June Francis - The Adventurer's Bride

She continued looking at him as she hung up her coat, wondering if he would do as she asked and wait a month before broaching the subject of marriage again. Then she bolted the front door before going into the workroom and making sure the door to the garden was locked as well. After placing a log on the fire that should smoulder for hours, she unrolled her own pallet and, wrapping a blanket around her, lay down to sleep. She had much to ponder on, but was so tired that she was asleep in no time.

* * *

It was discomfort and pain in his head and shoulder, as well as the noise of a woman hushing a crying baby, that woke Nicholas. For a moment he believed himself back at Louise’s house in Flanders and then the events of yesterday flooded in. Somewhere a cockerel crowed and then another and another. He forced open his eyes and looked about him.

‘Jane, is that you?’ he asked in a low voice.

In the pearly-grey light coming through the window he saw a woman’s head turn and then she tiptoed over to him. He thought he remembered Jane placing a cushion beneath his cheek. Had he dreamed that she had also pressed a kiss on the sore spot on his head? If so, that raised an interesting question.

‘I’m sorry to wake you,’ she said. ‘How are you feeling this morning?’

He shrugged. ‘I had intended spending the night at the inn in order to protect your reputation, but...’

‘You were exhausted and who is to say that your enemies might not have found you there?’ she said hastily. ‘I fear you must have been uncomfortable.’

‘I’ve spent nights in worse places,’ he said, easing his neck and slowly rolling his head before drawing the blanket over a naked shoulder. ‘What are you doing?’

‘I’m taking Simon to Anna. I left your daughter with her last night and will bring her back with me.’

‘The nightly feed!’ he exclaimed, grimacing with pain as he eased himself upright. The movement resulted in the blanket slipping down again and revealing his chest. ‘I had given no thought to it since coming here and I forgot Anna needed paying despite remembering to pay her son.’

‘I have paid her,’ said Jane, wondering if he had a spare shirt in his saddlebag. ‘Rest now. The children are sleeping down here as they have done most of winter. I must make haste, for Simon is hungry.’

He smiled. ‘I will not delay you and will reimburse you when you come back.’

Jane nodded and hurried from the house.

Nicholas rose from the chair and, avoiding the sleeping children, picked up his coat from the stool where it had been drying. Leaving the blanket on the chair, he swung the garment with difficulty about his naked shoulders and went through into the rear chamber where he was able to make out shelves, as well as a spinning wheel, a loom and baskets of raw wool and thread. He drew back the bolt and lifted the latch, wondering if Jane had come to a definite decision yet regarding his proposal.

He went outside into the garden and found to his relief that most of the snow had already melted and that the sky was free of cloud. There was an apricot-and-silver glow in the east and the scent of spring in the air, as well as the tantalising smell of baking bread. His stomach rumbled, reminding him that he had not eaten since midday yesterday.

For a short while he lingered, gazing down the garden over a vegetable patch and herb garden to a couple of fruit trees and what must be a hen house; he could hear the fowls clucking sleepily and unexpectedly was reminded of the woman’s voice he had thought he had recognised as he made his escape yesterday. If he was right, then it surely meant that she was behind the attack and had hired the men. And what of Berthe? Why should she have decided to make an enemy of him? It was troubling that she knew his destination was Witney. Maybe he should prepare for unwelcome visitors? He frowned, thinking that perhaps he should get in touch with the constable of the shire. He’d had dealings with him last year after the attempt on his life in Oxford.

He returned to the house. Despite a throbbing head, an extremely stiff and painful shoulder and various aches and pains in other parts of his anatomy, he managed to steer around the sleeping children to the fire. He split the smouldering log with a poker and added some faggots of firewood. Then he poured the remains of a jug of ale into the pot containing what appeared to be barley broth and hung the pot over the fire.

Whilst he waited for the food to warm, he took a knife from the table and cut the stitching in the hem of his riding coat. He removed a narrow oilskin package and a strip of folded soft leather containing several gold coins. Placing them on the table, he stared down at them. He would need to change one of them for coins of a smaller denomination if there was not enough in his pouch to pay Anna and to reimburse Jane.

Was there a goldsmith or banker in Witney? If so, he would be able to produce proof of his identity and avail himself of more coin if necessary. He wanted to hold on to a couple of the gold coins to give to his younger brother. The other year they had made a wager as to which one of them would marry first. Nicholas smiled at the memory, for he was extremely fond of his actor-and-playwright brother and prayed that he would soon return to Oxford so he could discuss with him not only yesterday’s events, but also his plans for the future.

He rose and went over to where he had left the saddlebags and removed thread and needle from a leather container and returned most of the gold coins to their hiding place. He kept out the package and sewed up the hem of his coat.

By the time he had accomplished his task, he was feeling faint again, so rested for a while before getting to his feet and going over to stir the broth and remove it from the heat. The room was getting lighter by the moment, so he had no difficulty in seeing his way about in his search for an eating bowl. He wondered when the children would wake. He would appreciate silence for a little while longer, at least until Jane returned.

But it was neither Jane nor the children who disturbed the peace as Nicholas sat down to break his fast, but the sound of the back-door latch being lifted that instantly alerted him to an intruder. A voice called out a greeting. He was on his feet in moments and hesitated before seizing the poker, then made his way into the back room where he came face-to-face with a man.

He had grey eyes in a strong-boned face and Nicholas thought he looked vaguely familiar, but could not put a name to him. ‘Who are you?’ he demanded.

The man stared at the poker in Nicholas’s hand. ‘I might ask you the same question, except I know who you are.’

Nicholas’s expression hardened. ‘Do you, indeed? Make yourself known, man, before I use this!’

The intruder removed his cap and smoothed down the black hair that fell to his shoulders. ‘I am the weaver, Willem Godar. Is Mistress Caldwell within?’

‘Willem! That is a Flemish name,’ growled Nicholas, his fingers tightening on the poker, ‘and so is Godar.’

‘Aye, but my family have lived in England for years and I was born over here.’ His eyes narrowed and he pursed his lips. ‘If I am not mistaken, you are the renowned explorer, Nicholas Hurst.’

Nicholas questioned whether that was a note of amusement or derision in the man’s deep voice. He had an accent which was not from this part of England, but one that was familiar to him. Kentish! Nicholas kept a firm grip on the poker and drew his coat more tightly about him. ‘How do you know me?’

‘I was born in Tenderden, not far from Raventon Hall. I remember seeing you on a couple of occasions when you visited Sir Gawain and Lady Elizabeth. I was amongst those who helped search for the murderer who killed his first wife. You were there then.’