Anne Herries - Medieval Brides

Adam’s way was the way forward, and she loved him for it.

Loved him? She all but choked.

She loved him? Certainly she ached for him to help her now.

Swiftly ducking her head, Cecily let her veil drift forward, lest Edmund read her stunned expression. Surely not—surely you could not love someone you had only known for a few short days?

Yes—yes, her heart told her. You could if that someone was Adam Wymark. She had warmed to him almost from the very first, and…of course she loved him. Why else would she melt at his touch? She loved Adam, and he—a pang ran through her—he loved his first wife, Gwenn.

Staring blankly down at her brother, asleep in his basket, unaware of the dangerous undercurrents swirling about him, Cecily saw no easy path ahead. But if such a path existed she would find it. And that, Edmund, my friend, she thought fiercely, is an oath that I am making to myself, and it is one that I will fight to my last breath to fulfil.

The rain was pooling in the awning above them. Edmund reached up and adjusted the canvas, and the water tipped onto the ground. At once it began seeping into the shelter from the side. Everything was damp—the chalky mud underfoot, the logs they were sitting on, their clothes, even the air they breathed—for they could not light a fire under the awning. It was no fit place for a baby.

Shivering, Cecily undid the neck fastening of Adam’s cloak, pulled it more closely about her and refastened it. She lowered her voice. ‘Edmund, let me take Philip back to Fulford. If you truly have his best interests at heart, you’ll let me take him. What use is a figurehead dead of lung-fever?’

‘No.’

‘But, Edmund—’

‘No!’ Edmund jumped to his feet and towered over her. ‘Philip stays here. And, since you have come to visit, you can stay too.’ He held out his hand, palm upwards. ‘Give me your eating knife.’

Cecily stiffened. ‘Am I your prisoner, Edmund?’

A muscle jumped in Edmund’s jaw. ‘Your knife, if you please.’

Reluctantly, Cecily took her knife from her belt and passed it to him. ‘You didn’t answer me. Am I your prisoner?’

‘Ask Judhael when he returns,’ Edmund snapped and, whirling on his heel, strode into the rain.

Adam stripped off his gloves as he crossed the threshold of Fulford Hall and nodded a greeting at Gudrun, who was sewing in the doorway where the light was strongest. She had her cloak about her shoulders to ward off the draught. Neatly avoiding little Agatha, who was laying in the rushes, Adam gratefully accepted the mug of ale Matty offered him and made a beeline for the fireside. The ride back from Winchester had given him a thirst, and he was damp to his core.

Matty relieved him of his cloak, shook it out, and slung it over a nearby peg. Maurice came in. He was on his own, as Richard and his squire were no longer with them, having remained behind in Winchester. Adam could see no sign of their guests, or his wife. As he unbuckled his sword and took a seat on one of the fireside stools, he wondered where she was. After receiving Félix Tihell’s intelligence that some rebels were definitely hiding out near Fulford, he found he needed to see her. Where the devil was she?

Gudrun was bent industriously over some linen, scissors flashing as she cut off a length of thread. Herfu clattered in, looked at Adam, and stopped dead in his tracks. Tutting, Gudrun flapped at the lad to get him out of her light, and as he moved towards Matty and the ale jug he threw Adam an odd look.

‘Gudrun, where is Cecily?’ Adam asked, in his halting, careful English.

The housekeeper glanced up from threading a needle. ‘Went out, sir,’ she answered shortly, and bent back over her work.

Adam glanced at the wood basket, and was glad to see that it had been replenished since dawn, when he’d ridden out. He cast a log on the fire. A stool creaked as Maurice joined him. ‘Out? Where?’

Gudrun hunched deeper over her sewing. ‘I do not know. She didn’t say.’

Brian Herfu cleared his throat and pushed himself away from the trestle. ‘Sir Adam?’

‘You know where she is, Herfu?’

‘N-no, sir.’

The lad’s leg was jiggling, the way it had when they had faced the Saxon shield wall at Hastings, before the Breton line broke, the way it invariably did when Brian was facing something unpleasant. Cold fingers trailed down Adam’s back. ‘Herfu?’

‘Your lady went out before noon, sir. She led me to believe she was only beating the bounds, setting the miller’s boys to work in the woods. I…I thought she would be back within the hour…’

Throat dry, Adam got slowly to his feet. ‘And…?’

‘After two hours had passed Le Blanc went to look for her, and…and he…he’s not returned either.’

Adam stared blankly at Herfu for a moment because his mind, despite all they had learned from Tihell in Winchester, refused to digest what the lad was saying. ‘She’s gone?’ This was what he had feared would happen from the moment Tihell had informed him that Emma of Fulford had been tracked going onto the Downs a few miles south of here. So why should he feel as though the ground had been cut away beneath his feet? Why was there a pain in his chest?

Herfu nodded. ‘Yes, sir.’

‘You are certain she went willingly?’

‘Yes, sir.’

Adam’s heart fell to his boots. ‘Well, Maurice,’ he said, disgusted to hear a distinct tremor in his voice, ‘it seems Tihell was in the right. Her sister is in the area. Would you care to lay odds on my wife having joined her sister with the Saxon rebels?’

Rising, Maurice stood awkwardly at Adam’s side and jerked his head towards Gudrun, who had laid aside her sewing and was openly observing Adam’s reaction. ‘I’m not so sure, sir. That one knows more, I’m sure.’

Thrusting his ale at Maurice, Adam strode straight to Gudrun. ‘Where is my lady?’

Gudrun’s eyes met his steadily. ‘I do not know.’

Maurice was right. The housekeeper did know something. Her gaze was just a little too unflinching. If Adam had thought it would do any good he would have hauled the woman to her feet and shaken the truth out of her. Instead, he waved Brian Herfu over. ‘Herfu?’

‘Sir?’

‘What happened after I left for Winchester? Full report. What did my wife do?’

Brian swallowed. ‘She…she set us all tasks. The slaughtering being done, Lufu and the women were put in charge of the salting and curing, the troop was to dig new latrines, and Harold and Carl were to gather wood. Lady Cecily led me to believe she left to check up on them.’

‘Led you to believe, you say?’

‘Yes, sir.’

Briefly closing his eyes, Adam forced himself to face the fact that Cecily had deliberately set out to deceive his man. And, if that was the case, her loyalties were no longer in question. His wife had betrayed them. Had betrayed him. Pain sliced through him—the worst kind of pain, a pain that was every bit as keen as the pain he had felt when Gwenn had died. No, no.

He hardened his heart. He could not care. He did not care. He had sworn that never again would he care to the point when it hurt.

‘It…it was awkward, sir,’ Brian was saying. ‘After the baby vanished.’

‘Baby? What the hell is going on?’

With a sigh, Gudrun shoved the needle into her work and set it aside. ‘Philip, sir.’ She cleared her throat. ‘He was lost this morning.’

‘Lost?’ Adam was utterly at sea. The woman was telling him, as coolly as you please, that the baby she doted on was lost. Why did she not look more concerned? Nothing made any sense.

Except the bald fact that Cecily was not at Fulford.

Had she gone to escape him? Or to join his enemies? But even these questions, important as they were, were lost under an overriding question: was Cecily safe?