True Love (5 page)

Behind them on the narrow roadway Aldis
chattered away with Robert as if the two of them were the best of
friends. Her companion's ease with the squire made Catherine all
the more aware of how uncomfortable she was with Braedon. On the
one hand, she mistrusted him while, on the other hand, she admitted
to herself that she had taken entirely too much pleasure in his
kisses. She wasn't sure whether she wanted to repeat the
experience, or whether she wanted him to leave Wortham and never
return, so she could forget him –
if
she could forget him.
Her unsettled state of mind was most disturbing. She decided her
best course for the remainder of the morning was to direct all of
her attention to the fair.

The road from the gates of Wortham Castle led
westward through cultivated fields to the village, which had grown
up beside a meandering river that supplied copious amounts of clean
water for drinking and irrigation. Just north of the village a
fallow field was serving as a temporary fair ground, with a bend in
the river as its western and northern boundary. On all sides the
rich farmland belonging to Wortham stretched to the very edges of
the forest, with the crops of oats and rye and the smaller patches
of beets, onions, cabbages, and other vegetables all displaying
softer shades of green than the darker trees beyond. The beneficent
sun shone in a cloudless sky.

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.