Kathryn Kramer (12 page)

"Give me your cloak,"  Alandra exclaimed.

"What?  Are you cold again?"

"Give me your cloak!" 

He did as Alandra bid, watching in amazement as she crumpled it up and stuck it beneath the skirts of her gown. 

"I've not been raised around actors without learning at least a few of their tricks.  There are times we can't pay our bills, you know."  She took hold of her own horse's reins.  "Is there a midwife in the village?"

"She lives just outside of the village."

"Just as I had hoped."

"Alandra....?"  Suddenly he began to fathom what was in her mind.  "Wench, you are a marvel!"  She was going to pretend that she was with child, that she was in labor, and hope that in the confusion created by her outcry there would be a way to escape.  "Pray to God that your trickery works on Stafford's inept guards."

Chapter Sixteen

The situation they were in seemed more like a play then reality, Alandra thought.  It was like some fanciful farce or mime, though she proceeded  with but one thought.  She had to save Christopher!  It was a resolution that guided her on, made her force herself to be calm and think of what must be done.  First and foremost was the need to disguise Christopher's looks, for as he had told her, his identity was too clearly known in Bodiam.

Having often aided the actors in putting on their make-up, Alandra tried to remember all the tricks of their trade.  Nicholas's thick thatch of dark hair was too clearly recognizable
, but  if she used a bit of flour to turn its black strands to gray....

Searching frantically through a pile of sacks stored in the barn
, she whispered a thankful prayer, hardly daring to believe her luck in finding bags of flour stored in the corner. Alandra would put it to a much more important use than baking bread.  Ripping open the sack, she dusted Nicholas's hair, lashes and brows despite his protestations, then she stepped back to appraise her handiwork.

"Something more is needed," she exclaimed.  "You hardly look to be an old man.  But what?"  The thrust of his shoulders, the tilt of his head, the proud manner of his bearing proclaimed his nobility.  "Bow your head, slump your shoulders like this." 

She affected a stoop and was quick to praise how easily he mimicked her.  His dazzling smile, the teeth that were his glory, threatened to give him away, however.  Most commoners would have stained teeth not those of a pearly hue.  Even Elizabeth's teeth were said to be darkened from her addiction to sweets.

Looking around frantically for something to alter his smile, she could
find nothing, not tobacco or coffee or any such bounty from the New World that might have been useful.  There were a few berries growing on a bush outside and though  they were not quite what she had in mind, they would have to do.  Still, there was something about Nicholas that spoke of virility and strength.

"Stay behind me as much as possible.  'T
is the only way.  Keep your head down and whatever you do, keep from looking any man in the eye.  Let us hope they do not look too closely at you.  Keep their attention focused on me," she instructed.

             
To alter her own appearance, Alandra tore off the stylish ruffs she wore at her wrists and neck.  Plaiting her wavy hair into a semblance of a braid, she pirouetted before Nicholas to gain his approval.

"I'll play your wife
once again as I did at the inn.  However, do not think to give out that we are newlyweds again, lest we have to explain our impetuosity," she said, rubbing the full rounded bundle beneath her skirts.

Momentarily
, Nicholas found himself wishing that what they were portraying was real.  What would it be like to be married to this little wench?  Never dull, surely.  It would be an adventure just taming her.  Hastily, he put any such a thought from his mind, for now was not the time to contemplate it.  It was something that could never be.  Alandra Thatcher would never carry his child.  Their stars pointed in far different directions.

Alandra con
tinued.  "We will tell anyone who intercepts us that you are my husband, near crazed with fear that the child will make an early appearance.  And not one midwife to aid in the birthing."

Her affectation of a woman awaiting childbirth was convincingly real and Nicholas thought what a pity it was that she could not appear upon the stage. 

Instructing him to put his hands around her shoulders as if to steady her upon her feet, Alandra led Nicholas down the pathway to the small yeoman's cottage a short distance from the barn.  There she acted out her story before the startled man and his wife. 

"Our first baby....." she moaned, "and I so far away from my mother."

"Poor girl, and you little more than a child!"  The farmer's wife cast Nicholas a chastising glance, blaming him for his wife's predicament.  "A man worth his salt would never have let you stray from your own hearth when a wee one is planning an arrival."  Putting her hands on her ample hips, she clucked her tongue, saying beneath her breath, "and it’s not as if he's so young that he doesn't know better."

"'T
is not his fault.  The babe is early,"  Alandra hastened to say, relieving her "husband" of any blame.  "But pray, please allow us the use of your wagon so that I might get to the midwife before it is too late."  Catching Nicholas's eye, Alandra winked at him.  Seemingly everything was going well.             

The farmer and his wife agreed to let them use their wagon to travel to the mid-wife's
cottage, but Alandra had not counted upon the kindly old couple insisting they come with them.

"You might have need of me along the way, dearie," the woman insisted.

"Oh, no.  No. I wouldn't want to trouble you."  Alandra's eyes met Nicholas's stare behind the woman's back, acknowledging that there was nothing that they could do for the moment but accept the offer. 

Securing their own horses to the back of the wagon with the explanation that they would travel on from the midwife's cottage as soon as his wife was able, Nicholas helped Alandra into the hay-filled cart
.  Taking his own place beside her, he questioned the wisdom of their scheme. He knew that one look at Alandra would tell the expert mid-wife that she was lying.  The pretense of expecting a child could only be carried so far.  They had not had the intent to see the midwife at all but to pass by her cottage.  Now there seemed to be no way they could avoid it.

The road to the midwife's cottage was little more than a path that cut between hedgerows, past a cow byre and hayloft, behind a lean-to for pigs and poultry and through an open field of blue and gold flowers.  Midway to the small house they were accosted by three guards clothed in
Stafford's livery of yellow and brown.

"And just where do you think you're going?"  The surliest of the three demanded of the farmer, blocking the road with his mount as he spoke.  "You've been instructed that no one leaves the village until that outlaw
, Nicholas Leighton, is caught.  Turn around and go back!"

Nicholas was afraid to speak lest his voice betray him, but Alandra was not so shy.  "Please
!  Please!" she begged, "Let us continue.  My baby is coming now and I must have the midwife to attend me." Managing a deep throated moan she gave vent to her pain, then quieted.  "Dear sirs, wouldst you see me birth my child before your very eyes?"  Holding her stomach she groaned and lifted up her hips as if in the throes of childbirth.

"Well, I don't know....I've been told....."

Letting out a cry which made even Nicholas flinch, she breathed, "You have been told to watch for an outlaw.  Surely you will find no such culprits here.  Once more I ask, nay I plead with you, to let me continue this path, else whatever happens is on your head.  Please move and let me, my husband and these kind people move on."

Her imprecation was convincing, for the man guided his horse out of the wagon's
way.  Nicholas heard him say, "A farmer, his mate, an old man and his breeding wife.  Surely Stafford would not want us to waste our precious time with such as they!"

"BiGod no, and yet I would have wished to tarry were that one not with child.  Such a comely wench to be married to a man so much older than herself, but 'tis not unusual.  If God wills it
, I'll be able to sire a child when I am his age."  The sound of the three guards' raucous laughter carried in the wind as the wagon rumbled past them.

The small thatched-roof cottage up ahead looked deserted at first
, but the appearance of a skinny, white-haired woman with gnarled hands gave proof that it was occupied.  Something in her deep-set eyes clearly told Nicholas that this healing woman would not long be fooled.  She had the wisdom that comes with age and experience and the gift of insight as well.  Already she was studying him with her all-knowing expression. 

"There is something strange about you......."

Noting the old woman's stare, Alandra quickly thrust herself in front of Nicholas.  "Strange?  Do not speak so.  He is a good husband.  A kind man."

"Obviously a fertile one," the farmer added enviously.

For the moment the old woman's attention was diverted from Nicholas as she set her attentions on the matter at hand.  "How long is it between  your pains?"

"How long....?"  Alandra couldn't even answer.  The only thing she knew about childbirth was the swelling.

"Once the pain has pricked you, how many fingers can you count on before the pain starts again."  The midwife waited for an answer.

"Ten....or...or perhaps more."
             

"Then it w
ill be soon.  Very soon."

She quickly ushered them into the cottage then walked to a small table. S
he plucked up  two leather pouches laying there. 

Healing herbs, Nicholas thought, nervously glancing out the open doorway to the wagon.  How were they going to make their get-away?

"I will need twine, a knife and boiling water," she ordered the farmer's wife, nodding in the direction where the woman might find those necessities.

Nicholas knew they couldn't keep up this drama for long.

"Now to take a good look at you!"

Leading Alandra towards a tiny bed in the corner
,  the old woman bid her lay down, then with a curt order for  the two men to leave the room,  pressed her hands on the bulge that was supposed  to be a baby.  "What is this?"

Nicholas knew he had to act now.  Looking out the doorway
and seeing that the guardsmen had moved far up the road, Nicholas made his move, settling the matter in his own way.  Reaching for the sword, hidden beneath his doublet, he brandished it threateningly.  "Move and I will skewer you like a pig upon a spit!" he threatened. 

“Nicholas----“ She didn’t want these people to get hurt.

"Alandra, go untie the horses and make ready to ride like the wind." 

As she quickly followed his instructions, Nicholas reached out for the lengths of rope she took from the horses and tied  the farmer  to the wagon.  The midwife made it a twosome.

"You will be cursed for this!  You will never know a day of contentment.  Always you will look behind to see if you are followed.  You will die in a prison cell!"  The midwife hurled abuses at his head while the farmer's wife merely looked at him dumbfounded. 

Suddenly before
Nicholas could slip the rope around her wrists, the farmer’s wife astounded Nicholas with her agility, taking to her heels with a speed that decried her girth.  Before he could move to stop her, she was running down the road, screaming at the top of her lungs to summon the guards.  There was no time to chase after her, only a brief interval to mount his horse and follow Alandra down the long, winding road.

They chose first a main street, a remnant of the Roman occupation so many centuries ago, then branched off to a side road which was little more than a bridle track.  The condition of the road was deplorable but that did not keep them from guiding their horses at a breakneck speed, expecting at any moment to find themselves being pursued.

As he, rode Nicholas inwardly chastised himself for his stiff-necked, stubborn stupidity.  He had thought he could best Stafford, had wagered his future on arriving at Bodiam before that conniving swine, but he had forgotten that in matters of deviltry that blonde-haired lord was a match for Satan himself.  He had underestimated the man, but he would never make that mistake again.  If he had a chance to learn from
this
mistake.  His deepest fear was that they would be caught and that Alandra would suffer for aiding him.  That thought, as much as his own danger, goaded him on.

Outside of
Cranbrook the rain began again, a torrent that threatened to slow Nicholas and Alandra in their flight.  The wind whistled in their ears, bit at their faces and most menacingly of all brought the sound of hoof beats to their ears.  With a feeling of absolute dread Alandra realized that they were being followed.  The look of anger on Nicholas's face told her that he had heard the noise too.

"Alandra, follow me!"

It was not a request, it was a command, and without even a pause, she obeyed, knowing instinctively that somehow Nicholas would save them.

With Alandra right behind him, Nicholas made his way from the road and across the fields, dodging in and out among the trees in a manner cleverly designed to lose his pursuers.  Each moment they were getting c
loser to a dense shelter of foliage where he knew they could hide themselves.  The forest, somehow they had to make it to the forest without being overtaken.  Somehow they did.

Drenched with rain, hearts beating frantically, they plunged into the greenery
and hid. Scarcely daring to breathe, they watched the shadows that rode past them, heard their shouts, the soft plop of their horses' hooves over the mud. Time passed slowly, measured by the rhythm of their hearts and then at last Nicholas felt of a certainty that they were safe.

"And so, check and checkmate, Lord Stafford," he whispered, knowing the sweet taste of freedom once again.  He knew a shortcut to Biddenden and from there to Boughton Monchelsea.  Though he knew the pathways he had chosen would not be  as comfortable
as the way they had come, that there were no inns at which they could stay, they would have to make do with the inconveniences. Every inn within riding distance from Bodiam would be suspect by Stafford and his men.  He could not take the chance of being caught, nor of bringing ill treatment to Alandra.