Winds of Time (5 page)

“
Fine,” I said. “As a young
woman, I was consort to Prince Llywelyn, the Prince of Wales, and
bore him a son.”

Edyth surged to her feet.

“
You insult me with your
stories and your lies!” She put her hands on her hips and glared at
me. “What do you know of Prince Llywelyn’s family? I am one of his
casualties, and yet I will not allow you to impugn his
name.”

My chin had come up in response to her anger
and my own outrage evaporated in the face of her defiance. “What
did you say? How is it that you know Prince Llywelyn?”

Edyth scoffed under her breath. “I have
never met the man, but my father, Evan, fought for him when he
recaptured Cefnllys castle, many years ago. Unfortunately, in doing
so, Prince Llywelyn aroused the anger of Roger Mortimer. To punish
the Prince, Mortimer retaliated against the Welsh who lived within
sight of his walls. We were evicted from our home.”

“
I’m sorry,” I said,
following her story without understanding its point.

Edyth shrugged. “I was only fifteen at the
time. It was December, and my mother was carrying a child, though
she wasn’t so far along that one might notice. She and I struggled
west, into Wales, but when she miscarried on the road, I couldn’t
do enough for her. Both she and the child died. When a sister to
Prince Llywelyn heard of our fate, she offered to find a place for
me in her own household. I was angry and defiant, however, and told
my father that I wanted nothing of Wales, men, or marriage. I
sought refuge in a place as far from home as possible. Eventually I
found this nunnery, and my father brought me here.”

She stepped around her desk and leaned down,
her finger in my face.

“
Now
that
is a story. Yours is pathetic in
comparison. I will find you passage to Wales if only to be rid of
you, but in the meantime, trouble me no more with your paltry
explanations for I do not want to hear them.”

Edyth passed me by and sailed from the room.
The door slammed behind her.

Wow
.
I looked down at my hands.
I have never
been very good at lying.

* * * * *

The next morning, I saw Prioress Edyth in
passing, and in church, but she didn’t summon me and I tried to
achieve patience. It wasn’t as if I had a lot of free time. Bright
and early, I found the nun hospitalier at my door, asking which
service to the nunnery I would like to perform: weeding the garden,
baking, or laundry. At first I was shocked by her request, but I
assumed Edyth had ordered this, wanting me to get my hands dirty. I
opted for the garden and the nun sent me to the herbalist who found
a worn habit for me to wear and put me to work. I spent the day
between the rows of plants.

It was enjoyable to garden in the summer
sun, and I began to feel almost grateful to Edyth for giving me
something to do. I was useful and satisfied—that is, until I woke
up the next morning so stiff and sore I could barely move. I
managed to haul myself out of bed anyway, and back onto my hands
and knees.

After three more days of this, I was sent to
the laundry. This was a job worth hating. The clothes were heavy
and the water icy cold, even in August. Just as I thought I
couldn’t take any more, I was sent to the bakery. After three days
kneading dough, it dawned on me that there was more to this than
punishment for lying. Nearly two weeks had passed since my dinner
with the Prioress, with no word from her, and it occurred to me
that this must be some kind of test.

With that thought in mind, I waylaid her, as
politely as I could, after services that evening.

“
Prioress Edyth.” I
curtseyed. “Might I have a moment of your time?”

She stopped, stifled a sigh, and turned to
me. “Are you finding your days with us worthwhile, Mistress
Margaret? We do not work you too hard?”

“
Madam.” I was making an
effort to disguise my impatience, but it was pretty feeble and I
undoubtedly failed completely. “I was hoping that you have had word
from your half-brother regarding my passage to Wales?”

“
Come to me after dinner,”
Edyth said, instead of answering my question. “I can see that you
have not found the contentment here I hoped for and you intend to
continue with your previously stated course of action. We have
enjoyed your good bread.”

She swept away, leaving me
thunderstruck. I couldn’t believe it.
Good
bread, indeed.

In truth, it was my pride that was most
hurt. I had believed, in the first hours of my walk along Hadrian’s
Wall, that I could control my destiny. Yes, I was a woman, but I
was educated and intelligent, and had struggled and survived on my
own with two children in the twenty-first century. Surely this
counted for something? Surely what I’d learned in the last sixteen
years and who I was now would make a difference? I was appalled to
realize, several weeks later, that it had made no difference at
all.

To Sir John, I’d been a burden. While
grateful to me for helping his nephew, he had no use for me
afterwards, no employment. I was a woman and a young and foolish
one at that. Prioress Edyth knew of my intellectual abilities and
believed that I’d grown up among the elite, but did she send me to
the scriptorium or use my talents in any way? No, she put me to
work in the kitchen.

Not that I minded baking or
gardening, but in this world, women who could read were incredibly
rare. And yet, two people who knew I had the skill had no use for
me at all. On one hand, I was pleased that I could ‘pass’ as a
medieval woman, but the truth was, I did not want to
be
a medieval woman. I
never had and I found it frustrating and humiliating to be
dependent on the kindness of others when I had skills I could offer
them that would allow me to pay my own way.

Silently seething, I ate my meal as usual
and then hurried to Edyth’s study. I walked in to find her seated
as before behind her desk, but this time she wasn’t alone. She was
having a discussion with a dark-haired man sitting with his right
hip propped on her desk. He turned to look at me as I entered. His
jaw dropped.

I froze.

I didn’t recognize him, but
because his expression was one of shock. It told me that he
recognized
me
.
Something about his face niggled at the back of my mind—and yet,
how could I know him?

“
You have met before?” Edyth
said sharply.

The man’s face cleared. “No, dear sister. I
am just surprised she is so young. You said she was a widow.”

Edyth’s eyes narrowed, disbelief plain on
her face, but at his impassivity, she turned to me. I managed to
compose my face in an expression of innocence.

“
I am ready to leave as soon
as possible,” I said.

Edyth pursed her lips but nodded. “Mistress
Marged, this is my half-brother, Marc. Marc, this is Marged ferch—I
am sorry, I don’t remember your father’s name.”

“
Bran,” I said.
Why do I feel like everything she says to me is
some kind of test?

“
Yes, Marged ferch
Bran.”

I curtsied and Marc bowed as we greeted each
other.

“
Now.” Edyth rubbed her
hands together. It seemed she’d decided to put the last few weeks
behind her and was pleased to be ridding herself of me at last. “We
must get Mistress Marged to Wales. I believe you said that you had
some idea how this might be accomplished, Brother? I will give her
a letter of introduction to St. Winifred’s nunnery in Conwy. They
will take her in until she can make her way to her
family.”

“
Yes, Sister,” Marc said. “I
can arrange it all if Mistress Marged can pay.”

I got the feeling that his ‘sister’ was not
as respectful as it could have been. I didn’t see how I could go
anywhere with this man, leastwise not until I figured out why he
knew me.

Edyth glanced at me, and I nodded. Sir John
had given me a few coins, as he’d promised. “She can pay, Marc.
What do you have in mind?”

“
Cousin Morgan is making a
run to Anglesey,” Marc said. “I have asked him to take her as
passenger. He said he will do it, if the money is right.” He turned
to me. “The crossing is dangerous. The Irish Sea can be rough this
time of year and the English haven’t taken kindly to Prince
Llywelyn’s dominance of the region. They are harassing all ships
that attempt to cross from England to Wales.”

“
Is there no other way for
me to get there?” I said. Under the best of conditions, I was a
poor sailor. I preferred the mountains of Wales to its
seas.

“
You could wait for a
merchant train that travels south by land,” Marc said. “However,
Chester is an English stronghold and the Marcher lords guard the
roads into Wales. The journey would be nearly impossible for a
woman alone.”

I sighed inwardly. According to what little
the nuns at the convent knew about current events—and I felt I
could ask—Llywelyn’s forces had won a great victory against King
Edward in January of 1283. An unofficial truce now held between
England and Wales, which is why I had to make my way to Wales by
boat. “With no other real choice, I am willing to risk a sea
crossing. How long is the journey?”

“
You will sail west from
Silloth on the coast, towards Ireland. Captain Morgan has an
arrangement with the villagers that allows him to dock there
unmolested. He intends to sail from there to the Isle of Man and
come into Anglesey from the north and west. It is a journey of some
days.” Marc paused, and then said, “or, if the weather doesn’t
hold, you might not arrive at all.”

I definitely didn’t like Marc.

“
It is slightly more than a
league from here to Silloth,” he said. “We will leave in two day’s
time. Once you arrive, he will want to sail on the evening
tide.”

“
You will ensure that she
reaches the boat safely, brother?” Edyth said.

“
I will see to it
personally, Sister.” Marc smiled and bowed over Edyth’s hand. As he
did so, he glanced at me, and the expression on his face belied his
jovial words. I took an involuntary step backwards and wondered
desperately how I could avoid going anywhere with Marc.

“
Very good, then,” Edyth
said. “Mistress Marged, if you could see Marc out, I would be most
obliged.”

“
Certainly, Prioress.” I
made a curtsy and then opened the door to the office. Striving to
keep well ahead of Marc, I led the way down the passage to the
courtyard of the priory.

Although I walked quickly, the thudding of
Marc’s boots on the stones soon overtook my lighter steps. Just as
I reached the doorway outside, he caught my arm. He pulled me back
and crowded me against the doorpost.

“
What are you doing here?”
Marc hissed through gritted teeth. “You’re supposed to be
dead!”

“
Am I?” I spit the words
back at him because in that instant, I remembered who he was: one
of the men that Prince Dafydd, Llywelyn’s brother, kept around him.
It had been Marc who had stood at his lord’s side and grinned at me
when Dafydd had ‘rescued’ me from the river near Castell y Bere. I
could appreciate his surprise at seeing me again, but I didn’t
understand his anger.

“
Do you think to return to
Prince Llywelyn, is that it?” Marc said.

“
Yes.” I glared at Marc,
defiant.

“
I should kill you where you
stand. It is
your
fault that I no longer serve Prince Dafydd.
Your
fault that he
dispensed with my services.”

“
My fault? How could that
be
my
fault? I
haven’t been to Wales in sixteen years!”

“
You—” Marc cut off his
words, apparently so angry he couldn’t reply. His jaw bulged. “I
will escort you to the sea, simply to see you on your way so you
may never trouble me again.”

“
How do I know you will do
as you say? I can’t trust you.” My words were probably unwise, but
I needed to know his full intentions.

Marc caught my chin in his hand and tipped
it up so the back of my head clonked into the wall and my ears
rang.

“
You try my patience, woman!
Be glad my sister has put her hand over you and keep your tongue
between your teeth!”

With that he released me and stalked off. I
watched him go, rubbing the back of my head, and thinking that
perhaps that was the best advice I had been given in some time.

Chapter Five

Two days later, Marc came
for me at dawn, as he had promised. I wondered at the propriety of
our journeying together, even if only for a day. Perhaps, because I
was a widow, I was allowed this kind of freedom. It could also have
been that Prioress Edyth was happy to get me off her hands in any
fashion she could. Sort of like Sir John, in point of fact.
I guess at thirty-seven, I am a far less endearing
person than I was at twenty.

I debated returning to
Prioress Edyth and trying again to convince her that I knew Marc
from when I’d lived with Llywelyn, but in the end decided against
it. By now, I didn’t have very many choices—
did I have any choices?—
and although I
didn’t trust Marc, he appeared to have a certain sort of honor. To
make myself feel safer, I stole a small knife from the kitchen and
secreted it in my pack. If Marc was determined to kill me, it
wouldn’t be of much use, but it helped me keep a grip on
rationality.