Sworn Loyalty - A Medieval Romance (27 page)

Mary inched cautiously back toward Tina’s mending pile. The woman had a pair of bronze spring scissors in with the cloth, and the double blades would be exactly what Mary needed right now.

The door gave a resounding echo, Lynessa half-turned, and Mary lunged for the pile of fabric. She tossed aside the tunic and wrapped her hand around the base of the scissors. Lynessa screamed with fury and slashed high with her knife, the blade making a glittering arc toward Mary’s shoulder. Mary dodged back, dove in, and impaled Lynessa in the left arm.

Lynessa cried out in pain, barreling full force into Mary, driving her hard into the curtained window.

The world flickered in slow motion. There was the delicate, almost beautiful music of the window shattering into a thousand little crystals. Mary could imagine each one spinning and floating into the evening air, the tinkling of a brook over a gentle waterfall. The dense curtains billowed out next, the wings of a large, forest-green butterfly stretching high over the mossy ground.

And then she and Lynessa were sailing in the air, turning beneath a cloudless sky. Lynessa’s face gleamed bright with fully realized satisfaction. Her voice carried high into the firmament.

“He’ll never be yours!”

Mary flung out her arms, her entire being focused on her desperate will to live.

A strong, steady grasp clamped down on her right wrist, held her, and as all her weight slammed down against the outside of the keep’s walls, the grip did not let go.

Beneath her, there was a wail, a heavy thud, and then silence.

Mary’s heart threatened to beat clear out of her chest, and it was a moment before she could turn her head to gaze up the length of her arm and into Erik’s eyes. His face was a melding of relief, pride, and love.

He drew her steadily up into the room, setting her down on her feet, drawing her in against his sturdy chest. Mary knew that there were others moving around the room, asking questions, checking on her, but nothing else mattered. Nothing mattered but that Erik was safe, and that she was finally at peace.

Chapter 24

Three years later.

Mary smiled in fond amusement as Cecily toddled after her big brother Ralf, older than her by only a scant five minutes. The girl’s long, raven hair swept over his blond locks as she grabbed a hold of his waist and they both tumbled into a giggling pile before the fireplace. Erik swept them both up, one under each arm, grinning at his wife as he brought them over to their chairs at the head table.

A cheer resounded across the hall, and Mary turned to see Ygraine entering, a large tray in her arms holding an elaborately decorated apple tart. The twins stopped squirming in their father’s arms, their eyes round at the massive pastry. Their usual mischievous energy was temporarily reined in by their fascination.

Erik shook his head as he settled the twins into their places. Tina and Zelda took up stations by the pair to ensure they, for the moment, remained safely in their chairs.

Erik tucked Cecily’s locks back from her face, then turned to look at Lord Paul. “You’ll have your hands full as their godfather,” he warned the older man. “They already get into more mischief than I can possibly imagine. In a few years …” He sighed at the thought. “We’ll be lucky to keep them from breaking all their limbs. Twice.”

Lord Paul reached over to give a fond tweak to Ralf’s cheek. “Ah, but where Cecily dashes head-strong into danger, Ralf is always there to see her through to the other side,” he pointed out. “They adore each other. As long as they are together, they will be fine.”

Michael nodded in agreement. “The lad has quick reflexes,” he praised. “He will make a fine swordsman.” At Mary’s amused look he quickly added, “And Cecily too, of course.”

Mary gave a proud pat to her daughter’s head, causing the lass to squirm. The girl’s eyes were fixed determinedly on the tart that lay before them on the table.

Ygraine finished cutting the first square of tart, and, before Mary could take the plate, the cook had placed it proudly in front of Ralf.

Mary could have predicted what would happen next with her eyes closed.

Cecily, outraged that Ralf had something she did not, lunged a pudgy fist toward the fragrant dessert. Ralf, quick as an owl pouncing on prey, had her wrist pinioned to the table, keeping his treasure for himself. The two pulled and grunted, each determined not to give one inch.

Erik moved to stand behind Mary, fondly running a hand along her neck. “They are a treasure,” he murmured.

Mary chuckled. “And feisty, too.”

Erik lowered his head to tenderly kiss her cheek. “I always did value a bit of feistiness,” he teased.

Cecily had managed to move her hand forward and cradle half of the tart, but Ralf’s determined grasp meant she could not move any further. Then the lad’s eyes lit up. With his free hand, he cupped the other half of the apple dessert. Carefully, attentively, both twins lifted the tart up off the table, and brought their heads in. Their noses touched as they nibbled at the sides of their birthday treat, contented sighs emerging from the depths of their small bodies.

Erik ran a hand fondly through Mary’s hair, drawing her against him. “I pity the man or woman who tries to come between those two,” he murmured. “I see a lifetime of adventures in their future.”

Lord Paul stood and moved over to the fireplace. A large sheet of fabric hung above the mantle, with a long, green ribbon attached to it. “Are we ready?”

Mary looked up at Erik with curiosity. He had taken full control of the painting project, and she promised not to look until he was done with it. She was eager to see the results. Would it just be his first born son featured in the image? Or would he have included the younger sister as well?

Erik wrapped his arm tighter around her waist, and then gave a nod to Lord Paul.

The ribbon was freed, the fabric fluttered to the ground, and Mary stared at the image in open-mouthed surprise.

All four of them stood represented in the painting, standing on the front steps of the keep. Erik’s blond hair shone in the sun, the leather of his tunic fitting him like a second skin. In his arms he cradled Cecily. Her small hand was wrapped around his wrist, and she looked up at her father in absolute adoration. Her other hand held a small tambourine.

At Erik’s side stood Mary, her embroidered green dress elegant in the morning light. She held Ralf in her arms. Ralf was looking across at his sister, gazing at her with protective attention. A small wooden sword hung at his hip.

A forest-green banner fluttered from the keep above them, bearing the house standard. But, as Mary looked more closely, she realized it was not the standard she had known for over ten years. There were the crossed swords, yes, but integrated with them was a shimmering tambourine bearing a celtic knotwork design. The effect was stunning.

Her eyes misted with tears, and she leant against Erik. Her throat closed up with emotion.

His voice whispered low in her ear. “So, do you like it?”

Mary could barely get the words out. “
Like
it?”

She slid an arm around his waist, looking up, and their gaze caught for a long, time-suspending moment. Mary felt his love to her very core, and there was nothing else she could possibly want out of life.

Her voice was a mere whisper. “Thank you. Thank you for saving me.”

His voice was hoarse. “We have saved each other.”

He leant down, his lips pressed to hers, and the world became brilliant with infinite possibilities.

Dedication

To Peter and Elizabeth May, for their enthusiastic support of my writing dreams. Their knowledge of historic England, and their patience in touring me through a variety of sites in England, was a help beyond measure.

To my fellow writers Erin, Kevin, and Ruth – their insight into the story was immensely helpful.

To uncle Blake, who reads through each book I write and offers both advice and cheerleading.

To editors Danielle and Jody. Your ability to polish my words is phenomenal. Jody’s famous “pages of red ink” are stunning in their thoroughness, and by now she can practically write in my voice when she makes suggestions.

To Bob See, my darling partner in life for eighteen years and counting. He supports me, encourages me, cooks delicious food for me, and drives me to IPPY award ceremonies when I’m petrified to go on my own. I couldn’t do it without you.

Glossary

Ale
- A style of beer which is made from barley and does not use hops. Ale was the common drink in medieval days. In the 1300s, 92% of brewers were female, and the women were known as “alewives”. It was common for a tavern to be run by a widow and her children.

Blade
- The metal slicing part of the sword.

Chemise
- In medieval days, most people had only a few outfits. They would not want to wash their heavy main dress every time they wore it, just as in modern times we don’t wash our jackets after each wearing. In order to keep the sweaty skin away from the dress, women wore a light, white under-dress which could then be washed more regularly. This was often slept in as well.

Cider
– A beverage made by pressing and fermenting apples. By default, cider in the middle ages was alcoholic.

Drinking
- In general, medieval sanitation was poor. People who drank milk had to drink it "raw" - pasteurization was not well known before the 1700s. Water was often unsafe to drink. For these reasons, all ages of medieval folk drank liquid with alcohol in it. The alcohol served as a natural sanitizer. This was even true as recently as colonial American times.

Garderobe
– an indoor toilet in a castle; usually simply a hole over a long drop to a ground-level sewer.

God’s Teeth / God’s Blood
– Common oaths in the middle ages.

Grip
- The part of the sword one holds, usually wrapped in leather or another substance to keep a firm grip in the wielder’s hand.

Guard
- The crossed top of the sword’s hilt which keeps the enemy’s sword from sliding down and chopping off the wielder’s fingers.

Hilt
- The entire handle of the sword; everything that is not blade.

Mead
- A fermented beverage made from honey. Mead has been enjoyed for thousands of years and is mentioned in Beowulf.

Pommel
- The bottom end of the sword, where the hilt ends.

Tip
- The top end of the sword, where the blade comes to a point.

Wolf’s Head
– A term for a bandit. The Latin legal term
caput gerat lupinum
meant they could be hunted and killed as legally as any dangerous wolf or wild animal that threatened the area.

Parts of a Sword

About the Songs

Medieval life was rich in songs and stories. Most people could not read or write, so the way they preserved tales was to put them to music. People did not have television or radio. To entertain themselves, they would sing and play songs together.

The first song Mary sings, about the cherry with no stone, comes from “Songs and Carols: Printed from a Manuscript in the Sloane Collection in the British Museum” edited by Thomas Wright. The book was published in 1836 and is now out of copyright so you can find it for free on the web. This song is song number eight (viii). The Sloane manuscript itself is thought to be from the mid-1400s, but the songs undoubtedly had been sung for centuries before finally being written down.

The second song, about a love being far away, is based on the song “My Lief is Faren in Londe” – i.e. my love has gone away to the country. This song is mentioned in The Nun’s Priest’s Tale in the Canterbury Tales, written by Chaucer at the end of the 1300s. The song was already well known by then. A documented source for the full song is Secular Lyrics of the Fourteenth and Fifteenth Centuries by Rossell H. Robbins.