McCloud was complacent. Indeed, he was. But he was a sick, old man who was no longer worth anything with a small farm his family had kept for over one hundred years all dried up. The orchards no longer produced and the livestock had gradually been killed for food. Everything the d’Avignon family had stood for was gone now, as if it had never existed, leaving a starving man and son, as desperate as desperate could be.
And Mat… poor, simple Mat… had never been smart enough or diligent enough to train as a knight. God knows, McCloud had tried. He’d sent his son away to foster only to have the boy sent home because he was dense. He had no skills, no way of learning anything that would elevate his status or create a future for himself, so he’d gone out one night in search of food and had ended up killing a shepherd who had been tending a flock of sheep. Mat had stolen one of the sheep, which had kept him and his father fed for almost a month.
McCloud had been horrified by the event but his hunger had been stronger than his horror. He ate the ill-gotten sheep because it was all they had. But when there was nothing left but the hide, Mat had gone out again to seek food and had come across a farmer and his wife taking their produce to market. Mat had strangled the wife and bashed the husband’s head in with a rock, taking the cart of produce back to his father’s home. The produce went into the root cellar and the cart was used for kindling. The vegetables had lasted even longer than the sheep had, but once they were gone, Mat was forced to go out and procure food again.
And kill again.
It was a horrific cycle that McCloud, as a seasoned knight, should have stopped. He knew he should have stopped Mat and that he should have brought his simple son to justice. He began to hear whispers from those in the towns surrounding his farm that an angel of death was on the loose. People were living in fear. But the will to do what was right had left McCloud when he realized he could no longer feed his family. So his son continued his killing spree unimpeded.
Still, McCloud had one hope in a child who had been sent away to foster eight years earlier. A daughter who was more of a stranger to him than a child he was close to or fond of, but a daughter who could marry well and carry them all out of poverty. Aye, she was his only hope. But instead of being sympathetic to their plight, all he’d found when he’d visited Eynsford after all those years was a daughter who was repulsed by what her father and brother had become. She hadn’t been sympathetic in the least.
Now, she was once again speaking loud of their plight and McCloud didn’t like it. He didn’t like feeling judged. He needed her help in all of this and he was going to get it. She was going to do her duty as a daughter should. With the reacquaintance with Val de Nerra, perhaps that opened up an entirely new world of opportunity.
It was all he could think of.
“Let us not speak of such things now,” McCloud said after a moment, pondering what was to come. “We have the opportunity to eat a fine meal and sleep in a warm bed this night. Let that be the only thing we think of this day.”
Vesper looked at her father; he seemed far too calm about the situation, as if nothing in the world was amiss. He spoke of a fortuitous meeting with the Itinerant Justice of Hampshire. She was starting to wonder what he meant. Even though she didn’t know him very well, something in his manner bespoke of a man with more on his mind than the fine meal and warm bed he spoke of.
“So de Nerra is your friend,” she said, studying his face for any hint of what he might be thinking. “I fail to see why you think this is such a fortunate meeting. Why do you not think that supping with the law in this land would not be opening yourself up for trouble?”
McCloud simply shook his head. “Because he is my old friend,” he said. “We shall not speak of your brother this night. I will ensure that nothing suspicious is discussed. We will speak of our adventures in France. Look, now, a sparrow has flown across the morning sun. That is a good omen. It will be a fine day.”
Vesper lifted her eyes to the sky, seeing a variety of birds flying overhead. It seemed to her that her father was trying to distract her now, unwilling to speak any more on Val de Nerra. Truth be told, she had about all of the arguing she could handle with her father. This journey had been an exhaustive one and the more she thought on a warm bed and a fine meal, the better she began to feel. It would be lovely to experience those things because she knew that once they left the Justice’s home, they would be faced with cold nights and hardship until they reached Durley. God only knows what they’d find when they got there.
Vesper couldn’t even think about it.
Spending the night in a safe and warm haven was looking better and better.
CHAPTER THREE
Selborne Castle
It was nearing the evening meal, late in the afternoon, when Val and his men returned to the castle.
As they approached from the east, they could see the pale-stoned walls of the fortress gleaming in the sunset, protecting the enormous keep and hall within her bosom. It was a sight that Val never got tired of, a castle that had belonged to his ancestors, built by Saxon lords but fortified by the Normans. His blood ran within those stone walls with the lineage that his mother repeatedly preached to him. Truthfully, he was as sentimental about the place as she was.
Only he’d never tell her that.
The gates of the fortress were open, great iron panels lodged within a stout gatehouse. Beyond was the vast bailey with its large stables near the gatehouse. While further back by the keep, there was a stone troop house for the soldiers, two small cottages for the married knights, trade stalls, and the kitchens – butchery, buttery, store house, garden, and more. The keep itself was enormous, built of stone by an ancestor who adapted the Norman way of building and had constructed an impenetrable tower in the middle of the castle grounds.
The keep was unique in that it was fairly self-sufficient, built to withstand a siege even if the enemy gained control of the bailey and walls. An enormous iron gate protected an equally massive oak door, forged with iron rivets, which protected the small hall, a well and kitchen on the sub-level, several chambers that were small but well-ventilated, and even a chapel.
In all, the keep was a stunning example of functional Norman construction, as was the great hall next to it, built with heavy stone and a sod roof. To Val, the sight of his ancestral castle was something he drew strength from. Even as he reined his horse to a halt, he found himself surveying his castle as a Caesar would survey his empire. This was his empire. It was true that he had inherited this property, but he had worked hard for everything else. He didn’t consider Selborne a gift or simply his inheritance; he considered it something only he was worthy of.
Handing his steed off to a stable groom who had rushed out with other grooms to greet the incoming horses, Val began to make his way towards the keep, already inhaling the smells of the coming meal. He could most definitely smell pork. Smoke from the kitchens hung heavy in the air. Crossing the bailey, he was hungry already, thinking of the night ahead and conversation with McCloud. He was looking forward to an evening with someone he’d not seen in a long time and conversation with someone other than his mother and his knights.
Just as Val neared the steps leading up to the entry level of the keep, his mother appeared in the entry door. Val removed his helm, running his fingers through his damp hair as he mounted the steps.
“Valor,” his mother said sternly as he came within earshot. “Where have you been?”
Val paused at the top of the stairs. “Horsham,” he said. “We were fortunate to capture our fugitive in Whitehill so we took the man to Lord Horsham. It is a long ride there and back.”
Margaretha eyed her son, disapproval in her expression. “I see,” she said. “While you have been rushing about all over Hampshire saving the world from cutthroats, a man and his daughter showed up on our doorstep demanding food and lodgings. He says he is a friend of yours.”
Val began to loosen his gloves. “Did he give his name?”
“McCloud d’Avign
on.”
Val eyed her. “He is, indeed, an old friend of mine,” he said. “I saw him in Whitehill and invited him to sup. You were not rude to him, were you?”
Margaretha scowled. “Of course not,” she snapped. “I did not question him, although I wanted to. The man wears rags and appears destitute. Are you certain he is a friend of yours?”
Val sighed. “Not all friends come with coffers of gold,” he said. “D’Avignon comes from a very old family that lives somewhere to the south. Down by Southampton, I think.”
Margaretha didn’t appear convinced. “Why have I not heard of this friend until now?”
Val simply pushed past her. “Because I cannot tell you of every single friend I have ever had,” he said. “I knew many men in France, men I have not told you of. But rest assured, McCloud d’Avignon is my friend. I intend to sup with him tonight to become reacquainted with the man and I would like for you to be polite to him.”
Margaretha followed him into the keep. “I have been. I am the model of decorum.”
Val wasn’t entirely sure of that. His mother came across like a shrew most of the time, so he was hoping McCloud and his daughter hadn’t been offended by her manner. But to say something about it would only bring about an argument, so he kept his mouth shut. He pulled off one of his gloves, heading for the spiral stairs that were built into the thickness of the wall.
“Where did you put McCloud and his daughter?” he asked.
Margaretha pointed up. “On the top level,” she said. “The Priest’s Chamber and the Constable’s Chamber.”
Those were designations that, one hundred years ago, were rooms that had once actually housed the castle priest and the castle constable. Selborne no longer had a resident priest or a need for a constable, so these days they were chambers meant for guests but were still referred to by their formal designations. Val began to mount the steps.
“Are we supping in the great hall tonight?”
“We are.”
“Then I shall return to my chamber, strip myself of my weapons, and escort McCloud’s daughter to the great hall,” he said. “You will escort McCloud. It will give you time to amend your opinion of him.”
That was proper etiquette with guests but Margaretha wasn’t thrilled about it. She didn’t want to amend her opinion about anyone. She began to follow her son up the stairs.
“They can only stay the night, Valor,” she said sternly. “I do not like your friend’s manners. You should see the way he looked over Selborne when he arrived.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that he looked it over most greedily. And he commented on it.”
“What did he say?”
“He said you must have done very well for yourself.”
“Well, I have.”
Margaretha wasn’t finished. “It was the way he said it,” she stressed. “Almost… envious. He even asked if you had married.”
“There is no crime in that.”
“Nay, there is no crime in that question, but it seemed to me that it was a rather bold question to ask. Furthermore, do you know they arrived on foot? They did not even have a horse between them.”
They had reached the floor above and Val came to a pause. “On foot?” he said, surprised. “When I saw them in Whitehill, it was near the livery. I assumed they had horses in the livery.”
“Nary a one.”
Val thought that was strange but not overly so. He didn’t give it much thought, truthfully. He was simply looking forward to the coming meal and conversation, and that was all that occupied his thoughts at the moment.
“Well,” he said as he turned for his chamber. “If the man wants to borrow a pair of horses to make it home, I will happily loan them to him. McCloud d’Avignon saved my life more than once in France so he can have whatever he wants. You should be grateful to him, too.”
“Valor, I….”
He cut her off. “Please, Mother. For my sake. Just… be kind.”
Margaretha didn’t reply as she watched him walk into his chamber, leaving the door open as he began to strip down of his weapons and mail. He was unbuckling and unstrapping things, tossing them onto his bed or even onto the floor. When he began pulling off his tunic, she turned away and headed back down the stairs, heading to the kitchens to ensure the evening meal would be on time.
As she made her way out of the keep, crossing the bailey beneath the clear, dusky sky, her thoughts were lingering on the man her son had called his friend. A slovenly man who smelled of compost. Old, grizzled, she didn’t like the look of him one bit. How her beautiful boy could befriend such a decayed example of a man was beyond her comprehension.
But Val was magnanimous that way; he tended to make friends easily, a likable man that was greatly esteemed by all. In truth, she envied that quality about him. He was a good judge of character and she was proud of that. But in this case, she simply thought he had lost his mind. She’d have to keep an eye on Val’s friend to ensure the man didn’t make off with anything of value when he left Selborne. Even if Val was unconcerned with the man’s obvious poverty, Margaretha was not so blind.
She fully intended the man and his daughter would be gone at sunrise.
‡
Vesper was fairly certain she had died and gone to heaven.
The tiny chamber that the gruff older woman had put her in had a small bed, but very soft, a basin for washing, and a hearth that a servant had stoked when she’d arrived. Vesper had asked the same servant for hot water to wash with but the woman evidently thought she’d meant a bath, so one had been brought up to her, complete with soaps and towels.
It was a type of bath where it was basically a copper pot with tall sides and a stool in the middle of it, meant to sit on and bathe sitting up. Before Vesper could protest the trouble of an actual bath, servants filled the copper pot with hot water, several inches of it, and Vesper was able to have a hot bath, something she’d not had in weeks. The lure of that luxury was stronger than her protests.
Aye, this was heaven.
So, she sat on the stool and poured the hot water over her body, lathering up the soap that smelled of lavender and scrubbing every inch of skin. She even washed her hair with it. Living at Eynsford Castle for the past eight years, she’d grown up with access to a fair amount of luxuries – baths, soaps, fine wines and sweets, things that most people considered extravagances. Lady Eynsford had expensive taste and her husband indulged her. And being that Vesper had been one of the woman’s wards, she, too, was the recipient of some fine things on occasion.
In fact, she’d loved her life at Eynsford Castle. She didn’t want to leave it. When her father had shown up two weeks ago, purely by surprise, she hadn’t been all that glad to see him. After her mother had died, Vesper had been sent to Eynsford while her father had gone to France, burying his grief fighting Henry’s wars. Vesper had been glad of it, though. She was so glad that for six straight months after coming to Eynsford, she wept with joy every night while saying her evening prayers.
Giving thanks she no longer had to face unspeakable shame and pain at her home of Durley.
It was shame that she had forced from her mind, unwilling to remember it or speak of it, well forgotten until her father had shown up again, acting as if he wanted to renew his relationship with her. Vesper wanted nothing to do with him but Lady Eynsford had pleaded with her to try. He was her father, after all, and people do change. They grow older and realize their regrets in life. Perhaps McCloud had realized his, as well.
Aye, she’d listened to Lady Eynsford because she’d had little choice. But her heart wasn’t in it because every time she saw her father, she saw a man who had refused to protect her from a simpleton brother who liked to crawl into her bed at night.
God, she couldn’t even think about that.
But here she was, heading back to Durley with her father, back to the place where those horrific memories were lodged. But this time, it was different – her simpleton brother
had graduated from trying to fondle his sister to murdering innocent people.
When her father had gotten drunk one night and confessed Mat’s wicked activities, Vesper knew she had to do something. She wasn’t exactly sure what she could do, but something had to be done. She had to stop her foolish brother from destroying himself and taking the entire family with him, for no man would want to marry a woman whose brother was a known murderer.
Therefore, it wasn’t Mat’s life she was saving but her own.
She could admit that to herself. She was selfish and she knew it, but she had her whole life to live and dreams to fulfill, and she wouldn’t let Mat ruin her prospects. There wasn’t an altruistic bone in her body when it came to her father and brother.
Sweet Jesù, what has my family become?
So, she took comfort in something as simple as a warm bath, trying not to think of what lay ahead for her. After washing every scrap of skin and hair, she dried off before the warm fire and dressed in a dark green surcoat that she’d made herself with fabric supplied by Lady Eynsford. Her damp hair went into a braid, trailing down her back. Sitting by the hearth, she was warm, clean, and content for the first time in days. Somehow, it made facing her coming tribulations more bearable.
A knock on the door roused her from her thoughts. The chamber was so small that the door was literally right next to her. Rising from her stool, she cautiously opened the panel to find a handsome man standing there. Their eyes met and he smiled timidly.
“My lady,” he greeted. “I have come to escort you to sup. Are you ready?”
Although Vesper really didn’t recognize the man, she recognized the voice as that of her father’s friend, the very man who had invited them to feast. She opened the door wider, rather surprised by the vision in front of her. The man she’d seen back at Whitehill had been a big man with piercing green eyes and a bright smile of straight white teeth, but she’d been unable to see much more than that because he’d had a helm on that had obscured much of his face. Truthfully, she hadn’t paid any attention. But the man standing in front of her…