Honor & Roses (19 page)

The carts were all packed, the horses ready, the men-at-arms prepared. Alric had convinced Theobald to keep Rafe at Cleobury. Instead, Octavian would accompany the entourage.

Cecily was speaking to Pavia, who was still frail after her illness. The ladies embraced, both of them crying as if the parting would be life-long. Agnes sobbed too, even though she was coming on the journey and returning later, and therefore had little to sob about at the moment.

It seemed every servant and laborer from the manor and the environs wanted to bid Cecily goodbye. She was beloved by her people, and uneasiness stirred in Alric as he watched the heartfelt goodbyes. Perhaps Cecily wasn’t meant to leave, or certainly not to go so far.

Even Theobald looked somewhat impressed by the send off. If he reconsidered the wisdom of his decision though, he gave no sign.

“How long will this go on?” Rafe asked Alric. “You intend to leave today, do you not?”

“So we do.”

“Best get moving, or this farewelling will last till sunset and resume tomorrow.”

“Perhaps that’s what Cecily has in mind,” Alric muttered.

Rafe laughed. “If so, she’s succeeding.” Then he added slyly, “But then, conducting her north is no task of mine. You have the honor of that.”

Alric advanced toward Cecily and those gathered around her. She saw him, and frowned.

“Yes, yes,” she said, forestalling his words. “It is well past time for me to leave my home.”

Ever mindful of her duty, she bid goodbye to her uncle in a formal, frosty manner. He, in turn, bid her to obey her new husband. He didn’t speak a word of tenderness, or embrace her in farewell.
Idiot
, Alric thought.

Finally, the party rode forth. Many people gathered along the road, either because they’d heard of Cecily’s departure, or because the spectacle of the entourage was excuse enough to take a bit of a holiday.

Cecily nodded graciously to everyone, smiling through her tears.

At one point, they passed a small group of folk on the side of the road, including two figures clad in the unmistakable blue cloth of the leper.

Cecily waved to them. “God keep you all!” she called. “Remember me in your prayers.”

“Bless you, my lady!” several shouted back. Bertram ran up to Cecily’s horse and offered a small package wrapped in plain linen.

She closed her hand around it. “Thank you,” she whispered. She turned her head and watched the group until they were out of sight.

“Are you going to open it?” Alric asked.

“Later,” she said. “When I need to be reminded of what I’ve left.”

“You can return to visit,” he said. “It’s not the end.”

“I fear it is,” she said, and then rode ahead a few lengths, signaling that the discussion was over.

* * * *

The first day’s travel was uneventful, and they stayed with a noble well known to the family.

On the next day, a few of the travelers were now reaching the limits of their world. Edmund, who gained the honor of coming along as Alric’s squire in training, was so excited he could barely sit still in his pony’s saddle. He kept saying, “I’ve never seen that hill before! I’ve never seen that stream before!”

Alric wished he could be as light-hearted about the journey.

They reached the gates of a manor shortly before nightfall. The lord there greeted the entourage with a very neighborly welcome and, before Alric could even voice the request, insisted they spend the night in the safety and comfort of the manor house itself. At the end of the evening, Alric shared a drink with the lord.

“She’ll make a lovely bride!” his host said. “A long way to travel, though you’re an experienced soldier, I can tell. You’ll be able to fend off whatever threats lie ahead.”

“Is there something I ought to know about?” Alric asked.

“Nearby has been quiet enough. There have been a few raids from the west,” the man said. “But our sheriff and his men are alert. It’s north, closer to the Ardenwood, where you should be most wary.”

“We are prepared.”

“So I see. But never let your guard down,” the lord cautioned. “A caravan such as yours, laden with a dowry and goods intended for a lady’s new household—it will attract notice. Any band of thieves would see a rich prize. And there are many eyes along the road.”

“I’ll keep close watch,” said Alric. “I’ve learned a few tricks to discourage such masterless men from seeing me as easy prey.”

Alric was mindful of the lord’s warning, and instructed the men-at-arms to keep a close eye on the surrounding lands when they continued on the following morning. They were to alert him of anything odd, especially someone who seemed to be watching the caravan too closely.

They lodged at an abbey the next night, and the night after that at another manor house. Alric inquired about the road ahead each time, and was told much the same story. As they went further north, the warnings about the Ardenwood grew more dire.

“Take another road if you can,” one of their hosts advised him. “By all accounts, the Ardenwood is evil.”

“Bandits are dangerous, not evil.”

“Worse than bandits dwell in the Ardenwood, sir knight. For the past decade or more, strange tidings have come from there. The wise don’t travel the road if they can avoid it.”

Cecily overheard the comment, and later asked him, “Do you intend to change our route?”

He shook his head. “No. At least, not until I’m given a reason more visible than stories of strange tidings. Remember tales of how Meaholt is haunted.”

“Indeed,” Cecily said with a nod.

“You have an appointment to keep on Lammas Night,” he said, hoping he didn’t sound jealous. “I’ll not be the cause of delaying it.”

* * * *

They continued northward. Though it was nearly imperceptible, summer was dying. The days were growing shorter, and the nights were cooling. The air was also dry, unlike the fresh, rain-scented air of spring or the humid days of high summer. It was beautiful to see the forest in full leaf, yet know that autumn was coming soon.

Cecily wished she could enjoy it more, considering it was one of her last days of relative freedom. But she hadn’t been easy in mind since they began riding that morning. Not that any part of the journey was happy for her—she wanted to turn her palfrey to the south every time she took a breath.

There was a new feeling dogging her today, something she couldn’t quite name. She kept looking to the right and left as the entourage wound its way through the forest. There was nothing particularly remarkable about the environs here. Trees crowded the track, only to open up suddenly when a stream cut through, or an isolated farmstead appeared. Occasionally, the top of a craggy hill rose in the distance.

For the most part, though, it was trees. Heavy-limbed oaks stood thick with dark green foliage and thousands of acorns just waiting to drop. Squirrels dashed and chattered among the high branches, staking their claim to the nuts.

There were mighty elms, too, towering even above the oaks, their tops lost in the lush canopy over Cecily’s head. When fallen trees let sunlight filter to the forest floor, the light struck the slender white trunks of a birch stand growing near a stream, many young trees gathered together like maidens ready to wash.

All this beauty reached Cecily’s eyes, but didn’t penetrate to her heart. She kept glancing about, puzzled, almost sensing what was wrong…

Then she saw it. A solitary hill rose above the treeline in the west, and the profile of the land struck her, summoning up an old memory. Without a word to anyone, she gathered her steed and pulled away from the main party, plunging down a narrow trail only deer would use.

Urgent calls echoed behind her, but she ignored them. She rode swiftly, hearing Alric’s voice far behind.

“Don’t stop her. But keep her in view!”

Cecily didn’t look back, despite the hoofbeats she heard on the track. She kept her eyes firmly on the hill, knowing it was showing her directly where she needed to go.

The conviction settled on her and grew as the summit of the craggy hill became larger in her vision. Trees changed, roads wandered. But the face of the mountain was the same as it had always been—a mountain she knew very well.

Nevertheless, her horse rode into a large clearing before Cecily was prepared to see it, and she drew up short, staring around her in wonderment.

“I’ve been here,” she murmured.

The evidence was all around her: husks of small outbuildings, the pales of a long-gone garden plot. The charred trunk of a tree along the southern edge of the clearing. Old stone doorways that refused to crumble, part of the subtle lines of a structure she could never forget.

She was
home.

“This is Aldgate,” she said out loud. The word felt strange on her tongue.

This was indeed the ruins of the old manor where Cecily grew up. It was her parents’ favorite home among all her father’s holdings, and where she had been born. It was also where her father lost his life in the fire so many years ago.

She’d never been back, of course. Her uncle wouldn’t hear of it. As soon as he took the title of his dead brother, he had relocated the seat to Cleobury, a more modern and more usefully placed location. He said there was no purpose in rebuilding Aldgate. It would cost too much and there was too much sadness there.

Cecily missed it, but she never even dreamed of returning. What was there to return to? But now as she walked among the ruins, long submerged memories washed over her.

The night of the fire, she had been sleeping with the other women and girls in a chamber on the north end of the manor house. A scream woke her. It came from one of the other girls who had got up in the night. The smell of smoke was heavy in the air, but at first young Cecily didn’t think much of it. Every room smelled of smoke all the time due to the cooking fires and the sooty rush lights used after sunset.

But this smoke smelled different. Cecily got frightened. She watched the ladies around her begin to shift and move, gathering up clothes, and then running in and out of the room. Panic was overtaking them.

Cecily slipped out of the room, too scared to remain. She ran to her favorite hiding place—through rooms that looked unfamiliar in the fearsome, flickering light of the spreading fire. She covered her mouth to keep from breathing the thick, smoky air. At last, she skidded to a halt in a small alcove, praying the fire would pass her by.

A sudden crash made her scream. Then a ceiling beam collapsed, blocking the main way out of the great room.

In the present, Cecily stared at the crumbling archway. She remembered that shape, though in her memory the hall of stone extended many feet.

When last she stood there, flames blazed at one end. Then an arm had yanked her out of the smoke. She didn’t see who it was.

“Careful, Cecily!” someone called. A boy. Whoever grabbed her continued to pull her away from the fire.

“My father!” she cried. “My father is in there!”

“No, he’s not!” the boy shouted, his voice hoarse from the smoke. “I saw him run out! He’s outside in the courtyard. Come! Please, I told him I’d find you and keep you safe!”

Hearing that, Cecily stopped struggling and let the boy pull her toward the cool night air.

She had a coughing fit once fresh air filled her lungs. She fell to the ground on hands and knees, desperately seeking the clean air lower to the ground.

The boy knelt by her, his hand on her back, patting her to help her breathe. “Are you all right, my lady?” he asked anxiously.

She nodded as she caught her breath. “Yes. Yes. I’m better. But my father. We need to find my father.”

“You need to stay unseen,” the boy hissed. “If they notice you, they’ll take you as a hostage.”

Cecily blinked, looking more closely at the boy. “Who’s
they
? Who are you?”

“My name’s Alric,” he said. “I’m training to be a squire here, with a few other boys. You can trust me.”

Until then, it hadn’t even occurred to young Cecily that she
shouldn’t
trust him. He’d pulled her out of a burning building, hadn’t he?

At that moment, his head turned. “Oh, no. Someone’s coming. He’s seen you,” he muttered. “Don’t say anything. Just trust me.”

Alric shifted his feet to shield Cecily from whoever approached. He pulled a dagger out, holding it quite capably for one so young.

“Well, now, what have I got?” A man dressed as a soldier appeared through the smoke. He peered at them both, focusing in particular on Cecily. “A little lady, perhaps?”

“Stay away from my sister!” Alric growled, holding the knife out.

“Who’s your sister, then?”

“Edith works in the kitchens! What do you care?”

The thug sneered, but seemed to lose interest. He turned to leave. “Best keep an eye on your pretty little sister, boy. Long night ahead.”

* * * *

Cecily blinked, coming back to the present. She had not thought of that horrible night for years, and she hadn’t remembered Alric’s actions so clearly until just now, back where it happened. He hadn’t left her side the whole night. When her father couldn’t be found and she burst into panicked tears, he held her hand. When the broken, charred body of Lord Rainald was discovered, identifiable only by the signet ring on the wreck of a hand, it was Alric who broke the news to Cecily.

For months after that, she lived in a sort of haze, as if the smoke of that night hadn’t cleared in her head. But Alric always seemed to find her at the moments when she was most desolate. He became a presence in her life, just by being at the manor of Cleobury, where they had moved to. It was a rare day that he didn’t say hello or smile at her, though he was busy training.

Now she retraced steps through the old manor, seeing buildings where there was only a square patch of dirt, and seeing people now long scattered. Aldgate had been prosperous and grand. It seemed a shame that it would be forever lost.

She entered the ruins of one of the larger buildings, picking her way among fallen rocks and outgrowths of weeds. Shadows crawled everywhere, making it even harder to see what used to be there. Cecily recalled great spaces and fire-lit rooms, not this maze of walls that seemed to press in on her.