Honor & Roses (3 page)

Three days later, on the
wide track leading west, small dust clouds whirled up and away. The dust was cast up by an entourage of men on horseback, riding at a steady pace. The riders were followed by horse-dawn carts, and then squires on foot.

“I can’t believe the king granted all of us leave,” Octavian was saying. “And in summer, when we are most needed!”

Alric glanced back at the litter that carried Luc. “Needed or not, some of us won’t be fighting for a while.”

“He’ll recover,” Octavian said with the confidence of the young. “But still, it was kind of the king to allow us to escort him home.”

“The king is a soldier himself. He knows men are not made to work ceaselessly. We need the rest—and we are owed it.”

Octavian said, more quietly, “I didn’t know Luc was so close to King Stephen. He looked truly angered when he saw Luc’s wound.”

“They share some blood,” Alric acknowledged, “though distant. And Luc’s family has supported Stephen’s claim from the very first. He values loyalty in those around him. What king does not?”

The younger knight nodded thoughtfully. Octavian was younger than Alric, barely twenty years old, but deliberate in all he did. Perhaps traveling far from home made him that way.

Absently, Alric touched the sleeve of his tunic, just below the elbow. He felt the texture of the ribbon he wore hidden underneath, and an almost overpowering sense of homesickness besieged him. He remembered with perfect clarity the day he received the ribbon, and the face of Cecily, who gave it to him.

Five long years had passed since Alric left this part of the country, but the landmarks were still familiar to him. The wide-spreading oak by the little river ford, the inn where they had watered their horses. Eagerness was gnawing at him, the result of nearing the end of his journey.

“Still hours before you see it, brother,” said a voice nearby.

Alric looked over at Luc, riding in his litter. Luc had a gift for knowing what other people were thinking, though Alric guessed a blind man would see his desire to return to the place he thought of as home.

“Don’t think yourself wise for seeing the obvious,” he warned, riding a bit closer.

Rafe joined them. “Luc is wise?” he asked with a sly grin. “What insanity is this? Was he hit in the head as well?”

Rafe looked the healthiest of all of them, despite his minor wound. With truly black hair and a face seemingly made to drive women to distraction, it was easy to imagine him as the knight in any ballad. He would be trouble when they returned to Cleobury, Alric guessed. He wished Luc didn’t have to return to his estate, but it made sense for him to be with his family as he recovered.

The crossroads appeared all too quickly for Alric’s taste. Octavian drew off respectfully when the two older knights gathered by Luc’s litter to say their goodbyes. He knew they all trained together and shared a unique bond.

Luc seemed melancholy at parting. Rafe looked unperturbed, but then, Rafe never looked as if such matters touched him. He was equally nonchalant whether at a feast or in the middle of a battle.

“Time to part,” Rafe said, looking at the north road, and then the sky, where a few birds circled high overhead. “With luck, we’ll all reach our destinations by dark.”

“We’ve been five years together fighting. And years before that in training. Time and distance change our circumstances,” said Luc. “But we once swore an oath to treat each other as brothers, both in war and peace. That oath still holds.”

“Yes,” Alric confirmed.

“Of course,” Rafe added.

Luc smiled at them both. “Never forget it. Come to me if you have need, or tell me how to help if I can. And I will do the same.”

With an effort, Luc withdrew his sword from where it lay next to him in its scabbard. He held it hilt-up. “Swear it, just as before.”

Alric put his hand on the pommel, then looked at Rafe.

“Such ceremony,” Rafe said. “Is there not something a little unfaithful about swearing an oath twice?” Nevertheless, he put his right hand over Alric’s.

“It’s not the same oath,” Luc argued, putting his right hand over both of theirs. “The first oath was made years ago by boys the night before our first battle. We watched over each other and survived. This oath is made by men. We swear to watch over each other still. No matter what dangers or threats may come.”

“Poverty?” Rafe asked, with that sly smile. “Or a poor marriage prospect?”

“Yes,” said Luc, his expression as serious as Rafe’s was mocking. “Or sickness, or brigands, or betrayal by an ally. We will come to one another’s aid, just as brothers. Swear it on the cross made by this sword.”

“I swear it,” said Alric.

“Sworn,” said Rafe. “May I turn ugly if I break this solemn vow.” Then he laughed, his moment of seriousness over. “Can’t think of a worse fate than that!”

“Always vain,” Luc muttered to Rafe, then regained his gravity. “And I swear it. We’re brothers, till death takes us all and we meet in Paradise.”

At that moment a screech sounded above them. A hawk plunged through the air to attack a raven. The two creatures struggled in the air, attracting the attention of another bird, a falcon of some sort.

Alric looked up, disturbed by the sudden violence after the moment of calm. “He’ll kill it,” he muttered.

“Kill or be killed,” Rafe said. “That’s the order of things.”

“But must it be?” Luc shook himself, and returned the sword to its scabbard.

Alric clapped a hand to Luc’s shoulder. “Safe journey. Send word if you need anything.”

“Naturally. Haven’t I just promised to do so?” Luc laughed.

Rafe said nothing, though Alric was reassured by the look of loss he detected on Rafe’s face. Rafe so often hid his feelings behind clever comments. If he said nothing, it meant he was serious.

Luc signaled his squires to turn north.

“Farewell!” Luc gave a final wave.

They watched for just a moment, then Rafe said, “We’d best move on, too. If I’m not behind the walls of Cleobury manor by sunset, I’ll hold you responsible,
brother
.”

“We can race the last mile,” Alric replied.

Cecily was neck deep in
the scents of borage, mint, and thyme, reveling in the sweet air of the garden and the golden light all about her. Though she was in the middle of the busy manor of Cleobury, with folk hard at work all around her, the gardens were comparatively quiet. A thick evergreen hedge surrounded them, keeping the world within safe from harsh wind and dust and animals that would eat the greens.

Her personal garden always delighted her. She looked over the rows of rampant greenery, rich with the splendor of a summer day. Nodding to herself, she carefully pinched off the last few buds on the peppermint she had knelt down to deal with. Allowing mint to flower was a sign of a careless gardener, she thought. She’d come back later to harvest the richly scented leaves. Perhaps tonight, when a nearly full moon would light her way. The hot sun stole some of the potency of the leaves, and since Cecily’s goal was to dry the mint for use in winter medicines, she needed to harvest the mint when the power in the plant was strongest. A cool, moonlit night would be ideal.

“Cecily!” a voice called, interrupting her musing. “Where are you?”

Cecily stood up. To the woman calling her name, it must have seemed that the garden had sprouted a golden flower. Cecily’s bright blonde hair, braided in a loose plait, hung down her back. The green dress she wore only enhanced the notion that she was part plant herself.

“What is it, Pavia?” she asked the woman.

“I’ve been sent here on a mission,” Pavia announced. Her eyes sparkled with mischief, and two dimples appeared when she smiled. It seemed impossible that Pavia was now fifty years of age. She was still companion to Lady Cecily, serving as chaperone, teacher, and confidante. For Cecily, who had never known her mother, Pavia filled that role perfectly.

She was also terribly fond of tricks. Cecily sensed one was afoot now.

“A mission?” she repeated. “From whom?”

“The head cook!” Pavia replied. “The kitchen needs more chives and thyme for supper tonight. And some onions. Small ones will do!”

“I can gather all those,” Cecily said. “But why was such a trivial task entrusted to you?”

“Oh, you know I’ve a keen interest in all matters pertaining to food.” Pavia patted her belly. She followed Cecily, who moved to collect the requested items.

“Thyme. Chives. Onions.” Cecily worked quickly, though she harvested a bit more of each ingredient when Pavia urged her to.

“Cook also asked for sweet henry,” Pavia added, as if she’d just remembered. “Is there any in flower?”

“Well, yes. But whatever for?” Cecily asked. “We only uses sweet henry for the cup made on feast days.”

Pavia nearly bounced on her feet, now too excited to maintain her nonchalance. “As tonight will be! That is the news I bear. Our contingent is returning from the king’s service. A runner has just come to report. They’ll be here by sundown!”

“By sundown?” Cecily gasped.
Alric.
That meant
he’d
be here by sundown.

“Glad tidings, yes?” Pavia said. “You’re to hurry and prepare yourself to be hostess.”

“Indeed.” Cecily came to her feet. “The war is not over, though. We would have heard.”

Pavia sobered. “No. I fear we are still in the grip of violence.” She reached out to take the baskets from Cecily. “But the fact remains that our men are coming back tonight. Now go. Take joy in this small blessing.”

Cecily nodded, and hastened down the path to the manor proper. She crossed the courtyard of the castle and entered the great hall.

“My lady!” A maid named Runild greeted her with an eager grin. “Have you heard? Our knights are returning! And their squires—my brother John is among them. Our men are coming home!”

“Yes, I have just received the news,” said Cecily. “Let us hope they are all coming back to us safe and whole. I will come down to the great hall just as soon as I’ve made myself presentable.”

“Oh, your uncle was asking for you, my lady,” the maid said.

“Then I shall find him first.” Cecily changed direction again, and went down a short hallway to the large solar, which her uncle used as a receiving room.

She stepped inside, still blinking as her sight adjusted from the bright day outside to this much dimmer space.

“Ah, the fair maiden Cecily,” said a voice, low and faintly raspy.

Cecily turned to see Laurence, the scribe her uncle employed for much of the business he conducted on behalf of the manor. Laurence was perhaps sixty, pale due to his indoor work, and weak-eyed from long evenings spent with only a candle to light his desk. But he was dressed impeccably, in bright clothing that would not be out of place in the king’s own court.

Despite his well-appointed look, there was something in Laurence’s eyes that chilled Cecily every time he looked at her. Yet her uncle valued the man, so she kept her thoughts to herself.

“Good day,” she greeted him civilly. “I was told my uncle is looking for me. Is he here?”

Her uncle Theobald opened the door from a small inner room.

“Ah, there you are,” he said, walking to the large wooden table where all his correspondence lay. “Come in, my dear. There is good news. Very good news indeed.”

“I hear our men are coming back,” she said.

“Yes. The king has granted them leave for some months, and it is well-deserved, from the reports I read.”

“You had reports?” she asked. “Does that mean you know how they fare?” Was Alric wounded?

“Of course I had reports,” he said. “They are my vassals. I need to know what occurs so I can manage their affairs if needed.”

“If one dies, you mean! Uncle, why did you never tell me when you received word?”

“What interest do you have in war?” asked Laurence from where he sat. “Surely it is out of your writ, which extends no further than the manor walls.”

She felt his remark was uncalled for. “They are our men, fighting to defend us. That interests me!”

“She makes a worthy point, Laurence,” Theobald said. One glance quelled the scribe.

“Indeed, my lord,” he said, as if he never disagreed.

Theobald saw Cecily’s distressed look, and softened his tone. “Do not focus on unpleasant things. I would have told you if you needed to know anything important.”

“Yes, my lord,” she murmured.

Theobald never liked it when she argued. He said sharp words were not becoming to a lady. But lately, Cecily had come to realize just how little she agreed with her uncle about what exactly she was entitled to know. He seemed to think she should be content doing needlework or minding her garden flowers. Cecily yearned for a wider view. Still, she knew better than to confront Theobald about it.

She dipped her head, saying, “What do you wish of me, Uncle?”

He smiled at her, his temper restored. “Only what you will surely be pleased to do. I request that you make yourself look like a true lady of this manor. The men ought to know what jewel they have sworn to protect.” He walked around the desk and pulled a crushed mint leaf from Cecily’s hair. “Though you smell rather good, you don’t look like the proper lady I know you can be.”