My Lady Faye (11 page)

“Calder has sent him to Brynn to be fostered,” Bess said.

“Brynn?” Brynn was the keep of Calder’s vassal, Sir Robert. Her head whirled. Simon was not with Calder, which was good. On the other hand, Brynn lay another day’s traveling away. Another day away from her child was a day too many.

“Aye.” Bess took her hand. “Sir Robert is like Calder, but his lady is a good woman. Calder sent Simon’s nurse, too. Ruth will know how best to keep him out of harm.”

“Then we go to Brynn,” Gregory said.

She leant into Gregory, solid and dependable beside her. Warmth flowed through her.

“Eat first.” Bess pushed her bowl in front of Faye. “Then we will see if I can find something better than a grubby boy as a disguise.” Bess touched Faye’s hair and clucked her tongue. “All that beautiful hair.”

“I will go up to the castle.” Gregory picked up his spoon and ate.

Faye stared at him. Nothing could be gained by such a foolhardy action.

“I want to see if there is aught of which we need to be aware.” He took a mouthful of broth.

Faye clenched her hand around her spoon. It was that or hit him with it. Blasted, stubborn man with his jaw set in that uncompromising line.

“It is a good idea.” Bess touched her arm. “They will not see Gregory if he does not want to be seen. But I would suggest we find something other than that habit for him. If you rode through the village, you will have been noticed. I will put it about you came and left. You will want to draw your cart out of sight behind the cottage. I have a small animal pen within the forest.”

Bess’s calm good sense spread over her like a soothing balm. Her throat tightened. The best she could do was send Bess a look loaded with gratitude.

“Eat.” Bess motioned her bowl.

After they’d eaten, Bess opened a large chest at the foot of her cot and rummaged within. She produced a tunic and a pair of braies large enough to cover Gregory’s frame.

He took the clothing outside to change and draw the cart into the forest.

When he returned, Faye blinked at him in surprise. No more monk, but her Gregory stood there, the man she knew so well. Her stupid heart insisted on hankering after this man. The tunic fit tight across his broad shoulders, molding itself to the hard planes of his belly. She dragged her eyes away and helped Bess clean the dishes.

Gregory waited until moonrise and slipped into the night.

“He will be fine,” Bess said as Faye helped her place a linen-lined bathing tub before the hearth.

The prospect of bathing was welcome indeed. The mud had dried on her face and hair and flaked off all over Bess’s floor as she moved.

Bess heated water over the fire before pouring it into the tub. She added a few handfuls of dried lavender to the steaming water.

Heavenly. The hot water soothed Faye’s tight muscles as the calming smell of lavender twined with the steam. Bess helped her wash her hair and found a simple woman’s bliaut and wimple for Faye to wear. The clothes were rough but clean.

They chatted about villagers. Not all the news was bad. Some had died, true, but babies had been born, couples courted and life went on. It helped distract her as time slowed to a crawl and Gregory still didn’t appear. Their conversation drifted into desultory and then silence.

Bess busied herself with crushing herbs as they waited.

Gregory had been gone too long. He might have been captured, could be lying in Calder’s dungeon while she and Bess whiled away the time. Or worse, Calder had him. She had to stop inventing one gruesome scenario after another or she would crawl out of her skin with nerves.

“Mistress Bess?” A young voice called from the other side of the door.

Faye jumped and caught the bench before it fell.

“Blast.” Bess got to her feet. “Stay out of sight. It is young Tim. His mother is due at any moment.”

“Tim from beneath the hill?” Tim was the oldest of eight, all within a short space of each other. Tim’s mother was still a young woman, but when last Faye saw her, she had looked worn out by the constant child bearing.

“Aye.” Bess clucked her tongue. “That man should try keeping his braies on. This babe is sitting heavy and she is going to need some help.”

“You have to go.” Faye slipped to the corner near the cot and crouched down behind the frame.

“Aye.” Bess shook her head. “It will be remarked upon if I do not.” She lifted the latch and peered into the night beyond the door.

“My mum sent me.” A piping young voice sounded. “She says it is time.”

“You run on home, lad.” Bess shooed the boy with her hands. “Tell your mother I am on my way.” She went to her jars of magic and gathered what she needed. “Stay here and do not open the door to anyone.”

Faye hardly needed the warning, but she nodded to reassure Bess.

Bess’s absence hung heavy. If she had embroidery with her, she could occupy her hands while she waited. The idea made her smile. When this was over perhaps she would not mind the stitchery as much anymore.

Outside the cottage, dim sounds carried on the night breeze from Upper Mere as people went about their business. She occupied her mind identifying the various voices. William, who kept a tavern and always argued with Calder over his taxes, shouted at a barking dog. Black Thomas, named for his temper and not his hair, and his wife, Mary, passing by and arguing in full voice. It would end in things being thrown and, as it often did, a late visit from Bess.

The latch lifted and she scrambled for her corner, her heart pounded so violently it nigh left her chest.

Gregory slid into the room like a ghost.

“Where have you been?” Not the most auspicious of beginnings, but she had him bleeding to death on Calder’s floor for the last hour.

He raised his eyebrow and bent to remove his boots. “Where is Bess?”

“Gone to a birthing.” She drew deep breaths for calm.

Gregory frowned around the empty cottage. “You are here alone?”

“Aye.” She needed to do something with her hands and she put the kettle on the hearth. Bess must be strong, because the water kettle weighed like a stone. “I did not see anyone and nobody came to the door.”

He nodded and placed his boots together by the door.

“Well?” Faye couldn’t wait any longer for news.

“Calder is there.” Gregory took a seat at the table. “So are many of his vassals.”

That could mean many things, none of them good. Faye sank back into her chair. When he wanted something from them, an army or money, Calder tolerated his vassals in his keep.

“It was easy to slip into the keep.” Gregory placed his hands on the table, strong, capable and gentle, those hands. “There are a lot of men.”

“Calder is gathering an army.” The blood drained from her head. Calder armed for a battle.

“Aye.” Gregory nodded, his face grim. “I stayed amongst the men-at-arms for a good while, but there were no details. I saw Robert of Brynn amongst them.”

Finally, some good news. If Robert was not at Brynn, the castle could be poorly guarded. “We can get Simon.” Faye stood. Calder had made a mistake and they needed to move now.

“My lady.” Gregory glanced at her from the table. “We do not know what we will find at Brynn.”

He needed to move, not sit there as if someone had planted him. “We will find my son there. We can rescue him.”

“You are determined to do this?” Gregory rose.

“Aye.” Nothing would stand in her way, if she had to take herself to Brynn.

Gregory blew out a long breath. “Show me the knife William gave you. I will see what I can teach you while we wait for Bess.”

“We have to go now.”

“We cannot go now.” Gregory held his hand out for the knife. “There are still too many people awake.”

Gregory’s thinking grew muddled. Half the village had been about and seen their arrival. “We traveled here in the middle of the day.”

“Aye. And too many saw two monks enter the village in a bullock cart. It will be noted if a man and a woman leave in the same cart.”

Indeed. She didn’t like his reasoning, but couldn’t fault it.

“Show me how you hold the knife.”

Faye palmed the weapon. It lay heavy and strange in her hand.

“Not like that.” Gregory opened her fingers to face upward. “Like this.” He repositioned the dagger. His chest pressed into her back as he took her wrist from behind and showed her. “You thrust up from here.”

Faye struggled to listen to the words with his arms around her, the unique scent of him teasing her nose.

“Up.” His voice rumbled through her back and sent tingles skittering across her skin. “This way you do not expose too much of yourself when you strike and you can put your strength behind the blow.”

He stepped away and had her show him. She could pretend to misunderstand. Then, he would put his arms about her—

Concentrate, Faye.

“Good.” He nodded. “But put your entire shoulder behind the blow. Chances are you will be fighting someone bigger and it takes strength to punch through muscle. Aim for a fleshy part. Here.” He touched her belly, his strong fingers firm on her flesh. Her muscles tightened. “Or here.” His pressed the base of her neck. Her pulse leapt in response. “Thrust forward and pull back when you disengage. You want the knife to do two things, cut on the thrust and cut deeper on the retreat.”

She had gone mad. He spoke of rending the flesh of a real, living being and her thoughts drifted beneath his clothing.

Gregory made her repeat the action.

“A knife is a great weapon.” He adjusted her grip. “But you have to be close to use it. Do not pull it out before you are close enough to do some damage. If your opponent sees it, he will attempt to disarm you.”

She thrust the dagger into an imaginary foe.

“If it is Calder, he will know how to disarm you before you can blink. Your best chance is in surprise. He will not expect you to fight back and, for certain, not with a knife.”

Calder. Faye went cold. The imaginary foe solidified into a tall man with flaxen hair and cruel eyes.

“You have not even the pride to do anything but beg. You sicken me.”

Nay, Calder would not expect her to fight back. She never had. Not once in all the beatings she had taken from him. Instead, she had cowered behind furniture, raised her arms to shield her head and kept her cries soft so as not to anger him further.

“Beg me to stop.”

Dear God, how weak and pathetic to let a man use her over and over again as the target for his rage.

“Crawl like the bitch you are.”

The dagger clattered to the floor and she started. Her hands shook and perspiration coated her skin. She couldn’t face Gregory.

“My lady.” He nudged her chin upward. “Faye.”

“I cannot—” Shame seared through her. She had to get away from his all-seeing gaze.

Gregory blocked her retreat.

Nay, he mustn’t see. To see the truth in his expression would be the final humiliation. Faye shoved his chest. Dear God, for the ability to go back in time and raise that dagger. It lay on the floor at her feet and blinked up at her in condemnation. It took strength to punch through muscle. Aye, she had that strength now, when she didn’t need it. It vibrated warmly through her muscles.

“My Lady Faye.”

She reeled away from him. Nay, not his lady, not his anything but the pathetic girl he had stayed to rescue. It wasn’t love that kept him by her side. He had pitied her.

“Cease.” He grabbed her hands in one fist and held them. “What is it?”

“Loose me.” Her shameful weakness before Calder taunted her. “I did not fight him. I never fought him.”

Gregory made a soft noise in his throat as his big arms enfolded her. “Ah, my lady.”

Faye struggled in his hold. She did not want his pity or deserve it. She was weak and pathetic. Yet, the heat from him stole through her muscles and robbed them of will. Her neck bent, of its own accord, to lay her head against him. She had no strength. Nothing. No resistance.

“The biggest part of being a warrior is to know when to fight and when not.” Gregory’s breath warmed the skin by her ear. “To know when you can win and when it is best to retreat.”

It could not be that simple. She wished with all she had for it to be that simple. She shook her head.

His hands soothed her back. “Aye, my lady. There are times when we all, no matter how strong, need the wisdom to know it is better to live to fight another day.”

“I let him do it.”

“You survived.” He rested his cheek atop her head. “You survived to protect your children and find a way to escape him. There is no weakness or shame in that. The shame is Calder’s.”

She wished she could believe that. It would be much easier if she could. She must have done something to anger Calder. Perhaps if she’d been stronger or a better wife, Calder would never have done as he did. “Calder despised my weakness.”

“Cowering in the corner like a cringing cur, this is the daughter of the mighty Sir Arthur of Anglesea.”

Gregory tensed against her. “Only the worse kind of coward lifts his hand to one who is weaker.”

Faye pressed closer. The closer she got to Gregory, the dimmer grew Calder’s voice.

Gregory kissed the top of her head. “Your courage unmans me.”

* * * *

Helplessness clung like a chokehold at Gregory’s throat. That Faye could carry the guilt of Calder’s sin was unfathomable, horrible and wrong.

Dear Lord, his big, slow man mind had no words to take away her pain and her anguish. All he could do was hold her and try to tell her with his body she bore no shame. The shame belonged to Calder, and to him.

She stayed stiff with resistance in his arms.

He stroked her back, willing each brush of his hand to take away her hurt. The soft skin of her temple warmed his lips. He needed to see her and he put her away from him.

Tears welled in their haunted blue depths and traced down her cheeks.

The need to comfort overwhelmed him and he put his mouth to her tears, kissing them away one by one.

Her breath hitched on a gentle sound so full of longing it tore through his resistance.

Her full, red mouth beckoned him. Kiss away the pain and the fear. Sweet Jesus, he could not. He must not. If he kissed her now, he had not the strength to draw away again. Wrenching up the will, he took a saving step away from her. He couldn’t do this, couldn’t be that man. But there would come a time when he would make Calder pay. This reckoning was his and he hungered for it with an insistent ache in his belly.