Cecily received one letter from William after the English victory at Agincourt. It was brief—terse, even—but he signed it your devoted husband and said that he would be in Sussex soon. Surely Father Simon would not have been able to get word to him of Adeline’s foul accusations, but Cecily could not help but worry. She kept to herself, afraid to so much as speak to Master de Morland, and worked on her embroidery. She had covered nearly two-thirds of the panel she had started, but no longer could take pleasure in the scene she had chosen. The lady holding the book was complete, as was the circle of friends around her. They were sitting in a forest with trees and flowers all around them. Off to one side, she had sketched the form of a knight returning from battle, his standard flying high above him. She had styled him after William, but now whenever she looked at the drawing, she worried that he would not be pleased to return. Not if he could be persuaded that his wife was not guarding her virtue with care.
Worry now her constant companion, she found she could hardly eat. Alys, her nurse, the only servant she had brought with her from Lord Burgeys’s house, ordered her to bed, and fussed over her, believing she had fallen ill. But when she came upon her young charge and found her in tears, Alys coaxed the truth out of her.
“My poor child,” she said, drying Cecily’s eyes. “You have fallen victim to your own innocence. Anyone could see Adeline’s scheme—she wanted to create a false scandal that she could use to hide her own affair. No one will be looking at her behavior if they’re busy gossiping about yours. I know you too well to need to ask if you engaged in any flirtation, but is there anything she might have seen and misinterpreted?”
“No, nothing at all,” Cecily said. And then she confessed what she had witnessed in the forest. “I know, Alys, that I have failed her as a friend.”
“She is no friend, and the sooner we leave this place the better. Sir William will be here before long, and that will put an end to all of this nonsense.”
“No, I cannot leave until I have saved her from the treacherous path she is following. It is my penance. I made a sacred promise.”
Alys frowned, but said nothing for some time. “I cannot force you to act against your wishes, but I promise you that interfering with Adeline will bring you nothing but misery. God would not ask such a thing of you.”
“I took the life of one He favored, my mother. There is nothing He cannot ask of me in return.”
The old nurse recognized the stubborn set of her charge’s jaw and knew argument would prove futile. A few judicious words to the visiting priest, however, might be just the thing. Father Simon should not have been so easily taken in by the charming mistress of the house. But Alys never got the chance to speak to him. The next morning, the baron ordered her and Cecily to leave the castle, without even giving them time to gather their belongings.
* * *
William was less than a day’s ride from Sussex when he heard Hugh de Morland hailing him. The knight’s retinue was small—only his two squires, his prisoners, and a handful of men he had fought with in France, who, having heard of the king’s commendation and gift of land in Derbyshire, had pledged their loyalty to him. It was time for him to form a household and set up his fief. He waved to Hugh and called back to him, dismounting from his steed and embracing his friend.
“Your face—” Hugh blanched at the sight of William’s wound.
“It is not handsome, I know,” William said. “I can only hope my bride does not run from me when she sees it. I see the shadow cross your countenance. She is not ill, is she?”
“No, my friend, she is not, but she is no longer at the baron’s estate. There was a controversy and Lord Esterby flung her out. He would not let me, nor anyone else follow. She had only her old nurse with her. I knew you were en route and that I could find you on this road. I came without delay.”
“There is no controversy shocking enough to merit such treatment of a lady. I shall deal with him after my wife is safe.” He scowled. “What is she accused of?”
“Corrupting Lady Esterby, it would seem,” Hugh said. “Enticing her by example.”
“Speak not like that to me, Hugh. What is the specific nature of the accusation?”
“Well, William, he thought that Lady Hargrave’s attachment to my humble self might give his own bride ideas she ought not have.”
William felt heat building in his chest, and recognized it as kin to the rage that had consumed him during battle. He looked at his friend, handsomely dressed, his face unmarred by an ugly scar. He remembered the sweetness of his wife’s kisses. “I would never doubt you, nor her. It would seem someone in the baron’s castle is a liar. He’ll have no more to say when I finish with him.”
He swung himself back onto his horse with an impossibly fluid motion and urged the steed forward at a gallop. Hugh followed suit, though without his friend’s elegant skill. He would do whatever was necessary to match his pace. William must not reach the castle alone.