True Love, page 4
As they drew near to the fair they could see a group of enterprising local boys, who had roped off an area beside the road, where they promised to look after the horses of the visiting nobles. Braedon tossed his reins to one of the boys with an admonition to be cautious with the spirited mount. Then he lifted his arms to Catherine to help her from her horse.
With his strong hands at her waist she felt like a thistle seed in the wind, suspended between earth and sky for a few breathless moments. It was as though she weighed nothing at all. She put her hands on his shoulders to steady herself though, if the truth be known, she did not fear Braedon would let her fall; she just wanted to feel his solid shoulders beneath her fingers.
She could not interpret the expression in his eyes. Meeting Braedon's gaze was like watching the night sky and penetrating deeper and deeper into unexplainable mystery. When he set her on the ground and took his hands away she sighed and told herself she was being remarkably foolish. She scarcely knew Braedon and had no reason to think he was a trustworthy man. Resolving to learn as much as she could from him, while at the same time guarding her person and her heart from his seductive charms, she led the way to the rows of booths.
Royce had decreed a holiday for the first day of the fair. Added to the next day, which was the Sabbath, the villagers could enjoy two days of freedom from any but the most necessary chores and they seemed to be making the most of their time. Catherine knew all of the villagers whom she saw. Scattered among the tents and wagons and carts displaying goods brought for sale from towns as far away as Chester and Shrewsbury, and even from Nottingham, were booths that had been set up by local people. Wortham cheese was justly famous and the head cheesemaker and his wife were selling the large wheels whole, while their young son dispensed samples which he cut from a fresh wedge. Catherine noticed two of her father's noble guests discussing the price of a wheel of the cheese.
At the booth next to the cheesemaker's, the village weaver was spreading out bolts of wool on a specially made rack.
“Good morning, Lady Catherine,” he called. “As you can see, that new batch of dye produced a beautiful shade of green. I am vastly pleased with it.”
“And rightly so.” Catherine stopped to look at the wool. The fabric was soft and smooth to the touch. “Send a bolt of this shade to the castle. I'll sew a new tunic for my father.”
“As always, I am honored to supply you, my lady. The townspeople are delighted that Lord Royce has brought so many new customers to the fair this year. The Whitsuntide festival and the tournament are both good for business.” The weaver turned to Braedon. “What of you, my lord? Do you fancy a length of this dark blue wool? Or perhaps a heavier fabric to make a cloak?”
Catherine watched Braedon fingering the wool. His large hands were surprisingly deft as he scrunched the fabric together, then stretched it to test its strength.
“I can speak for its quality,” Catherine said.
“Of course you can, since it was made by your own people.” Braedon shot her an amused glance, then nodded his approval of the blue wool. “I'll take enough of this to make a tunic. Send it to the castle along with Lord Royce's material.” He drew some coins from the purse at his belt to pay the weaver.
They moved on to the next booth, which was owned by a trader who loudly proclaimed that he had come all the way from London for the fair. Whether his claim was true or not, the man’s merchandise was mostly cheap trinkets of false gold set with bits of glass or colored pebbles. The townsfolk were clustered about the booth, though the nobles from the castle ignored it.
“I see nothing of interest there.” With a dismissive shrug Braedon took Catherine's arm and led her farther down the row. The fair was becoming more crowded. All of the guests from the castle were present, along with most of their retinues.
“From what I can see,” Catherine said, looking about her with pleasure, “the villagers are going to make good profits. My father will be happy.”
Braedon looked surprised at her remark, as if he could not believe Royce of Wortham would trouble himself with a minor fair, even if it was held on his own land.
“Oh, Catherine,” Aldis cried in considerable excitement, “I just heard someone say there is a woman telling fortunes. Shall we visit her tent? I would dearly like to know what my future holds.”
Seeing the blush that stained Aldis' cheeks and the way she glanced at Robert and then lowered her eyes, Catherine could guess the future Aldis had in mind. She decided it would be a good idea to separate Aldis from the squire for a short time, during which Catherine intended to offer a few words of pertinent advice to her cousin.
“I am sure the men have no wish to hear their fortunes told,” Catherine said, hoping Braedon would take the hint in her voice.
“Perhaps we ought to learn what the next few days will bring,” said Braedon. “For instance, who will win the melee?”
“Do you really want to know?” Catherine asked, challenging him with her fiercest glare, willing him to see what was so obvious to her in the way Aldis stayed at Robert's side. She spoke very firmly. “Aldis and I will visit the fortune teller alone. If you and Robert want to speak with her, you will have to wait your turn.”
“What, are you weary of my company so soon?” There was humor in Braedon's voice, but not in his eyes. His glance was sharp, as if he was wondering what Catherine was really planning to do.
“You are making too much of a small matter,” Catherine said.
“I am making nothing at all of it,” Braedon responded. “Come along, Robert. I can see a table where the village brewer is selling ale. Let us taste a flagon while the ladies have their fortunes told.” He clapped a hand on his squire's shoulder, turning Robert around and pushing him in the direction of the brewer's stall.
He did not look back at Catherine. She could not decide whether she was glad to have him gone, or not.
As Catherine and Aldis reached the fortune teller's tent, Lady Edith was just leaving it, and in some haste. She passed Catherine with a quick word of greeting to which Catherine scarcely attended. Her mind was still on Braedon.
“Shall we go in?” Aldis asked, bright-eyed and eager for the experience.
“Of course.” Catherine tore her thoughts from Braedon and entered the tent.
Inside it was surprisingly small. The outer shell was made of plain, undyed gray wool, but the interior was draped with strips of bright red and blue wool that colored the small amount of light seeping through the layers of fabric. The furniture consisted of a single bench and a small table, behind which the fortune teller sat on a stool.
Catherine stared at the woman through the gloom, trying to make out her features. As her eyes adjusted to the shadowy light she saw a plain, intelligent face. The woman wore a robe and coif in a blue so dark it reminded Catherine of Braedon's eyes. The fortune teller blended into the general dimness of the tent which, Catherine guessed, was her intention. Shadows and indistinct outlines almost always produced the appearance of mystery.
“Welcome, my ladies. I am Mab,” the woman said. She gestured toward the bench, inviting them to sit. “For a small coin I will show you the future.”
“I do not know you, Mab,” Catherine said.
“That's true, my lady. I have come to Wortham especially for the fair. When it is over, I will leave and find the next fair.”
It was unusual for anyone not to be tied to a particular place. Only a few traveling merchants, or minstrels, or the groups of acrobats and jugglers who roved from castle to town to country fair earning a precarious living, did not belong to a lord. Even great lords were bound to the land they possessed at the king's pleasure. Traveling entertainers – and bands of thieves – held allegiance to no one except their immediate comrades.
“I am an honest woman, my lady,” Mab said, as if she could read Catherine's thoughts. “Do you envy me?”
“Why should I?” Catherine asked.
“Because I am free and you are not.”
Catherine could only imagine what it would be like to be free of all the ties of birth and rank that bound her to Wortham, to her father and to King Henry, to have no daily round of responsibilities.
“From time to time I do wish I could be relieved of some of my more unpleasant duties,” Catherine admitted. “Still, I know I have a place to lay my head this night, and I am certain of my next meal.”
“You are wiser than most noblewomen, to understand that there are benefits to every station in life, and disadvantages, too,” Mab said. Then, becoming brisk, as if she wanted to be finished with Catherine and Aldis so she could move on to her next customers, she asked, “I shall look into your future now.”
“Aldis,” Catherine said, “since you are so eager for this experience, I think you ought to go first.” She produced two coins and held them out. Mab took the coins and reached behind her to drop them into a covered box. From the sound they made Catherine concluded that Mab was enjoying as profitable a day as the villagers were.
“Give me your hand, Aldis,” Mab said. Aldis obediently held out her hand, which Mab took between her own. She squinted at Aldis' palm for a long time.
“What do you see?” Aldis asked in a quavering voice.
“Remarkable,” Mab murmured. “Amazing.”
“What? What?” Aldis gasped.
“You will marry a handsome knight.”
“I will?” Aldis' eyes grew round. “Will it be a love match?”
“I see a flame that burns steadily until the end of your life,” Mab said.
“Oh, thank you. That is exactly what I hoped to hear,” Aldis said. “Can you tell me if I know him already?”
“Even at this moment, your fate is working itself into its final form,” came the response.
Catherine noted that Mab was saying nothing very definite. She could not help wondering if Mab had glimpsed Braedon and Robert outside her tent as her previous customer opened the flaps and exited, and if she had drawn some obvious conclusions about Aldis' escort. It was also possible that Mab had heard gossip about the nobles who lived in the castle.
Aldis was well known locally as Royce's niece, taken into his household when her mother died and her father gave away or sold all of his possessions before leaving for the Holy Land shortly thereafter. Years later, when Royce received word of his brother's death, he accepted Aldis as his permanent ward. Catherine was confident her father would provide Aldis with a suitable dowry if she ever decided she wanted to marry. Meanwhile, Aldis was comely and well dressed, so it did not require much imagination to make the prediction the fortune teller had made.
Still, Catherine knew as well as anyone that some people did possess the gift of foresight. She offered her own hand to Mab with a thrill of expectation. The woman's fingers were cool and dry as they held Catherine's hand. One long nail traced a line across Catherine's palm, making her shiver.
“Fascinating,” Mab said.
“Really?” breathed Aldis, who was watching closely. “Will Lady Catherine make a great marriage?”
“No,” Mab said, frowning. “She will not. I see treachery, violence, bloodshed.” She dropped Catherine's hand and thrust her own hands behind her back.
“Surely, you foresee something good,” Aldis cried when Catherine did not speak.
“There is so great a tangle of conflicting purposes surrounding you,” Mab said to Catherine, “that I cannot perceive any clear outcome. You must take great care, my lady. Evil intentions are everywhere. Trust no one.”
“That's not a very cheerful fortune.” Catherine spoke from a throat suddenly gone dry. Then she said what she thought her father would say were he in the same situation. “If I am to trust no one, then how can I trust that you have told me the truth?”
“Believe what you will,” Mab said. “I know what I have seen, and I am seldom mistaken.”
“Come, Aldis.” Catherine got to her feet. “I am sure this good woman has other customers waiting to speak with her.” She grabbed Aldis by one elbow and propelled her out of the tent. Just before she followed her companion Catherine looked back. Mab sat staring at her, face sad, eyes opaque.
“Thank you for the reading,” Catherine said, and stepped out of the dark tent into the bright, late morning sunlight.
“How frightening for you.” Aldis put a comforting arm across Catherine's shoulders. “What will you do?”
“It was all nonsense,” Catherine said, as much to reassure herself as Aldis.
“You cannot be certain of that,” Aldis exclaimed. “Oh, how I wish I had not insisted on visiting that tent.”
“Do not tell anyone what Mab said to me,” Catherine ordered. “You may say whatever you like about the predictions for your own future, but say nothing of mine.”
“Of course, I won't say a word. Are you frightened?” Aldis certainly appeared to be terrified.
“Not in the least,” Catherine told her. “But I cannot help wondering if Mab bears ill will toward my father and if that is why she said what she did.”
“It's unlikely,” Aldis said. “She claims to travel from place to place to earn her living, so she probably doesn't remain anywhere for more than a few days. If that is so, how could she know Lord Royce?”
“Perhaps she encountered him during her travels. Aldis, I am weary of discussing this. We will say no more on the subject. Look, there is Robert, and he isn't with the brewer after all. He's buying a meat pie. You may join him if you wish.” Catherine was too distressed by the fortune teller's remarks to embark upon the stern advice she had intended for Aldis. She decided she would talk to the girl later about Robert.
Aldis needed no urging to join the squire. She hastened to Robert's side as if she believed he was the handsome future knight who would claim her. Catherine watched them together for a moment or two, until it struck her that Braedon was not in the immediate vicinity, neither at the booth where meat pies were being sold, nor in the group of men standing where the village brewer was still dispensing ale.
Since Braedon was so tall, he ought to be easy to find. Catherine scanned the crowd, finally discovering him at the far side of the fair. He was standing with his back toward her while he conversed with a handsome blond man in a brilliant blue cloak, a man who looked to be angry. As Catherine watched, the blond man scowled and said something, then stalked away from Braedon. Catherine started forward. Braedon was heading for the open space between the fairground and the river. The blond man, being of average height, was quickly lost among the fairgoers.
As Catherine hurried past a booth displaying rabbits, birds, and other small livestock for sale, she heard a familiar and distinctly unpleasant voice coming from behind the booth.
“You will do as I command,” Phelan said. “You are to obey my orders.”
“I outrank you, Phelan.” The second voice was filled with arrogance and contempt. “I take no orders from you, or from anyone else in England.”
Catherine peered around the side of the booth. She could not see Phelan, but she caught a glimpse of short blond hair and a blue cloak before the pair moved on and she could hear them no longer. She did not doubt that Phelan's companion was the same man who had just been speaking with Braedon.
Did this mean there was a connection between Braedon and Phelan? Were they working in concert to harm her father? She wanted nothing to do with Phelan and he despised women so completely that she was sure he would refuse to tell her anything. She decided to confront Braedon.
She made her way through the crowd as rapidly as she could, keeping Braedon's tall form always in view. When she caught up with him near the river, he was not alone. A stranger was with him, the second man in an hour whom Catherine did not recognize. By the posture of Braedon and the other man and the way they spoke and nodded to each other, this connection seemed to be more agreeable than the first one. The stranger noticed her and bowed politely.
“My lady,” he said. “I was just leaving. We will talk again, Braedon.” With another bow to Catherine, the man left them.
“Who was that?” Catherine asked.
“An old comrade in arms,” Braedon said.
“He is not a guest at the castle. I would remember him if we had been introduced. What is his name?”
“Shall we return to the booths?” Braedon suggested. “I see Robert and your maidservant. Perhaps we ought to join them.”
From the suddenly closed expression on Braedon's sharp-featured face, Catherine knew he wasn't going to tell her anything, wasn't going to answer any of her many questions. She looked from Braedon to the retreating form of the man who had just left them, to the booth behind which Phelan was probably still carrying on his discussion with the blond stranger.
She was fast growing weary, and more than a little angry, with men who refused to confide in women, as if the women would babble everything they knew into the ears of the first person who smiled at them. She considered her belief that her father was keeping something important from her, and she thought of her reservations about the entertainment that had brought so many people to Wortham Castle.
Then she thought about the fortune teller's frightening words. Mab had only confirmed what Catherine already believed. She felt as if a net was slowly being drawn tighter and tighter around Wortham, and around her father and herself. She did not know what was happening, or why, or who was behind the menace she perceived.
She did not know yet, she corrected herself. For she intended to solve the mystery, and soon.
Chapter 3
The midday feast was just beginning and Royce and Catherine were on their way to their places at the high table when a newcomer presented himself in the great hall. Catherine was not at all surprised to see the pale hair and bright cloak of the man she had noticed at the fair.
“My lord Achard,” Royce called, stepping from the dais to greet the blond man. “I was beginning to think you were unable to come. How glad I am to see you. Catherine, this is my dear friend from Normandy, Count Achard de Ferrars.”
