My Lady Faye (2 page)

Oliver, the squire charged with watching the boys. There were so many around Anglesea, their names blurred into a crowd of eager young faces.

“Oliver missed weapons practice this evening.” William took the seat beside her.

Why he did it baffled her because Roger would only insist he move one down. Men.

Oliver should not have missed practice. Everyone knew Sir Arthur ran a disciplined keep, and squires did not miss practice. Not unless there was a problem. A tendril of alarm curled in her belly.

“I saw them heading for the beech thicket.” Roger rumbled from behind. He clapped William on the shoulder, his knuckles whitening as he increased his grip.

“The beech thicket? Did you not stop them? They told me they would go to the stream at the bottom of the hill. They were to remain in sight of the keep guards.”

“I thought they had your permission.” Roger won the battle with William and wedged huge shoulders in beside her.

Roger was so thick sometimes, sitting there sipping his mead as if naught was amiss. She had told her boys right before him the thicket was not allowed, even accompanied. Her brother would be well served if she poured his mead over his thoughtless head. Roger should have stopped them. The beech thicket spread all the way to the village and the boys could be anywhere. Best she start looking. Already planning the stern word she would have with her oldest son when she found him, she got to her feet,

Simon forever led the way into mischief with little Arthur at his heels. She should never have let them go this morning.

Sir Arthur rose. “Faye?”

“Forgive me.” She managed a tight smile for the table. “If you will excuse me, I will go and find my sons.”

Garrett stood. “I shall come with you.”

“I am sure there is no reason for concern.” She kept it light. Boys were boys and she did try not to coddle them, but for their bellies not to lead them to dinner was unusual.

“I will come.” Garrett motioned for Beatrice to stay. “Where would you like to begin?”

Beatrice had a treasure in her husband. Faye gave him a grateful smile as she led the way out of the hall.

A bench scraped and William called out. “Hang about, Faye, we can split up and cover more ground.”

Remain calm, Faye.
A screaming frenzy would not find Simon and Arthur any faster.

The boys were not in their chamber, or the hall. The kitchen drudges hadn’t seen them and neither had the keep serving women. As a last resort, Faye even tried the chapel. Father Thomas shrugged and looked regretful, but the boys had not been there either. It had been a guess, at best. Two young boys could not disappear into the air.

“They are not in the laundry.” William dashed another hope.

The long summer evening gave way to full dark. The entire keep joined the search as it moved outside into the bailey. A tight knot of anxiety grew in Faye’s chest as face after face turned down in regret. They must be somewhere.

Tom and Roger checked the stables. Nothing.

Lady Mary led the keep to Vespers. “We will pray you find them soon.”

Simon could be anywhere. His sense of adventure needed to be curbed with some good sense. Last spring, he led Arthur into the forests surrounding Calder while they played knights and dragons. They lost track of time in their game. Several anxious hours later, Faye found them, filthy and tired with Simon still engrossed in killing his dragon with a makeshift sword and Arthur fast asleep under a tree.

But they had never been gone this long before.

Torches flickered across the faces of the men gathered in the bailey.

Taking charge, Sir Arthur divided the men into groups to cover the area outside the walls.

“Never fear, sweeting.” Her father hugged her. “They have lost track of time while about their mischief and got turned around in the dark. I am sure we will find them huddled together and telling grisly stories.”

Stories like the ones Gregory told. Gregory. The name rocked through her. Gregory would know exactly where to look. Except, Gregory had left her. Left them.

Faye gave Sir Arthur a wan smile. She had naught more to give. Her boys were out there in the wicked dark.
Please God, let Simon not have gone anywhere near the sea.
Only last summer, the smith’s youngest—

She needed to concentrate on finding her boys. A good mother would have noticed they were gone long before now. And what had she been doing while her sons were lost? Embroidering countless flowers and swirls on yet another piece of fabric. Heedless mother, thoughtless woman.

Beatrice slipped a warm hand into hers. “Let us search the stables.”

“They have already searched the stables.” Faye returned the pressure, grateful for her sister’s presence.

“Aye, but men could not find their asses with both hands.” Beatrice had picked up all sorts of unladylike expressions from her husband.

It drew a reluctant chuckle from her. Anything would be better than standing here waiting. Her father and brothers had forbade her joining the search outside the keep walls. Even Garrett turned mulish.

Beatrice tugged her toward the stable, their pace slow due to Beatrice’s girth.

Hay and mud littered the floor of the stable and Faye picked up her skirts as they tried the grain storage and hayloft first. They even peered into the great rain barrels kept beside the door.

The horses stirred and stamped at the intrusion as she and Beatrice checked each stall in turn. Hay, water troughs and horses but empty of two, no doubt, dirty little faces. Faye’s stomach ached from keeping it clenched. The boys were too little to be out there on their own. The smith’s youngest child had wandered too close to the cliffs—

Claws fastened around her chest until each breath labored. They found the boy in the morning, his perfect, little body broken by the jagged rocks below. How did a mother bear such a thing? To live beyond your child, to never hold them in your arms again.

Beatrice stilled and raised her hand. She cocked her head as if listening to something outside.

“What is it?” Faye’s heart drummed in her ears.

Shouts rang from the bailey. The men were back.

She left Beatrice in the stable, not able to bear her sister’s slower pace.

William led a group of searchers through the gate.

And there, sweet merciful God, was a little form pressed against his shoulder.

They were found. Tears blurred her vision as she ran. She reached for her child, to hold his solid weight in her arms.

Arthur’s face peered at her, streaked with dirt and tears, brown eyes huge and dark against the pallor of his skin.

Faye near wrenched him from William’s arms. She wrapped his warm, little body beside her heart and buried her nose into his neck. She drew in deep, soothing breaths of his treacle, little-boy smell. Her tears wet both their faces.
Safe. Thank you, God.
He was here and he was safe.

William stood before the men, his face grave.

Nay, his face was all wrong. He should not cast his gaze to the ground like he bore grim tidings.

None of the men in the party would meet her eye. They shifted and murmured to themselves, their faces half-obscured by the dark.

“Simon.” The name dragged up her throat like a rusty blade. “Where is Simon?”

William shook his head.

The edges of her vision darkened. Any moment now, William would grin, tug her braid and say he jested. She stared hard at William’s face. He needed to smile, now, and tell her Simon was with him.

Arthur squirmed in her arms.

She squeezed until he whimpered, but her arms wouldn’t release him. Spots danced in her vision. Nay. Simon was with them, must be with them.

William held out his arms to her, but she stepped back.

“Where is Simon?” Speech proved difficult past the pounding in her chest, robbing her of breath.

“They took him, Mam.” Arthur’s high, baby voice reached her down a growing tunnel of black. “The men came and took him. They hurt Oliver, and he fell down and I couldn’t wake him.”

Her knees hit the ground. She must have fallen or stumbled. She gripped the sides of Arthur’s face. “Who? What men?”

Arthur’s face crumpled and his breath hiccoughed.

“Faye?” William touched her arms. His hands pressed on her, weighty, ponderous, and she shook them off.

Arthur wriggled in her hold and tried to back away from her.

“Who, Arthur? Who took Simon?”

William crouched beside her. “You are frightening him, Faye.”

Dear God, she was scaring her baby. She stared at her hands in horror. She had never lifted a hand against either child. Red marks on Arthur’s sweet baby-soft cheeks shrieked condemnation at her.

Arthur’s mouth twisted as he wailed, big eyes screaming her betrayal at her.

“I am sorry.” She choked. The bailey dipped and swayed around her. She had to stop. Think. Sweet Jesus, they had Simon. “Mama is sorry, baby.”

William gathered Arthur and handed him to Roger.

Her arms ached with the loss of her child. Another woman’s child was also in peril. “Oliver?”

“Oliver will recover. He took a nasty blow to the head trying to defend the boys.” William gripped her by the shoulders.

“Defend the boys? What happened? Merciful God, William, what happened?” She curled her fingers into his tunic, forcing him to look at her.

“Faye, Calder has Simon.” Grim, his mouth harsh as a death mask.

Bile rose in her throat. It was not possible. She shook her head to clear the buzzing in her ears.

William was still speaking and she had to hear what he said. “We will need Oliver to tell us what happened, but it appears they lured the boys into the thicket and took Simon. This was pinned to Arthur’s tunic.”

Parchment crackled in William’s hand.

“Calder cannot write.” It couldn’t be from Calder. She grasped at the sliver of hope.

William shook his head. “He must have had a scribe write it. It bears his seal.”

Faye snatched at the parchment. Tidy, sloping letters danced around the page, defying her attempt to make sense of it. She thrust the parchment at William. “What does it say?”

William stared at her. “It says, ‘An heir belongs with his father.’”

The ache in Gregory’s knees brought him closer to God. Hunger gnawed at his belly and reminded him of his connection with the Lord. For three days, he had fasted and prayed, waited for God to show him the way to enter into service.

God remained silent.

He must pray harder and keep at it until he had his answer. God’s way was not always the way of man and His divine timing did not always answer the impetuous call of sinners.

Something clattered through the bars of his cell.

Gregory started, but kept his eyes closed. He could afford no distractions in his wait for God to deign to speak with him. Sweat broke out on his brow. He bowed his head. “Dear Father in Heaven…”

Another skittering across the floor and Gregory opened his eyes.

A pebble lay almost within reach at his knees, a pale trespasser against the dark stone floor of his bare cell. A thin pallet rested against one wall, stripped of linen except for a rough blanket. On the opposite wall a tiny barred window overlooked the fields were they worked each day. Above it, a stark wooden cross served as a reminder that all here was by Grace alone. Beneath the casement stood a plain wood table and a bench.

The Abbey bell tolled
Terce
over the undulating chant of the monks reciting the second of the Little Hours of the Divine Office. Father Abbott had understood his need for private meditation, but he would be expected at
Lauds
.

“Psst!”

Not God at all, unless the Almighty had grown a set of large hands and gripped the bars of his cells so tightly His knuckles turned white.

A dark head popped over the lip, followed by dark eyebrows and the sharply drawn planes of a face many a lass considered handsome.

“Garrett?” Gregory’s knees creaked as he rose. Sharp pain lanced through his long-frozen muscles. Three days, most of which spent on your knees, would turn any man’s limbs into a grandfather’s. “Is that you?”

“Aye?” Garrett blinked away a sweat droplet that snaked down his brow and into his eye. His face turned redder. “Only could you come down, I am not sure how much longer I can hang on.”

“Did you climb the side?”

Teeth clenched, Garret said, “Aye and I am about to go tumbling on my ass, so get down here.”

Garrett’s head disappeared from view as he scrabbled down the side of the two-story dormitory.

If Garrett was here, something was amiss at Anglesea. Sir Arthur might have sent him with news. My Lady Faye. His blood thrummed in his ears. Fresh sweat prickled over his skin as he wrenched open his door and trotted down the empty corridor. He took the stairs three at a time. Unease spurred him into a run.

From the chapel the monk’s voices called and responded in prayer as he entered the kitchen yard. Singing voices reminded him he had left his former life behind, but he needed to check all was well.

Garrett appeared out of the dark shadows around the dormitory.

The smell of incense hung heavy in the air.

“What is it?” Gregory closed the distance between them.

Garrett’s expression was grim, his shoulders tense. “You must come.”

“To Anglesea?”

“Aye.” Garrett turned and motioned him to follow.

Gregory took a step and froze. He couldn’t go with Garrett. Outside these walls was not his life anymore. His calling lay here at the Abbey. “I cannot.”

Sharp strides driving divots into the soft, bare earth, Garrett strode back to him. “You must come. Sir Arthur sent me for you.”

Sir Arthur would not have sent for him if it weren’t urgent. Sir Arthur had sponsored him as a postulant to the Abbey and he owed the man for that. But he owed God his obedience and he had put his former life aside. “My place is here now.”

“Your place is where you are needed.” Movements sharp and jerky, Garrett gestured to outside the Abbey.