bodies.
“How I hate the cold,” Aldis said, rubbing
her gloved hands together. “I'll be glad when we are indoors again,
in front of a bright fire.”
“My ladies, I know our stop has been a short
one, but I think we should be on our way again,” Matthew told them.
“The moon has set into a bank of clouds, and this cold, damp air
makes me think of snow.”
“How can we travel now that it has grown so
dark?” Margaret asked, looking around at the shapes of trees barely
visible in the darkness. She could hear the winter-slow sound of
the nearby brook, but she could no longer see it. Except for the
faint murmur of the brook and the sounds made by their own little
group, the night was quiet. No animal stirred in the cold. Even the
wind was still. Margaret had assumed they would make camp where
they stopped, build fires for warmth, and wait until daylight
before continuing.
“We will keep to the old road,” Matthew
answered her. “It runs straight, so it's fairly easy to tell the
way even in the dark. By the time the sun is fully risen we should
be near the River Severn. Let us hope the folk at Sutton Castle
will not bestir themselves until late morning after last night's
feasting and drinking, and that no early riser has noticed our
absence. And that when they do notice we are gone, Lord Phelan will
be sober enough to think of the convent and ride there first,
before searching elsewhere. That will give us a little more time
before they spread out along every road and track from here to
Shrewsbury, and on to Chester.”
“Let us also hope that Lady Gertrude has kept
quiet about what she has seen and heard,” Catherine added.
They remounted and started off again through
the dark which, unfortunately, did not lighten much at sunrise.
Thick, gray clouds overspread the sky. The air grew ever colder and
damper, and Matthew's concern about snow seemed to be
justified.
They crossed the bridge over the Severn at
Wroxeter before noon and stopped there briefly to eat and rest both
travelers and horses. Then they continued northward, staying well
away from Shrewsbury for fear that Phelan would send a search party
in that direction.
Margaret spent the ride in a state of
constant fear, not for herself, but for those who traveled with
her. Her original intention, to separate from her companions as
soon as possible after leaving Sutton so they would not be
endangered because of her, had been discarded after Catherine's
persuasive arguments. Margaret harbored no illusions about what
would happen to the rest of her party if her father or worse,
Eustace, should catch up with them. While Phelan might have some
qualms about drawing weapons upon men belonging to the baron of
Wortham, Margaret did not think Eustace would trouble himself to
make a careful distinction between abductors and men-at-arms who
were acting as escort for three noblewomen. Eustace would very
likely charge forward, his sword at the ready, eager to spill
blood.
Furthermore, Margaret was beginning to be
seriously worried about Catherine's health. She sneezed frequently,
fell into occasional bouts of coughing, and it seemed to Margaret
her friend was feverish.
Despite her reluctance to stay at Arden's
property, Margaret could only feel thankful when Matthew signaled
they had reached the place where they were to turn off the main
road and onto the narrow track that led through thickly forested
land to Bowen. An hour later Matthew called for another rest. All
of them, humans and horses alike, drank from a pond on which
Matthew and a second man broke the ice with the heels of their
boots. Again, the men cared for the horses while Margaret,
Catherine, and Aldis huddled together for warmth.
“I am sorry to complain,” Aldis said through
chattering teeth, “but I am nearly frozen to death.”
Margaret said nothing, though she was
thoroughly chilled, too. Unlike Aldis, she felt she had no right to
complain, since their present discomforts were undertaken for
“How I hate the cold,” Aldis said, rubbing
her gloved hands together. “I'll be glad when we are indoors again,
in front of a bright fire.”
“My ladies, I know our stop has been a short
one, but I think we should be on our way again,” Matthew told them.
“The moon has set into a bank of clouds, and this cold, damp air
makes me think of snow.”
“How can we travel now that it has grown so
dark?” Margaret asked, looking around at the shapes of trees barely
visible in the darkness. She could hear the winter-slow sound of
the nearby brook, but she could no longer see it. Except for the
faint murmur of the brook and the sounds made by their own little
group, the night was quiet. No animal stirred in the cold. Even the
wind was still. Margaret had assumed they would make camp where
they stopped, build fires for warmth, and wait until daylight
before continuing.
“We will keep to the old road,” Matthew
answered her. “It runs straight, so it's fairly easy to tell the
way even in the dark. By the time the sun is fully risen we should
be near the River Severn. Let us hope the folk at Sutton Castle
will not bestir themselves until late morning after last night's
feasting and drinking, and that no early riser has noticed our
absence. And that when they do notice we are gone, Lord Phelan will
be sober enough to think of the convent and ride there first,
before searching elsewhere. That will give us a little more time
before they spread out along every road and track from here to
Shrewsbury, and on to Chester.”
“Let us also hope that Lady Gertrude has kept
quiet about what she has seen and heard,” Catherine added.
They remounted and started off again through
the dark which, unfortunately, did not lighten much at sunrise.
Thick, gray clouds overspread the sky. The air grew ever colder and
damper, and Matthew's concern about snow seemed to be
justified.
They crossed the bridge over the Severn at
Wroxeter before noon and stopped there briefly to eat and rest both
travelers and horses. Then they continued northward, staying well
away from Shrewsbury for fear that Phelan would send a search party
in that direction.
Margaret spent the ride in a state of
constant fear, not for herself, but for those who traveled with
her. Her original intention, to separate from her companions as
soon as possible after leaving Sutton so they would not be
endangered because of her, had been discarded after Catherine's
persuasive arguments. Margaret harbored no illusions about what
would happen to the rest of her party if her father or worse,
Eustace, should catch up with them. While Phelan might have some
qualms about drawing weapons upon men belonging to the baron of
Wortham, Margaret did not think Eustace would trouble himself to
make a careful distinction between abductors and men-at-arms who
were acting as escort for three noblewomen. Eustace would very
likely charge forward, his sword at the ready, eager to spill
blood.
Furthermore, Margaret was beginning to be
seriously worried about Catherine's health. She sneezed frequently,
fell into occasional bouts of coughing, and it seemed to Margaret
her friend was feverish.
Despite her reluctance to stay at Arden's
property, Margaret could only feel thankful when Matthew signaled
they had reached the place where they were to turn off the main
road and onto the narrow track that led through thickly forested
land to Bowen. An hour later Matthew called for another rest. All
of them, humans and horses alike, drank from a pond on which
Matthew and a second man broke the ice with the heels of their
boots. Again, the men cared for the horses while Margaret,
Catherine, and Aldis huddled together for warmth.
“I am sorry to complain,” Aldis said through
chattering teeth, “but I am nearly frozen to death.”
Margaret said nothing, though she was
thoroughly chilled, too. Unlike Aldis, she felt she had no right to
complain, since their present discomforts were undertaken for
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