Wildwing (21 page)

A Man’s Very Life

I
’m sitting vigil next to the bed when Mr. Greenwood’s eyes flicker open. “Addy,” he whispers.

Thank God! I grab his hand, hold it in both of mine, and lean close so I can hear. “Found your dress. No dust …” His voice trails off.

Beatrix looks up. “Ah, he’s awake,” she exclaims, bustling over. “And the rest has done him good. Nothing better than a deep sleep to heal body and soul.”

“Along with a good bleeding,” adds the barber, hurrying after her with his bowl and blade.

But if they hear him call me Addy … I squeeze his hand, hoping he’ll understand. “Don’t you know me, Sir Alec?” I cry. “Me, your Lady Matilda? You’ve come for my wedding.” I look at Beatrix, shaking my head, and whisper, “He’s as confused as I was when I came.”

“Saw you’d gone,” he gasps, staring at me. “Door open … no dust … didn’t know …”

“Hush, Sir Alec. Don’t tire yourself. There will be time enough to talk.”

His eyes close; his hand is limp. I lay it back on the covers. He’s asleep again.

Tears are streaming down my cheeks, I’m that relieved he’s alive. And that moved by his words.
Found your dress
—he
did
come because of me. This man who always avoids people, who never changes a thing in his home or his life, he stepped into the lift because he was worried about me.

I feel a warm hand on my shoulder. Beatrix. I reach my hand up to cover hers, and we stay like that in silence, listening to the sound of his breath.

But now that Mr. Greenwood’s life is out of danger, it’s Will’s hand I need on mine, his voice I need to hear. He’ll be pacing the mews, desperate to know why I haven’t been to see him since we brought back Lightning. He might even think I’ve changed my mind! And so I stand, wiping my tears away.

“I think I’ll step out for some fresh air,” I say.

“It will do you good,” says Beatrix.

“Take care of Sir Alec for me.”

“In faith, I don’t think you need worry.” She puts a capable hand on his brow. “The worst is over.”

I pull my cloak from its peg; the air has turned chill with the promise of winter. At the bottom of the stairs I pause, peeking around the door into the great hall. I’m in luck; there’s the usual bustle of boys, but neither Eustace nor Sir Hugh is anywhere to be seen. I hurry to the outer door. Standing half hidden by the windscreen, I search the bailey for the steward’s mincing step, the lord’s great stride. Again, nothing—nothing, that is, but the cooking and cleaning and pounding and provisioning of a castle preparing for the king’s arrival, with all his party, for the marriage of his ward.

I hurry down the stairs and across the hard-packed earth. I’m halfway to the mews when I notice a shadow slipping from the stable wall, coming toward me. I shiver and quicken my pace. The shadow takes on color and form, like a blurry picture coming into focus, and suddenly it’s Eustace, bearing down on me, angling his path to intersect with mine. My breath is coming short and fast. We haven’t spoken since his eyes latched onto the gold chain dangling at my side.

“My lady, a word.”

I stop, closing my eyes; I try to pull up some armor, but

I’m so drained by my watch over Mr. Greenwood, I find I don’t have the strength. So it’s unprotected that I turn to face the steward, unprotected that I plead, “Can’t you just leave me alone?”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that, my lady.”

Oh, the “my lady” is there, but with none of his usual reverential tone. The change makes me suddenly alert, and now I curse myself for letting him hear the frustration and exhaustion in my voice. I scramble for the haughtiness to put him in his place.

“And why not, pray tell?”

But I’m too late. “Let us stop playing games,” he says, as cold and sharp as an unsheathed blade. “There
will
be a wedding.”

“Why, of course there will.”

But he’s not fooled. He knows. We both know.

“The arrangements have been agreed upon,” he continues. “Lands have been trothed. Dowries pledged. The king himself arrives in four days.”

Four days? So soon? My eyes dart to the mews. The door has opened, and Will stands in the doorway, looking at me too openly.

Eustace follows my gaze. Keeping his eyes on Will, he says slowly, “If anything were to get in the way of that wedding, I’d hate to see what might happen.”

The menace in his voice sends another shiver through me; the blade has touched my skin. “What do you mean?”

“I regret that I could not, shall we say, guarantee the safety of anyone who might interfere with the pledging of faith between you and his lordship. Such a man’s very life would be forfeit. No effort would be spared to hunt him down.”

The door to the mews stands empty now, and Eustace turns to look at me, his face stark and brutal. “Do I make myself clear, my lady?”

I clench my jaws, not trusting myself to speak.

“I am forced to be so explicit only because of the …
blow
you suffered. Otherwise you would know the importance of your pledge to both your estate and Sir Hugh’s. You would not act so rashly.”

I breathe in sharply. Does he suspect that, too? That I’m not truly Matilda? I pull my cloak tighter, as if that will keep my disguise from slipping away.

“I care only for the survival and success of Berringstoke,” he says. And now he bows deep, again the faithful servant, showing me he’ll keep up with our usual pretense as long as I play by his rules. “I must see to the preparations. Allow me to escort you back to the keep, my lady.”

A Dagger at My Throat

B
ack in the solar, the bed is empty.

“Oh, my lady,” says Beatrix, wringing her hands. “I’m so sorry, but what could I do? His lordship came in and saw your man breathing easy. Then, ‘Can’t have that old fellow in my marriage bed!’ he cries, and the next thing I know there are men tromping up the stairs with a litter to carry Sir Alec off to another room. I tried to speak, indeed I did, but you know Sir Hugh.”

“But who’s watching over him, Beatrix? Why didn’t you go along?”

“His lordship said it’s my duty to care for you, and he’d set the barber to watch over Sir Alec.”

But I can’t abandon Mr. Greenwood to someone whose idea of healing is to slash him and drain his blood! And ifhe should wake rambling about his maid, with Eustace so suspicious … I turn for the door.

“My lady, wherever are you going? Look at your face—you need rest!”

“No. I need to find Sir Alec.”

I take the stairs two at a time. The great hall is empty. I search out Timothy, Tip, the butler, but nobody saw Mr. Greenwood, no one was called to prepare a room. Finally it comes to me. What an idiot I’ve been! They’ll have put him in one of the curtained alcoves up the other staircase, the one I’ve no doubt been avoiding because it leads to the steward’s lair.

My chest tightens as I open the door and start spiraling upward. I remember the only other time I climbed these stairs, the grisly sight of Oswald’s head that met me on my return, and I have to set my shoulders firm before I can go on.

The corridor is deserted; guttering candles only deepen the gloom. The curtains in front of the hollowed rooms are closed as tight as a miser’s heart. Not a soul sits outside keeping watch. Have they left Mr. Greenwood alone then, not caring if he turns worse? I walk to the first curtain and pull it back. A straw pallet waits in readiness for a visitor, a pile of blankets neatly folded at its foot. I walk to the next curtain, reach out—

Suddenly, a lion’s roar shakes the very walls:
“GOD’S BONES!”

It’s Sir Hugh! A scream tries to burst out of me, but it gets tangled up with the desperate need to curtsey that’s surging through my veins, and by the time I’m breathing again, I realize the roar wasn’t aimed at me. It came from behind a door at the end of the hall, the cold room with its parchments and the leather-bound book of accounts.

“Allow me to read you his missive, my lord.” That’s Eustace. He clears his throat. “‘Sir Hugh of Berringstoke having pledged said lands as security, and having refused to repay his debt,’ et cetera, et cetera—ah, yes, this is the part. ‘Should said debt not be repaid immediately, all means will be utilized to assure the transference—’“

“Stop your blathering, man, and tell me what it means.”

“Repay him now or he seizes the land, and probably more, by force. We do not have the funds. And we are undermanned, my lord.”

By force? Undermanned? I picture Sir Giles’s horse rearing in the bailey, the sack rolling to a stop, the quill twirling in Eustace’s hand as he speaks of a minor land dispute.
Minor?
Not likely, with their voices so urgent. Matters must be far worse than I guessed. And if they aren’t going to tell me …

I’ll have to wait a few minutes longer to find Mr. Greenwood. I can’t miss this chance. I sneak closer, quietly, so I can hear every word.

“Pay him?” demands Sir Hugh. “Why should I pay the lousy dog? I’ve never run from a fight in my life. If we’re shorthanded, round up the kitchen boys. They can pace the battlements in case anyone is looking from afar. And wield a sword, if need be. They’d at least blunt the attack.”

He can’t mean it! Timothy, untrained, facing battle-hardened men? And Tip is so slight, he’d struggle to even lift one of those swords—surely he’s too young!

“But, my lord,” says Eustace, speaking so softly now, I step closer to catch his words. “There’s no need! Once Lady Matilda’s dowry is in your coffers—”

And then my foot slips, making the smallest of sounds on the wooden floor.

In a heartbeat, the door is flung wide. Sir Hugh is a battering ram, a force of nature blasting toward me, and God help me, there’s a dagger in his hand—at my throat—

For a moment we’re all frozen as still as a photograph: my hands flung back in alarm; Sir Hugh pressing his cold blade against my skin; Eustace, a parchment clenched in his hands, his small eyes stretched as wide as they’ll go.

“Why, Lady Matilda,” says Sir Hugh, his voice courteousas he takes a step back, sheathing the blade. “You surprised me, my dear.”

I can’t breathe, let alone speak.

“Perhaps her ladyship would care for a chair?” says Eustace, pushing one forward.

But I shake my head. They’re staring at me, the room silent. I look at the books on the table, now closed, their secrets hidden beneath thick brown bindings. At the gray sky outside the narrow slit of a window. At the parchment in Eustace’s hand. He sees me looking, then carefully rolls it from top to bottom, ties it with a ribbon, and sets it behind a pot of quills so I won’t see what’s written there.

Eustace, who threatened me in the bailey. Who ferrets out my secrets while keeping far worse secrets of his own. I realize just how angry I am.

“You were speaking of my dowry,” I say, clipping each word short.

Sir Hugh, so quick with a blade, isn’t quite as swift with his response. “Well, you see,” he says, hemming and hawing. “It’s like this—”

Eustace steps in. “Can your ladyship have forgotten our conversation so soon?”

Sir Hugh looks confused, and Eustace turns to address him. “I mentioned to Lady Matilda that certain transactionspertaining to the merging of your estates will take place at the time of your wedding.”

“You didn’t say Sir Giles was attacking!” I cry. “Or that you’d put the lives of innocent kitchen boys at risk!”

“Everyone here would willingly give his life for Berringstoke,” says Eustace. “Kitchen boys. Peasants.” He pauses. “Falconers.”

William, he’s saying. Marry, or everyone pays the price.

“I insist you tell me what this is about,” I say. “I have come to care for the castle and its people. If I am to be their lady, I deserve to know.”

Sir Hugh, at least, sees the sense in what I say. “I owe the man money. If I don’t repay him, we lose land”—Eustace clears his throat; Sir Hugh glances at him before continuing?”that we cannot afford to lose. That I refuse to lose. But the moment we’re wed, your dowry allows me to pay off the debt.”

He places that huge arm around me. I preferred the knife.

“There’s no need for you to worry,” he says. “I enjoy a good fight. And it probably won’t even come to that, not if we marry the moment the king arrives. Then Sir Giles is repaid; he’s content; the problem is solved.”

“My lord,” says Eustace. “It might put her ladyship’s mind at ease if I send a man at once to the church in town,telling the priest to be prepared at a moment’s notice. Then there will be as little delay as possible.”

“Excellent idea,” says Sir Hugh. Then, to me: “You see? It is only days until we are wed.” I feel his eyes running down my dress. He bends his head to rumble in my ear, “I, for one, can hardly wait.”

I try not to flinch. He isn’t talking about finances now.

I find Mr. Greenwood on the next floor, sleeping soundly under the watchful gaze of a kind-looking man. He doesn’t need me right now. I walk back through the gloom to my solar, climb into bed, and pull the curtains closed, trying to shut out the words I just heard. The curtains aren’t enough. I burrow under the white furs as if I could hide from the truth. As if life were still what it seemed a few days ago, when all I had to do was leap on a horse and ride away with the lad I love. But it’s too late.

I think back to the day I ran from Caroline’s door and climbed the castle ruins, how I thought such thick walls could withstand any assault. How young I was then! Now I can almost feel these stones shaking as boulders strike; smell the air bitter with smoke as flaming arrows set the thatch ablaze; see young boys running out the door with swords they’ve never been trained to use. Unless I marry Sir Hugh.

But it’s only Will’s hands I want. His whisper gentle in my ear:
Addy
.

I pull the covers tighter around me, trying to stop trembling.

When I was just Addy, no one’s life hung on my actions. But I had to be a lady, didn’t I? A very grand lady, with a pedigree and lands and a dowry. I got what I wanted, and now I know the price. It’s only my dowry will keep the castle and its people safe. And that means I can’t run away with Will. I have to share his lordship’s bed.