Henry, whose wife, they said, had cuckolded him with the Duke of Somerset. The prince, they gossiped, was wrought of Somerset ’ s loins, for the king was too often at poetry and prayer.
She wandered into the gardens, but there was much astir there as castlewomen clipped late-blooming herbs for poultices and lotions for warriors at roost here. Troops must be tended after battle. Large groups of calves, piglets, and lambs were being led to slaughter, for there were many mouths to feed, soldiers needed meat for strength. And the stable was no help, for an army that could not be housed in the main hall had found refuge there. In the weaving rooms the women frantically spun their yarn for cloth for gambesons, banners, and standards for the house of York, or of Gifford green. Finally, the church proved the only quiet place, and Anne knelt to pray for Mi nerva .. . and Dylan.
She did not raise her head for what she perceived to be an hour and shared the church only with a peasant from the village who knelt behind her. He had undoubtedly sinned worse than she, for his capped head was bowed the whole while. When she reasoned it was time to return to Minerva, she lifted her head. She rose to leave and turned to depart the chapel. The peasant finished his prayers and lifted his bright turquoise eyes to meet hers. Her heart nearly stopped. Dylan! Inside Raedelle walls!
She stood numbly, terrified. She could not speak to him here, for the priest might come out of an ambry and catch them together. She lowered her eyes and with head bowed, fled swiftly with small steps, knowing he would follow. But where?
All of Raedelle was astir with the commotion of building an army for a subversive cause. There was no nook in all of the castle and town that would be safe. And Dylan was at risk inside Raedelle grounds.
She considered his costume, his peasant rags and straw hat. He sat unbot hered in the church because .. . because Raedelle was so astir with preparations for war that no one paid attention to another serf. She walked on, trying to keep her steps short and her manner relaxed, through the portcullis of the inner bailey and through the town to the gate. And there she saw what she had seen for weeks -- knights and squires and pages and peasants roving through the opened gates as if a Mayday fair was taking place within Raedelle ’ s walls. Women carried baskets, carts laden with supplies were coming in, empty carts moved out. Farmers gathered the last remnants of their crops from the fields, corralled their stock, and destriers were being led about as pages exercised them for the knights. Outside the walls she could hear the shouts from men who practiced arms in the fields.
“ Where are you bound, maid Anne? ” the knight who kept the gate asked.
“ I have been through a long morning at the bedside of my nurse, old Minerva. She is dying. ” She brushed at a tear. “ I need a space away from her illness and this mania of knights. I will return to her directly. ”
“ You should not wander far, ” he advised.
“ There are more knights within hearing of my screams than ever before, sir. I mean only to circle the outer wall once to loosen these stiff limbs. Worry not. ”
The protection lining the walls was more than adequate, and so the gate keeper did not argue or detain her. Anne did not dare look over her shoulder to see if Dylan followed. She did in fact walk around the outer wall, to the rear of the keep, a trip that took the half of an hour. There, where the castle was built into the side of a hill, was a shallow coppice of no more than a dozen trees. It was the only place that could not be seen from the wall or tower. Anyone fleeing over the hill could be spotted, or troops converging on the castle from the far side of the hill could be seen. But this little place where the wall met the hill was hidden. And this was the place where Dylan had spread his mantle on the grass for her once before.
When she entered the
She wandered into the gardens, but there was much astir there as castlewomen clipped late-blooming herbs for poultices and lotions for warriors at roost here. Troops must be tended after battle. Large groups of calves, piglets, and lambs were being led to slaughter, for there were many mouths to feed, soldiers needed meat for strength. And the stable was no help, for an army that could not be housed in the main hall had found refuge there. In the weaving rooms the women frantically spun their yarn for cloth for gambesons, banners, and standards for the house of York, or of Gifford green. Finally, the church proved the only quiet place, and Anne knelt to pray for Mi nerva .. . and Dylan.
She did not raise her head for what she perceived to be an hour and shared the church only with a peasant from the village who knelt behind her. He had undoubtedly sinned worse than she, for his capped head was bowed the whole while. When she reasoned it was time to return to Minerva, she lifted her head. She rose to leave and turned to depart the chapel. The peasant finished his prayers and lifted his bright turquoise eyes to meet hers. Her heart nearly stopped. Dylan! Inside Raedelle walls!
She stood numbly, terrified. She could not speak to him here, for the priest might come out of an ambry and catch them together. She lowered her eyes and with head bowed, fled swiftly with small steps, knowing he would follow. But where?
All of Raedelle was astir with the commotion of building an army for a subversive cause. There was no nook in all of the castle and town that would be safe. And Dylan was at risk inside Raedelle grounds.
She considered his costume, his peasant rags and straw hat. He sat unbot hered in the church because .. . because Raedelle was so astir with preparations for war that no one paid attention to another serf. She walked on, trying to keep her steps short and her manner relaxed, through the portcullis of the inner bailey and through the town to the gate. And there she saw what she had seen for weeks -- knights and squires and pages and peasants roving through the opened gates as if a Mayday fair was taking place within Raedelle ’ s walls. Women carried baskets, carts laden with supplies were coming in, empty carts moved out. Farmers gathered the last remnants of their crops from the fields, corralled their stock, and destriers were being led about as pages exercised them for the knights. Outside the walls she could hear the shouts from men who practiced arms in the fields.
“ Where are you bound, maid Anne? ” the knight who kept the gate asked.
“ I have been through a long morning at the bedside of my nurse, old Minerva. She is dying. ” She brushed at a tear. “ I need a space away from her illness and this mania of knights. I will return to her directly. ”
“ You should not wander far, ” he advised.
“ There are more knights within hearing of my screams than ever before, sir. I mean only to circle the outer wall once to loosen these stiff limbs. Worry not. ”
The protection lining the walls was more than adequate, and so the gate keeper did not argue or detain her. Anne did not dare look over her shoulder to see if Dylan followed. She did in fact walk around the outer wall, to the rear of the keep, a trip that took the half of an hour. There, where the castle was built into the side of a hill, was a shallow coppice of no more than a dozen trees. It was the only place that could not be seen from the wall or tower. Anyone fleeing over the hill could be spotted, or troops converging on the castle from the far side of the hill could be seen. But this little place where the wall met the hill was hidden. And this was the place where Dylan had spread his mantle on the grass for her once before.
When she entered the
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