Candace ROBB - The King’s Bishop

Alice shook her head. “By her own free will, perhaps. But she willed it because I told her that Ned was not good enough for her. I had ambitions for her.”

“Then she is an ungrateful child. All the more reason why you cannot be to blame.” Wyndesore touched the tip of Alice’s nose. “Forget her, eh?” He suddenly frowned, cocked his head. “’Tis troubling, though, her running away. You said Mary was loyal to you.”

Alice bristled. The touch on the nose was the gesture of a man to a child. “She is loyal to me.”

“More so to Ned Townley.”

Alice shrugged. “She is of the age when love for a man blinds a young woman to all else.”

Wyndesore smiled. “I cannot imagine you blinded by love!”

“You are a charmer, Sir William.”

“And you, Mistress Alice, are not as clever as you think. To run from you is an odd way to show loyalty.” Wyndesore flicked a finger under Alice’s chin, then moved away from her, prepared to mount.

“Take care, Sir William,” Alice said softly. “It is a cold, lonely road you travel.”

His glance told her he had heard. She smiled sweetly and waved.

Gilbert continued his search of the castle, asking for news of Mary. Alice waited on Queen Phillippa as usual, but her distracted manner concerned her mistress.

“What is it, child? What troubles you?” the Queen asked, leaning forward on her cane.

“Mary, my maid, disappeared last evening.”

The Queen smiled indulgently. “Now, Alice, it is a grand castle and such a dreamer as Mary might lose her way.”

“I thought of that. But Mary packed clothes, Your Grace. I fear she is running after her lover.”

Now the Queen’s kind face registered concern. “Young hearts can be too fond. Too fond. What has been done to find the girl?”

Alice told her of Gilbert’s search and Sir William’s promise to look out for her on the road north.

“Who is her lover? Where is he?”

“Ned Townley, one of the men headed north to York on the King’s business.”

The Queen shook her head, her eyes sad. “And the child could not stay put. What does she think, that she may travel with her love on the King’s business? Foolish girl.”

Alice dropped her head. “I am worried, Your Grace. They argued bitterly over the young man who drowned. What if her lover now rejects her?”

The Queen rested a swollen hand on Alice’s head. “My poor child. We waste time. I shall order a full search of the castle and the town.” The Queen chucked Alice under her chin, kissed her on the forehead. “You have a good heart, sweet Alice.”

Oh no, not a good heart. That had been put to rest when Alice’s uncles had taken her from her foster parents and announced that she was to be their key to riches. A good heart would not have come so far, would never have reached the Queen, would never have usurped her in the King’s bed. But sweet Phillippa, born far above Alice’s station, had no need to understand such things.

Jasper burst through the shop door, his flaxen hair darkened with sweat and clinging to his flushed face. “Mistress Lucie! They are here! The King’s company!”

Lucie caught him by the shoulders before he slid to a stop against the shop counter. She forced a smile as she smoothed back his damp hair, tweaked his nose. “The King’s company is here? How do you know that, love? Your errand should not have taken you near Micklegate Bar.” Holy Mary, Mother of God, let him be mistaken .

“Master Merchet called out to me as I passed the tavern,” Jasper said, his eyes shining.

“Ah. Well. If Tom Merchet says it is so, it is indeed.” Lucie tried to hide her disappointment. She understood Jasper’s excitement. His friends had been much impressed when they’d learned that Owen was to lead a company of the King’s men to Fountains Abbey. He had already asked and received permission to hand Owen his stirrup cup at departure, which would guarantee that he met the men when they were in full gear. The boys would later hang on Jasper’s every word as he described the company’s dress, their weapons, their speech, and Owen’s part in the expedition.

Owen’s part; that was what troubled Lucie. The company’s arrival meant Owen’s departure was imminent. And despite her confiding to Bess that Owen was driving her mad with his litany of worries, that she prayed for a respite, Lucie did not wish him to go. If this was the answer to her prayers, they had been misinterpreted. She had meant to pray that he would realise their little family was as safe as any family in York, not that he would leave the city.

Already she missed him, thinking of the cold bed, the nights when she needed his ear and must write instead, the countless possible dangers he might encounter that would haunt her throughout her days and nights while he was gone: Scotsmen on the road – they were not wont to observe the King’s peace; packs of wolves – folk said they were hungry after the hard winter and moving in larger packs than usual; men jealous of Owen’s favour with the powerful John Thoresby who might cause an “accident” in order to take his place; even such mundane matters as spoiled food, and no one with her skill with physicks to care for him if he should fall ill. When Owen was at home Lucie did not fret over such things, but the moment he rode out of the city her imagination betrayed her. She had thought it would be easier to part with him in time, but instead it grew worse. He was more and more a part of her. And now there was Gwenllian. She was growing so quickly. He would miss so much while he was away.

“Will they come here directly?” Jasper wondered, climbing up on to a stool with Crowder in his arms. The ginger kitten swatted at a fly that buzzed past. Jasper lunged to catch the unbalanced kitten and they both crashed to the floor, the stool following with a clatter. The kitten squirmed out of Jasper’s grasp and hissed at the stool. Jasper lay on his back and giggled.

Lucie stood there, hands on hips, knowing she should caution Jasper that Crowder was safer tumbling through the air than clutched tightly, but too thankful for the boy’s laughter to bring herself to chide him. “I doubt they will come here directly. They have ridden a long way and will wish to rest.”

Jasper sat up, brushed himself off. Bits of dust and herbs clung to his pale hair. “I should like to see them come across the bridge.” Eyes wide, smile eager, he willed her with all his energy to consent.

“Why?” Lucie teased, picking the debris out of his hair. “You have seen King’s men before.”

Jasper’s pale eyebrows came together; he stretched his hands towards her, palms up in supplication though she had not yet said no. “I want to see the men the Captain is going to lead.”

Lucie made a great business of whisking the last bits of debris from Jasper’s hair. “But surely you mean to be there to watch when they depart? You will see them then.”

Jasper’s shoulders slumped, his head drooped. “And I have work to do.”

Lucie could tease him no further. “You may go as soon as you tell me how fares Mistress Thorpe.” Jasper’s errand had been to Gwenllian’s first godmother, the wife of Lucie’s guildmaster. Mistress Thorpe had taken a fall with a cauldron of hot washing water a few weeks past and had scalded her left foot. Jasper had delivered a second jar of salve for the terrible blistering.

“Mistress Thorpe says that she has not awakened with the pain in two nights, which is a blessing. And she was most grateful you had sent the salve. She blessed you for knowing she had used the last of it this morning. She has the children helping with the washing and cooking and did not know when she could spare one to come to the shop.”