Chapter 13

 

“Thank you,” Joya said, shrugging out of Kadriya’s overly long red gown.

“We’re all so relieved to have you home again.” Effie’s voice was soft as she helped Joya out of her chemise. Her grey eyes revealed worry. “You look awearied. A good night’s rest will help.”

The trip from Cerne Abbey had been tiring. Her body, this morning thrumming from her time with Luke, had long since cooled and she faced a new truth. Luke was gone.

Camilla, Pru and George had left her father’s traveling party at Ilchester. The remaining miles had stretched forever. Lord Tabor rode with his knights and Joya remained locked in an invisible cage of regret that she had caused the deep worry lines marring his face. They had finally arrived in Coin Forest to a subdued village and household. Margaret and her troops were gone, along with Lord and Lady Onslow and their household.

Now the sight of her home tightened her throat—the church, the ancient oak where Kadriya had fed her doves, the hill and memories of sliding with Stephen—all had been a balm to her soul, and she was prepared to sink into the soft pillow of home.

But all had changed, and she had caused it. Peter manned the gate. He had opened it slowly and stared at Joya, his eyes wounded, bearing no trace of his former ardor and admiration. His lack of warmth silenced her and stole her smile.

She had been acknowledged by a perfunctory glance from the guards. In the castle, Maud, Meagon, Martin, and the kitchen maids gave her a cool welcome. Their eyes held a reserve that had never been there before, as if Joya were a stranger on her first visit to Coin Forest. Her plan to free Luke had seemed innocent because no one was physically injured, but it had placed the knights and servants at risk of losing their homes and positions in Coin Forest. She had betrayed their trust.

And it had all been for naught. Had Joya not intervened—had Luke been here, the queen would have arrived and asserted her innocence of having killed Luke’s brothers. Margaret may have pardoned him. Reversed the fine. Luke would have spent time with her, seen her compassion and goodness, and he may have shifted his loyalties back to the crown.

Now, she would never know.

Joya washed the dust and grime from her arms, and bathing revived her. She was finally alone with Effie and she could find out what had happened during her absence. “So you saw the queen, Effie? Did King Henry come, also? And Prince Edward?”

“The king and prince remained in Coventry. Margaret arrived alone. I helped prepare Lord and Lady Tabor’s chamber for her. She is dainty, and very beautiful. Her travel gown was a bright blue, with tiny ruffles of white lace at the hem. It was cool and smooth in my hands when I hung it to air. She was patient, and kind to me.” Effie wiped spilled water from the table top.

“Did she see Hugh?”

“Aye, in the hall, not privately. She expressed her sorrow at Hugh’s brother’s deaths, and the attack on Penryton. She had no part of it.”

“Your mother was here,” Effie continued. “And Lord Tabor and the queen and Lord and Lady Onslow stayed late in the solar.”

“Did they speak of me?”

Effie gave a knowing smile. “Some of the kitchen and buttery maids… hmm, happened to be belowstairs, outside of the solar. It was a warm afternoon so the windows were open. Her grey eyes sparkled. “Meagon may have climbed the wall a bit to better hear. Your name was spoken, along with Camilla and Prudence.” Her smile faded. “And Lord Penry.”

“And they said…?”

“Lord Tabor spoke of your virtues. He mentioned that Lord Penry had saved you from drowning, and your loyalties might have been … compromised. The queen received his comments graciously, and …” Effie paused.

“And what?” Joya asked.

Effie studied the stone floor. “She became angry.”

Dread seeped, cold and rancid, into Joya’s bones. Her plans had failed. She had sewn virulent weeds in her mother’s garden, and they would spread like a plague and kill all the good plants. And there was nothing she could do to right the wrong.

Effie said no more. Her expression remained quiet and gentle. It conveyed deference, but held an edge of warning.

 

Joya spent the night tossing and reflecting. Her father was steadfast in protecting her, yet all she could think of was protecting Luke.

He’s years older than you. A baron. What can you, a stupid woman, do to protect him?

Her thoughts grew desperate. Could she enlist Hugh’s help? No, it was too late to help him.

Conversation from the guard towers rose and drifted down to her chamber. She shuttered the windows, but opened them again when the air had grown stifling. When the bells rang for Matins, she heard her father’s voice near the baking ovens outside the kitchen, his voice and Maud’s.

Maud’s skills transcended her job as head baker. Few discerned that her bawdy manner concealed her cunning, and she often served as her Tabor’s ears in the kitchens and halls. What were they discussing at this early hour? She checked the sky. The sun would be up soon, and the bread would be in the ovens and baking. The women would be free to gossip, and less observant. If she could avoid those at early mass, she may slip by unnoticed and listen from outside the baking kitchens.

Joya slipped into her tan dress. It was old and worn, but the sleeves were still attached so she could more easily dress without waking Effie to help her. She crept silently down the steps, over the stones, out the door.

To prevent fires and minimize smoke, the kitchen rooms were built outside the castle. Most of the women congregated at the tables in the preparation room, where the risen dough was formed into loaves in the moist heat. Her father, Maud, and another woman were in the smaller room with the ovens. Maud was in the midst of describing Margaret’s knights and guards, making note of their physical prowess, the width of their chests, and their lower body features. The venting windows were too high to see inside, but Joya could envision Maud, her large melon breasts jiggling and threatening to pour out of her strained chemise. Her red hair, frosted white at the temples, had likely become tightly curled and wet from the heat.

Joya heard baskets being stacked and the scrape of the large spatula as Maud scooped the baked loaves out and slid them on the cutting boards.

“Here’s the last of this batch.”

She heard the sound of soft shuffling from the other kitchen, and murmured grumbling from Maud’s helper.

“Fast on your feet there, and get those cut. Time’s a wastin’,” Maud said.

A screeching sound suggested Maud was cleaning the brick shelves with the ash scraper. A young woman hurried out with filled baskets, her dress soaked down the front and back from the extreme heat.

“She’s gone. We can finish talking.” Her father’s voice, lowered, meant only for Maud, but clear enough for Joya to hear. “What makes you think so?”

“It were the tall knight, the one who announced her grace,” Maud said. “Said they would leave at first light the next morn, and they did. That’s when he told them.”

“Tell me exactly what he said, word for word.”

“Beggin’ your pardon, my lord,” Maud said, “but I can’t. ‘Twas me daughter Meagon who heard. They don’t pay me no mind no more. I’m so old, and my merry maids have dropped lower’n my belly button.” She gave a laugh, and Joya could imagine Maud grabbing her breasts and lifting them to her neck, as she was fond of doing to shock a stuffy knight or two. “But Meagon, she can flash those big eyes of hers and smile, and they feel it in their hose, I can tell you, I’ve seen ‘em. ‘Twas Meagon who heard them talking. Said he’s been riding his high horse on a lucky saddle, but that he wouldn’t live to see the next full moon.”

“So they’re going to follow him?”

Him? Joya pressed closer to the hot stones, trying to hear all.

“To the coast,” Maud said. “Holyhead.”

Holyhead. A major port in Wales, on the Irish sea.

“Are you absolutely sure, Maud? Is Meagon dead certain?”

“Surer’n the sun rising, my lord. I made her swear to her first born, and she had no problem.”

“I’m grateful, Maud.”

“I’d bleed for you, Lord T., I would.”

“No need for that, Maud. It’s late,” her father said. “Let me know if you hear aught from the shipbuilders when they pass through.”

“Yes, my lord.” Oh, and one other thing,” Maud said. “They said he wouldn’t live long enough to deliver his secrets to York.”

Maud left the small kitchen and Joya hurried from the ovens to the well, crouching and pressing against it so Maud wouldn’t see her. She hurried through the thinning darkness, back to her chamber, Maud’s words echoing, “…deliver his secrets to York.” Despite what she had said, Margaret and her troops were hunting Luke.

 

* * *

 

The morning sun broke from the horizon, spilling shafts of light on the stairwell. What Joya had learned eavesdropping had destroyed any chance of sleep. She descended the steps to the ground floor, grateful for the excellent fit of her own blue gown after days of wearing Kadriya’s long one. Her steps were quick, driven by a new urgency. She must find a way to help Luke.

Her mind raced. She knew not one soul in Holyhead to whom she could send word, but she knew someone who might.

Hugh.

Belowstairs, a modest fire was already burning, chasing the morning chill.

At the east side of the hall, Lord Tabor was holding conference with his steward. Outside, Lady Tabor, back from Stephen and Nicole’s now that they had recovered, was tending her gardens. Her mother’s steps were sure as she paced out the rows, marking where to plant. She would have some sharp words for Joya about her apricot seeds. Joya hurried out before her mother noticed her.

The bailey shouted with activity, the clink-clink of the blacksmith’s hammer, Meagon’s laughter as she scattered last night’s leftovers by the garden, and the chickens and ducks squawking and fighting over them. In the distance, the knights grunted, swords singing as they practiced in the lists.

Maud oversaw the kitchen maids as they tended large cauldrons in the bailey and the pleasant aroma of chicken stew filled the air.

Joya found Hugh as he was leaving the church. She kept a respectful distance until Father Rannulf and Hugh finished their discussion, then approached Hugh. “Good morrow,” she said.

Hugh looked no better rested that she, his walk slow, eyes shadowed and worried.

Joya teetered on the edge of an emotional roof, churning inside, yearning to find Luke herself and tell him that Margaret was considering reducing his penalty payment.

If he returned willingly.

She almost laughed. ‘Twas time to stop dreaming. That was as likely as the sun shining through the night. Words from her mother’s poem whispered to her: With trials and truth you’ll be reborn. The truth. Luke would no more willingly submit to Margaret than he would have willingly bent to his brother’s demands, all those years ago. The sharp thorns of truth wounded her.

Hugh took her shoulders, steadying her. “What’s wrong?” He was a sparrow of a man, thin arms and legs and a sagging belly. He resembled Luke only in coloring and the same blue eyes. They reminded her of Luke, which calmed her. She would remain steadfast. So long as he lived, she would keep faith. “I’m fine. Have you learned of Luke’s whereabouts?”

“No. Didn’t expect to.” He stopped at the fence by the archery targets, watching the squires practice. “We were never close.”

“I gathered that when you and your brothers visited,” she said. “I’m sorry for the challenges your family has faced with all this.”

“It’s nothing new,” Hugh said. “We always fought—Christopher, Humfrye and I—but I never thought I’d lose them. Never thought they’d be murdered.” His eyes shone with moisture and he looked away. “I was sure it was Margaret. But when she came here with her priest and her men, she denied any wrongdoing.”

Martin had told Joya about the royal knights’ proclamation. The men swore oaths before Father Rannulf, and told the priest and Tabor about the attack. Fourteen royal guards had been found, ambushed and killed, near Exeter. Their horses and livery had been stolen. Whoever killed those guards also raided Penryton and killed Luke’s brothers.

“It wasn’t Margaret,” Joya said.

“So, who killed them? And why?”

Joya shook her head. “I’m sorry. I don’t know. What will you do?”

“I’m free to go, but I have no funds. Penryton is laid bare.” He punched a fist into his open hand. “God’s nails. I need to help him. I think I know where he is. I need to get there.”

Joya’s throat constricted. “Where is he?”

He lowered his voice. “I heard them in the solar. They’re looking west, but I think he’s headed north. I know where he’d go.”

“Can you summon your knights,” Joya asked. “And find him?”

Hugh fell silent for a time. “I have no funds for travel.”

Joya took a deep breath. “If I provide funds, will you take me there?”