Читать книгу Medieval Brides - Anne Herries - Страница 23

‘Matty? Matty!’

Gudrun, Cecily thought sleepily, has the voice of a trumpet when she chooses. She rolled over, buried her nose in Adam’s pillow, and breathed in his scent. Last night, after they had done that not just once but twice, Adam had muttered something about not wishing her to catch a chill and pulled her nightgown back over her head. She had fallen asleep in his arms, but this morning he was gone—to Winchester, apparently. She inhaled deeply. Adam. She would get up in a moment, truly she would. She only wanted to doze on his pillow for a couple more minutes, recapturing…

‘Not got him!’ Down in the hall, Gudrun’s voice rose to a wail. ‘Saints, where is he? He can’t have walked!’

All thoughts of dozing were put to flight by the urgency of Gudrun’s tone. Lurching out of bed, Cecily grabbed a shawl and rushed out onto the landing. She peered over the guard-rail. ‘Gudrun, whatever’s the matter?’

Gudrun’s face turned up towards her, white as whey. ‘It’s Philip, my lady. He’s not in his basket!’ She turned to Matty, who was calmly eating an apple. ‘Are you sure you didn’t put him down somewhere?’

Matty lifted her chin. Unlike Gudrun, she didn’t look the least bit worried. ‘I’m not about to forget Philip, Gudrun. I’m not daft. Maybe one of Sir Adam’s men has him?’

Gudrun made an impatient gesture. ‘That’s not likely.’

‘Could be wrong there,’ Matty mumbled through a mouthful of apple. ‘One or two of them seem quite taken with him.’

Careless of her state of undress, Cecily scrambled down the stairs. ‘He can’t be far. Matty, are you positive you didn’t take him over to your mother and leave him there?’

Matty swallowed down some apple and shook her head. ‘Last time I saw him was when he woke to feed in the middle of the night. Gudrun put him back in his basket.’

Cecily eyed Matty’s apple. ‘You didn’t see him in the cookhouse when you went to the storeroom?’

‘Didn’t think to look. Thought he was asleep.’

Cecily’s heart began to beat in heavy strokes. Forcing herself to speak calmly, she wound her shawl about her shoulders. ‘Gudrun, I take it Sir Adam and Sir Richard have already left?’

‘Yes, my lady.’

‘I’m going to dress. Please fetch Brian—try the armoury, the stables and failing that the practice field. Whatever he’s doing, tell him I need him here at once. We must find Philip. He can’t be far away. In any case, it must almost be time for his next feed.’

Gudrun pressed a hand to her breasts. ‘Past time,’ she said, wincing. Her face tight with worry, she hurried out.

Minutes later, wearing Emma’s blue wool gown and cream veil, Cecily stood frowning by the pillory in the village square. Everyone was looking for Philip, but no one had seen hide nor hair of him since his last feed in the small hours. Where could he be? Or—worse—who could have taken him?

She oversaw Brian’s progress round the village. Harold and Carl were hauled from the stables, knuckling sleep from their eyes. ‘No, sir, we’ve not seen him.’ Father Aelfric and Sigrida were prised out of their cottage. From her standpoint Cecily couldn’t make out their reply, but the priest and his wife shook their heads and looked towards her with puzzled eyes. Brian pounded on the door of the mill—no joy there either. A couple of men were despatched down the road towards the other houses, and she watched them trudge back, shaking their heads.

Brian’s expression was not promising as he returned to her side at the pillory. ‘I’m sorry, my lady,’ he said. ‘No one’s seen him.’

The cookhouse door was closed. Some sixth sense prompted Cecily to ask, ‘Brian, did you speak to Lufu?’

‘Aye, my lady. But she can’t help, either.’ Brian spread his hands. ‘It’s a mystery. Maybe little Philip will cry when he’s hungry, and then we will hear him.’

Nodding, Cecily turned away. Her heart was heavy as lead. Philip had to be somewhere. A baby so young—a newborn who could not even crawl—could hardly get lost on his own. If only Adam had not gone to Winchester that morning—but, no, what was she thinking? Adam must never know the full extent of her concern for Philip…and in this crisis she must remember that, friendly though Brian was, he was Adam’s man, not hers. She must conceal her deep concern from Brian. She could allow herself to appear worried, but not frantic…

But someone must have seen something. ‘Has anyone spoken to Edmund?’

‘Not seen him this morning, my lady.’

‘I thought not.’ Her eyes were drawn back to the cookhouse. Grey smoke was puffing out through the vent in the thatch, blending with a line of dark clouds blowing down from the north. How odd. She had not seen Edmund either. Driven by blind instinct, she picked up her skirts and headed for the cookhouse.

Lufu was on her knees, raking out the bread oven. As Cecily entered she kneeled back on her haunches and wiped her brow with the back of her hand, smearing it with streaks of ash. ‘I told that Brian I’ve not seen Philip,’ Lufu said, jaw jutting.

Cecily said nothing, merely held the girl’s gaze. Lufu knew something about this, she’d swear…

Dropping the ash rake, Lufu got to her feet. ‘I didn’t see him, my lady—honest. Not seen him since yesterday evening.’ She wiped her hands on her skirts and crossed her arms under her bosom.

‘Tell me why I don’t believe you.’

Lufu turned to the workbench, muttering.

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘How can I say why you won’t believe me?’ Lufu demanded, swinging round. ‘I’m telling the truth. I haven’t seen that baby since last night!’

‘You may not have seen Philip, but you know where he is.’ Silence. ‘Don’t you?’ More silence. Cecily hauled in a breath. ‘Lufu, this is my brother we are talking about. A tiny baby. One who was born early and who needs all the care he can get.’

Silence.

‘Edmund has him, hasn’t he?’

Lufu put her hand to her brow, drawing another streak of ash across it. She picked up a wooden spoon from the bench; she put it down; she recrossed her arms.

‘Lufu, for pity’s sake!’

‘All right! Edmund has him. But he’s safe, my lady. Edmund wouldn’t hurt your brother. He is the rightful Thane of this place, and that’s what they want.’

They? Cecily shut her eyes. Lufu must mean Judhael and the Saxon resistance. ‘The rightful Thane,’ she muttered, and opened her eyes. ‘I am his sister, Lufu. Thane Edgar’s daughter. What did they think I would do to him?’

Lufu shrugged. ‘He’s got another sister—one who’s loyal.’

Stung, Cecily caught her breath. ‘Emma? Emma’s looking after him?’ Lufu mumbled something that sounded like assent. ‘That’s a mercy, but Philip needs a wet nurse too.’

‘They know that. Don’t worry, my lady. Philip of Fulford will come to no harm.’

‘No harm! My brother is stolen, to be used as a pawn in some power game, and you tell me he’ll come to no harm! Would that I had your confidence.’

Lufu hunched a shoulder.

‘Tell me where they’ve taken him.’

A muscle twitching in her jaw, Lufu fiddled with a knife on the workbench. Praying for patience, Cecily waited.

‘He’ll be fine, my lady. Don’t you fret.’

‘Lufu, for the love of God! Where is he?’

Lufu whirled. Tears gleamed on her lashes, witness to the struggle going on inside her. ‘Up on the Downs. Seven Wells Hill. Near the Old Fort.’

Seven Wells Hill. Cecily let her breath out. She had never been there, though Cenwulf had talked about it. Miles from the nearest dwelling, high on the Downs, Seven Wells Hill was the site of an ancient earthworks which had been a ruin even before the time of the Romans. It was a desolate place, apparently—weatherbeaten and abandoned, home to skylarks and buzzards, but not much else.

‘Philip will be safe enough with your sister.’

‘Judhael is behind this, I take it?’

‘Aye.’

‘Who took him? Edmund?’

‘Aye. What will you do, my lady?’

Cecily thought rapidly. She knew exactly what she was going to do. But she was not about to trust Lufu with that knowledge—not when the girl had stood to one side while her brother had been abducted from the place that offered him the most security. And, yes, Philip was far safer in Fulford—even though Fulford had been taken over by Adam’s troops. Better that than be carted off to some Godforsaken encampment in the back of beyond, even if he was with his own countrymen. But this was not the time to dwell on such ironies.

Cecily shrugged lightly, and kept the panic out of her voice. ‘Do? What can I do save wait for my lord to return from Winchester?’ And keep everyone so busy that their heads will spin and they will have no energy left to wonder what I am really about.

The stack of fuel by the fire had already dwindled since yesterday. Luckily. She looked pointedly at it. ‘Lord knows there’s enough to do to keep the Hall running without me interfering in the men’s affairs. To begin with, the log store by the stables is almost empty. Harold and Carl can help me replenish it, else this winter will be miserable indeed. And then…’ Cecily slanted a sidelong glance at Lufu to make sure she was listening ‘The slaughtering is almost done, so you can make a start with the smoking and salting. Matty and Sigrida will lend you a hand. Matty’s mother too, if the miller can spare her. I’ll ask Evie if she’ll help. It might take her mind off her woes. And if that work’s too heavy for her, you can set her to packing the apples in straw. And when Brian has finished in the practice field he can set the men to work digging latrines.’

‘New ones?’

‘Yes. They should have been moved a couple of months since. We must get them dug before the ground gets too hard.’

Waving an airy hand, Cecily picked up her skirts and sailed out of the cookhouse to tell Gudrun—the only person here she could trust—that Philip was with her sister. That done, she would set everyone to work before riding to Seven Wells Hill. She would fetch Philip back herself. She had no choice. Wat would accompany her, as her groom. He might be simple, but he would know the way.

Inside, she was in knots.

The trail wound on through a thicket of yew. Cecily turned in her saddle, but already Fulford was lost to view. She kicked Cloud on, and shot a glance at Wat. Wat smiled happily across at her, blissfully ignorant of the urgency of their mission.

The way got steeper; the path narrowed. Brambles and briars snatched at the ponies’ legs. Spiders’ webs sparkled in the bushes, dewdrops trembling on their filaments.

‘Wat, you are sure this is the right way?’ Cecily asked, drawing her cloak—Adam’s cloak—more securely about her. Without rousing suspicion, she had not been able to bring much in the way of provisions. Philip’s blanket was currently stowed beneath Cloud’s saddle, and she’d sneaked a frugal lunch of bread and cheese and a flask of ale into her pack. A couple of russet apples. But that was all. They could not afford to get lost. They could not afford to spend the night in the open.

Wat nodded vigorously. ‘Right way. Up hill. Then no wood. Then Gunni’s hut. And…and…’

Cecily remembered. Gunni the shepherd was Lufu’s sweetheart. His hut on the edge of the Downs marked the halfway point to Seven Wells Hill. Or so Cenwulf had told her, in that other life, before Duke William had brought his army to England. ‘And after the hut,’ Cecily said, finishing Wat’s sentence for him, ‘Seven Wells?’

‘Aye, Seven Wells.’ Wat’s expression clouded, and he fingered the dagger at his belt, perhaps not as carefree as Cecily had assumed. ‘Cec take care at Seven Wells.’

‘I will.’

They emerged from the gloomy woodland into a bright expanse of sheep-grazed turf—the Downs. Here, the wind cut keen as a knife, and the sky was a large blue tapestry with grey clouds building up in the east. Clumps of gorse and broom broke up the broad sweep of green; heather frothed along the trackway.

Wat’s pony stumbled on an old anthill. ‘Gunni’s hut,’ he said, pointing.

The hut was nothing more than a roughly thrown together heap of stones with a roof of dried bracken. As a shelter, it was basic, but Cecily could see it would keep off the worst of the weather. There was no sign of Gunni, but then most of the sheep had just been put to slaughter. One or two had escaped their fate and were grazing their way over the downland. But no shepherd.

‘Not long to the Old Fort then, Wat?’

‘Halfway,’ Wat said, toying with the hilt of his dagger. ‘Halfway.’

They stumbled across the rebel encampment almost by accident. It lay hidden in a wooded hollow, just below Seven Wells Hill. One minute Cecily and Wat were staring up the chalky path that led up to the Old Fort, apparently the only souls for miles around, and the next half a dozen armed men had leapt out of nowhere.

A filthy figure dived at Cloud’s bridle. Wrenching on the reins, Cecily caught a glimpse of a drawn sword, of two deadly-looking daggers stuck into a broad belt, and a pair of savage blue eyes. The man’s features were obscured, partly by the nasal bar of his helm and partly by a beard that couldn’t have been trimmed in over a month. Every inch of exposed skin was streaked with grime, from his half-hidden face to the hand hauling on her pony’s bridle. His sheepskin jerkin was no cleaner.

Even though Cecily had known rebels were in the area, and had been expecting them to make a move, her breath came fast and she struggled not to panic. These men were fellow Saxons. She was safe. Wasn’t she?

Steel flashed in the winter sun.

Wat made a choking sound, his face white as bone. One man was hauling on the reins of Wat’s pony while another had his sword levelled at Wat’s throat.

‘No! Stop!’ Cecily cried. Appear calm. Lifting her chin, she met her countryman’s gaze square on. ‘My name is Cecily. I am Thane Edgar of Fulford’s youngest daughter, and I am searching for my father’s housecarls—Edmund and Judhael. Would you kindly direct us to them?’

She tightened her hands on her reins to hide their trembling. She was not more afraid than when she had first met Adam and Sir Richard. She couldn’t be. These men were Saxons…

She raised her chin another notch. ‘And would you do me the courtesy of unhanding my groom?’

They were led deeper into the trees that clustered at the base of Seven Wells Hill. It began to rain—a fine drizzle, more mist than rain, that caught in Cecily’s veil and dampened Cloud’s neck and mane. Woodsmoke, the smell of it faint but certain, caught in her nostrils.

A couple of hundred yards later they arrived at a natural clearing, with a fire in the middle. The fire was smoking and hissing, and more armed men were crouched round it, huddled in their cloaks. Her breath was still fast; her skin was like ice. Was this fear? Could she be afraid of her own people? Adam, oh, Adam, help me.

‘Judhael!’ The Saxon leading Cloud called out. ‘Edmund!’

Two men broke away from the group by the fire. Edmund was walking freely, with no sign of his crutches, his splint, or even a limp—as hale and hearty as could be. He had deceived her. A sickening realisation. The other man was tall, and he had long fair hair that was caught back at his nape with a sheepskin ribbon. His eyes were a cold, dead blue. Judhael. He took Cloud’s reins from Cecily’s escort.

‘I’ll take it from here, Gunni,’ he said.

‘Gunni?’ Cecily’s jaw dropped as the man in the sheepskin jerkin turned and walked towards the fire. Her father’s shepherd. She hadn’t recognised him.

‘Edmund, where’s Philip?’ she asked. ‘He is safe? And what about Emma?’

‘They’re both here. Both are quite safe,’ Judhael said, in a curt, clipped voice. Far from reassuring her, his words chilled her to the marrow—for they did not fit with the look in his eyes, which was dead and utterly detached. ‘What interests me is how you knew where to look for us.’

Involuntarily Cecily’s gaze focused on Gunni. Judhael’s eyes narrowed. ‘Lufu?’

The hairs rose on the back of Cecily’s neck. Never had she seen a man look so ruthless. ‘No. No!’

‘Lufu. Damn her for the leaky vessel she is. Here, Edmund.’ Judhael thrust Cloud’s reins at the other housecarl. ‘You take care of this one. I’ll not be long.’

Edmund watched him stalk from the clearing, an uneasy expression in his eyes.

‘Edmund, what will he do?’

‘Am I Judhael’s keeper?’

‘He wouldn’t hurt Lufu…would he?’

Shaking his head, Edmund led the ponies to a low branch and tethered them. ‘Cecily, you can’t save the world.’

A shelter had been set up under the trees—a tented affair, made out of canvas. Under the awning, several people were sheltering from the rain. Dour-faced warriors with swords at their hips were sitting on split log seats—about two dozen all told. It was hardly the vast rebel army that Cecily had been expecting. Their resources were pitiful: a few stacks of wood; a deer carcase slung between two poles. The bole of a tree was their conference table, and their shelter had no walls to keep out wind or rain. Or wolves. She shuddered.

‘You thought Philip would be safe in this place?’ Though fear had its grip on her, she was pleased her voice was steady. ‘I think not. He was born before his time, and needs more care than you can offer him here.’

Edmund’s face closed. ‘Your brother is where he belongs. With Saxons. We’ll look after him.’

Cecily recognised that set expression. Her father’s face had worn just such a look on the day he had announced that she was to go to St Anne’s. All her weeping, all her pleading had availed her nothing. She bit her lip. She knew immovable mule-like stubbornness when she saw it.

Briefly, she shifted her attention from Edmund towards the men under the awning, hoping against hope to find a chink in their armour. But the faces that gazed out were equally stony, equally without fellow-feeling. There was no sign of Emma—no one she could appeal to. She hid a sigh. Perhaps an oblique method might succeed where direct confrontation would fail…Perhaps if she adopted an approach she had been too young to try four years ago…

Fixing a light smile to her lips, she looked back at her father’s housecarl. ‘I suppose your mind is made up?’

‘It is.’

She kicked a foot free of its stirrup. ‘Then I had best help, hadn’t I? Edmund, help me down. I’ve Philip’s swaddling bands in my pack.’

‘I’m sorry you do not see eye to eye with us, my lady,’ Edmund muttered as he helped Cecily dismount. The silver bracelets that her father had given him jingled on his wrist. He waved at Wat to lift her pack down and, leading her through the rain towards the shelter, added, ‘Judhael was insistent Philip should be our figurehead, and you must see that our cause needs a focus.’

Cecily shot him a sharp glance and snorted her scorn before she could stop herself. ‘A babe? Your cause is so desperate you needed a baby?’

‘Aye.’ Edmund smiled, but his grey eyes remained sharp and hard as flints. ‘The men’s spirits were at a low ebb. Your brother—the legitimate heir to one of the largest holdings in Wessex—will act as a banner around which they can rally. More men will join us. We only want a fighting chance to overthrow the bastard before he gets fully entrenched.’

He’s entrenched already, Cecily thought. If he’s tearing down good folks’ houses unopposed in Winchester; if he’s throwing up mounds to build castles. But she wasn’t about to alienate Edmund further by saying as much. ‘How are you feeding him?’

‘Found him another wet nurse—Joan.’

‘Oh?’

‘Come and meet her.’ Edmund ducked his head under the awning. ‘Joan? Joan?’

The people in the shelter—all eyes—fell silent as they entered, and the only sound was the rain drip-dripping on the canvas. A woman in grey homespun stepped forward. She had a baby over her shoulder and was winding him. Her face was careworn and raddled with grief. She was pitifully thin.

‘Philip! Oh, let me—please.’

The woman Joan released her brother without protest and watched blank-faced and silent while Cecily reassured herself that he was well. Philip had just been fed, his sleepy, sated expression attested to that, but a dampness about his wrappings told her that his linens hadn’t been changed all morning.

‘Wat, please pass my bundle…my thanks,’ she said, as Wat thrust it into her hands.

‘You see, Cecily,’ Edmund cut in. ‘It is as I said. Your brother thrives.’

Biting back the reply that Philip would have been better off if he had been left in Gudrun’s capable hands, and not dragged across the Downs like a sack of meal and left in wet swaddling bands, Cecily bent over the baby and set to work changing his clothing.

Conversation resumed about them. When she had finished, Edmund was seated on a nearby log, honing the edges of his seax on a stone. Was he guarding her?

‘Your leg seems to have healed rather miraculously,’ she said, speaking softly to mask her anger.

Not only had Edmund kidnapped her brother from Fulford, but in this too her father’s housecarl had deceived her. He had lied, and he had called her healing skills into question. It was true that when examining him at the Hall she had wondered at the length of time it was taking his leg to heal, but how foolish to take him at his word when he had said it continued to pain him. Why had she not questioned him further? Certainly she had had other, weightier matters on her mind that day, but her instincts had told her his leg should be fine, and she had ignored them. How stupid. Adam would see her in her true colours. Lightweight. Naïve. Stupid.

Edmund had the grace to flush—a sign, she hoped, that he was not completely lost to her. ‘I’m sorry I deceived you, Cecily. Judhael thought it best that way. He needed me at the Hall.’

‘You were spying!’

‘Watching out for your brother.’ His jaw tightened. ‘It was easier if that foreign brute you bed with thought him harmless…’

‘I married Adam so I could watch out for Philip! For all of you!’ Cecily reminded him tartly. The rush of rage she felt at Edmund naming Adam a ‘foreign brute’ had her bending over Philip and fussing with his blanket. Adam—what were the rebels intending to do about Adam? The answer was swift in coming. They would kill him if they could.

Hoping Edmund hadn’t noticed her sudden intake of breath, Cecily managed to nod. ‘Th…this is not a healthy place for Philip,’ she said, turning the conversation away from Adam with only the slightest tremor. She did not want Adam dead. The very thought made the blood freeze in her veins. But there was not a hope that Edmund or any of these desperate Saxons would sympathise with her view. As a Saxon who had married one of Duke William’s men, she was in this camp on sufferance, thanks only to past allegiances. If she put so much as a toe out of place they’d slit her throat and toss her in a ditch as a collaborator.

‘Not healthy for him here?’ Edmund was saying in an irritated tone. ‘Among his own people? I should think it’s the very place for him. When I swore to fight for your father, Cecily, I made that vow for life. To a man, King Harold’s housecarls died at Hastings; they gave their lives for him, honouring vows like mine. Why should it be any different for me and these men here?’ He gestured at the others sheltering with them under the awning, and the jingling of those silver bracelets he had earned from her father underscored his words.

Settling Philip in a basket, Cecily took a place on the log bench next to Edmund. He had sheathed the seax, she noted, breathing a little easier. ‘Loyalty is admirable,’ she murmured. ‘But please, Edmund, take care. What does loyalty become when a cause is lost?’

Edmund scowled and folded his arms. She took heart that he had not stormed away. If she could reach anyone here it would be Edmund, and for pity’s sake she had to try…

‘Edmund, what does loyalty mean to you?’

Rain dripped on the canvas.

He frowned. ‘Why, it’s when a warrior swears to uphold his Thane…’

‘Why? Why are such oaths necessary?’

He made an impatient movement. ‘Hah! That you—a thane’s daughter—should ask me that!’

‘Tell me, Edmund. I want to understand.’

He shrugged. ‘A thane needs his warriors to stand by him through thick and thin. It’s the ancient way. Without warriors backing up the law the world would dissolve into anarchy.’

‘And if a warrior were to go back on his oath?’

‘He would be made nithing, an outcast.’

‘I am told that King Harold himself swore a solemn oath in Normandy, when he promised to uphold Duke William’s claim to the English throne.’

Edmund sprang to his feet. ‘That is a lie! Norman propaganda! Harold was tricked.’ He brought his face close to Cecily’s, and the pupils of his eyes were small as pinpricks. ‘If you swallow everything that foreign husband feeds you, you’ll choke.’

Cecily folded her hands together to stop them shaking, and sat very straight on the makeshift bench. ‘I’m sorry, Edmund,’ she said, as meekly as she could. ‘I’m trying to understand. Now, do hush—you’ll waken Philip.’

To her relief, Edmund subsided at her side, and tentatively she touched his arm. ‘I fear that by remaining loyal to my father you and Judhael do these people no good service. Look around—you’re living like animals, and the people of Fulford need your strength…’

Edmund glowered. ‘The oath I swore to your father was sacred…’

‘So sacred it will lead you—and these—’ she jerked her head at the others ‘—to an early grave?’

‘If need be.’

Cecily shook her head. It was hopeless. Edmund was as intransigent in defeat as her father would have been, and Judhael was too, no doubt. Was the male mind always so inflexible?

Adam flashed into her brain. He was holding his hand out to her in their bedchamber on their wedding night—she remembered that slight vulnerability in his eyes as he had offered himself as her husband, as he let her decide. Adam was something of a riddle. Hadn’t he married her at her suggestion, even though he had set out to marry Emma? Her husband’s mind was neither fixed nor rigid…

In fact, Adam and his compatriots had shown remarkable openness, considering that they had come to Fulford as conquerors. She could picture Adam and Richard with their heads together, hunched over a wine flask at the trestle; she could see Adam talking with his squire Maurice in like manner, and with Brian Herfu also…At the time the significance had escaped her, but in each of these cases hadn’t Adam been discussing before he made his decisions and issued commands? He was in the habit of assessing Sir Richard’s comments and those of his men, of amending his plans in light of them…

Her father would have deemed it a grave weakness to consult others. Not so Adam. And if any were to ask her, a woman, which of the two—her father or her husband—were the stronger, she would say her husband. Adam’s strength was a new kind of strength; his leadership was a new kind of leadership, one which went far beyond the old oaths that led men blinkered to their deaths. The time for such oaths was past; the world was changing, and unless Edmund and Judhael changed too, they would be left behind.

Adam’s way was the way forward, and she loved him for it.

Loved him? She all but choked.

She loved him? Certainly she ached for him to help her now.

Swiftly ducking her head, Cecily let her veil drift forward, lest Edmund read her stunned expression. Surely not—surely you could not love someone you had only known for a few short days?

Yes—yes, her heart told her. You could if that someone was Adam Wymark. She had warmed to him almost from the very first, and…of course she loved him. Why else would she melt at his touch? She loved Adam, and he—a pang ran through her—he loved his first wife, Gwenn.

Staring blankly down at her brother, asleep in his basket, unaware of the dangerous undercurrents swirling about him, Cecily saw no easy path ahead. But if such a path existed she would find it. And that, Edmund, my friend, she thought fiercely, is an oath that I am making to myself, and it is one that I will fight to my last breath to fulfil.

The rain was pooling in the awning above them. Edmund reached up and adjusted the canvas, and the water tipped onto the ground. At once it began seeping into the shelter from the side. Everything was damp—the chalky mud underfoot, the logs they were sitting on, their clothes, even the air they breathed—for they could not light a fire under the awning. It was no fit place for a baby.

Shivering, Cecily undid the neck fastening of Adam’s cloak, pulled it more closely about her and refastened it. She lowered her voice. ‘Edmund, let me take Philip back to Fulford. If you truly have his best interests at heart, you’ll let me take him. What use is a figurehead dead of lung-fever?’

‘No.’

‘But, Edmund—’

‘No!’ Edmund jumped to his feet and towered over her. ‘Philip stays here. And, since you have come to visit, you can stay too.’ He held out his hand, palm upwards. ‘Give me your eating knife.’

Cecily stiffened. ‘Am I your prisoner, Edmund?’

A muscle jumped in Edmund’s jaw. ‘Your knife, if you please.’

Reluctantly, Cecily took her knife from her belt and passed it to him. ‘You didn’t answer me. Am I your prisoner?’

‘Ask Judhael when he returns,’ Edmund snapped and, whirling on his heel, strode into the rain.