His Fair Lady (10 page)

Ana drank in another deep breath of the
crisp autumn air. Its cool tendrils spiraled downward, filling her
chest and wreathing her heart, chilling her there. She felt so
vulnerable, so powerless. Yet, she wasn’t truly so, her instincts
told her. She was only as helpless as she allowed herself to
be.

With each step, Ana collected her strength
about her, her thoughts darting, swift as the goldcrests in the
branches overhead.

She must escape. ‘Twas the only way.
Somehow, she must get back to Chinon and find Gervase. Then, they
would both need flee and hide for a time — in a large city, one
under the protection of the king of France, not John of
England.
Paris!
Yes, that was
the answer. She and Gervase could begin their life anew in Paris.
Perhaps, her foster parents would join them there too.

Ana’s spirits rose. When several of
their companions started to sing a
rondeau
to pass the time, she even joined in the
parts, which gained another surprised look from the knight. She
granted him a smile, plotting her escape as she did. ‘Twas urgent
she learn all she could about their surroundings, direction, and
other possible paths. When the right moment presented itself, she
would elude Sir Royce de Warrene and slip away.

»«

Royce gaped when the maid smiled at him — a
flash of white teeth, her emerald eyes shining. He noted how she
picked up her pace, her step livelier. The limp she’d tried to
conceal the last hour disappeared altogether.

Inexplicably, her whole mood had altered,
significantly so. Royce pondered that. What could account for her
sudden change of temperament, one minute snarling at him, the next
minute gracing him with a bewitching smile?

And it was bewitching. She was beautiful
when she smiled. God’s toes, she was beautiful when she did not,
and equally so even when she railed at him, anger firing her eyes,
rendering them a deeper green.

The delicate waif he’d left in Vincelles a
decade ago had certainly changed. No longer the timid little girl
he’d found shrinking beneath the boat, she’d grown into an
entrancing creature — spirited and strong willed and with the
keenest of tongues.

He released a breath. Transforming the
brewer’s daughter, Ana, into the heiress Juliana Mandeville would
be a challenge for her tutors. ‘Twould require much work and
patience to remold her manners and polish her common edges. Yet, he
was reminded of a gemstone found in the rough and of the exquisite
result it yielded once refined. ‘Twould be someone else’s task to
transform this jewel, God give him or her strength. Surely ‘twas
worth the effort. Yet, would she ever accept her new place, even
given time?

Royce watched Juliana sing, stepping forward
as she joined in a repetition of the verses. His eyes skimmed over
her bright, silvery hair and fine features, then slipped downward,
tracing her high, full breasts, trim waist, and the swell of her
hips. Even should the tutors fail and her manners remain lacking,
he imagined it would forestall few suitors who would willingly take
her to wife and climb into her bed.

Strange that she should be so averse to
taking a husband of noble breeding. But then her objection lay not
in the rank, but in being bedded by a stranger. Royce scratched his
jaw through his beard. She wouldn’t be the first maiden to be
nervous about the intimacies of mating. Still, had he not
discovered her on the church steps, about to wed? She must have
come to terms with the realities of marriage in some measure. Or
was it that the maid desired only the cooper?

Royce mentally chewed on that. Admittedly,
he’d wondered whether Juliana was yet a virgin. ‘Twould be no
surprise if she weren’t, given the practices of commoners. Upon
being betrothed, ‘twas said many couples of that class sought their
fleshly pleasures before taking their wedding vows, not waiting for
the sanction of the Church.

The image of Juliana coupling with the
oafish cooper soured Royce’s thoughts, and he blotted it from his
mind. Perhaps the maid had had a bad experience with the physical
aspects of lovemaking. Again his thoughts leaped back to the
cooper, his mood darkening once more. Had the man been rough with
Juliana in some way? Had anyone ever sought to harm her, sexually,
over the years? Royce hardened his jaw, the question burning in his
chest.

A loud thwack, followed by a crash and the
splintering of wood seized his attention. Ahead, the dogs began to
bark as the air filled with feathers and clucking chickens.
Escaping the dog-drawn carts and their demolished cages, the birds
flopped and flapped and scuttled into the woods. The company of
travelers ceased their song, many rushing into the underbrush to
recover the birds. At their lead was Mother Agnes and her four
nuns. She urgently appealed to the others for help as the fowls
were meant for their poor convent in Rouen.

The subsequent hours were spent collecting
the chickens and recaging them in hastily repaired coops, putting
the group sorely behind schedule. They’d anticipated reaching a
Benedictine hostel outside Le Mans and stopping there overnight.
Now, they were forced to camp along the roadside. Fortunately, they
located a small clearing just off the main path, one backing to a
stream.

Juliana’s improved humor continued and no
sharp words passed between them. They shared a meal in
companionable silence, a simple affair of hard biscuits, dried
meat, and cheese, plus a bladder of wine, which she instantly
pronounced unfit for even Hannibal. Her foster father’s beer and
ale, she declared, were far superior.

As she nibbled a strip of venison, she
glanced his way from time to time. Still, not even a hint of
recognition appeared in her eyes. It pricked his pride. Why,
exactly, he was unsure. ‘Twas reasonable she wouldn’t associate the
scrawny lad he’d been with the man he’d grown to be, a decade older
at that.

He studied her profile as she turned to gaze
toward the neighboring campfire. There, Piperel, the juggler who
traveled in their company, entertained the others, deftly tossing
apples and pears in the air, keeping them in constant motion.

Royce tugged his beard. Perhaps now was an
agreeable time to reveal his identity to Juliana. She deserved to
know he was the squire who’d found her in Vaux long ago. ‘Twould
further lay to rest questions of her identity.

He set aside the chunk of cheese he’d been
slicing and started to speak. But when he looked up again, he found
she’d risen and now strode toward the others, fascinated as the
juggler exchanged knives for the fruit, manipulating them with
great dexterity. Ending with a flourish, Piperel bowed deeply and
held out his ragged hat. Juliana smiled then stepped off to join
Mother Agnes’s little troop. Together the women headed into the
woods, presumably to see to their personal needs.

Royce vented a breath. Another time would
serve as well to speak with Juliana on his role in Vaux. Many days
of travel still lay ahead of them.

He rose and gathered the remnants of his
meal and returned them to the leather pouch that rested on the
ground beside his new saddle. He next set aside his sword and
scabbard, then stripped away his surcoat, hauberk, and undertunic,
baring his arms and upper torso.

Royce caught up the skin of water he’d
filled earlier from the stream and doused his hair and chest,
rinsing away the sweat and dust gained in the day’s travels. As he
toweled himself dry, he moved toward Hannibal to groom him as he
did each night. At his approach, the stallion nickered a greeting.
Royce grinned.

“Here we are again at eventide, old friend.
Tell me, have you any advice for dealing with mettlesome
maidens?”

Hannibal bobbed his head then nuzzled
Royce’s hand, then his pantleg, seeking a treat.

“An apple? ‘Twill take more than that to win
Juliana’s cooperation.”

Royce took up a cloth and began rubbing down
Hannibal with long, rhythmic strokes. When the women did not soon
reappear, he glanced toward the point where they’d entered the
forest. Diverting his gaze to the men in their small encampment, he
studied them closely, counting their number, but noted none to be
missing.

Royce turned back to the stallion. Perhaps
the women lingered by the stream to refresh themselves or rinse
their clothes.

One thing for certain. They wouldn’t have
ventured far. The sun descended quickly now, dipping behind the
trees. ‘Twould soon be dark.

»«

Ana quickened her pace, anxious to place
more distance between herself and the nuns. Thankfully, she’d been
able to slip away unnoticed when the sisters settled themselves
beside the stream to say their evening Office.

Pressing through the underbrush, Ana
hastened deeper into the forest. When she came upon a narrow trail,
she immediately followed it, believing it to be a heavenly sign.
Surely, God guided her steps. She’d prayed for His help and He’d
answered, swiftly so, providing her this opportunity to escape.
Now, she must seize the moment and make good her flight.

Yet, fear gnawed at her nerves. She’d had
little time to think through a plan, scarcely any. She must reach
Tours, then Chinon, that much she knew. She owed the earlier ordeal
with the chickens to Divine intervention. The delay had prevented
the group from reaching the Benedictine hostel where she would have
been closely watched and where ‘twould have been nearly impossible
to escape.

Her earlier conversation with the knight
still galled her. The ways of the nobility regarding unwed maidens
were loathsome. She’d not be herded to England like a prize cow, to
be tethered by some ancient lord in his castle till he saw fit to
give her to another of his choosing. She’d have none of it.

Though it frightened her to the bone to
place herself in possible danger, circumstances demanded she be
both brave and bold. She’d take this one risk in order to return to
Gervase and seek a new life with him. It stood to reason, if the
Almighty provided her the opportunity to escape, He would also
protect her.

Ana hurried on, brambles and branches
clutching at her mantle and gown, tearing at her hair. She thought
only of fleeing the knight and finding a place to hide. If she
could successfully elude him this night, then with the first rays
of dawn, she could follow the road back to Tours, keeping to the
edges of the forest. Once there, with luck, she could join another
group of travelers heading south. For now, she’d not think on the
possibility of vagabonds or thieves who might plague the highway.
She’d encountered none on her journey thus far, and with luck,
she’d reach the city before sunset tomorrow.

“Faith, Ana,” she mumbled to herself,
gripping hold of the silver cross about her neck as she rushed
on.

Pain twinged her feet, sore and blistered
from the day’s walk. Now acorns, sticks, and other debris on the
forest floor bit through her thin slippers and into the soles. She
tightened her jaw tight against the pain, knowing she’d no choice
but to suffer it.

The sun blazed through the leafage of trees
like a great orange ball, sinking lower with each passing minute.
As Ana continued along the winding trail, she realized with a start
‘twas likely a path used by the forest animals. The thought offered
little comfort for her nerves, but there was no help for it.

Minutes later a distinct rustling noise
sounded in the undergrowth off to her left. Ana halted, her pulse
leaping. She quickly scanned the area, her gaze drawing to a
feathery, knee-high bush that shivered and shook. In the next
moment, a large hare sprang out of the foliage and scampered away,
disappearing down the trail.

Ana gasped, then expelled her breath, her
heart beating madly in her chest. Collecting herself, she forced
herself on. From some unseen perch, an owl called, a haunting sound
that sent chills along her spine. Other woodland dwellers added
their own whistlings and chitterings as the forest came alive with
dusk.

As Ana won further into the wood, she again
heard rustlings in the underbrush ahead, as though something
rummaged there. The vegetation quivered and trembled, much like
before. Ana smiled, thinking the hare to be there, perhaps tussling
with a furry cousin.

“Ah, ‘tis you again. Did you find a
friend?”

The words barely left her lips when her gaze
touched upon the ground in front of the bush. Acorns lay scattered
over the soil beneath an aged oak. Sections of earth lay turned and
bare where, presumably, some of the delicacies had been devoured. A
set of hoofed tracks imprinted the dirt, leading into the
underbrush.

Ana swallowed, her breath sealing in her
throat, as the rustlings there turned to agitated thrashings.
Something skulked beneath the forest cover. Something of
significant size.

Her blood went to ice as a wild boar
emerged from the leafy growth — a
sanglier
. ‘Twas a hideous creature, massive and
humpbacked, teeth bristling from its mouth. Her eyes widened at the
size of the beast’s fierce, curving tusks. They could rip her to
shreds in an instant.

»«

A strangled cry rent the air. A
woman’s cry.
Juliana!

Royce dropped the cloth, spun from the
stallion to snatch up his sword, then bolted headlong into the
forest.

Coming upon the nuns where they huddled
round-eyed by the stream, he scarce spared them a glance but
splashed through the water and sprinted on in the direction of the
maid’s screams. Quickly, he came to a path and followed it. Within
moments, he closed on an ancient, spreading oak. To his surprise,
Juliana clung to its lowermost branch. Below, a large black boar
slashed at the tree’s trunk with its tusks, squealing and grunting
as it did.