The plowed fields of the fermtoun spread out before us. Only a sprinkling of green showed against the brown earth, and a child was running back and forth in each field, shouting at birds as they landed. In one, a boy banged a drum as he darted at a flock of starlings that took off in a twisting dark cloud. Gil was grinning in delight.
“Where are the sheep?” I asked.
“Up in the hills. Better grazing there.”
I kneed my gelding, pulling on the sumpter’s lead. The animal resisted for a moment, but I sped to a canter. The bright, warm day was blessed with a gentle breeze that cooled my face and ruffled my hair. It carried the earthy scent of the land damped with spring rains. I was ecstatic at last to be nearing Joneta’s home. I could not stifle my laugh. The sun, the wind, a good horse, and a beautiful lassie. Nothing could be better, and I was determined to forget the ills of the last year. For now.
As we neared, one of the lads whooped and ran for one of the five sturdy cots. Gill laughed. “My brother. The youngest and always glad to escape his chores.”
All the children were running, squealing, and bouncing with excitement. Some chickens squawked in protest as their scratching was disturbed. One of the women leaned her poking pole for planting peas against the wall. The doors of the cots opened as parents hurried out to investigate the raucous tumult.
Stretching the stiffness from my back, I breathed in the spring air. All the tension in my body eased watching such simple pleasure, the children’s joy. A streaky brown skylark burst into the air from the grass a few yards in front of us. As if it were thinking, it uttered a quick volley of soft notes, erupting into full song. Then, it reached its height on fluttering wings and poured forth its liquid warbling song. I could not help the smile that spread across my cheeks. The sky was blue, the air mild, and God had given us a joyous springtime masterpiece.
Standing in the doorway, Granny Matylda shaded her eyes with a hand as she watched us approach. The youngest of her grandsons peeked around her to watch.
I dismounted, still unable to wipe what by now must be a rather gormless smile from my face. “Granny Matylda, God’s blessings on you.”
She gave a courteous bob of her head. “Ingelram isnae here, Sir.”
I looked around at the thriving little fermtoun. “Taken the sheep up in the hills for grazing?”
“Aye. ‘Tis that time of the year.” She looked over her shoulder into the cot and sighed. “But I welcome you to our home in his name. You have more…” She twisted her mouth as though at a loss for the right words.
“I have things that must be put away, aye, but that must wait—until tonight.”
A plump woman in a clean but worn kirtle was hugging Gil as his father slapped him on the back. I greeted them both, assured his father that his early teachings had been put to good use, and that he should join them at home as soon as our mounts were tended. His mother pinched his cheeks. “My pottage is on, and you need feeding up. Come as soon as you can.”
Across the village, children were being scolded and sent back to their chores. After curious looks from the adults, mostly friendly, and a few shakes of the head, the adults returned to their own work. A few women weeding in their gardens next to their cot, a bairn digging in the dirt watched by a sister, some weaving reed baskets, a half-grown lass herding a few geese.
Ingelram’s youngest foster son, Brian, watched as we unsaddled and curried the horses. I warned him to watch for their hooves when he wandered too close. He was a quiet lad with little to say. My Gràsmhor was no destrier but still did not hesitate to lash out with a hoof if someone came up on him from behind.
“I be Filan.” Another boy scuffed his foot in the dirt. “It is bigger than the horses you left here before. Is it warhorses? Sir? My lord?”
“I am just a sir.” I smiled. “He is called a courser, but he still can kick very hard.”
“And run fast,” Gil said. “But my garron can go places it cannae manage and never grow tired.”
The lad scratched the bridge of his nose. “Do you think mayhap—” He gave a little squirm. “—mayhap I could have me a ride?”
I gave a shake of my head at Gil. If we gave one a ride, we would have to let the lot of them. “We’ve all had a long ride, Filan. I shall think about it later. But if you come around to his head, you can stroke his neck. He isnae bad about biting unless he feels threatened.” I hung the tack on a peg and leaned a shoulder against the stable wall. “Where is Joneta? Surely she didnae go with the flock for the grazing.”
The lad sniffed scornfully. “Nae, lassies dinnae go into the hills. She is picking gorse flowers.”
“I dinnae see any of those.”
He gave me a scornful look for not knowing something so obvious to him. “Past the pasture and through the blackthorns. They is lots of them.”
I was not sure why she would be out picking flowers off the thorny, scratchy gorse bushes, but it sounded like a perfect chance to talk to her alone. As he hefted a bag of armor, Gil asked what he should do with it. I tugged my earlobe, frowning. After a moment, I shrugged. “Pile them in the corner there.” There was plenty of hay in the manger, so I scooped up an armload and dumped it atop the bags, a meager disguise, but at least they blended in with the surroundings. It would have to suffice until after nightfall.
After telling Gil to go find his family, I sent the lad to his cot with a round of hard cheese that would be saved for Easter, a bag of almonds, and a message that I needed to stretch my legs after the long ride. Once outside, I strolled around the stable and across the heathery field just beginning to bloom, but it already gave up a woodsy scent as I trod on it. A small burn burbled over rocks a few paces beyond the field, and beside it ran a path. It was overgrown as though it was not much used. I wanted to be sure I was on the right track, so I focused on the ground as I walked and smiled when I saw bent stalks where someone had gone with a light tread. There was no trace of anyone else.
Past the end of the path, in a simple orange kirtle that was worn but clean, Joneta stood in front of a dense gorse thicket. Her blonde hair tumbled over her shoulders in curls. Her sleeves were rolled up to the elbow, and her arms were scratched from encounters with the sharp thorns. She carefully plucked one of the small yellow flowers that covered the bush. Orange butterflies swooped in lazy circles among the spicy-smelling flowers. The air was rich with the buzz of bees and crickets chirping.
She put a gorse flower into her basket and pretended not to see me, but the corner of her mouth curved up in a sly smile.
I crossed my arms and sternly asked what she was doing.
“What are you doing?” she asked teasingly.
“Why are you scratching yourself up with gorse flowers? And no one with you?” I tried to sound scolding. “A strange man might be about.”
“The whole toun would come if I screamed.” She put her hands on her hips and tilted her head, looking at me, unperturbed. “Are you going to answer my question?”
With pretend severity, I said, “When you answer mine. Why pick gorse. There are bluebells and violets…and…” I waved my hand to indicate many other choices.
“Men are so ignorant.” She sniffed. “They made a lovely yellow dye. Now your turn.”
“It was a long ride, so I am stretching my legs.”
“Uh huh…” Tilting her head, she gave a deliberate eyebrow raise. “Your legs need no stretching. They are long enough as it is.”
I grinned at such a forward answer. Obviously, she had gotten over any shyness she ever had of me. I would do best to be honest, so I said, “I was looking for you.”
Her eyes lit up, and she giggled. “Good. You can help me finish picking these flowers. They done scratched me something dreadful.”
The ribbon I had bought her was still in my scrip. I had been right. The blue was the color of her eyes.
I smiled at her. “You have a twig in your hair.”
She wrinkled her brow as she felt for it and tugged it loose.
“You need something to hold your hair back.” I pulled the little cloth-wrapped packet out and handed it to her. “Do you suppose this would do?”
She cast me a slightly wary look as though she expected I was teasing her, but when she unwrapped it, her eyes widened. She stroked it with a finger. “This is…” She seemed to lose her words.
I kicked some leaves and shrugged. “It is the color of your eyes. So, I thought you should have it.”
Her eyes were very shiny as she wrapped it in the cloth again and tucked it in her scrip. “I shall wear it.” She kissed my cheek. “On Easter morn.”
As we plucked the small flowers, I asked how they could dye with flowers, and she explained that they were soaked in hot water to take out the color. Soaking the wool in piss so it would properly take the dye sounded less pleasant, but she shrugged and said that everything God had given us had its uses.
When we strolled back, I carried the basket for her. It pleased me to do something for her. We took our time, not hurrying. She asked what it was like being a knight. I told her it was like most things: work and being told what to do. That made her laugh.
There was steaming water for making the dye, but the flowers were quickly stirred in. I gave granny a small bag of pepper that I had liberated from the castle. Her eyes widened, and she said that it was enough that it must be shared with the other families. We sat down for our dinner of barley and bean pottage seasoned with garlic and thyme, along with maslin bread. Filan grumbled that he was tired of fasting but was soon distracted, asking all about the fights Gil and I had taken part in.
Granny frowned at me, and I dipped my head in understanding. So I told him how our ladders work with grappling hooks at the top. He was wide-eyed when I described sneaking to the walls in the dark and climbing up, wondering if anyone was up there. I left out killing the guards because he probably would learn about that soon enough.
I went out to the stable as the day faded. Children were called in from their chores and quiet settled over the fermtoun. I pulled two wasters out of one of the bags, stashing them in the corner, and jumped when Gil asked, “Why did you bring thon?”
“I want to practice with you.” I hefted a bag of armor onto my shoulder. “We will have time between scouting.” Between the two of us, storing them was quickly done.
It was pleasant sleeping without dozens of snoring, farting men all about. The cot smelled pleasantly of cooking and the spicy scented flowers steeping by the banked fire. But when they and Joneta went to bed in the very back of the common room, Granny made sure that her granddaughter was tucked safely behind her.
“Granny…” Joneta softly muttered. “You dinnae need to did that.”
“Humph. Then it is nae difference.”
I fidgeted as I pulled the wool coverlet up to my chin. Mayhap she did need to do that, but if she had not… I drifted to sleep on that thought.