The Herald's Heart (14 page)

Cleve turned on his heel, hurrying toward the stable.

“Ye already know of the trouble between Wat the miller and his wife. ’Tis also widely known that Wat will cheat any and all who make use of his mill. His wife dresses above her station, and all know ’tis because Wat’s cheating provides enough money to keep her happy and mostly looking the other way when he wenches elsewhere.”

“Tell me of some of the folk I’ve not yet met.”

“Well most of the folk are honest and hard-working. Davy the smith works miracles in metal. Ye’ll nay find a rusty hinge or unbalanced blade in the keep. Alice Cook dotes on him. Some say because he’s one of the few men who is taller and heavier than she. But I think ’tis because he keeps all her pots in good working order. And I don’t mean just the metal ones.” Cleve leered and waggled his brows.

“Does your priest not object to their fornication?”

“Well now, there’s a might too much fornicating going on in Hawking Sedge for Father Timoras to do much about it save preach a sermon now and then. Besides, he’s much more concerned with weaseling into the earl’s good graces, and holds himself above the common folk.”

“That is a shame.” Were he in charge, Talon would replace the priest with a man of greater understanding and faith. Hawking Sedge suffered entirely too much hypocrisy. “Who are the drunkards and troublemakers?”

“Those come mostly from Rosewood Castle. That lot don’t have much self-control. The alewife always locks up her best stock when she sees ’em coming. The villagers don’t visit the tavern when Baron Le Hourde’s men are drinking. Those are the most troublesome men hereabouts.”

“The sooner Baron Le Hourde answers my summons, the better. I’ll add his men’s behavior to the growing list of items I will discuss with him.”

Armed with knowledge and insight gained from Cleve’s tales about the residents of the keep and Hawking Sedge village, Talon conducted his inspection as quickly as possible. The smith apologized for the poor condition of the arms and armor, though from what Talon could see, Davy was very skilled. The man revealed he could only do so much with metal of such poor quality, but the earl refused to pay the ironmonger’s price for better materials. Talon promised to discuss the problem with the earl when he returned and vowed to spend more wisely if he ever held Hawksedge.

They went next to the mill. Wat complained loudly that Talon had no right to inspect his mill. They ignored the miller’s protests and entered. The filth and disorder within appalled Talon. Cleve, who was familiar with the situation, shrugged his shoulders but smiled when Talon told him to arrest the miller, place him in the stocks, and appoint a new man who would neither cheat the villagers and the earl’s servants nor poison the flour with dirt and vermin.

The smith’s story was repeated with the tanner, the alewife, and all the others who supplied or labored for the Earl of Hawksedge. That lord made great demands, paid little or no coin, yet provided living quarters that suffered from rot and decay. Talon had seen the riches in the keep that now lay in an iron chest within the solar. The earl donated large sums to the abbey and was reputed to spend most of his time in prayer. How could any man who had such wealth keep his people in poverty and claim to be Christian or even pretend to piety? Were the donations given to ease a guilty conscience? If so, there was a great deal more than parsimony to lay at the earl’s doorstep.

How could a man who beat women to death, ordered the murder of an entire family, and tossed an innocent child alone into the cold be anything but evil? Talon swallowed the rage that threatened to spill. Would Larkin’s claim to be the earl’s bride change anything? He doubted it. He strongly suspected that if the earl recognized Larkin as his countess, she would be dead within the year. Talon would not allow that. The earl’s perfidy must be reported to the king. Justice would require Longshanks to replace the earl with another man. Talon was the most logical choice. Then he would be able to keep Larkin safe. He could give her back Rosewood. She’d never claimed to want Hawksedge Keep, so they could still be friends, if not lovers.

For now, he would change what he could and insist the earl make other changes when he returned, on threat of Talon’s report to Longshanks.

The inspection had been enlightening and nearly as exhausting as poring over the earl’s old records or training the rather inept keep guards. Talon had one last stop to make. Then he would assure himself that Larkin had returned safely. A second attack in the same place, especially in broad daylight with a witness, was unlikely. The young guard probably had more to fear from Lady Larkin’s strong will than any attackers.

Afterward, he would attend his bed. But tired as he was, he doubted he’d find sleep easily. ’Twas all the lady’s fault.

Cleve at his side, Talon knocked on the door to the cottage where Aedwin and his mother lived. The door opened slowly. Aedwin’s mother stood in the opening. She shook visibly and kept her eyes downcast, but did not move from the doorway. “Please, Sir Talon. I am sorry Aedwin spoiled the pheasants when he got too close to the fire. I promised ’twon’t happen again.”

Talon frowned and placed a fist on each hip. What was she talking about?

She shrank back from him. Her arms raised as if to ward off an attack. “Nay, do not beat us. I am a poor woman, but I will find some way to pay for the ruined capons and the trouble Aedwin caused in the earl’s kitchens.”

She expected him to beat her? Talon felt his jaw go slack. His arms dropped to his sides as his shoulders slumped. If he needed more evidence of his father’s vile nature, he had it. Talon took the woman’s hands and lifted her upright.

“Nay,” she wailed and thrashed against his grip. “Beat me if you must. I will not let you harm Aedwin. He suffers enough.”

He let go of the woman. The last thing he wanted was to frighten her more. He was, for once, glad the earl denied his paternity. “Nay, indeed.” He gentled his voice and reached out to stroke back the hair that her struggles had whipped into her face. “Woman, I intend no beatings to you or your child.”

“N ... no beatings? Then what d’ye want wi’ me and Aedwin?”

“I wish to know how the child fares. Mayhap to see him and thank him for his courage in the earl’s service.” Talon tried to smile and keep his hands open at his sides.

“Ye do?”

He was tired. His day had been long, and frustrating. However, too many of the earl’s folk had greeted him as Aedwin’s mother did, with suspicion if not outright fear, so he controlled his impatience. “Aye.”

She stared up at him, still blocking the entrance.

“May I see Aedwin?” Talon asked.

The woman jumped back from the doorway at his request. “Oh, aye, Sir Talon. But ...” She wrung her hands and looked to the far end of the cottage and back.

What ailed her now? Talon strained for understanding. “Come, woman. You must show me to the boy.” As if he could not find the child himself in the space of one room.

“It is just that ...” She straightened her shoulders and seemed finally to recover herself. “Do not frighten him, Sir Talon.” She backed a few steps away from the door.

“I will not do that, mistress.” He ducked his head and entered the small dwelling.

“Aye, I believe ye’d not mean to frighten him, but he is so frail and weak. I fear for his life, even though the fire hurt only his legs.”

He followed her to a cot at the back of the room where she knelt by the bed and took her son’s small hand in hers. Silent tears dripped down her face.

The frail, gray-skinned creature on the cot bore little resemblance to the boy who had held his hand in the bailey or the robust, laughing Aedwin who tended the spit in the kitchen. Truly, the child seemed more like some wounded knights he had seen after battle, their injuries so sore that they welcomed death and hence sought no aid. The thought of this child dying in like pain curdled his blood.

“Have you no medicines to help him heal?”

“Nay Sir Talon. The abbey provides medicines to the village.”

“And the Earl of Hawksedge is not willing to pay for an alchemist or healer to provide more.” It was not a question but a confirmation of all that Talon now knew about the father figure he had yet to see after twenty long years. The man was sanctimonious, greedy, and selfish, with no drop of charity in his icy heart. “Then you rely solely on the abbey for healing?”

Waiting for aid to come had killed more than one man. It would take some time traveling on foot to and from the abbey. Waiting that long might kill Aedwin.

“Aye, sir,” Aedwin’s mother replied. “Father Timoras has some knowledge of healing, but mostly the women of the village help each other tend to those in need.” The distraught mother crossed herself. “Sometimes the anchoress will bless special potions made by the abbess when naught else helps.”

“Why do these women wise in healing not come to the village every day to see to the needs of folk?”

Aedwin’s mother turned her head and shoulders to look at him in quiet astonishment, then crossed herself again. “Surely you know that an anchoress is dead to the world and may not leave her anchorage.”

“Aye, ’twas the nuns I spoke of.”

“Oh.” Aedwin’s mother seemed to sag with relief. “Theirs is a cloistered order. Only the abbess may go out, and even she will not travel at night.”

“Then I shall send for Mother Clement.” Talon turned to go and see his will done.

“Nay,” Aedwin’s mother grabbed his hand, but her desperate cry held him back. “’Tis taken care of already.”

“The abbess has already been here?”

“Nay, but this very day, Larkin stopped to tell me she was on her way to gather the blooms the abbey needs to make a healing balm for Aedwin. She promised to return and tell me when the balm should be ready.”

“Larkin, you say.” Talon spoke with studied care. Afternoon had waned and dusk moved quickly toward night. “Has she not returned as she promised?”

“Nay. ’Tis worrisome.”

“Rest your mind. I will make certain you receive word this night.”

“Thank you, Sir Talon. God bless you.”

The wondering gratitude in the woman’s eyes made him severely uncomfortable. “Save your prayers for your son, mistress. He needs them more than I.” He left, Cleve at his heels.

“Larkin should have returned by now, Cleve.”

“Mayhap. But things in the woods can be difficult to find. And I heard these flowers do not bloom until nightfall.”

He wrinkled his brow. “Does no one else but Larkin seek that which is difficult to find?”

“Oh aye, but Larkin is better at it than most of us. And she has the time; we who labor for the earl do not. Liar or not, God blessed Hawking Sedge when he sent her to us from the abbey. She gathers wood for our fires, takes candles from the anchoress to the keep, carts water and food to the men in the fields. Without Larkin, our lives would be much more difficult.”

No wonder the villagers refused to accept her claim of nobility. Likely she provided the only ease these poor folk had in their lives. Were she titled, the villagers could not count on her continued generosity, especially if they thought all nobles to be like their own earl. Talon was coming to realize that Larkin possessed a truly noble spirit whether she held the title of lady or not.

“Return to the keep. If she is there, send a messenger to the abbey. I want to remedy anything that might delay the medicine for Aedwin.”

Cleve rode off, and Talon headed for the abbey. Despite his worry for Larkin, Aedwin needed the medicine the abbey made. If any could be had, it would be there. Several weeks had passed since he and Larkin were last there. The nuns may have gotten the burn blossoms from someone else. He put his faith in Larkin’s inventiveness and determination, but urged his horse to greater speed.

At the abbey, he learned a runner was already on his way to Hawking Sedge with a fresh pot of burn balm for Aedwin. Larkin had brought as many blooms as she could carry, then gone back for more at Mother Clement’s request.

His mind relieved of one worry, Talon asked directions to the woodland pool where Larkin gathered flowers. The abbess suggested, since the day grew late, that he would be best served to return to the keep and his bed. Larkin and her escort would find shelter at the abbey if darkness prevented their return to Hawksedge.

The abbess was right. Returning to the keep and his bed was exactly what Talon should do. But wise as Mother Clement might be, too many factors lay beyond his control. He could not rest easy until he saw for himself that Larkin was still safe.

Dusk would give way to full dark soon. That last attack on Larkin had come at dusk. Why hadn’t Cleve sent a more experienced man with her? One who would insist on returning to the keep before dark. One who could fight off an attack with more certainty than a green lad.

The same fears that made him scour the countryside when he thought she’d broken her word and escaped gripped Talon now. All manner of danger lurked in the night. Wild animals, natural hazards like stones or holes in the path, thieves and other rogues, to say naught of whoever might wish to see dead any troublesome reminders of Lady Larkin Rosham. The need to see her, touch her, became as necessary as breathing.

She had a guard—such as he was. The lady had run tame without coming to harm in these woods for more than a year, logic insisted. He reined in fears and his horse when he came upon the path to the forest pool. Larkin had best be alive and well. If not, he would make certain she would regret causing him the smallest worry.

Very little light pierced the trees where tendrils of fog scurried. Talon peered through the branches and recalled another fog-shrouded night. So much had changed. Where he’d once thought to protect the keep from a lying, thieving woman, he now sought to protect that same woman. That he and she were on opposite sides of a claim to Hawksedge could not matter. That he desired her physically could not matter. What was important now was keeping her safe so all the other problems could be resolved. The idea that he might fail in his knightly duty to keep her safe and make resolving their problems impossible turned his stomach.