Daughter Of The Forest (37 page)

“More like some small, fierce bird of prey, something with a sharp bite,” muttered Red, who was seated next to me. “An owl perhaps, that speaks only when the rest of the world sleeps.” He spoke so that the rest of them could hear this time. “Jenny will do well enough.”

So Jenny I became, a strange little name quite unlike my own, but better than being summoned with a snap of the fingers. And on the second morning, there were horses ready for us and we rode off just after dawn, leaving the sisters standing quiet by their gate, and one of them, at least, wearing a frown of deep concern. But it seemed, yet again, that what Red wanted was what happened. And so we rode onto Harrowfield.

Picture, then, a valley folded in green, where gentle swathes of ash and beech are broken here and there by the stronger forms of oaks still clad in their bright autumn raiment. Along the valley floor undulates a shining river, its banks soft with drooping willows. The path follows the line of the river, curving this way and that between well tended fields, past cottage and sheep yard, byre, and barn. The farm folk come out to stare as the travelers pass, and their faces beam a bright welcome as they recognize the three men, each of whom now wears a white surcoat over his travel-stained clothing. This garment, fished from the bottom of packs before entering the valley, bears a blue blazon on back and breast. It is a sign of who they are and where they belong; it is that image of an oak tree with noble, spreading branches, enclosed in a circle, and below it wavy lines that might be water. The country folk call out, “Welcome back, my lord!” “A good harvest, Lord Hugh! And all the better for your return!” He whom they address does not smile; it seems he seldom smiles. But he acknowledges their greetings with a grave courtesy, slowing his horse once or twice to grasp an extended hand, to touch an infant proffered for his blessing. And when he slows, the people get a better look at the pale young woman seated behind him, with a dark cloak wrapped around her, and her black curls teased by the wind out of their neat plait, and her hands clutching his belt to keep her balance after a long and wearying ride. They will not ask; that is not their place. But they fall silent, and after the riders pass, they mutter among themselves, and one or two make a sign with their fingers, unobtrusively, to ward off evil.

This, then, was our arrival at Harrowfield. The valley opened up, and a long, low homestead came in view. There were many buildings, a fine barn, stables, and cottages clustered near the main house. There were neat stone walls and an avenue of tall straight trees. The horsemen paused, and Red looked back over his shoulder.

“All right?” he inquired. I nodded mutely. It was all new, all changing. I wasn’t scared, exactly; but I had no idea how it would be, when we reached his home. I had heard and seen enough to expect no great welcome. Was I a prisoner, a hostage? Was I a serving girl? Was I to be guarded until at last I gave him the information he wanted, and could be set free? Or would they try to make me talk by other means, as my family had done with his brother? I didn’t think I’d be very good at dealing with that. The Lady of the Forest had ordered him to make sure I wasn’t hurt again. But a Briton was not capable of accepting the realm below the surface, and the wonders it contained; Red dismissed that as a dream. He would never understand why I did as I did; it was much easier to dismiss it as some craziness, some strange malady of the wits that caused me to hurt myself, beyond reason. He might love his brother with a fierce intensity; but that could never match what I must do for mine.

Without any visible signal, all three men at once urged their horses to a sharp canter, and I had to hold on tighter than was comfortable. We made our way at speed between the tall, golden poplars, and Ben let out a yell of sheer exuberance, grinning widely as the wind whipped his flaxen hair out behind him like a bright banner. John’s eyes were keen with anticipation. And so we clattered into a courtyard as neat and orderly as everything else there, and pulled to a stop before wide stone steps and a massive oaken door, which was set open. They’d been warned, somehow, of our arrival, for a welcoming party stood on the steps awaiting us. Well-trained grooms appeared from nowhere to take bridles and lead the tired horses away, and a small crowd gathered. The first thing Red did, after lifting me down from the horse, was to take his own pack in hand, signaling to the groom to leave it. Then he moved forward, and with his free hand he held my wrist, so I was obliged to follow him.

The woman who stood waiting there did not see me. She had eyes only for Red.

“Mother,” he said quietly.

“Hugh,” she said, and she was exercising the same control I had witnessed in both her sons. I could tell she was resisting the urge to break down and weep, or to give him a big hug, or otherwise behave in an unseemly fashion before all the folk of the household. “Welcome, back. Welcome, Ben, John. It has been a long time.” There was a desperate question in her eyes, that would remain unspoken till later.

“Welcome back, sir.” “Welcome, my lord.” There were many folk of the household there to greet the lord Hugh; they clustered around, slapping his shoulder, gripping his hand. He’d put the pack down, but kept hold of me; I was in danger of disappearing in the crush. I glimpsed Ben, still grinning madly, surrounded by a bevy of pretty girls. Further away, I saw John with a small, fair-haired woman some years his junior. She was heavy with child; I judged her to be less than three moons away from her delivery. His wife. She clung to his arm, and he gazed at her as if there were no world for him, save in her. I thought, he too shows that same control. How he must have longed to return home, how this must have twisted his heart, those long moons across the water. And yet, he had followed Red without question. There were loyalties here that were beyond my comprehension.

It was not until we extricated ourselves from this joyful, painful welcome, and retreated inside, that the lady really noticed me. A servant was sent for wine; we moved into a hall within the house, where a great hearth was set with logs of ash and hawthorn, but not yet lit, for the day was mild. She seated herself on a settle near the hearth, and beckoned her son to sit by her. There were others of the household present, but at a discreet distance. Our traveling companions had vanished. Each, I supposed, had his own particular welcome waiting. So Red sat down by his mother, stretching out his injured leg with some care. The long ride had been the last treatment it needed to mend properly. And I was left standing by his chair, feeling quite alone in a circle of curious stares. He still held me by the wrist, so I could not move away. His mother looked me straight in the eyes. Her face was round and soft under the delicate lawn of her veil; there was a network of fine lines around eyes and mouth. Small curls of hair escaped the headdress and showed a faded gold. She had once had hair the color of her younger son’s; and her eyes were the same bright periwinkle blue. I read shock in her expression, and fear, and something like revulsion. She did not speak. Red dropped my wrist.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I hoped to bring him home. Even after so long, I believed it possible. As you see, I did not find him. And I have no news for you. I regret that I could not—that I—”

“I’ve learned not to hope too much,” said his mother, and she was blinking back tears. If there were to be weeping, it would be later, when she was quite alone. “You are home safe. We must be grateful for that.”

“It was as if he had vanished into thin air,” said Red. “It is indeed a strange country, and abounds in tales of just such happenings. Nonsense, of course. But we went close, very close to the place where so many of Richard’s men perished. That he was once there is beyond doubt. But there was no trace, no sign that Simon had ever been with them. We spoke with whom we could, under cover of darkness. None knew of prisoners taken, or of fugitive or hostage. I come back empty-handed, Mother. I am sorry, sorry for the trouble my absence has caused you; sorry to bring no answers.”

“I confess, I had hoped for something,” she said. “Not that he would come home, not now, after so long. But something, some small token to tell me if he lived or died, any answer to end this terrible waiting.”

There was a small pause.

“There was nothing,” said Red. “Nothing at all.”

I found I had been holding my breath, and let it out in a rush. But I was not safe yet.

“It appears you have not returned entirely empty-handed,” said his mother, and she looked me up and down as if inspecting a cut of meat for the table that was not to be her satisfaction. I stared back steadily. I was not ashamed to be Lord Colum’s daughter, in spite of everything he had done. My people were old, far older than hers, and I was the daughter of the forest.

“How can you bring one of—one of
them
into your house? How can you bear even to be near her? These folk took your brother; they killed Richard’s men in the most barbaric way imaginable, with unthinkable cruelty. Their ways are not just strange; they are lost to all goodness. How can you bring her into my house?” Her voice was quivering with emotion. Here it comes, I thought. Now he tells her I’m the one link with her younger son. Now she demands my information right away, anything to convince her that her boy still lives. And they try to get me to talk, any way they can. How can he deny his own mother? Strangely enough, I understood just how she felt.

Red stood up and moved behind me, and I felt his big hands on my shoulders.

“Her name’s Jenny,” he said levelly. “She’s here in my household as my guest, for as long as it suits her. It may be quite a while. And she’ll be treated with respect. By everyone.” His mother was staring at him, her mouth slightly open. My expression must have mirrored hers, for I had not expected this. A job in the kitchens, maybe, scouring pans; that was the best I had hoped for. “I mean no insult, Mother. I’m just telling you how it will be.” He raised his voice, just enough to be sure all those present heard him. “This young woman is welcome in my house. She will be treated as a member of the household. You will offer her the kindness and hospitality that befits any guest of mine. I’ll tell you this once only. Let it be understood.” There was a hint of threat, I thought, in these last words, but he needed to say no more. A deathly hush fell over the room.

The servant appeared with wine. Red made me sit down and take a goblet, but I had only a sip or two. My stomach was still unsettled, and I was very weary. And there were too many people here, too much light, too many sounds. All I wanted was to be alone for a while, and rest. And then I wanted a distaff and a spindle and a loom, and time, lots of time.

“She hasn’t much to say for herself,” said Red’s mother, sniffing slightly. “What’s she to do here? Can she make herself useful?”

Red’s mouth curved in a smile that did not reach his eyes.

“I think you will find Jenny can occupy herself well enough,” he said. “She’s very handy with the needle and thread. But she is not to be employed as a servant here; I expect your women to make her welcome as an equal.”

“I am shocked that you ask this, Hugh. Perhaps I did hope, beyond hope, that you would bring Simon safely back home. Instead you bring the enemy that destroyed him, and ask me to make that enemy a friend.” Under the mask of gentility, she was furious with him.

Red looked at her, and then at me. “Jenny does not speak,” he said, “because she cannot. But she makes herself understood very well, you’ll find. And she understands everything you say.” With that answer, which was no answer at all, she had to be content, but there was a delicate frown between her arching brows, and I saw the depth of anguish in her eyes.

“You give us no choice,” she said wearily.

I thought about Simon, and the things he’d said about his family. In his tale of two brothers, the younger had never been quite good enough; never been quite the equal of the elder. Why had he thought they did not love him? Why had he seen himself as second best? Even in his absence, he stood between this mother and son as vivid as if he had been there in the flesh.

Their talk moved to safer ground. They spoke of the business of the estate, of crops and livestock, the harvest and the welfare of their folk. Red asked question after question; he seemed eager to take up the reins of his household once more. My mind wandered, reliving those days when Simon was in my care, remembering the long telling of tales, the fevered, demon-filled nights, the slow healing of mind and body. I remembered his knife at my throat; I remembered his tears of furious self-loathing. These mind-pictures were strong; I scarcely saw what was around me. Besides, I was growing drowsy with the wine and the long day, and so I started when I felt something cold and wet against my leg, under the hem of the homespun gown that the sisters had given me. I looked down. Peeping out from under the bench where I sat was a very small, rather elderly gray dog, who gazed up at me with sad, rheumy eyes, wheezing gently. I bent over and offered her a hand to sniff; she quivered and put out a small pink tongue in a lick of greeting. Then, with a sigh, she settled down heavily on my feet as if there for a long stay. I stifled a yawn.

“You’re tired,” said Red to me. “My mother’s women will find you somewhere to sleep. It’s been a long day.” He got awkwardly to his feet again.

“Your leg,” said his mother, noticing for the first time that he had some sort of injury. “What happened to your leg?”

“Oh, it’s nothing much,” said Red predictably. “A small cut. Not worth worrying about.” He glanced at me and saw my expression, and I caught, fleetingly, that slight quirk at the corner of his mouth that might, in some other man, have been a well-suppressed smile. His mother was watching us both, and her frown deepened.

“Megan!” she called. A young maidservant with a head of unruly brown curls came forward, bobbing a curtsy of sorts.

“Find a suitable chamber for—for—our visitor, Megan,” said the lady of the house, and I felt she had to force the words out. “Water for washing, something simple to eat. Show her where to find us in the morning.”