My Lady Faye (15 page)

Faye itched to ask Gregory what he meant.

In the cart, Gregory sat beside her, tense and distant. He glowered forward as a muscle moved in his jaw as if he clenched and unclenched his teeth. Gregory didn’t rage or thunder in his ire, but remained frigid and contained. She wouldn’t have thought it until right this moment, but Faye would rather deal with Calder’s explosive anger than this distance she couldn’t bridge.

They traveled in ponderous silence. His mood showed no signs of softening. Gone was her one, glorious moment, leaving her feeling soiled in its wake. His anger gnawed at her, sharpening the edge of her sorrow.

“I am hungry.” Simon wedged his shoulders between them. “And I need to piss.”

“Can we stop?” The first words she spoke to Gregory in what must have been hours.

He nodded. “There is a hamlet hard by. We will find something there.”

“How far ahead?” Simon fidgeted with his chausses. “I do not believe I can wait.”

Gregory threw him a quick smile and drew the cart up. “Then we will stop now.”

For Simon he had a smile, but none for her.

The forest pressed dark and forbidding about them. Her son was very small to be venturing in there alone. “Do you need me to come with you?”

“Mama.” Simon rolled his eyes. “A man cannot take a piss in front of his mother.”

A retort rose on her lips, but she pressed them together. “Do not stray too far.”

Simon was fiercely protective of his independence. He muttered beneath his breath as he left the cart. Faye guessed his meaning well enough.

Simon slipped behind a large oak.

Faye kept her voice low. “Are we going to speak of it?”

“Nay.” He stared at the oak, the strong arch of his nose outlined against the night.

“Then you intend to travel all the way to Anglesea in this awful silence.”

His jaw clenched and he shifted away from her. There was scant room in the cart, but he managed to put a wedge of air between them.

The urge to push him off the cart rose swift and fierce. Stubborn and set in his ways. She had no idea why she loved him as she did. Could she have not picked a more malleable man? One who was prepared to love her in return? And that was the heart of the matter. It lay between them like a large, rotting corpse. Faye was tired of this constant parry and retreat they played. “I have no regrets.”

He jerked and his jaw worked like one possessed.

Let him keep ignoring her now.

“Simon!” His sudden shout startled her.

“In a bit.” Simon bellowed back. “I think I have the runs.”

“Why are you wroth?” Some demon within demanded she make him respond. “It was merely a kiss.” It had been much more than a kiss.

He swung toward her, blocking the moonlight. “Merely a kiss?”

Elation surged through Faye. There, she had got him to acknowledge her. Her triumph died in the face of the relentless, searing anger in his scowl.

“Merely a kiss?” He glowered. “It was a betrayal of all I hold sacred.”

Breath left her in a rush. Hot words of denial clamored about in her head, but refused any attempt to order them into a coherent response.

“You did it deliberately. You set out to tempt me from my vows. I know I must forgive you, but I am too wroth to speak with you. So, aye, we will travel all the way to Anglesea in silence. I will not give you the opportunity to spread your lures.”

She opened her mouth and an inarticulate bark escaped her lips. The insufferable, bloated pig’s bladder named her Jezebel and condemned her for it. He had been in those woods with her. It was his shaft pressed against her in silent demand and his mouth on hers like starving man. “You blame me?”

“How many times have I said there are some things that should never be spoken?”

“You craven churl.” Dear God, she had never been this angry with anyone.

He jerked as if struck.

“You desire me and hate me because you do. You hide behind your robes and your vows and pretend you are not subject to the same desires as the rest of us.”

He opened his mouth.

“You blame me for your own needs. You grow angry with me when it is with yourself you are wroth. You run away from us, everything we are, and hide out in your Abbey.”

“It is my vocation.”

“Nonsense.” If he mouthed his self-righteous idiocy one more time, she might smack him. “It is your stubbornness that insists there is no other course. You made a promise to your mother.”

“I—”

“You set your heart on being a priest. That may have been true, but it is your obstinacy that insists it is the truth.”

His face crumpled in a ferocious frown. His chest rose and fell rapidly with the harshness of his breath.

She had never dared speak so openly before. World bid welcome to a new Faye, standing proud and fierce and saying what needed to be said.

Simon reappeared through the trees. “All done.”

Faye forced a smile.

Waves of fury throbbed from Gregory.

She didn’t care. Let him be angry. She was angry, too. He had robbed her of her one beautiful memory of him as a lover. She wanted the sweetness back, but it was tainted by his condemnation.

The cart dipped under Simon’s weight.

Gregory got the bullocks moving.

The air prickled and sparked around her. She was done with Gregory and his self-righteous obdurateness. He could rot in it for all she cared. Her heart twisted. She did care. She would not be this wroth if she did not. He was sunk into every part of her being like honey in bread. It was ruined. Tears threatened to spill over and she turned her head toward the forest. She could not cry before Simon and she refused to cry for the silent man beside her. It was pointless.

Dawn broke above the trees in a vivid mockery of her sore heart. Birdsong swelled, singing the day into being. Dew sparkled from the grass and leaves and chilled the damp air. The sky grew lighter, but not her mood. Weariness of this struggle seeped into the core of her. The years in Calder weighed around her neck. Years of concealing forbidden love, the impossible dreams and the unrequited desires. The way she clung to that slither of hope with everything in her.

In their stubbornness, she and Gregory were the same, would not be gainsaid. They turned their heads and would not hear or see any other course than the one they desired. They desired things in direct opposition to each other.

Faye gave up. This time for certain. She opened the casket within her and let her dreams and hopes pour into the new day. They were phantoms, nothing more. She could not constantly beat her head against her inflexible fate. Each time she came away more bloodied than before.

“Say again.” Calder stared at the girl, gaped at her, in truth. Such open defiance dumbfounded him. He almost admired the courage. Seasoned knights did not have the stones to dare what she had.

Ruth quaked like the palsied in front of him. “Simon is gone. His mother came for him.”

Hard to believe that somehow, the stupid whore had found the courage to conceal his son’s absence from him. Jesu, she could have spun her tale for hours with nobody any the wiser. These stupid sods at Brynn nodded their limp heads and accepted her lie that the boy ailed. Except, she’d not taken him into account and now she would have to pay.

Robert of Brynn had his uses, but he was a lazy, stupid dog and Calder had needed to make sure the proper precautions were taken to keep Simon at the fool’s castle. So, Calder arrived many hours ahead of when expected, hoping to catch the keep lax. His vigilance was rewarded. Jesu, the place was looser than a cheap whore’s cunt. It can’t have taken much for Faye to get in here and take Simon.

Faye? He shook his head in amazement. He still couldn’t get his head around it. Sniveling, pathetic Lady Faye who wouldn’t raise her voice if her ass was on fire. That Faye had traveled from Anglesea, discovered he was not at Calder and come here to get Simon.

She must have been close enough to Calder Castle for him to grab her. Jesus wept! He’d had her, right beneath his sodding nose. She wasn’t alone. He would wager his head on it. Two monks had arrived in Upper Mere, one of them large and the other a grubby boy.

A man and his wife were observed on the road leading from Upper Mere to Brynn late that same night. The disjointed snippets of information fed to him throughout the day fell into place with a sickening click.

Damn her and Gregory. They’d made fools of him again. He’d seen them at Calder Castle, heads together, huddled in corners like thieves. God, how they had made him laugh with their secret longings, staring at each other like starving dogs. Father Piety had a limp rod and no ballocks. They had ridden into his town, in clear day. God, he could hear them laughing at him now.

“Get every man.” If he looked at Robert of Brynn, he would rip the man’s throat out. “Every single one who can sit a horse and get them out looking. They are traveling by bullock cart. They will not have gone far.”

Ruth sobbed into her apron.

A shame really to stamp out her spirit. He admired it, up to a point. “Come here, girl.”

* * * *

Faye took in the entire place in a glance. Hamlet was a generous description of the three rundown cottages clustered around a mill. Mill sails flapped listlessly in the morning breeze.

A scraggly mongrel barked their arrival to anyone within earshot. He wasted his energy. The place looked abandoned. Not a soul appeared in the doorways. The bullocks flickered their ears at the dog and stopped.

Tense, Gregory turned a full arc, searching the hamlet.

“What is it?” The incessant barking wore on her nerves.

Gregory squinted. “Too quiet.”

Faye listened. “I hear nothing but the dog.”

“Exactly.” Gregory pulled his sword out from behind him and motioned Simon. “Get down, lad and stay there until your mother or I tell you it’s safe.”

“Mama?” Simon’s little voice quavered.

“Be still, sweeting.”

His sweaty hand slipped into hers.

From around the mill, a man appeared wearing Brynn colors.

Faye whirled. Oh dear Lord, did Calder know already that she had Simon? Surely not. She tightened her slick grip on Simon’s hand. She wouldn’t let them take her son.

A man slunk out of the nearest cottage. Behind him came a mounted man-at-arms.

“Take him and run.” Gregory dropped to the ground in a fighting stance, his sword at the ready. “Do not look back for anything.”

“But—”

“Do not let them take you, Faye. Run. I will find you.”

Heavily armed men entered the clearing in front of the mill. Their gazes flitted between her and Gregory.

Her chest tightened and it grew difficult to breathe. She couldn’t leave Gregory to fight this alone.

“Go.” Gregory strode into the clearing. “I will cover your escape.”

“I cannot—”

“Do it!”

She stumbled out of the cart, Simon’s hand in hers.

With huge eyes, he stared from her to Gregory and then the strangers.

The lead man stepped ahead of his five fellows. “We want the boy.”

Her boy, not theirs. She backed away with Simon tight by her side.

“I cannot give you the boy.” Gregory sounded calm, but stood braced for a fight, between her and them like the archangel Michael. His sword caught the early morning sun.

The leader glanced toward her and he took a step nearer. “Do not move, my lady.”

Gregory sprang to meet him. “Go, Faye.”

The man hesitated, barely getting his sword up in time to meet Gregory’s downward strike. “Get her,” he yelled over his shoulder.

Tugging Simon behind her, she dashed into the forest.

The
clang
of steel followed her. She prayed as she ran. Prayed she would reach safety. Prayed Gregory left the clearing alive. Heartfelt pleas for the lives of those she held dearest.

Simon stumbled behind her, struggling to keep up with her.

A muted shout sounded behind her. It didn’t sound like Gregory, but she dared not stop and see. Branches clawed at their clothing. Leaves muted the sound of their footfalls as Faye dodged trees. The further she ran, the quieter the battle grew behind her.

Simon tripped over a root and fell.

Faye stopped and righted him.

His knees were skinned through a tear in his chausses. She wanted to stop and tend his hurt, but they were still too close. She slowed to a fast walk. Bless his heart, Simon tramped on beside her. They reached a large stream too wide to jump over, so Faye turned to follow its path.

“Nay.” Simon tugged on her hand. “We should cross.”

“We will get wet.” Water rushed past them, so deep in the middle, she couldn’t see the bottom.

“They cannot track us through water.” Simon’s face gleamed pale as moonlight. “Gregory taught me.”

Sweet Jesu, let Gregory be alive. The alternative clawed through her and near bent her in half. The last words they spoke had been angry.

“Here.” Simon ripped off a section of his chausses and tied it to a branch. “This will tell him we crossed here.” Not yet eight and he was better equipped to lead them through the woods than she.

“Are you sure?” The fluttering fragment of wool didn’t mean anything to her.

“I am sure.” Simon tugged her toward the stream. “I can take care of you, Mama.” Her little man should not have to take care of her. He should be playing stones with the boys at Anglesea, or tormenting Arthur as was his wont.

Water flooded her rough work clogs and drenched her stockings. It rushed about Simon’s knees as he waded ahead of her through the stream. Simon could swim, another thing to thank Gregory for. She had been angry with him and hurt. She had hurled her spite at him and now they might be the last words she spoke to him. If she saw him again, she swore before God, she would amend her angry words. It must not end thus between them.

* * * *

Faye tugged her skirts free of a bramble patch. The day warmed as they struggled through thick undergrowth. Sweat stained her bodice and slithered down her back. She must smell rank. At least her cropped hair was cooler.

Simon battled on valiantly, but his legs dragged and he tripped over each small rock or crack in the path. He insisted on tearing off small pieces of his tunic and tying them to any available piece of foliage.