Wildewood Revenge (12 page)

Miles took back the mug. She had recklessly drained the contents and he filled it once more. The mead was having an effect on him too. She could see it in his eyes; that mellow self-contentment and just a hint of wickedness. Perhaps her revelations had not come as an entire surprise, she did not behave as nun should, but if he accepted she were not a lost nun, then he must be wondering at her real identity. She watched as he toyed with his knife, slowly running his finger and thumb up and down the flat of the blade.

“So
no one knows where you are and there is no one to care if they did. One must assume therefore that there is also no one to object if I decide to forgo the ransom and keep you for myself.” He leaned towards her. “Or slit your throat and be done with you here and now.” He blinked slowly and watched her.

“What!”

“Then ag
ain” he added with a slow smile, “y
ou’re not worth anything dead.”

“Thank you, that’s reassuring.” She wasn’t convinced. He had unnerved her, again. She took another drink and tried to consider her options, which was increasingly difficult as her options were limited and her ability to consider them impeded by the mead. She twiddled with her hair and attempted to concentrate her thoughts.

“There is more to you than meets the eye, I’ll give you that.” said Miles. “You may not think you’re worth anything alive or dead, but fate crossed our paths and I’m a great believer in fate. I think you’ll be worth a great deal to me, so no, I’m afraid you will not be returned to Kirk
Knowe
immediately. We will await the bishop’s decision. If I am
to believe the account of your father, then he will be known by many and your value will be even greater.”

Grace shook her head. What on earth was she meant to do, to make all this go away? She drew a large breath. “But what about what I want? Why does no one care what I want? You can’t just sell me. I’m a person - I have rights!” she declared as she struggled to rise from her seat. She’d had enough of his company. She was going to bed. She would worry about her rights and how to enforce them in the morning.

Miles caught her arm and steadied her. “That was perhaps a little reckless, my lady.” he observed calmly as she swayed a little in his arms.

“I’m not a Lady,” she hiccupped.

“Indeed.”

“Don’t you approve of women who speak their mind?” she tried to wriggle free and he restrained her with ease.

He shrugged. “You may speak as you see fit, Mademoiselle, however drinking to excess when you’re patently not used to it, I would not recommend.”

Grace pushed at his chest and with each prod she would have toppled if he hadn’t held her fast. “Oh yes, well how on earth would I be used to ten year old mead when where I come from people don’t drink mead, they drink ....” she struggled to string
her words together, “cocktails? T
hey’re fun. Not that I can drink many of those either.” She hiccupped and tried unsuccessfully to suppress a giggle with a hand over her mouth.

“And where do you come from, Grace?” asked Miles, amusement playing around his mouth.

“Well, Mr Miles de Know-it-
all, that’s for me to know and you to find out!”

“Are you throwing down a challenge, my lady?”

Grace hiccupped again. “Of course, but you’ll never win.” She slid back onto her seat, her head dropped to the table with a thud and Miles reached over her prone body and refilled the mug.

“One thing you should know, Mademoiselle, is that I never lose.”

Chapter Thirteen

Grace didn’t wake until morning and discovered someone had carried her to bed. She still wore her stinking clothes and the fire still flickered in the grate, though the room felt far from warm.

She lay for a long while, unmoving. Her head pounded. She regretted the mead. How had she allowed herself to end up with a hangover? Pulling herself into a sitting position she wrapped the cloak more tightly around her shoulders. She felt nauseous and dizzy again but tried to ignore it. This was Miles’ fault
;
he should never have allowed her to dri
nk so much. She was in his care
and he was meant to be chivalrous. Some knight he was turning out to be.

Mind over matter, that’s what was needed here. She studied the room, the way the weak sunlight danced with dust motes and illuminated the grimy walls and leaf strewn floor. Casting her eye to the stout planked door
,
she noted the heavy metal work hinges and latch. She wondered if he had turned the key and what she would do if he hadn’t.

Under the high window lay the wooden chest she noticed the previous day. Rising slowly from the bed, she waited for the room to stop spinning and steadied herself before padding in stocking feet across the planked floor. She wondered ab
sently where her boots had gone
and who had removed them. The chest had been carved with the same intricate pattern as the chair in the hall. She ran her fingers gently along its surface and then gripped the edge and lifted the lid.

The smell of lavender caught her by surprise, and reaching inside, she discovered gowns of the finest fabrics stored carefully between layers of linen. The lavender scent emanated from bundles of dried flower heads placed carefully within the layers.

She carefully lifted out the nearest gown and held the garment against her cheek, the scent of lavender was still fresh. Returning to the bed she sat at its centre cross legged, the gown draped across her knees.

This was no dream, these things were real. Miles was flesh and blood, the wound on her leg actually hurt
,
and the tale Edmund told of the crusades had actually happened.
She couldn’t have made it up. S
he didn’t possess enough historical knowledge for one thing, but there was only one other alternative and Grace was certain that it couldn’t be possible.

Had she really stepped into the woods in 2012 and come out in 1275?

If it were true, she needed to get back immediately. Fear be
gan to whisper down her spine. W
hat if she couldn’t get back? No one would believe her. They’d think she was crazy
,
or worse
, a witch.
Perhaps sh
e’d already given too much away. She’d gotten drunk last night
and couldn’t remember much other than Miles’ announcement that he was going to sell her to the bishop. She couldn’t let that happen. Bloody hell, did they have the inquisition in the 13th century?

She had to leave
before things went terribly wrong. Glancing thoughtfully at the gown again, she began to formulate a plan. Until she could make her escape it was imperative that no one suspected there was anything odd about her. That might prove difficult, she conceded, as she was considered odd by almost everyone she knew.

A commotion outside on the stairs interrupted her thoughts and she hurriedly covered the gown with the cloak. The door burst open, without so much as a knock, and in through the doorway bustled
a rotund woman trailing a buxom
young girl behind her. Both were carrying large ewers. Behind them in comic cavalcade came an elderly man with a grey beard and hooked nose and a man of similar age to the
woman, wearing a patch over one eye. Be
tween them they carried a large
wooden tub, and as they held it upside down and over their heads
,
they had bumped their way up the stairs and through her door unable to see where they were going. Edmund followed with a slightly sheepish expression and a further ewer. Straggling behind at the e
nd of the procession was, Fly, t
ail wagging,
tongue
lolling.

The woman set down her burden and clapped her hands together sharply.

“Get a move on
yer
want-wits. The m
istress is
askin
’
fer
her bath
and there’s not enough water here to bathe a babe.” The entourage deposited the tub in front of the fire and the ewers were emptied into it, with much splashing and sloshing. With the task complete
,
they scurried from the room.

“My name is Martha, mistress,” said the woman who tipped a
nod at Grace. Grace gazed open-
mouthed. This was definitely not an invention. The dog jumped onto the bed alongside her and she drew him close.

“We all returned
,
yer
see, when we heard Sir Miles was back.”

Sir Miles? “Returned?”

“I’m the cook, housekeeper and nurse to Sir Miles when he was a babe and now I’m back and I’ll look after
yer
, mistress. Just you tell me what ye need. The boy Edmund tells me you’ve had a run of bad luck, but you’ll be just fine here, don’t
yer
worry. Me and my husband Tom
Pandy
, that’s him with the one eye - h
e lost it in a fight over his name, daft
lummock
, but that’s another story…” She drew a breath
.
“Me and Tom will put this place to rights, just ye wait and see, and my granddaughter Belle, she’s a good girl, mistress. She’ll make a fine ladies maid.”

Grace, was about to introduce herself when the cavalcade reappeared
all carrying extra ewers of hot water which they added to the tub.

“One m
ore
round
should do it,” announced Martha and she shooed the others out of the chamber.

“Where is Miles?” Grace asked.

“Well, if he’s got any sense, mistress, he’ll be cleaning himself up, sam
e as ye.” She lowered her voice. “T
hough between ye and me, I’d say he looked slightly worse for wear when I
seen
him this
mornin
’.”

Grace smiled. S
o she wasn’t the only one with a thick head. She decided she liked this woman and her indiscretion.
“I’m very pleased to meet you. T
hank you for organising my bath.”

“Martha, mistress, call me Martha, t
hat’s me name.” She giggled
and her whole body rippled rather alarmingly. Grace bit the inside of her mouth to prevent her own laughter.

“Well, Martha
,
in that case, you must call me Grace.”

“No me dear
,
that would never do,” Martha exclaimed. The water carriers were back and she ushered them about their business. “Do
yer
need me help, mistress?” she asked when the others had finally gone.

“No thank you, Martha.” She was certainly capable of bathing herself. “Please close the door on your way out.”

She waited unti
l she could no longer hear them
before crossing to the tub and testing the water with her fingers. It was deliciously hot. She ran to the chest and took ou
t one of the lavender bundles - s
he was sure whoever they be
longed to could spare one - t
hen she stripped off he
r filthy clothes and stepped in
to the tub.

Her leg was surprisingly pain-
free in the water, though the wound was not pretty and Grace hoped the scar would fade as it healed. She twisted her leg as best she could to see the wound at the back and acknowledged begrudgingly that Miles had indeed saved her life. If he
had not brought her with him
,
she would have died.

By then, she realised, she was already on the other side of whatever strange gateway she had passed through and no one from her life would have been able to find her. She had to get back as soon as possible.

Finally clean, she picked up the russet gown and debated whether she should dar
e borrow it. It was either that
or
spend
the entire day clothed in the sheet. She made a decision and slipped the gown over her head. It felt soft and gentle against her bare skin. She was surprised that it fitted and relieved at its length, as she couldn’t risk a gust of wind revealing that she had found no underclothes in the chest.

There was no mirror in the room so she smoothed down her hair again and looked about for her boots. She couldn’t run around barefoot in a freezing castle. She found them under the bed. Perhaps she
’d kicked them off in the night
or maybe Miles had removed them when he’d put her to bed?

Tucking Fly under one arm, she descended to the great hall carefully, conscious her leg was not fully healed and the stairs had no hand rail. Concentrating entirely on where she placed her feet
,
she didn’t notice until she’d reached the ground floor that the hall was occupied. Miles sat at the table in front of the fire, deep in discussion with a tall, thin man with a shock of red hair, who was folded uncomfortably into a chair that was far too small for his frame. She was minded of a stick insect she’d kept as a pet as a
child. At his feet a small boy
with s
allow skin and tight dark curls
played happily with a carved wo
oden animal. Martha was correct -
Miles had cleaned up. He’d also changed his clothes. Watching him, Grace thought he looked every bit the feudal lord and just a little tempting.