My Lady Faye (4 page)

“And yet, one of us must act.” Sir Arthur’s stare glinted keen beneath his snarled brows.

The look crawled across Gregory’s skin. He was a monk, God’s man. Unspoken expectations hung heavy in the air between them.

“Faye is terrified for Simon.” With awful precision, Sir Arthur hammered the blade home.

Gregory may be a postulant, but before that he was a man. A man who had held Simon since hours after his birth, told the boy stories to help him sleep and placed him on his first horse. Simon and Arthur were grafted into his flesh as deeply as their mother.

Sir Arthur fixed a stare on him.

Choices, always choices. He scoffed at himself. He had made his choice when he got on that horse and followed Garrett. Strangely enough, he believed the Abbot would understand.

Iesus vero ait eis: Sinite parvulos, et nolite eos prohibere ad me venire: talium est enim regnum cælorum.

Let the children come to Jesus. A just, Godly cause, and he could do this. It would be his one, final act as a man of the sword before he took his vows. He had waited years to enter his chosen vocation and a few days more could make little difference. He would do this, however, with Godliness in the forefront of his mind. He nodded and met Sir Arthur’s steady gaze.

Relief loosened the tension around Sir Arthur’s eyes and some of his habitual vitality returned to his face. “Simon was taken to Calder Castle,” Sir Arthur said. “I need a pair of eyes close enough to watch that he is safe while I do what I can.”

“I will be your eyes.” Eyes, aye, and a pair of hands close enough to snatch the boy if the opportunity presented itself.

“Calder bears you no love, Gregory.”

True enough. Calder knew who had aided his wife and children in their escape. “I have friends close to the keep who believe I did right.”

Sir Arthur grunted. “Still, best not to announce your arrival.”

Christ had entered Jerusalem on an ass. The picture swelled in Gregory’s mind as a plan formed. Not a noble or glorious plan, quite the opposite and he chuckled softly. Humility, it was as good a practice as any with which to begin. God knew, he hadn’t grasped obedience and chastity—

Best not to think on that too long.

Faye blinked in the glare of sunlight streaming through the casement. She was in her bed. How long had she slept? The bed beside her was empty. Her pulse spiked as she sat up. “Arthur?”

“He is well.” Ivy placed a cup on the oaken chest by the bed. “Tom is with him. He will not let the boy out of his sight.”

If Tom watched Arthur, all should be well, but unease churned in her middle. She would rise and find them to be certain. From the cup by her bedside rose a sharp scent. “What is it?”

“A little something Nurse thought would help.” Ivy folded her hands together in front of her. “I sweetened it with lavender honey.”

“And Nurse allowed that?” Beatrice heaved herself up from her seat by the casement. “She forces me to drink her potions as is.”

Laughter lit Ivy’s grave features from within, animating her pale face into an uncommonly lovely woman.

Faye took a tentative sip of the tisane. It wasn’t too horrible. Bitter, aye, but softened by the fragrant sweetness of the lavender honey. It hit her empty belly. Hunger gnawed for the first time since Simon and been taken. The familiar dread weight settled over her chest. “Did I miss dinner?”

Beatrice pressed her fists into the small of her back. “Aye and breaking the fast. You slept through the night well past noon.”

Good Lord, she must get up, but the rest had helped clear her mind.

Ivy fetched a small salver and placed it beside her. The yeasty smell of fresh bread made her mouth water. Her stomach growled and Faye’s face heated. Mortifying belly.

“Eat.” Beatrice eyed the salver like a dog searching for scraps. “Or I might steal it from you.”

“Shall I arrange some water for a bath?” Ivy flushed and her gaze strayed over Faye’s gown.

With a start, Faye checked her appearance. She’d been wearing the same bliaut for three days, and it showed in the wrinkled, stained silk.

“I think that’s a fine idea.” Beatrice nodded and her braid bounced against her back.

Verily, it must be bad for Beatrice to be so eager she repair her costume. Faye touched her hair and encountered a matted snarl. Never had she allowed her appearance to disintegrate to this point. Gregory had seen her looking like this, a veritable hag. Gregory had come. The heavy press against her chest lightened and she breathed easier. Gregory would fix this. “I will eat and then bathe.”

Ivy nodded and slipped out of the room.

Beatrice sat beside her and took a wedge of cheese. “Sorry.” She pulled a face and popped it into her mouth. “I seem to be eating for an army.”

The sharp bite of cheese and warm bread flooded her mouth. Faye almost snatched the wedge back from her sister. How long had it been since she had eaten?

“Faye.” Loading her name with meaning, Beatrice picked at the bed furs. Her sister wore her “oh, Beatrice” face. The one that came before Beatrice did something outrageous.

Faye braced for the worst.

“I have questioned whether I should tell you.” Beatrice shifted.

Belly too tight too eat, Faye lay down her bread. “What?”

Beatrice drew a long breath. “Sir Gregory was with Father and our brothers in the armory. They spoke well into the night.”

“And?”
Say it.
She swallowed the building scream. Ladies never screamed or even raised their voices. Her heart pounded an uneven beat in her chest. It had to concern Simon.

Beatrice blushed. “And I happened to overhear what they were saying.”

Overheard. Indeed. Beatrice’s terrible habit of listening to conversations that didn’t concern her was well known throughout Anglesea. She shouldn’t encourage her, but she wanted to hear the rest of it. “What did they say?”

“Gregory goes to Calder Castle.”

All the air rushed out of her lungs. “Why?”

Beatrice pulled a face. “I did not hear that part. Garrett caught me and pulled me away.”

“Calder will kill Gregory if he sees him.”

“Then, he does not go to negotiate Simon’s release.” Beatrice chewed on her bottom lip.

“Parley with Calder?” A sour taste coated Faye’s mouth. “Calder does not parley and especially not when he has the upper hand. He has nothing to gain by releasing Simon.”

Her husband would be relishing every moment of this. He enjoyed wielding his power over those in his control. Calder didn’t care for Simon and he, for certain, had no interest in raising a child.

Nay, this was revenge on Calder’s part. She’d pricked Calder’s pride by leaving him. Blinded by her anguish, she’d been stupid to believe he would let her go and not care, be relieved even. Another warmed his bed before she’d even left and she took that as sign he no longer wanted her. He didn’t want her, but Calder always wanted to win.

Right down to the bottom of his rotten soul, she understood Calder. Mother of Mercy, she had lived with the man for seven hateful years. Calder wanted his pound of flesh and he wanted it from her. She shoved aside the bed linens and rose. Cold stones bit into her bare feet.

With a frown, Beatrice watched. “What are you doing?”

“Thinking.” Faye paced over to the casement. Around them, the lands of Anglesea lay in a patchwork of fields. To the south whitecaps danced over the face of the sea. East of here lay Calder and her son. If Gregory went to Calder, he would go in secret.

Gregory acted and she would wait, shut up in this room, staring out of this casement while Simon remained with the monster who had sired him. It was the way of the world. Men acted. Women waited and prayed they would not have to put the pieces back together again. A lifetime of waiting pressed down on her shoulders. Waiting for suitors, waiting for her wedding, waiting for her husband to drop dead.

The venom in her last thought shook her a trifle.

She might add years to her life if she tallied the time she had spent sitting idly by while others acted. Many of them spent waiting for Gregory to speak, act, do anything.

“Faye?” Beatrice’s brow puckered into a frown as she touched her arm.

They were as different as two sisters could be. All her life, Faye had done the right thing, the correct thing, her behavior above reproach.

Beatrice tilled her own furrow. The adored youngest sibling, before young Mathew was born last year, Beatrice had been allowed free rein with her impetuous spirit. She had never meekly accepted her fate. Three arranged betrothals, but no marriage until Beatrice had chosen a man so unsuitable as to be laughable. And yet, here she stood, her belly large with that man’s child, blissful in a marriage of her choosing.

“You have a peculiar look on your face.” Beatrice cocked her head.

Aye, that would be because she was having a series of peculiar thoughts. Thoughts that caused her heart to hammer in her ears, wayward, wicked thoughts that had no business jangling around in the head of a dutiful woman. Years of serene obedience and she had naught to show for it.

Nay, that was a lie. She had a broken heart, some healed marks on her body and a child in danger. So accustomed were they to biddable Faye they didn’t even share their plan. Scurrying around like rats hatching schemes that would change the course of her life.

“Sod that.” The forbidden words tasted like nectar on her tongue. Mayhap she should have taken up cursing before now.

Beatrice’s gaped and she took a step back.

In this keep she had been Sir Arthur’s perfect daughter. She had been married from here and taken to Calder Castle to play the part of dutiful wife. She had done her duty, served her husband and her people, and this was the coin meted out to her. No more, because Lady Faye was taking charge. She wrenched open the door and took the stairs at a run, dodging around a group of young boys playing stones.

“Faye?” Beatrice puffed along in her wake.

On a whim Beatrice had rushed off to London. This was no whim. This was her son. If anyone was going to Calder Castle, she was going with them. She knew Calder better than anyone. If her son was in danger then that’s where she must be.

A serving maid leapt out of her way as she stormed past.

The privacy curtain to the armory hung closed and she swept it aside. “I am going with Gregory.”

As one, the occupants of the armory swung to look at her.

Faye sought the pair of dark eyes that mattered most to her.

Gregory frowned and shook his head. “What are you saying, my lady?”

Faye dug her nails into her palms. They needn’t look at her as if she had lost what few wits she had left. “I am going with Gregory to Calder.”

“Do not be ridiculous.” Roger puffed up like a charging bull.

“It is not ridiculous.” Her breathing came harsh and ragged and she fought to steady it.

Her father shook his head.

“He is my son.” Nothing meant more to her father than his children. Sir Arthur had to understand that. “Simon is my child, and I am going to bring him home.”

“Faye. You are upset and not thinking clearly.” Henry stepped forward, spreading his hands before him like he was gentling a feral beast.

“Do not.” Faye knocked his hands away. She would not tolerate one of Henry’s lectures. He had no say here. “When you have held your child in your arms, then you can tell me how I should feel.”

“Faye, sweeting, I am a father.” Sir Arthur rose from his chair. “And I do understand how you feel, but you cannot go with Gregory. If Calder saw you—”

“Do you think I care what Calder does to me?” Dear God, there could be nothing worse the man could do to her than this.

Roger cleared his throat and looked troubled. “You cannot mean it.”

If only Roger knew. If only any of them knew.

Pain flared in Gregory’s eyes before he dropped his gaze. He couldn’t even look at her and acknowledge the truth between them. It was not good enough. Now he must stand with her. He couldn’t run from this anymore.

Fine tremors shook her legs as she stared at his bent head. “Tell them.”

“My lady.” His head jerked up.

Still as a predator, his face so cold she shivered, Sir Arthur turned to Gregory. “Tell us what?”

“I know Calder from court.” William leant forward in his chair. “I heard things about him.”

“You heard things?” Sir Arthur’s voice rose with each word. “What things did you hear?”

Faye held Gregory’s stare. All the evasions and half-truths hung toxic between them. Angry words never spoken, accusations never made, things known but never acknowledged.

Stripped bare of her pretense, she stood before him. Exposed in her shame in front of her family.

“They were true.” Gregory seemed to wrench the admission from the deepest part of him.

“Jesu.” William leapt to his feet. “I will kill him.”

“Someone tell me.” Sir Arthur’s voice thundered around the room.

“Calder beat her.” As if he somehow stood aside from himself, Gregory’s expression hardened into blankness. “He beat her often and so badly some days she could not rise from her bed. I would shield her from other people until the bruises faded. There is nothing he can do to her he has not already done.”

“Except to hurt my child.”

They could not even look at her. Henry stared at his feet. Roger paced to the end of the armory, his boot heels ringing against the flags.

William had his back to her. “I heard the whispers and I did not ask. You always looked well enough when I saw you, and there were other matters. King John. The rebellion.” He shook his head. “I should have asked.”

“Faye.” Her father’s eyes gleamed damp as he moved to her, hands held before him to embrace her.

“I do not want your pity.” If her father touched her, she would shatter. “I want you to do what you can to make sure we never have to go back there.”

“You have my word.” Sir Arthur dropped his hands.

“I am going with Gregory to Calder.”

“This is madness.” Roger paced back to them. “Now more than ever you cannot go. We will find another way, Faye. We will defy the king if we must, but I will not allow you anywhere near that whoreson again.”