Honor & Roses (4 page)

“Of course, Uncle.” She blushed, embarrassed by her unkempt appearance. “I was working in the gardens, and I was just about to go up to Agnes to prepare for tonight. Shall I wear the blue gown, from the fabric you bought for me at the last fair? With the white flowers embroidered on it?”

“That will do very well,” Theobald said with an approving nod.

He dismissed her, and Cecily continued up the stairway to her own chamber, the room made prettier due to Pavia’s weavings hanging from the walls and the fresh flowers Cecily always had in a bowl near the window.

Agnes was waiting for her there. “Where have you been? The water will be cold! Did no one tell you we’re to have a feast tonight?”

“Yes, I was told by Pavia, who knew from Cook, who knew from whoever! And then Runild told me just before Uncle Theobald told me! I must be the last person to hear of it.”

“Not to be wondered at, considering no one can ever find you in that forest you call a garden. You’re here now, so all’s well.”

Cecily allowed Agnes to help her undress, and then took a sponge and soaked it in a basin of lavender-scented water. The water was still stunningly hot, despite Agnes’s fears. As Cecily washed the dirt from her face and arms, she tried to picture the homecoming of the men.

All’s well
, Agnes had said. But would it be?

Everyone spoke of “the men” returning. But no names were mentioned, and Cecily knew that not all the knights and men-at-arms who had gone forth in service to the king would return. News was rare and often delayed. What would she do if she looked for a face that never appeared?

She remembered the face as if it was yesterday, and not five years ago, that Alric left with the company of knights. He had told her not to worry about him. She did anyway. At first she wrote letters to be sent along with Theobald’s official missives. But Alric never wrote back, not once. Cecily was forced to acknowledge that the older boy forgot his childhood friend once he entered the world of knightly battle.

Cecily had been hurt by his lack of communication, and it had taken a long time, far longer than she’d ever admit, for the wound to heal. As she grew up, she began to understand the cares that could weigh on an adult, especially a knight. She shouldn’t have been surprised when his youthful promise to remember her was soon swept away.

But in her heart, she kept the memory of Alric close. She had lengthy, private conversations with the Alric of her dreams, and even imagined what advice he would give her and tried to act on it. She remembered his warm brown eyes and how serious he looked all the time, always concerned about the right way to do things.

She remembered a day when he sat in judgment over two boys who had gotten into a rough fight in the courtyard. Though only a squire then, he had acted with all the moral authority of a lord himself. He listened carefully to both boys’ arguments and defense. He called witnesses. Then he pronounced a sober judgment on the lad who had started the fight, holding him to the code of chivalry that their elders all followed. The boy’s punishment was to attend Alric and perform all the squire’s own duties for a day. Such was Alric’s nature that by the end of the day, the lad actually thanked Alric for the chosen punishment.

Cecily still prayed regularly for the men’s safe return, and Alric’s in particular, but over the last few years, she had started to doubt that the knights would ever come home.

Now they were back. Would he remember her once he saw her? Would he speak to her? Could their friendship be renewed? Cecily fervently wished the answers to all those questions would be yes, but her belly started to knot with concern.

“Are you quite done, or are you intent on turning into a fish?” Agnes asked, breaking her reverie. “Come and sit by the window. I must make you ready for the feast.”

Cecily sighed and let the sponge splash back into the water. Her skin was now soft and smelling of lavender. She glanced down at her arms and admitted to herself that her skin was somewhat darker than became a lady, almost tawny, despite her naturally fair complexion. That’s what days of working in the gardens did though, and she’d far rather do that than embroider.

Agnes bade her sit on a stool so she could brush Cecily’s hair free of tangles.

“Uncle wants me to look presentable,” Cecily said. “I told him I’d wear the new blue gown.”

“I’ve made it ready,” Agnes clucked. “After I braid your hair, you’ll wear the gold circlet. Don’t say a word! I know how heavy it is, but if you are the lady of the manor, you must look it. And you shall wear the gold necklace and your mother’s rings.”

Cecily remained silent while Agnes dressed and groomed her. With every layer of fabric and new piece of jewelry, she felt the added weight and wondered if this was how it felt for knights as they prepared for a battle. Though she wore soft wool while they wore chainmail, perhaps it was not so different. She often felt like she was fighting against the sheer weight of expectation her uncle put on her to be the sort of lady he thought she should be. Cecily knew she was anything but proper. Yet she was forced to play the part.

By the end, Cecily did feel as though she wore a sort of armor, protecting against anyone seeing
her
. Instead, they’d see her fine clothes and the gold at her hands and throat. They’d think her a perfect lady.

Agnes kept up a constant chatter while she worked, filling Cecily in on the doings around the castle and her expectations of how life would change with the men back.

“Weddings every month, mark my words. Some of those women have been waiting for years! And other marriages will be hasty affairs, what with the men back among lasses all too eager to please such vaunted knights and squires! Oh, but I need to mind my tongue.”

“I know very well what you mean,” Cecily said, a bit tartly. “You think I don’t know what happens when couples slip away from the feasts?”

“You
think
you know, child. But there’s a world of difference in knowing why a woman’s belly swells after such trysts and knowing just what happens! Theobald has waited long enough to find you a husband. You’re old enough.”

“I don’t need a husband,” Cecily protested. “And Uncle needs a lady here at Cleobury. He’s never remarried since his wife died. I like my life here well enough.”

“Sweet Cecily,” Agnes bent to kiss her forehead. “You’ll find that marriage suits you well. It is the natural life for a lady, and it is the way of the world.”

“Let’s not talk about that,” she said, standing up. “Not tonight. Do I look correct?”

She held out her arms and spun about, the bottom of the dress swinging out, showing the bright white of her shift beneath the elaborate overdress. The gold-threaded ribbons at her sides and her wrists flashed in the light. Gold ornaments glinted in the dimming light of the room.

“You are a vision,” Agnes said, “and you will dazzle every eye. Now go down to the hall. They’ll be waiting for you!”

Weary from riding, Alric thought
of Cleobury with both anticipation and dread, something he’d never have admitted out loud. Their pace quickened as they got closer. Rafe and Alric were still accompanied by Octavian, who’d been charged with delivering some messages in the region from the king’s officers.

More than anything, Alric wanted to see Cecily. A small, secret part of him hoped that she would come running down the track through the gates as soon as the troop was sighted. He knew that was a fantasy. She’d be grown up, perhaps betrothed or even married now. The thought made him tense. What if she’d been offered to some idiot for political gain?

But he wouldn’t feel as if he’d truly come home until he saw her and knew she was safe and happy. And if he found otherwise…he’d take steps, to hell with the consequences.

“Nearly there now,”  Rafe said, breaking Alric’s woolgathering. “And not a moment too soon.”

“I hope they cooked enough for an army,” Alric said. “I’ll be pleased to be inside friendly walls tonight.”

“I’ll be pleased to be inside friendly thighs tonight!” Rafe quipped. He never seemed to have difficulty finding a woman to share his bed.

Alric glanced over at him, annoyed by the comment. “These are our lord’s people.”

“I’m jesting,” Rafe said.

“No, you’re not.”

“Well, is it a crime to want a woman after all this time?”

A squire riding nearby broke in. “All this time? What were you doing with that whore at the inn last night? Weaving cloth for the winter?”

Rafe laughed, conceding the point. “All the same, I’m done with battle for a little while, so why should I not look for a woman to take care of me? Perhaps the lady Cecily.”

Alric’s fists clenched, but he kept his tone mild. “She is destined for one higher than a mere knight. If you woo her, you’re as likely to end up on the shadowed side of a churchyard as in the church.”

“A dowry such as hers, though… No, you’re right,” Rafe grumbled, acknowledging the truth of the matter. “Her uncle wouldn’t like it.”

Alric calmed slightly. He should be used to Rafe’s jibes and boasts. The knight didn’t have a prayer of ascending the ranks to marry Lord Theobald’s heiress, no matter how glib or good-looking he might be. No knight did.

Octavian asked, “Who is this lady?”

“Our lord’s niece,” Alric explained. “Cecily is daughter of Rainald de Vere. After he died, his surviving brother Theobald took the title. He has no children, though, so it goes to Cecily next. Theobald holds it in trust for her.”

“And she’s forbidden, as we’ve just been warned,” Rafe added, in a mock-serious tone. “So don’t get ideas in your head.”

Octavian looked shocked at the notion. “I’m just here at the request of the king.”

“To deliver letters!” Rafe shook his head. “Why send you when we’re already going?  Even
I
can carry a letter,” he added in mutter.

“He’s testing me,” Octavian said. “He wonders if a man born so far from here can possibly be loyal. I intend to show him that it doesn’t matter where I’m from. My word is all that matters.”

“Ugh.
Youth
.” Rafe laughed though, his humor restored.

At that moment, the squire riding in front turned and waved his arm.

“There it is!” Alric said. “Cleobury.”

The manor gate loomed ahead of them as the last shafts of sunlight struck like gold arrows through the leaves of the forest. Recent fortifications made it look more imposing than Alric remembered, but the cheers of the folk lining the track warmed his heart, and of course, the gate was open, since they were expected.
We’re coming home.

He looked in vain for Cecily’s face among the crowd.

When the knights reached the courtyard, several pages and stable boys were ready to mind the horses. Alric leapt down, and found one eager to take the reins of his warhorse. Alric said, “Treat him well, he’s had a long journey. What’s your name, lad?”

“Edmund, Sir Alric.” The boy ducked his head in a sort of bow.

Alric’s lip quirked. Should he be surprised that a lad of only ten or so years knew who he was? He couldn’t decide. “Brush him down, and be sure to give him an apple or two.”

“Yes, sir. What’s the horse called?”

“Rolande. He’s an intelligent creature, and he knows his name.”

Edmund smiled, pleased to be in charge of such a fine animal. Satisfied that his horse was in good hands, Alric turned to see another boy waiting.

“Lord Theobald awaits,” the page said. “He wishes to speak with you before the feast.”

Alric suppressed a tiny groan. Being in charge meant these little things always fell to him. The other men would be halfway through a side of beef before he even reached the main hall.

Octavian made a gesture indicating that he would accompany him on the errand, but Alric waved him off. “I won’t be long, and you should meet the folk here.”

Alric followed the page into the large stone manor house. The solar the lord Theobald used for his work was lit only by a few candles, and the man himself was half in shadow, his face lean, with dark circles under his eyes. Alric was startled by how haggard the man looked. Theobald never seemed to sleep, and ate only sparingly, as Alric remembered. But he had aged considerably in the past few years. The grey in his hair had overtaken the brown, and his shoulders stooped now, as though holding up the weight of the whole manor.

Beside Theobald and himself, there was only a single servant present, a sort of clerk who was the lord’s shadow. Laurence. That was the man’s name.

Alric bowed to Theobald. “My lord, I am glad to see you well. I trust our lady is also well?” Why was she not here, Alric wondered. The manor was as much hers as Theobald’s, and the men served her, too.

“She is well. She readies herself for tonight,” Theobald said. “We’ll join the festivities when you complete your report.”

“Very well,” said Alric, pleased to hear Cecily still lived at Cleobury. “I can report that your men have returned and the king is satisfied with our service, granting us leave until Luc of Braecon recovers. Six men died, and three suffered injuries great enough to prevent them from entering combat again. The rest are healthy and able to continue serving you and the lady Cecily. I have the documents from the king’s clerks relating to the details of our service. They are in my personal chest. Shall I send a servant to unpack it?”