Chapter Five
Gather ye bayberry, blessed thistle, evergreen,
holly, sacred mistletoe, oak and pine...
“Elspeth...you needs must open your eyes...”
The words floated through her mind, making little sense. She had no idea where she was, or why someone was telling Elspeth to keep her eyes open. The only thing Lesslyn could recall was being cold, so cold she feared she might never feel warm again. Then slowly, a radiant heat surrounded her, filled her. So delicious, she just wanted to sleep forever.
Gradually, flashes of images came to her. Her hand reaching out to Hellborne, his fingers closing around hers, as she had put her foot into a stirrup. One of his men caught her elbow and balanced her, until she turned and was seated crosswise on the earl’s lap. Almost like great wings, he had enfolded the heavy mantle about them, shielding her from the wintry storm. Clearly, she remembered trembling, but not from the cold. Hellborne made her quake inside. And not in fear.
The inner sense awakening, awareness of him on this deeper level seemed strange. All her life she had been alone. When she was around men she had felt unmoved. Oh, she had heard the bards speaking of love, had seen men and women exchange smoldering glances. While she oft thought of having a husband and a home of her own, she never could put a face to the shadowy figure in her dreams. In a fantasy, the spectral figure leaned close, peering at her face. Filtered sunlight played across his countenance.
Hellborne.
He gave her a wistful smile, and then said, “You needs must open your eyes.”
Pain in her head caused her whole body to jerk, as the flashes in her mind and reality collided. She raised a hand to the lump on her forehead. Touching it carefully. It almost felt like a quail egg under the skin.
“Easy, lass.” Hellborne cautioned. He balanced her to prevent Lesslyn from falling.
“I went to sleep?” she asked, confused.
He gave a nod. “Only for a moment or so. I will not permit you to slumber. ’Tis not understood by healers. Howbeit, men in battle quickly learn that a blow to the head somehow muddles the mind. Sometimes, they will go to sleep and never awaken. So you, my fair maid, shall spend a big portion of the day awake, and mayhap even part of the night. I shall see to that.”
Lesslyn looked up at his strong face. She was sure Elspeth wouldst prefer the soft-faced Aristide. She almost chuckled at the comparison. She, on the other hand, thought Greyson de Verre so handsome! As she had told her sister, he had a power about him. What surprised her was the gentleness he was displaying toward her. She had not expected him to be so solicitous of her, concern clear in his eyes.
The corners of his mouth tightened in a hint of a grimace. “I regret I did not meet up with your party sooner. There were a few things I had to attend to first. I am to blame for the attack. Had you been under my banner, I doubt these mercenary scum wouldst dare the affront.”
Seeing the pennon flapping in the wind, carried by a banneret riding before them, she studied the dark red material. A silver griffin passant, holding a sword in the uplifted paw, was the device. “I have never seen a pennon like that.” Lesslyn felt ashamed for admitting such, since she truly lacked knowledge of heraldry, having been kept at Sancerre, and rarely traveled outside of their walls most of her life. “I am sorry. It just struck me odd. That shade of red...” Her words trailed off, fearful she might anger him.
“That looks like blood?” he asked, his brows lifting faintly.
She nodded. “Are griffins real?”
He chuckled. “Not to my knowledge.”
“This Welshman...with the eyepatch and a streak of white in his hair? Is he known to you?” Lesslyn watched his face to study his reaction.
He gave a shake to his head. “Nay. I think it likely he might be someone my brother wouldst recognize. I will send word to him of what happened.”
’Twas puzzling. He did not lie to her. She would swear on it. Yet, she had a sense he was not telling her the whole truth. Unsure whether to challenge it, she let the matter pass.
It was his turn to voice questions. “These foreign troops that ride with us—are they some sort of honor guard at Sancerre? Are they to stay at Hellborne now?”
She had nearly forgotten about the cavalry Aristide had sent for protection. “Nay. They are part of the cadre belonging to Aristide di Conti. Second son of an Italian nobleman. My sister goes to wed with him. He insisted part of his troop ride as escort. You may feed them and send them back on the morrow. I am sure they will wish to be gone, in case the weather worsens. How long before we reach Hellborne?”
“Not much farther. I needs must warn you. Hellborne lacks some of the finery that Sancerre likely displayed. There has been no mistress of the keep for far too long.”
“You have never been to Sancerre. My ste—” Lesslyn caught herself before the slip escaped. “My lord father felt no need to spend coin on eye comforts. To be blunt—he was a coin-pinch.”
He laughed aloud. “An unusual way to put it. Well, I do not pinch gold or silver. You shall have an allowance to make your eyes as comfortable as you wish.”
“Where is Ena?” Lesslyn tried to look back to see if she could spot her.
“She rides with John.” He answered, then called, “John! To me!”
The knight brought his steed to ride on the right side of Hellborne. Poor Ena was perched upon the haunches of the stallion, her body pressed up against the warrior’s back. Her arms were around his waist and locked. Her hood fell back as she turned her head to look at Lesslyn. She rolled her eyes toward the knight before her and gave Lesslyn a sly grin. She cautiously reached for the hood with her left hand, but rocked from the movement. With an awkward desperation, she grabbed hold of the knight’s belt again.
“Satisfied your maidservent fairs well?” Hellborne asked.
Once again, she found herself watching his face to judge his answers. “Is your knight wed?”
A chuckle moved his chest. She could feel the vibration against her, and found the sensation pleasing. “Playing maker of matches?”
“Merely being cautious. Ena is a friend as much as my maid.” My only friend, she added silently. “I will not have her treated without honor and respect.”
He smiled. “Your care for her welfare speaks well of you. Have no fear. John is a good man. And no—he is not married. Like me, he is past time for being made a husband.”
• ♥ •
A horn blowing, announced the arrival of their party. The gate was raised and the cadre moved under the Portcullis, through the gatehouse, and on into the inner ballium. Hellborne Keep was imposing. Surrounded by four towers, outer buildings, all enclosed by a stone wall—clearly, it was a mix of a much older holding with newer additions to fortify it. The word severe came to mind when staring at it. The only thing that softened its stark appearance, high up on the fourth level of the keep, was a double-arched, tracery window.
Lads ran out to take hold of the horses in the inner ward. They waited as the riders dismounted, and then began leading the mounts away toward the stables.
Sir John raised his right leg, and brought it over the neck of his charger, dismounting and landing on both feet. He turned to reach up and take Ena by the waist, and then lift her down. She wobbled, needing a breath to regain solid footing. He released his grip on her waist, but held out his hand to help her climb the tall stairs, leading up to the keep.
Hellborne swung his leg back over the pommel, and stepped down. Placing his hand on Lesslyn’s waist he easily swung her to the ground. He handed off his destrier to a young lad with red hair who stared at him with adoring eyes.
Lesslyn’s gaze roved around, taking in the place that would be her new home. She did not know what she had expected. The buildings appeared sturdy, well-built. Everything was kept neat, no animals scurrying about. Nothing more, nothing less than you might find in most strongholds. She noticed the banner flew from the central tower. The blood-red field with the silver griffin flapped in the snowy wind, announcing the lord of Hellborne was in residence.
“Well-come to Hellborne,” he said, leading her up the stairs, with Sir John and Ena trailing just behind them. “You are wet. I will get you settled by fireside, and then see all your belongings fetched to you.”
She thought of the trunk containing the half-a-score gowns that she and Elspeth had fixed for her, which contained a few personal belongings. Another held material her sister had given her, so Ena and she could make better clothing, more befitting a countess. “There is not much—just the two trunks and Ena’s possessions.” She saw a flicker of question lighting his grey eyes, but he said nothing. They were strangers, but already she was coming to read his mind. Yes, only two trunks spoke of the emptiness of her lifetime.
Inside, he escorted them to the Great Hall. The room was large, two levels high. Rushes covered the stone floor, and appeared to have been changed recently so there were no food scraps to attract rats. A lord’s table sat on a raised dais, and below four long tables had been arranged in rows of two for the soldiers and villeins.
A man fed small tinder to the fireplace to raise the heat, whilst several maids were placing bread on the lower tables. Torches were not lit, nor were the candles burning in wheel chaundelers, suspended by ropes from the ceiling. Thus, the room was only illuminated by the firelight, leaving it dark and gloomy.
A handful of servants silently rushed about, though most spared a moment to look upon the new lady. Lesslyn wondered what they thought about her. Did they feel she would make a good countess? Or judged Hellborne was marrying beneath him? She suddenly felt scared. How long could she hope to hide the truth? Though their faces were blank of emotions, they kept looking to each other. Hellborne’s hand at her back stayed her from bolting from the Hall.
She glanced to Hellborne to find him watching her face. Her hands trembled from the daunting challenge before her. He likely thought her just cold. Her stomach nearly rolled at having to lie to him. “’Tis a large Great Hall, my lord,” was all that she could summon.
He gave her a tentative smile. “Yes, it has size in its favor. Long has it lacked a woman’s touch, and it shows, I fear. Come. Sit by fireside. I will have a squire build the fire in your rooms so you can get out of the wet clothing before you take ill.”
“Thank you. I fear it may take ’til spring before my bones warm again.”
He motioned, and two young boys moved chairs close to the fire, so she and Ena could sit and warm themselves. He took her wet mantle and handed it off to the lad. A maidservant stood waiting with woven tartan blankets. Hellborne took one and folded it around her shoulders. “Please sit. You ladies must be chilled.”
“Before you go—what happened to my knife?” Lesslyn asked. “It was my father’s.” She caught herself almost saying it was all she had left of him. She needs must ever be mindful of telling slips.
Sir John pulled the dagger from his belt, then stepped forward and passed it to her. “I wiped it clean, my lady. ’Tis a beautifully crafted weapon. Well balanced in the hand.”
“Thank you.”
He went back to settling Ena in a chair with a cover. Once he did that, he gave a small bow and departed.
A squire carried a tray with two golden cups. He flashed a nervous grin and held it out before her. “My lord said I was to fetch hot drink to you. It will warm your innards.”
She took the cup, which felt good to her cold hands. “What is it?”
“Honeyed wine and cider,” he replied, passing the second cup to Ena.
Lesslyn sipped the brew, liking the flavor. She had never tasted such before. She looked down into the dark liquid in contemplation. Things had seemed rather simple when Elspeth and she had planned this Devil’s Bargain. Now, she was afraid.
She watched Hellborne giving orders to the servants. He was more than she expected. Yes, there was the fearsome power that rode upon his shoulders, telling all this was a man that stood out amongst the many. His face was handsome, his body tall and strong...and she found herself liking him.
Very much.