunt her dreams. She went down on her knees and prayed that would not be so for either of them. Then she slid beneath the covers, snuffing the candle before she lay down. But it was a long time before she slept.

It was still cool when Felicia woke. Light filtered through the shutters, turning the shadows in the corners of the room pale lavender. Gradually it pearled and creamed as she lay there, watching and thinking.

Joan shifted in the bed, pulling the covers from her. Felicia grimaced but made no effort to retrieve them. She rose and went over to the wash stand. She poured water into the basin before dragging her under-gown down to her waist. If she had nothing fresh to wear for her wedding, at least she could be clean underneath. By the time Felicia had finished and was fastening her gown, Joan had woken.

‘Will he still be leaving you, now that you are marrying him? You would rather he stayed, wouldn’t you?’ said Joan, staring at her.

‘He won’t.’ Felicia turned and went over to the bed, picking up her surcote. She slid her arms into the brown linen sleeves. ‘Do you not understand? Edmund and Dickon are going to join the Lord Edward. Not only because Edmund wants the help of the Prince, but to seek out Philip and kill him.’

‘But they are not trained knights.’ Joan’s fair brow creased in bewilderment.

Felicia sighed in exasperation. ‘That doesn’t say they cannot fight. Edmund is skilled in the use of sword and dagger. As for Dickon, he is a burgess of the town where he lives, having a say in its government. He would be a leader if it was attacked—or if there are riots in the streets.’

‘I did not realise,’ said Joan slowly, sliding from the bed.

Felicia began to un-braid her hair. Joan touched her arm. ‘Would you like me to comb your hair out for you? Are you going to wear it loose?’ Her voice was suddenly animated. ‘Would you like me to gather some flowers? I could form them into a garland.’

Felicia was pleased at the change in her. ‘I would like that! It would make me feel a little more festive.’

‘I shall get dressed and go, then,’ said Joan eagerly, reaching out a hand for her surcote. ‘I shall not be long.’

She was as good as her word and soon returned, clasping yellow and purple flowers in her fist. ‘Are they not pretty?’ she murmured, holding them out. ‘I think I almost prefer meadow flowers to those that grow in gardens.’

‘Yet still I like working in a garden,’ said Felicia, smiling.

‘So do I.’ Joan sat down on a stool and began to twist and weave the stems of the flowers. ‘You have combed your hair out yourself. It is a pretty colour.’

‘Not as pretty as yours,’ responded Felicia, peering through a strand of dark hair. ‘I don’t think I have ever seen hair the colour of yours. Yesterday I saw a man whose locks were the shade of minted gold. But yours is the colour of barley. It is truly your crowning beauty.’

Joan blushed with pleasure. ‘It is the same colour as was my father’s hair when he was young. Sadly Mother told me that she did not like it and much preferred dark haired men.’ A shadow crossed her face and her fingers faltered.

For an instant Felicia thought she was going to toss the flowers aside as her fingers crushed several dainty heads. Then, after a few moments, Joan began to work busily again until she had finished her task. She bade Felicia sit, and carefully placed the garland on top of her head.

‘The sun was beginning to melt the dew as I gathered the flowers. I think that perhaps you will need to go soon.’ Joan stepped back and gazed carefully at Felicia. ‘You will do.’ She turned away and went over to the window. ‘I shall stay here until we are ready to leave for Chipbury.’

‘But I want you with me,’ said Felicia in dismay. She hurried across and put a hand on Joan’s arm. ‘I need you at such a time. You are my only kinswoman. Do this for me, Joan. Look!’ She held out her hands in front of Joan’s face. ‘See how I tremble. Let me comb out your hair. See, there are still some flowers.’ She pointed to the tumble of blossoms on the bed. ‘I want you for my attendant. It will not be an affair of grandeur, my wedding, but let us make it as grand as we can.’

Joan’s face brightened, and she grasped Felicia’s hands. ‘We shall have to make haste, or it will be noon before we are ready and that will never do,’ she said excitedly.

Edmund and Dickon were waiting in the hall by the time they arrived. Edmund had changed, and now wore a surcote of blue linen with wide sleeves edged with fur. His hair was neatly combed, and he had shaved. Felicia’s eyes went to his face in an attempt to find some reassurance there. He smiled. Some of her misgivings fled. ‘I have nothing else to wear,’ she whispered, placing her trembling fingers on his proffered arm.

‘It is of no matter. You are ready?’

Felicia nodded, thinking that she had to trust him; she had no one else.

Edmund pressed her hand. ‘Then let us go.’

Chapter Ten

‘I Edmund take thee Felicia to be my wedded wife, to have and to hold, for fairer, for fouler, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, for this time forward, till death us do part, if holy church will it order; and thereto I plight thee my troth.’

His words sounded loud in the shaded porch of the church, and so binding. Trepidation surfaced within Felicia, and for a moment, knowing Edmund watched her, she could not speak.

Then the abbot murmured something, and she raised her head and began to repeat hesitantly. ‘I Felicia take thee Edmund to be my wedded husband, to have and to hold, for fairer, for fouler, for better ... for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to ... to be meek and obedient in bed and at board, for this time forward, till death us do part, if holy church will it order; and thereto I plight thee my troth.’

It was done! She experienced a moment of unexpected relief. Edmund tugged a gold ring from his little finger, and for a moment he balanced it on the palm of his hand. ‘It was given in love by my father to my mother—despite his not being able to wed her. He had been betrothed from the cradle, and could not break it off without great dishonour to his name. I think she would have liked you to wear it.’ He took her hand. ‘With this ring I thee wed ...’ Felicia listened to the familiar words. She had been to many a marriage ceremony, but never had she paid such attention to the solemnity of the occasion... ‘and with my body I thee worship, and ...’ Her fingers trembled beneath his firm hold. So many promises and words tying her to him. He held the ring over the tip of her thumb—‘In the name of the Father’; over her index finger—‘in the name of the Son’; over her middle finger —‘in the name of the Holy Ghost’; and finally he said ‘Amen’ as he slipped it on her third finger. It felt heavy! She touched it lightly with her thumb as he kissed her cool lips before leading her inside the church for the nuptial Mass.

As she waited for the Host, her shoulder touching his, Felicia thought how some might call their wedding clandestine, with no banns read and no father or brother to give her away. There were no gifts from family or friends—and there would be no banquet afterwards, such as her father would have had prepared—but she could have fared much worse, she decided.

Afterwards they went to the abbot’s lodgings and partook of wine and oatcakes, but they did not linger. The morning was getting on, and the journey was before them.

As they rode beneath the arched gatehouse, Felicia placed her hand in Edmund’s belt. She had put herself under his rule now by becoming his wife; nothing could be the same again, and only time would tell if she had acted wisely. For an instant, as her eyes caught Joan’s, she remembered her cousin Philip and his threats. Could Edmund’s name protect her from his fury? He would be doubly angry when he discovered that a de Vert still lived who would challenge him in the courts as well as on the battlefield.

The shadows were lengthening by the time they came to Chipbury. Edmund and Dickon dismounted before helping the women down. Felicia swayed wearily as her feet touched the ground. She was stiffer and sorer by far than she had been the previous day. Edmund steadied her before turning to look at the small manor house.

Here there were no outer walls of defence, only a ditch and an earthen bank sloping up to the house gave some little protection. It was quiet, and there seemed to be no one about. They walked up to the door, which was closed but yielded to Felicia’s hand. She led the way into the hall, pulling off her gloves as she did so, and sniffing. The place stank, and a bone crunched beneath her foot as she walked further into the room. Her heart sank. The walls had not been whitewashed that year, nor had the hangings been taken down and beaten to rid them of dust. The saints only knew when the rushes had last been changed! Annoyance and embarrassment showed on her face as she rested her weight on the back of an oaken chair.

‘A case of while the cat’s away the mice will play, do you think?’ Edmund’s eyes met her frown. ‘It is unlikely that even a visit from your cousin would create this neglect so soon.’ He dusted the seat of the chair with his sleeve, and bid his wife sit down.

‘No. This is not my cousin’s doing,’ she said with a sigh of relief. ‘But something is amiss. Emma would not allow the hall to become so neglected, otherwise.’

‘Well, I hope you do not expect us to start tidying up, Flissie,’ Joan yawned. ‘I am far too tired.’ She subsided on to a stool and gazed about her with weary eyes.

‘I do not expect you to do anything this day, Joan,’ she replied quietly. ‘But we shall need food, so I must go in search of Emma and Thomas.’

‘I shall come with you,’ murmured Edmund.

‘We must stable the horses too,’ drawled Dickon, straightening up from the table. ‘I suggest we leave Mistress Joan to her solitary rest.’ He smiled at Felicia. ‘I presume the stables are to the rear of the house?’

She nodded and rose to her feet. ‘Aye, that is so, and the buttery and storeroom are also in that direction.’

Joan darted a glance at Dickon’s weary face and that of her cousin, and then looked at Edmund as he opened the door to the rear of the hall and bade Felicia go before him. Joan sprang to her feet. ‘I might as well come with you. There is little to do here while I wait.’

‘You could always fetch a broom and sweep the floor,’ murmured Dickon. ‘If you don’t consider it is beneath your dignity.’

Joan flushed, shook her head and hurried out. Dickon shut the door behind her and went back through the hall to the front of the house to fetch the horses.

Felicia stood by Edmund’s side, listening, identifying sounds. The clucking of a hen, the wind in the trees, the clop of a horse’s hoof, and a noise reminiscent of the buzzing of several swarms of bees. He raised his eyebrows and she shrugged. They began to walk through beds of cabbages and beans in need of weeding. Ahead of them was a field planted with vines that sloped down to the river, which gleamed between the trees in the distance. To the left of them was an orchard, the trees nearly stripped of their blossom. At their right hand loomed a huddle of buildings.

She put her hand to the buttery door and pushed it wide. Several barrels and a couple of sacks stood on the floor. On the shelves were numerous stoneware jars. Onions hung from the rafters, as well as herbs and a haunch of salted beef. There was even a large round cheese set on the table, and within just a few inches of it, turned away from her, was the source of the noise.

‘Thomas,’ breathed Felicia.

She had some experience of men in their cups, and was glad that Edmund was with her. Together they approached the slumbering figure. Joan who had followed them, now wandered out towards the stables.

Edmund shook Thomas’s shoulder roughly. There was barely a break in his snoring. ‘Wake up, man!’ he shouted in his ear, before shaking him hard again.

Thomas groaned, muttering a curse under his breath.

‘That’s better,’ said Felicia grimly. ‘Again, Edmund.’

After further prodding, Thomas, eventually, opened his eyes, lifted his head, and blinked into her scornful face.

‘M-Mistress Meriet?’ He groaned and pushed himself up from the table.

‘Go and duck your head in a pail of water, then come back here. I have much to say to you.’ Felicia leaned back against the table and folded her arms across her chest in a determined manner.

With an amused gleam in his eyes, Edmund put a hand on Thomas’s arm and hauled him out of the buttery. They were back speedily. Thomas’s black hair glistened with droplets of water, and he slouched in front of her, running a hand nervously across the dark stubble on his chin, not meeting her eyes.

‘Are you going to remove me, Mistress?’ he muttered. ‘I can’t say I blame you if you do.’

‘You admit I have good reason, Thomas,’ she said sternly.

When he lifted his head, his eyes were bleak, but he seemed to be in control of his wits. ‘Aye, Mistress,’ he mumbled. ‘But without Emma, things have been hard.’

‘Emma? What has happened to Emma? I have noticed the lack of her presence in the house.’

‘Dead, Mistress.’ Thomas coughed and cleared his throat. ‘Of the cough. More than ten deaths. Several babes have died, and naught seems to stop it. Now my Godric is sick.’

‘Oh no!’ she cried. ‘I am so sorry, Thomas! Emma will be sadly missed. No wonder you were trying to drown your sorrows. But it will not do, you know. I have need of you—as does your son. Where is he?’

‘With Beatrice in the village. Fair worried I am, Mistress.’

‘Then we must see what we can do.’ Felicia was aware of Edmund’s warm and reassuring hand on her shoulder, and she turned to him. ‘Can you ...?’ she began.

‘There’s no straightforward cure that I know of,’ he said, his brow knitting, ‘but I do have a recipe for a potion that will ease the cough. If you wish, we could try it on the children of the village.’

Impulsively she covered his fingers with her own. ‘Thank you.’

‘I cannot promise a cure, Felicia,‘ he warned, raising her hand to his lips. ‘Yet I shall do my best.’

Felicia thanked him again, thinking she had not expected him to be so forthcoming. She was aware that Thomas glanced at Edmund furtively, and then she realised that he had the gold ring on her finger. ‘Is—Is this your new lord, Mistress?’ He sounded puzzled. ‘Your cousin did say we would be having one soon but I thought?’ His voice trailed off.

‘My cousin!’ Felicia’s head shot up, and Edmund’s hand tightened on hers. ‘You mean Philip Meriet was here?’

‘Aye, maybe three days ago.’ Thomas scratched his head. ‘I, perhaps, says it as I shouldn’t. Mistress—but he has an eye to your land. He asked me that many questions my head spun. Yet he did not seem to care about the state of the hall, but rather appeared pleased.’

‘He did not hurt anyone whilst here, Thomas?’ she asked.

He shook his head and then stared at Edmund. ‘Barely here for more than a couple of hours, sir. Said he was late for a meeting, or he would have stayed longer, hoping to see Mistress Felicia.’

Felicia paled, seeing in the words a threat. ‘Did he leave any men behind?’

‘Not that I’ve noticed, and I would have heard if there were any in the village.’

‘Any strangers in the woods?’ asked Edmund.

Uncertainty flashed in Thomas’s eyes. ‘Only a pedlar, but he came and went the same day.’

Edmund smiled reassuringly at Felicia. ‘He has gone,’ he said softly. ‘Your cousin’s words are meant to frighten you if you were to seek shelter here. ’

‘Most likely you are right.’ She returned his smile, comforted despite her distrust of Philip. ‘But now we have other matters to think on. Thomas, bring some of that cheese, dried fruit, barley and several onions—as well as the salted beef. Enough for four. Oh! And a flagon of cider.’

‘Aye, Mistress! Master!’

He eagerly set to work. Edmund gave him a hand, so Felicia left them to it and set out for the house, wondering what had happened to Joan. At that moment she saw Dickon leaving the stables and realised he must have finished attending the horses. She waved to him and at that moment Joan appeared in the stable doorway. Felicia called to her but she did not appear to have heard her and Felicia’s heart sank at the expression on her face as she stared after Dickon. She wondered if something had happened between them.

At that moment Thomas came out of the buttery, loaded with food; swinging from one finger was a flagon of cider. Felicia watched as Dickon stepped forward and deftly remove the container. She heard the musical tones of his voice as he spoke to the man, as next he took a bowl of dried fruit from beneath Thomas’s arm; then he began to help himself from the bowl, throwing words over his shoulder in Edmund’s direction, without even a glance at Joan. Again Felicia called to her cousin and this time it appeared Joan heard her because she began to walk slowly towards her.

‘Are you all right?’ asked Felicia, staring anxiously. ‘You look?’

‘Say no more,’ said Joan tight-lipped. ‘That lute player is no gentleman,’ she added contemptuously. ‘The sooner he and your husband leave here the better it will be.’

‘What??’ began Felicia.

Joan gave her such a darkling look that the words died on Felicia’s lips. ‘I will fetch you some herbs.’ She turned and walked away.

Felicia wasted no time, hurrying towards the house.

*

‘Is supper almost ready?’ Dickon peered over Felicia’s shoulder into the cooking-pot. ‘It smells good.’

‘It is not nearly ready,’ said Felicia, finding it difficult to believe that he could have behaved in a manner that deserved the contempt she had heard in Joan’s voice earlier.

‘Then I must be patient. Perhaps a little music might make your chore a little easier.’ He smiled and went over to the table where he had left his lute.

Felicia’s gaze shifted from Dickon to Edmund’s, who was cutting some of the salted beef into small chunks. What a strange match she had made! Never had she seen her father perform such mundane tasks, or any other lord, for that matter. Yet in so doing Edmund did not lose an ounce of his masculinity.

He looked up and met her eyes. ‘Are you ready for the meat?’

She nodded. ‘Aye, thank you.’

He put down the knife and went over with the platter of beef, remembering what she had said about escorting him to the village. He thought she looked tired. Where was her cousin, Joan, when she needed her? He frowned. ‘If you wish, Thomas can take me to the village. It might be best if you rested for a while. How is your back?’