A Heart in the Hills, page 3
“Besides,” Isaac said, trying to sound hopeful, “his rebellion might go poorly. Maybe he'll never have the chance to call on us.”
Kaylein thought back to their talk with Larmond, wondering whether there was anything else she'd missed. No better solutions to their predicament came to mind. The only idea she could think of was a problematic one for Isaac. She almost kept it to herself, but the pressure of her moral conscience made her speak up.
“Perhaps if you married Alistair's daughter he might abandon Larmond and leave him too weak to go to war.”
An ashen expression came over Isaac's face.
“I'd advise against that,” a voice said from behind Kaylein, making her jump. The priest had crept up on them while they talked. She wondered how much of their plotting he'd overheard.
“Why?” Isaac asked.
The priest sat down between them. “Besides undermining my lord's plans? It wouldn't stop him going to war. Larmond was preparing for this even before Alistair joined him. He's more than ready to face the king's men on his own.”
Kaylein was nervous about saying too much in front of the priest, but if he'd already heard them talking they probably had little to lose by pressing on. She hoped his oath to God meant he shared her convictions.
“But wouldn't a war be over more quickly without Alistair to support him?” she asked.
The priest breathed a weary sigh. “Take it on the word of a man who's already lived through one war too many: the stronger my lord is, the more wary the king's loyalists will be of meeting him in battle. Don't give Alistair a reason to switch sides. That'll only embolden the king to start spilling blood instead of negotiating.” He looked at Isaac. “Besides, you'd be a fool to throw yourself on the mercy of a man whose daughter you jilted. There's word that Lady Emilia would sooner have your hide nailed to her castle gate than your hand in marriage.”
“I can't really blame her,” Isaac said gloomily.
Kaylein wondered whether the priest was lying so they'd go along with Larmond's plans. She didn't have a strong eye for these things, and the priest's manner gave little away. She would have to ask Elizabeth whether she'd picked up on anything later.
“I suppose we have no choice but to swear an oath, then,” Kaylein said, feeling the inevitability of her decision stealing up on her.
The priest smiled. “That would be wise.”
The next day, Peter invited her to come hunting with him. He was like a lot of young noblemen: eager to boast and show off. Kaylein made an effort to show an interest, trying not to let her mind wander when he talked at length about the quality of a good arrow and which wood made for the best bows. Elizabeth and Isaac might have enjoyed this topic, but it was far beyond Kaylein's interests. Politely, she tried to ask whether Peter had read much during his schooling. He muttered something about having no time for it and immediately went back to talking about his bow. He was probably illiterate.
Peter had good manners and seemed a decent, chivalrous young man, but other than that they had nothing in common. Once he realised Kaylein was simply nodding along, he quickly grew bored of her and rode ahead to shoot hares with his page. Kaylein didn't like it when the animals twitched and struggled after being shot, and it disturbed her even more when Peter broke one of their necks with a flick of his wrist. She hoped he wouldn't insist on taking her hunting if they got married.
Despite the poor start, Kaylein tried not to lose hope. She'd been searching for reasons to accept Larmond's offer all day, for she knew it was the most sensible choice. Lords and their ladies often had differing interests. Her own mother had never bothered to listen when Father talked about hunting, and he'd shown a similar lack of interest in her involvement with the clergy. What worried Kaylein more than their lack of chemistry was the way Peter had started ignoring her. Young men–especially potential suitors–often had a particular way of looking at her. It was the same way she'd tried to look at Peter yesterday, with slow, sensual admiration. They liked to compliment her on her beauty when they ran out of things to say or push their luck with risqué jokes. Peter had done none of those things. Perhaps it was the way she looked? She stared down at her clothing and realised she hadn't washed her robe properly in weeks. It was caked with mud from heel to hip. She'd taken her hood down so Peter could see her face, but perhaps that had been a mistake. Her hair was stuck through with burrs from the march yesterday, tangling about her shoulders in lifeless clumps. She'd tried to stop thinking about her appearance since becoming a nun, for pride and vanity were sinful vices, but it shamed the noble part of her to realise she'd started looking like a vagrant.
When they returned to Larmond's camp later that day Kaylein went to find some of the women and asked whether there was anywhere she could bathe. They took her to a stream at the edge of camp and made sure none of the men approached while she disrobed, cleaned herself, rinsed her hair, and scrubbed some of the dirt off her clothing. Elizabeth offered to untangle her hair as she dried it by the fire. Her friend was still shivering and miserable, but she was growing tired of sitting around, which was a good sign. It had taken Kaylein weeks to muster the energy to do anything after losing her family.
“You couldn't be ugly even if you tried,” Elizabeth told her in a raspy voice. “Us servants were always jealous of you.”
Yet despite Elizabeth's reassurances, Peter continued to ignore her. Kaylein and Isaac shared a meal with him and some of Larmond's knights that evening. As their identities were still a secret, Peter introduced them as brother and sister: a nun from Rambirch and a squire seeking glory in his father's service. From what the others were saying, it seemed like Larmond had been travelling all over the region in search of support, so the falsified story was easy enough to believe. The men spoke eagerly of plunder and conquest as the night wore on, and some of the tales they recounted made Kaylein feel unwell. She couldn't understand why they seemed so eager for war. Perhaps none of them had experienced it before, or maybe they were all just like Edward. Kaylein was grateful when the opportunity arose to excuse herself and go back to their tent. Peter hadn't given her a second glance all evening, though plenty of the other men had. Perhaps if they got married they would end up ignoring one another and going about their separate business. That might not be so bad, but what if she still had to go to his bed every night and bear him children? She didn't think she could do something like that with a man who regarded her so dispassionately.
She shared her fears with Elizabeth the next morning, unable to keep them bottled up any longer. Liz was the only person she dared speak to about such things.
“It's not that bad,” Elizabeth told her. The rasp in her voice had lessened, and she was starting to sound healthier. “He seems decent, like you said. You probably wouldn't even have to do it with him very often.”
“How do you know that?”
Elizabeth looked over at Peter, who was fletching arrows with his page nearby, grinning foolishly at some comment the other lad had just made. “I don't think you're the one he wants to go hunting with.”
“I know that.”
Elizabeth rubbed her face wearily. She was usually patient with her, but her sickness and dismal mood had made her irritable. “I'm saying he'd rather marry that page of his.”
“Don't be silly. He's a boy.” For a moment Kaylein thought she might be joking, then she remembered the conversation they'd shared after she saw Sister Grace and Sister Isabel kissing. She frowned in perplexity. “Nobles can't be like that.”
Elizabeth just gave her another withering look. Apparently, they could. Kaylein wondered what else she might not understand about love and intimacy, and wished she was back at the convent. She supposed she would probably start finding out soon. Larmond would be back tomorrow, and she would need to give him her answer.
She would agree to the betrothal. It was the only sensible choice. If she didn't, Larmond might leave them to fend for themselves and drag Isaac away as a prisoner, oath or not. There was always the chance she would never have to make good on the engagement. Larmond might find another, more promising wife for his son. If war didn't break out, he would never have the opportunity to defeat Duke Francis and stake a claim to Tannersfield. He wouldn't be interested in wedding his son to her if Tannersfield wasn't part of the bargain. Peter might even refuse when the day finally came, if what Elizabeth suspected about him and his page was true.
Thinking about all the possibilities helped soften her anxiety. It was just as Isaac had said: months or years might elapse before anything happened. Surely she would be prepared for it by then. What she needed to worry about right now was convincing the marquess to accept their oath and let them go free.
She went to the stream with the women and washed her face before turning in that night, hoping the cold water would clear her mind enough for her to pray. She knelt on the bank a short distance from the others, gazing up at the starlit sky. Summer would be coming soon. Would she spend it in a convent, a castle, or trudging across these windy moors? Perhaps it was the emotional exhaustion of the past week, but the uncertainty no longer terrified her as much as it once had. Her life was not going to follow the calm, predictable path she'd always envisioned for herself as a child. It was a winding trail through uncharted wilderness. How many more twists and turns might it take before she was allowed to settle?
“Kaylein?” a low voice called from the darkness.
She startled and looked around. All she saw was the shadows of shrubs.
“Kaylein, is that you?”
This time she recognised the voice. It was Sam. Kaylein glanced back at the other women. One of them had a candle in a linen frame to shield it from the wind, but its light was too dim to reach this part of the bank.
“Yes,” she whispered back. “Where are you?”
She had to stop herself from yelping as a hand tugged her robe. Following the black shape of the nearest shrub, she realised part of it wasn't shifting in the breeze. Sam was crouching there right beside her.
“Praise the Lord,” she said under her breath. For an instant, she wanted to hug him, but she held herself back. That wasn't the sort of thing noblewomen did, and certainly not nuns. Her tone stiffened as she composed herself. “Are you well?”
“Of course.” She could hear the smile in his voice. He didn't seem to care that more than fifty armed men were nearby. How many watchmen had he slipped past on his way here? “Come with me. I'll take you to Blackberry, and we can ride away.”
“Don't be silly–what about Liz and Isaac?”
“Go fetch them.”
“I can't. Somebody will notice.”
“Then I'll come back again tomorrow night.”
Kaylein shook her head in frustration. It would be so easy to take his hand and slip away into the shadows. If Sam had avoided the watchmen on his way in, perhaps he could lead her past them on the way out. But she couldn't abandon Liz and Isaac.
“I cannot,” she whispered. “Please, go back to Duckley and wait for us there.”
“Why? I'm right here. We can go now.”
Kaylein wrung the front of her robe. Sam must have followed them for days. How had he eluded Larmond's keen-eyed scouts? What had he done for food? He must have been like one of the dashing rogues minstrels sang songs about.
“I'm sorry,” she said, “but you must trust me. It's terribly dangerous for you to be here. I can't explain it all now, but with a little luck we may be able to bargain for our freedom tomorrow.”
Sam was quiet for a moment. When he spoke he sounded disappointed. “Are you sure?”
“Yes. Please–someone will see you if you stay.”
“Alright. I'll go back to Duckley. But I need you to give me something so I can make it there.”
Before she could question what it was, Sam leant out of the darkness and kissed her. Her first instinct was to draw away, but the moment of warmth in the cold night held her there. She'd never felt a man's mouth against hers. It was damp, a bit like being licked by a dog, and the hair on Sam's lower lip tickled her like the bristles of a scrubbing brush. A flush of embarrassment warmed her skin, quite different from the embarrassment she was used to. There was a heat behind this feeling that didn't want to let go.
She'd barely had time to grasp what was happening before Sam drew away, the aftertaste of his kiss lingering like smoke from a snuffed flame. She knelt there, shocked. A quiet rustle of movement sounded farther up the bank.
“Sam?” she whispered.
He was gone.
Kaylein entered the marquess's tent the next day with a heavy heart. Sam's kiss had followed her to sleep last night, first comforting, then miserable. As a nun, it was a sinful temptation that should have abhorred her. As Peter's betrothed, it was an impropriety she could never indulge again. She wished Sam hadn't done it. He was a reckless fool, just like Elizabeth said, and now he'd made a fool of her, too. Prayer had done nothing to drive away the memory of the kiss. Why had this happened now, on the eve of the heaviest decision she might make in her life?
All she could do was force it from her mind. She tried not to think about anything at all, muttering verses of prayer under her breath as she sat down with Isaac on the furs.
Larmond was weary from his journey, but he seemed like a man who never rested. No sooner had he returned than he gave the order to strike camp. Tomorrow the entire army would march again.
“We have an offer for you, my lord,” Isaac said.
“Then let me hear it.”
Kaylein swallowed her discomfort and spoke up. She was glad she'd rehearsed what she would say the day before, otherwise she doubted she would've been able to find the words. “If I marry your son, I want to be allowed to write.”
“You'll have more than enough money to afford ink and parchment.”
“I want to write scripture under the name of a monk. I would like scribes to copy my work and distribute it to priories around the kingdom.”
Larmond's brow lifted in surprise. “An odd request, but a lady must have her projects. Does this mean you agree to the betrothal?”
Kaylein felt an invisible force paralysing her tongue. She opened her mouth, straining to summon her voice. It was like dragging her jaw through mud. “I will, under one more condition. Myself, Isaac, and Elizabeth must go free until you call upon us.”
Larmond shook his head. “No. Don't play me for a fool.”
“We are willing to swear an oath,” Isaac said.
Larmond drummed a finger against his thigh. “Are you now? Would you swear it upon God and your family names?”
“We would.”
The marquess rubbed his braided beard and gazed into the fire. “Even under oath, I cannot let you wander the kingdom doing as you please.”
“You know I don't want to return to my father or Marquess Alistair,” Isaac said. “It will suit both of us if I remain hidden. And in repayment for your kindness in saving our lives, I will be your willing hostage should you ever call on me.”
“No.”
Isaac held Larmond's gaze. Kaylein held her breath. It was a test of resolve now. Did Larmond want her to marry his son more than he wanted Isaac as a hostage?
Larmond blinked first. “I cannot let you roam the kingdom, but perhaps we can compromise. I will send you to a remote village, and you will stay there under the watch of a man I trust.”
“As prisoners?”
“No. You will be free to do as you wish. You can work, hunt, build houses, join convents–whatever your hearts desire–as long as you remain in the village. Swear an oath to me, and I will grant you this freedom.”
Kaylein exchanged a look with Isaac. It wasn't everything they'd hoped for, but it was better than captivity. To push for more would risk losing it all.
“Where will you send us?” Isaac asked.
Larmond summoned his priest and had him fetch a roll of soft animal skin. It was thicker than parchment, but still made to carry writing. Larmond unrolled it on the ground close to the fire and bade them kneel down to look. It was a rough map of the kingdom. Maps had been one of Kaylein's favourite things in the world when she was young. The more detailed they were, the more compelling she found them. Imagining places she'd never visited had been an endless adventure to her young mind. She'd sat for hours studying her father's maps as he told her about all the different towns, roads, rivers and hills they described. Larmond's map was crude by comparison, but it still evoked a twinge of nostalgia when she recognised the familiar outlines.
“Here.” The marquess pointed to a spot near the middle of the kingdom. A small dot was barely visible beneath his fingernail, its faded ink half-obscured by creases. Kaylein read the names of the nearby towns and realised the dot lay in the wilderness northwest of Tannersfield, where the hills bordered an enormous and largely uncharted expanse of forest that stretched all the way to the northern sea. It was on the very edge of civilisation.
“Where is that?” she asked.
“It's a village called Kinedwyn. The lord there served your father and I when we were younger. By law he is a vassal of Duke Francis now, but his true loyalties lie with me. Your father's death cast that bond in iron.”
“It doesn't look very far,” Isaac said.
“About five days north of here. It's as remote a place as you'll find. No proper road goes there, and little trade passes through. It may not be far from Tannersfield, but it's beneath the notice of anyone of importance; a far easier place for you to remain secret than a castle, I think. It will also be safe if the king invites me to make war.”
“How can you know?” Kaylein asked. However unimportant Kinedwyn was, it still seemed awfully close to the moors.
“An army would spend at least two days marching there from Rambirch. Any other village in the area would make a better target for supply raids. Unless the whole county ends up stripped bare, nobody will bother trying to touch Kinedwyn. I'll send two men to escort you. After that, you'll be under the care of a knight named Sir Roger.”
Kaylein remembered Sir Roger. She'd only seen him at her father's court a handful of times, but he'd always frightened her. People said he was a barbarian who'd once beheaded his own squire for bringing him water instead of wine. Her father had sent him into the wilderness so nobody in Tannersfield would have to look at his ugly face, which was hideously deformed from an old sword wound.
