Beloved Abductor (17 page)

‘I can say that to him, Mistress?’ Beatrice’s eyes shone, and Felicia knew that her guess had not been wrong. Emma’s closest friend would make her bailiff a good wife. Life was too arduous and short to cope with alone.

‘Aye!’ Felicia nodded and walked from the table, a familiar ache within her breast. Beatrice was right, of course. These nights were made for love. She looked about her for Joan, but could not see her. She sighed, hoping she was safe.

The feast was a merry affair, as was anticipated. The men drank freely and Felicia suspected that there would be many sore heads in the morning. Joan had arrived on the scene in time to help, but seemed reluctant to join in with the festivities, only being persuaded to come and enjoy herself when the evening was softening to a pale grey and silver and the bonfire was lit.

The wood crackled, and soon flames were blazing against the sky, casting a glow over the faces of those gathered there. When the bonfire began to die down, some of the women were persuaded by their sweethearts or husbands to leap over its embers. It was an old custom, and several of her villeins looked towards her to see if she would leap, but Felicia did not have the heart when Edmund was not by her side. Thinking of begetting a child could wait for another time.

She wandered away from the glowing fire, her eyes scanning faces. Joan had gone indoors, and soon Felicia would follow as the hour was getting late. Suddenly she saw an unfamiliar figure standing in the shadows. Some folk had wandered away, but they had been in twos, looking for a soft bed to lie on. Her heart gave a lurch. The man was dressed in a dark surcote, and his coif was pulled back to reveal a mass of hair that seemed to shine like gold in the twilight. She could not see his face, but there was something familiar about him, so that for a moment her heart misgave her and she called out to him. She began to move, a smile lighting her face. Then, before she could get a closer look, he turned swiftly and vanished amongst the trees. Disappointment brought tears to her eyes and she turned back towards the fire, realising how deep her loss would be if Edmund did not return from Gloucester. She was seeing his face now in every stranger.

Not until past midnight did Felicia get to bed, wondering for the first time whether the stranger might be one of Philip’s men. Of course he could be an outlaw drawn by the sight of the fire, good food and company. Why must she see danger in every lurking shadow? Still, she must be on her guard. She slid in beside the slumbering Joan, but it was some time before she slept.

The days passed slowly and July came in, blooming with a rampant fertility that somehow hurt. Felicia sought to keep Edmund’s face fixed in her mind’s eye, not having a likeness of him, he had to live in her memory. Would he seem a stranger when he did return—if he returned?

No definite news had arrived from Gloucester, but rumours abounded that the town was besieged—it had fallen! No, it had been relieved by the Montfort and there had been a battle with hundreds, even thousands, slaughtered. Bands of fugitives were roaming the countryside in search of food and clothing.

Felicia tried to ignore the rumours, believing that if there had been a battle she would have surely heard about it. There was one thing she could not ignore, though: the villagers spoke of food missing—a loaf of bread, a jug of ale, onions pulled up from gardens, even a chicken or two. She warned Joan again of the dangers of wandering about alone, but she only smiled and told Felicia that no harm would come to her.

One morning Felicia woke to the sun pouring through the window. It painted an oblong of gold on the floor, and her heart lifted with pleasure. There was no sign of Joan in the bedchamber, and Felicia realised that she had slept late. She lay a moment, her hands behind her head, pondering on her cousin’s behaviour. Suddenly she was convinced that Joan’s walks were not aimless. She was searching for someone or something. Felicia had noticed that just like herself, her cousin had fallen into the habit of scanning people’s faces.

Felicia dressed swiftly in the new gown of green she had made, which fitted snugly about her breasts and hips. Joan had worked red flowers in silk at its hem and neck, pleasing her with the results. After braiding her hair, she went down the ladder into the hall, relieved to find that Beatrice had already been at work and made some fresh bread. Felicia cut herself a hunk, and taking a slice of cheese to go with it, went out into the garden. The air was just warming up, and the grass was drying beneath her feet. She opened the wicket gate and turned in the direction of the river. There by the bank she paused, gazing down at the water’s satin stillness, remembering how she and Edmund had consummated their marriage the day after their wedding.

She was roused from her contemplation by the sound of hoof-beats, and her heart began to thud. She was just deciding to run, when the horses broke cover and splashed into the ford. She stared and stared, then, picking up her skirts, ran towards the horsemen. She looked into Edmund’s grim, weary face, then at Dickon, who was swaying in the saddle. His face was ashen but for two burning spots of colour high on his cheekbones. His eyes were closed, and for a moment she thought he would surely fall from the horse. Then her eyes returned to her husband’s face and greedily she consumed its strange but familiar appearance, aware that he, too, was looking her over.

‘I am so glad to see you,’ she said huskily. ‘But tell me, what has befallen Dickon? He looks…’

‘An arrow in the shoulder,’ said Edmund roughly, despite the severity of his expression easing slightly. ‘I dealt with it as best I could, but the wound has festered. Will you ride my mount for me? I could not leave him behind but I deem he has ridden as far as he can, unaided.’

‘Has there been a battle?’

‘The city of Gloucester has fallen.’ Edmund seized Felicia about the waist and lifted her on his horse. For an instant their hands touched and their fingers clung. ‘Very becoming—the gown.’ The corner of his mouth lifted a fraction before he turned to Dickon.

By the time they reached the house, Dickon had swooned. Felicia dismounted and ran into the hall. She fetched a pallet and put it on the table. Beatrice looked at her in astonishment, but hurried when told to go and build up the fire. Edmund entered, carrying his friend. By the time Felicia had found an old sheet and was tearing it into strips, he had removed Dickon’s surcote and under-tunic and covered him with a blanket, leaving his shoulders bare.

Felicia gasped at the sight of the angry red circle and the discoloured swelling with the arrow-puncture at its centre. Her throat tightened, but she guessed Edmund might need her help so she remained by the table. He stared at her. ‘I need water, Felicia—and if you have some of the herb elecampane in your garden, fetch me a handful, there’s a good girl.’

‘I’ll fetch the water, sir,’ gasped Beatrice, her face concerned as she looked upon Dickon and she tuttered in dismay as she hurried away.

‘The elecampane—it has yellow flowers and a hairy stem?’ asked Felicia.

Edmund gave her a twisted smile. ‘Aye, go quickly.’

Her heart missed a beat as she sped from the hall, not knowing that Edmund stared after her with hungry eyes before turning to the fire that now burnt brightly. He took a long thin blade from a fold of linen he had taken from his pack and plunged it into the heart of the fire.

Felicia wasted no time and soon returned, carrying a bunch of herbs, and went over to Edmund. His brow was furrowed, and his hair lank and untidy. An overwhelming urge to smooth it back and kiss his worry away threatened to overcome her, but she knew that now was not the time.

‘He is still in a swoon,’ she murmured in a worried voice, gazing down at Dickon.

‘Not for long,’ responded Edmund grimly. He wrapped a strip of leather about his hand and reached for the knife in the fire. ‘You will have to hold him down, Felicia.’

She nodded, swallowed the lump in her throat and grasped Dickon’s shoulders. A pulse beat in Edmund’s neck as he gazed intently at the wound. Then he plunged the blade into the swelling. Dickon heaved up, gasping, moaning, and it took her all her strength to force him back down on the pallet.

‘Hold him still!’ ordered Edmund, shooting Felicia a glance.

‘God’s blood!’ whispered Dickon through clenched teeth. His eyelids opened and he stared at her. ‘Don’t cry,’ he gasped, before falling into a swoon again.

‘A cloth, and water.’ Edmund raised his head and noted the tears on her cheeks.

She moved swiftly, holding the bowl as he dipped the cloth into the water. She glanced briefly at the wound, noting the putrid flesh had been burnt back right into healthy skin.

‘Herbs!’ demanded Edmund, pressing the cloth against the bleeding wound.

Felicia reached for the elecampane and he took the herbs, bidding her fetch bindings, while he replaced the cloth with the herbs once the bleeding had eased. In what seemed no time at all he was tying the last knot of the strapping and had stepped back, releasing a pent up breath.

He and Felicia exchanged glances, and she was suddenly nervous about what they would say to each other when they were alone. ‘You did well,’ he said softly. ‘I could not have asked for a better helper.’

‘I did what I had to.’ She flushed slightly. ‘Do you think...?’

‘I’ve done all I can.’ He turned away as Beatrice brought him a bowl of water, into which he plunged his hands. ‘He will need careful nursing. There is a task for you to do that I cannot.’

‘We shall take care of him, sir, don’t you worry.’ Beatrice gave a brisk nod, pulling the blanket up to Dickon’s chin.

Edmunds’s lips twitched. ‘Thank you. Er—it’s Beatrice, isn’t it?’

‘Aye, sir.’ She gave Edmund a beaming smile, obviously delighted that he should remember her name.

‘And how is Godric?’ Edmund took a linen drying cloth from Felicia and dried his hands.

‘He is well. The cough has almost gone, and Thomas and I are to wed at harvest-time. Your lady has given her permission. You are agreeable, lord?’ Beatrice looked at him with a slightly anxious expression.

‘I’m very agreeable.’ Edmund smiled as he handed her the damp cloth, bidding her empty the bowls and wash them before dismissing her. Then he glanced down at Dickon before pulling down his sleeves and turning to Felicia. ‘You are well?’ he asked, his voice low and uneven.

‘I am well,’ replied Felicia, twisting her hands together . ‘And you? I would know more about the conflict?’

Edmund shrugged weary shoulders. ‘Gloucester is ours. The Lord Edward controls the crossing of the Severn. We thought the Montfort would come to relieve the town, but he didn’t appear.’ He ran a hand through his tawny hair, and scrubbed at the short golden beard he had grown since last they met ‘It is rumoured that he spent the last few weeks over the border in Wales, consorting with their prince, Llewelyn.’

‘What of Philip?’

‘I don’t know where Philip is,’ he said tersely, glancing away.

Edmund had longed for her, missing her more than he had ever thought he could miss a woman, yet not knowing just how deep his feelings for her went, until he set eyes upon her again. But now her words reminded him of how they had parted. ‘Tis likely he is still with the Montfort, but who knows?’

‘Then the main battle is still to be fought? Matters cannot rest so.’ Felicia’s voice was taut. She stared at his handsome, lean face and then away again, not knowing how to break through the barrier of polite conversation.

‘Aye, it will come to a fight! If I get the chance, I shall surely kill your cousin. We march towards Worcester. It is said that the Montfort’s son is coming from the south-east to join his father. The Lord Edward intends to take them on one at a time if he can.’

‘I see.’ She frowned.

‘Tell me, Felicia, do you have anything to eat? I have not broken my fast since we left Gloucester and I must return there today. I have to if I am to have the Lord Edward’s aid.’

‘Today!’ Felicia’s voice was stark and shrill.

‘Aye, today.’ For a moment he thought he caught a flash of anguish in her eyes and his heart lifted.

‘You did speak to the Prince about what happened at your father’s manor?’ she asked. ‘Did he say that he would help us?’ She moved towards the fire and her hands trembled as she picked up a spoon and looked into the cooking-pot to see what Beatrice had decided to throw into it to join yesterday’s leftovers.

‘Aye, I saw the Prince.’ Edmund sat on a stool and watched her as she stirred the contents of the pot. ‘He appeared to believe me—said he thought I had a look of Sir Gervaise de Vert, but I could tell his mind was on defeating the Montfort more than on my problems.’ He cleared a throat that was unexpectedly tight. ‘What—What is there to eat?’ he asked.

‘Pork—and onions, with some beans thrown in.’ Felicia longed to touch him, to see if being held by him was all that she remembered. She wanted him to kiss her and to go on kissing her.

As if he had read her mind, Edmund rose, took the spoon from her hand, and swung her round to face him. She trembled in his grasp, unable to look at him. ‘Felicia,’ he whispered, nudging his bearded chin against her forehead before he kissed her eyelids.

She blinked, letting her face slide against his rough beard until their lips met. They stood there close, not moving, their lips clinging. Abruptly their arms went about each other. There was a hunger that needed to be satisfied. A heart’s questioning that wanted an answer. But in that moment words were superficial and could wait.