My Lady Faye (7 page)

The boy wiped snot away with his tunic sleeve. This miserable, filthy little beggar who would carry forward the line of Calder. A proud line, dating back to well before William the Bastard put foot on these shores. A name too noble for a mewling, whining brat.

“Stop crying.”

The boy ducked his head.

Coward. “Look me in the eye when I speak to you.”

Up came the head, but his lips quivered.

Rage surged through Calder. He blamed her for this, too. Always coddling the boy. Did he have enough to eat? Was he well rested? Did he want a cup of hot milk before he slept?

Men were not stroked and soothed into manhood. They were wrenched up, tough and hard, like the wolf emblem of Calder. He stroked the Wolf Rampant emblazoned on his chest. Wolves ripped the throats out of those not strong enough to run with the pack. He would make a Calder of this weakling. “Get him away.”

Sir John bent wrapped his arm about the boy’s feeble shoulder.

Jesu, they were all at it. They would learn differently. “When he stops crying he can eat.”

“But my lord—”

“Not before then.”

Sir John snapped his mouth shut and he led the whiner away. “Come along.”

Calder grabbed the whore by her nape and tugged her to her knees before him.

Yellow hair obscured her face.

Good. He put his boot on her head and pressed down. If he drove her head into the ground hard enough, perhaps he could reshape her coarse features into Faye’s.

The wool habit boiled her alive, but Faye blessed the extra padding beneath her bottom. Bliauts provided a bit more protection than chausses to a woman’s nether regions. Ass. Not a word she used but she liked the sound of it. In the bright sunlight, her fears receded. Not for one moment did she forget her purpose, but out here, she was not Sir Arthur’s daughter or Calder’s wife, merely a nameless boy traveling beside a monk. Nameless boys didn’t need to watch their words or keep their knees pressed together. They could slouch and fidget and scratch anything that itched.

Green farmland drifted slowly by the cart. They had left Anglesea demesne and traveled a small strip of land forming part of her dowry to Calder. It was good land, rich and fertile and fed by a large, looping river cutting straight through Anglesea on its path to the sea. The land had been well-tilled and the harvest waved in long ripples of golden wheat and barley over the fields.

She had not been this way since last summer. Gregory had been with her then, too, taking her and her boys back to Anglesea. That night, she had asked much. Asked that he defy his liege lord and help her escape to her father’s home. Gregory had turned to her, questions in his beautiful, dark eyes and nodded. Merely a nod. Through the night he had raced with her and the boys, never once voicing his questions or his doubts.

A lone farmer stood beside the stone wall to a wheat field. “Morning, Father.”

Faye jumped and ducked her head.

Gregory nudged her knee. “Good morrow.”

Please do not stop. Please do not stop.
If the man saw through her disguise, they were doomed.

The farmer leant his elbows on the wall and made himself comfortable. “That’s a fine pair you have harnessed there.”

Gregory halted the bullocks. “They are that. Sturdy.”

Damn. Curses were so much more apt for these occasions. Faye shrunk into her habit.

The farmer’s gaze swept her, Gregory and the cart, curiosity bright on his weathered face. “You traveling a ways?”

“Aye.” Gregory’s knee kept up a steady pressure.

Whether in warning or reassurance, she couldn’t tell. She didn’t feel any better, just like they should get moving and keep moving.

The farmer nodded and squinted up into the sun. “Fine day you have for it.”

“Indeed,” Gregory said. “The weather is fine this summer.”

Most farmers she knew would talk about weather for days. She pressed his knee back.

The farmer sniffed and pulled down the sides of his mouth. “Would not turn away a spot of rain round about now.”

The sun baked the black wool habit. Perspiration slid down Faye’s sides.

“Who is that you have with you, Father?”

“Just a young boy.” Gregory nudged her elbow. “Say hello, lad.”

She lowered her voice to what she imagined a boy would sound like. “Good morrow.”

Bending down, the farmer plucked a long stalk from his field. With weathered, dirt-encrusted fingers, he stripped the head and popped it between his teeth. “You on your way to the monastery up beyond Calder Castle?”

“Aye.” Gregory motioned the barrels behind. “We bring some victuals from the Abbey of St Margaret.”

“Right you are then.” The farmer squinted at the barrels. The stalk stuck poised between his teeth, as if testing the air like an insect.

“We best be on our way,” Gregory said. “The monastery will not be best pleased if this lot spoils.”

“Aye.” The farmer straightened. “Best you do. Only, watch yourself on the road, Father. Been lots of comings and goings in the last little while.”

“Busy you say?” Gregory squinted at the road ahead of them.

“Oh, aye.” The farmer slapped his hand on the top of the wall. “We do not get much traffic hereabouts.”

“Indeed?” Gregory grunted and glanced in both directions.

The farmer frowned at the road. “Men tearing along here on horseback like the devil himself was on their tails.”

Faye’s heart lodged in her throat.

“Indeed?” Gregory kept his tone light, but he tensed.

“Aye.” The farmer’s craggy face cracked into a smile. “Thought I saw his lordship not three nights ago.”

Calder. Faye’s mouth dried. It galled her to be reliant on Gregory to ask the questions, but she didn’t trust her disguise.

“Did you now?” Gregory’s knee pressed hers, a silent warning.

Warning be damned. Faye returned the pressure, willing him to ask about Simon.

“Cannot be sure.” The farmer scratched his chest with a grubby hand. “Was late at night. Strange time for him to be out and about I thought.”

Gregory grunted and shook his head.

“Was he alone?” Faye couldn’t wait another moment if Gregory wasn’t going to ask.

Gregory stiffened, but Faye judged it worth the risk. The man might have proof of Simon.

“His lordship?” The farmer snorted. “Nay, lad, when does he ever travel without a bloody fuss and bother? Disturbed my best milk cows they did.”

“Was there a little b—”

“You have the truth of it there.” Gregory applied steady pressure with his knee. “Anyway, good day to you. Best get these supplies out of the sun.”

“Oh, aye.” The farmer nodded. “No need to go and spoil good food over the likes of his lordship.”

Gregory slapped the reins and the bullocks ambled forward.

“Why did you interrupt me?” Gregory had sat there and talked about the weather. Even had the gall to hush her while he passed up an excellent opportunity to gather more information.

“We are trying not to draw attention to ourselves.” He glanced at her. “Asking about a boy with Calder would have given the man fuel for gossip. You might have noticed he was a chatty sort. His speculation would not have stopped with us.”

“Oh.” Faye lapsed into a chastened silence. “At least he thought I was a boy.”

“Lucky sod. He must be blind,” Gregory muttered.

“What do—”

“There is an inn a ways ahead.”

Faye blinked at the rudeness of the interruption. She must have misheard him.

“We will stop at the inn for the night.”

“Why?” She had no knowledge of distance, but they had passed the tall, stone cairn that marked the border between Anglesea and Calder’s demesne a ways back and it could not be much farther.

“Our arrival in Upper Mere must be timed to attract the least notice. Calder has eyes in that town.”

Calder had eyes everywhere. Faye had learned that at her own peril once or twice. “Are you not afraid we will be recognized?”

“It is not the sort of inn I normally frequent” Color climbed his cheeks.

A hundred questions tumbled through her mind. “What sort of inn is it?”

He went redder and she laughed. He was so easy to tease at times. “The sort you should never enter.”

“I see.” That sounded interesting. The daughter of Sir Arthur of Anglesea was shielded from the common world and Calder had kept her guarded and confined.

They stopped to break their fast beside a stream. It was a lovely spot, the trees providing cool shade and the stream whispering a happy gurgle over the rocks. The weight in her chest lightened as she ate the bread and cheese.

Gregory gave her the largest portion of their meal. She pushed it back at him. A man his size needed a fair amount of feeding. He’d lost weight at the Abbey. His face was thinner, more defined, but the bulk of him beneath his robe was still impressive. He’d allowed his hair to grow, and it brushed his cowl in rich, sable curls. Who would have guessed Gregory to have curls? How they must gall him with their unruliness.

Faye tilted her face to catch the warmth of the sun.

As the day had worn on, Gregory’s silence lost its edge. He had even unbent enough to have brief conversations with her. The ground between them became more familiar for the last few miles. It had always been thus. For the most part, she spoke and he listened. Or the boys were with them demanding all the attention.

His gravity lightened around the boys. He laughed more and told them wonderful stories. Gregory had endless patience with them. Answering questions, guiding their youthful exuberance, like a real father. What would her life have been like with Gregory as her husband and father to her sons? There were times when she would pretend they were a family. The quiet caused her head to go places it had no place meandering. “Do you have a plan? When we get to Upper Mere.”

“Aye.” Of course he had a plan. Gregory did nothing without a plan.

A flock of sparrows argued noisily above their heads.

“We will need to be cautious.” He rose and washed his hands in the stream. “Calder is arrogant, but not stupid.”

That was true. She had banged her head against the wall of Calder’s conceit and come away bloodied. “He must know my father will act.”

“Aye.” He bent to clear up their meal. “But he will be expecting an attack to come from Anglesea. We will sneak in beneath his nose and, if we are fortunate, be gone before he knows we were there.”

“With Simon.”

“Perhaps.”

“Perhaps?” It took her a moment to register his meaning. There was no perhaps about it.

“We will see what we find.”

Faye’s belly tightened and she forced herself to calm her breathing. They would find Simon in the hands of the devil himself. “I am not leaving without my son.

“My lady, first we survey the situation.” He packed their provisions into the cart.

Faye gaped at his back. That was not at all why she went to Calder Castle. She wanted to yell the words at his broad back. A lady never yelled, however, she explained her point firmly but graciously. “This is my son we speak of.”

“We do not know what we will find at Calder Castle.”

“Simon, we will find Simon.”

“And Calder will be expecting something.” He drew the words out as if he spoke to a child.

“He won’t be looking for us. You said as much.”

His jaw clenched. “But he will be alert and I will not put you in danger.”

Her angry pulse throbbed in her throat. Gregory planned to protect her when he needed to protect her son. The danger to her was meaningless. This was about her son. “I care only about getting Simon back.”

“I understand, but we cannot react out of our fear and anxiety.” He didn’t mean their fear and anxiety. He spoke of hers, her cowardice.

“I am getting my son back.”

“If I judge it prudent once we have assessed the danger.” He spoke so calmly, dismissing her, making light of how vital it was to retrieve Simon.

Well, he discounted this new Faye, the one in charge of her own fate. “I am not leaving without him.”

“You may have to.” He loomed above a good foot, taut with suppressed emotion. He could tower and glower all her liked.

“You cannot stop me.”

“I will if I must.”

She could hardly credit her ears. Verily, this entire conversation was a cruel jest. Her mouth dropped open and she snapped it shut again. “Let me explain this to you. I am here to rescue Simon, whether you will it or nay. It matters not what you and my father planned. There is a new plan now, and I will see this done.”

He grunted and shoved a hand through his hair. “This is no place for a woman.”

A lady does not show her temper. A lady does not screech like a hag.
The trees dipped and swayed in her vision as she battled her temper. “I am his mother. Where else would I be?”

“Safe at Anglesea.” His support at Anglesea had been nothing but mouthing words. Here and now, when challenged, he took the same line as her father and brothers.

“You said you understood.”

“I do understand—”

“Nay, you do not. For you to even speak to me thus means you understand nothing of a mother’s pain when her child is in the hands of a monster. You think you know how much of a monster, but you don’t even know the half of it.”

“My lady—”

“It was me who suffered every blow of that animal’s hands. It was me he forced to submit to his will. I bore it all to shield my children from him. Do not think you understand. Do not think you can stand between me and my God-given right to protect my child. You want to shield me.” A broken laugh escaped her. “You cannot shield me from what is done. And you will not stop me now.” Her breathing rasped in the sudden still. Good Lord, had all that come out of her mouth?

Stark anguish crossed his face. “I take your meaning, my lady.”

What meaning had he taken? His words were laden with so much more. She’d wounded him in some way. Her newfound courage flickered and died. He cared for Simon and he’d demonstrated it in hundred different ways. She hadn’t meant to speak all that, but she had opened her mouth and it had all poured out. “I beg your pardon.”