Wildwing (25 page)

“Allow me to accompany you, my lady,” she says, setting down the pitcher and then walking to open the door for me.

“Yes, you shall accompany me. While the ladies rest.”

When I told Beatrix about my plan, and the lift that,

God willing, will sweep me away, she accepted it easily, one more miracle in a world where miracles are expected to happen. But now, as she closes the door behind us, I can feel her anxiety sharp in the air.

“Are you sure this is wise?” she hisses. “If they’re still in the hall, we’ll never get to the door… .” But the royal party is no longer in the hall; the boys are plumping hay for their beds by the fire as we slip to the door. “And if Eustace should see you in the bailey …” But they’re not in the bailey, and the men at the stables pay us no heed as we hurry across to the mews. “Do pull your hood closer,” she urges. “That veil is brighter than a moonbeam. By the Virgin, I should have made you another in dark fabric—”

“Beatrix,” I say. “Hush.”

A candle shines from the window of the mews. Will and Harold sit at the table, deep in conversation. As we enter, they stand abruptly; I can tell by the concern etched on Harold’s face that he knows everything. But he simply bows his head in greeting and walks to the door.

“I’d best check in with John at the kennels,” he says, slipping out.

Neither Will nor I move while Beatrix goes around blowing out candles. Once the room is dark enough for her liking, she goes into the room lined with apothecary jars.

“Be quick, my lady,” she says, as she shuts the door. “It isn’t safe.”

Alone. For the last time, we’re alone.

Will takes my hand and leads me near the wall, where no one can see us through the window. There’s nothing now of last time’s anger. His arms circle me, and I feel the warmth of his body through his tunic. He lifts the veil back over my head, then lets go the fabric to run his hand up my neck. He leans down, his other arm pulling me closer, and our lips, our souls, meet.

How can I live without this? How can I leave him behind?

The kiss ends, but before I have time to miss it, he kisses my lips again, quick and sweet, three times more. There’s a kiss on each of my eyelids, so soft, it’s like the touch of a butterfly’s wing.

I open my eyes, and he’s gazing at me like a parched man reaching for water.

“You’re leaving,” he says softly.

I draw in my breath. “You know!”

He lets go and turns toward the table. “I’ve been thinking. Ever since you told me where you come from.” He reaches to the table and picks up a white gyrfalcon feather, running a finger down the edge so each filament ripples along the feather’s spine. “You’re a wild one at heart,” he says.

How can this be so easy for him? I thought he’d shout, fight, storm against my going!

Outside the window, legions of black clouds are scudding across the sky, so heavy, what should be twilight is become night.

But why should I wish him pain, when he’s only accepting what has to be? And I don’t have much time. If Eustace finds me here …

“It’s tomorrow,” I say. “I need your help.”

He turns back to me, his arms again gathering my waist. “Of course I’ll help.” His voice confuses me; it’s low and intimate, more suited for murmuring love than plotting my escape.

“Listen, Will. I have to wed so the castle gets my dowry. I’m bringing Pilgrim to church. You’ll come to hold her during the ceremony.”

“Mmm.” He’s nuzzling the side of my neck.

“Listen! After the ceremony, we need to get to the field, our field. The lift will be there at sunset. And no one but you and Beatrix can see me leave; they’d call it witchcraft, or worse, and then what would happen to the dowry? No, we have to give them a miracle.”

I sketch out the plan. Then: “I don’t want to go, but it will be worse if I stay… .”

Beatrix calls through the door, “It’s late, my lady!” One last time my mouth finds his; one last time, his kiss flows through my veins like the sweetest water. “Good-bye, Will,” I whisper.

“Good-bye?” He looks surprised. “I’m coming with you.”

The Storm

T
he wind is singing in earnest now. The last light fled like a terrified child, and only flickering candles and the fire illuminate our faces as we sit stitching in the solar. There’s Lady Winifred, her handwork a masterpiece of intricate detail; and Lady Hildegard, taking one stitch for each sip of wine, almost as if she were the nervous one about to marry and share that bed; and then there’s me, pretending to embroider, but in truth playing Will’s words over and over in my mind.

I’m coming with you
. That’s what he said. I should have told him no—I was going to say no—but then he was kissing me again, and I didn’t want him to stop. Even when Beatrix came through the door, he kissed me. As if he didn’t care any longer who knew.

Lady Winifred looks at the fabric in my lap as if shecan’t believe the crooked castle she sees stitched there. She can’t restrain herself any longer. “If you’d take off that veil, you could see what you’re doing,” she snaps.

A gust of wind surges through the window, carrying the sweet scent of rain and damp earth.

“I can’t,” I say. “Because of my vision.”

“My point exactly.” She pulls a pair of stork-shaped scissors from her needle case and snips off a thread. “No one could see properly through that thing.”

Another gust, stronger: the candles dance wildly, blow out. The embers from the fireplace tint the room red. Suddenly there’s a deafening crash, and we jump in our seats—thunder, shaking the walls like a battering ram.

“Ouch!” cries Lady Hildegard, looking at a drop of blood on her finger.

“You won’t marry tomorrow if this keeps up,” says Lady Winifred. She’s nothing but a dark outline in front of the glowing fire.

I lift my head sharply. “What do you mean?”

Beatrix relights the first candle; it shines on one side of the widow’s face, so she looks at me from one cold eye and speaks with half a disapproving mouth. “His Majesty is recovering from a cold. He will not go out in weather like this.”

“But it
must
be tomorrow,” I say. The wedding, the dowry, the miracle: everything has to go like clockwork.

“Nonsense,” says Lady Winifred with a sniff. “One day is as good as another.” She glances at the bed. “I should think you wouldn’t mind the delay.”

Lady Hildegard, sucking her finger, follows our eyes. “Lady Matilda might well mind,” she giggles, all blushing pink cheeks.

Setting down my embroidery, I step up into the window seat and reach to close the shutter, as if I could wish the storm away. But the wind has other ideas—it punches the panel from my hand, flinging it back against the wall with a resounding
crack!
?and I’m staring at broken wood, useless now against the wind and rain.

I turn back to face the others. Lady Winifred is looking with chilly disapproval at my rain-spattered gown. “There will be no sleeping here, I see,” she says, coming to her feet. “Kindly have your woman show me to another chamber. You will join me, Lady Hildegard?”

“Oh, no!” exclaims Lady Hildegard. “I’m sleeping here. I think the storm is exciting!”

Not long after, she climbs into the bed, pulls the covers to her chin, and falls into a peaceful slumber. Beatrix encourages me to join her. But how can I sleep knowing this storm might keep me from the church, the field, the lift?

“I’m sure I don’t see how you’ll face the morrow if you catch your death,” says Beatrix, shaking her head. But when she sees there’s no budging me, she wraps me in furs, satisfies herself I’m far enough back to be out of the rain, and only then makes her bench into a bed. Her snores are soon rumbling along with the thunder.

In the dark, pictures flash in front of my eyes like leaves swirling past in the storm: Sir Giles on his stallion—Oswald’s severed head—the lift in the golden field—Will’s eyes—

I’m coming with you, he said.

And I want him to come! We’d step in the lift together and land with a welcoming rattle and clank in the library. I’d teach him the ways of my time: how to dress, and stand, and talk, whether with a shopkeeper or a gentleman… .

There’s a blinding blaze of light—an instant of pure white brilliance—and suddenly I see what I didn’t want to. Teach Will how to stand, to talk—what was I thinking? As if I’d want to teach him his
place!
To be submissive, a lackey, properly trained! I shudder, appalled at myself.

This world of his, with its knights and peasants, believes in rank as something parceled out by God. But here, with his skill so valued, Will somehow exists outside it. Even when

Eustace held that blade as if to blind him, there was no subservience in Will’s eyes.

Another flash of lightning, and now it’s the field I see, and Will watching the peregrine’s flight, the confidence in his shoulders, the tilt of his head as he judges how the wind will shift a moment before the wind itself realizes what it’s going to do. I hear his words again.
You’re never a falcon’s master; you’re her equal. Not like herd animals. Dogs live to obey, and horses and men like to know who’s in charge. But what cares a falcon if you approve or no? She’ll always be wild at heart
.

Like Will himself …

Now I try to picture him making a living in my day, trapped in a gardener’s trousers, a spade in those fine long fingers. Or in a shop boy’s apron, delivering parcels from the grocer’s. How would those bright blue eyes keep their spark then?

As thunder growls into the distance, I finally understand why Mr. Greenwood whispered,
Don’t tell him
. He couldn’t bear to rip Will from the life he was meant to live. Can I?

A Matter of Timing

W
hen Beatrix wakes, I’m still huddled in the window seat, staring out at a low gray dawn. The thunder has long since passed on; the rain is a drizzle.

“That won’t keep the king indoors, will it?” I ask, slipping on my shift. Beatrix only shrugs as she holds up my Lincoln scarlet. I look at her in surprise. “Why, what about my wedding kirtle?”

“Not until we know when you’re leaving for town.” She adjusts the veil over my face. “And do speak softly; Lady Hildegard is still sleeping like a babe.”

Down in the great hall, Lady Winifred sits at the high table, so alert, she’s probably been up for hours. Slowly, too slowly, the others drift downstairs. From the bailey comes a hullabaloo of shouting, hammering, and dragging as people clean up from the storm.

“Everything is blown about!” says Father Bartholomew. “Great branches crashed down in the forest, I hear. Edward has taken a contingent to see if the roads are clear enough for travel.”

“Of course they’ll be clear,” says Mr. Greenwood, trying to reassure me. But the certainty of his voice isn’t reaching his eyes.

“What matters the condition of the roads?” says the widow. “His Majesty will not ride in the rain.”

Footsteps pound like drumbeats down the stairs, and then Sir Hugh’s bulk is filling the seat beside me. “Last time I sleep up there,” he says, with a smile that sends ice through my veins. “Today is the day.”

Father Bartholomew chuckles. “You mean tonight is the night!”

Someone offers me bread and wine, but I shake my head; the mere sight of them makes me feel ill.

“Tonight will
not
be the night,” says Lady Winifred, dripping disapproval. “His Majesty won’t ride to town in the rain. There will be no wedding. Not unless … Of course!” She turns to Father Bartholomew. “You could conduct the ceremony here. Then none of us need leave these walls, and the marriage may be consummated.”

“No!” I say so loudly that they look at me in surprise. I lower my voice. “I must wed at the church in town.”

Sir Hugh leans toward me. “The church or the castle, what does it matter, so long as we’re wed?”

There’s a flurry of movement at the door. Eustace enters, shaking rain from his cloak like a wet hound. “Severe damage to the dovecot,” he says, joining us at the table. “The fletcher’s shed blew over. We’ll need to replace thatching on most of the outbuildings. Still, it’s better than I expected.”

“And the road to town?” I ask anxiously.

“How many times must I tell you?” says Lady Thin-lips, as if speaking to a willful child. “It doesn’t matter if the roads are clear. His Majesty won’t ride in the rain.”

“She’s right, you know,” comes a voice from the far stairs. We all leap to our feet as King Henry enters the room. “I was in bed for seven days with that cold.”

“But it’s no more than a sprinkle!” I cry. “A mist, that’s all.”

There’s a common intake of breath as everyone stares at me. I’ve dared to contradict the king!

But he waves his hand in the air as if clearing away smoke. “My ward may say what she pleases on her wedding day. And this may yet be the day.” He lifts his golden goblet. “If the rain clears.”

Minute follows minute, hour follows hour. And still the raindrops fall.

I’m stuck in purgatory: making small talk with Lady Winifred and, when she finally comes downstairs, Lady Hildegard; feigning interest as Sir Hugh and the king play endless games of chess; straining my ears for sounds of change from the bailey. I try to stay in my seat, but time after time I cross the rushes to peer out the door. The sky lightens from charcoal to silver. Then the rain is no more than a shimmer. Finally the clouds are as light as a stage scrim, revealing a hazy sun directly overhead?Midday! Only half a day left to ride into town, be married, and reach the field by sunset. Half a day to carry out a miracle … or spend my life bearing Sir Hugh’s children.

Please, let me go home.

From outside comes a clatter of hooves, and then feet are running up the stairs. We all turn as Edward and Robert stride into the hall and sweep their deep, respectful bows.

“Well?” demands Sir Hugh.

Edward steps forward. “My lord, the road to town is clear and the rain has abated.”

I leap to my feet.

There’s a hearty chuckle from the table. “I’ve neverseen a maid so eager to wed,” says the king. He turns to Edward. “Merely abated, or ceased?”

“As good as ceased, Your Majesty, the clouds grown so sparse, the sun begins to shine through.”

The king pushes back the great chair and stands. “Well, then. To church!”

“Edward, ride to town,” commands Sir Hugh, once more the brisk leader preparing for battle. “Tell the priest to expect us anon. Robert, have them ready the horses and the ladies’ wagon. I’ll ride my destrier. Make sure to use the gilded saddle.” He looks at me; his eyes sparkle. “And you, my dear, might wish to change.”

I look down with a gasp—my wedding dress! I run toward the stairs as the room fills with laughter behind me.