CHAPTER TWO
“Is the basket packed?” Cathlina asked.
“It is, my lady,” the red-faced cook replied. “I just put the bread in. That should be all of it.”
In the small, cluttered kitchen of Kirklinton, she was peering into a basket laden with goodies; pear and cinnamon compote in an earthenware jar sealed with beeswax, cherries soaked in honey and wine, pickled onions, two loaves of bread baked with cheese and garlic, and small cakes that Cathlina had made herself – a little flour, lard, eggs, butter, honey, walnuts, nutmeg and cloves made delicious little bread-like cakes. Satisfied her basket was packed to her specifications, Cathlina carefully covered it with an embroidered piece of cloth. It was her own kerchief with the elaborate letters “CLM”, for Cathlina Lavinia Mary, stitched in the shape of vines.
“Excellent,” she said, lifting the basket off of the massive, scarred butcher table. “Thank you for your assistance”
The cook waved her off and returned to the suckling pig she had just killed. Hands wrapped around the moderately heavy basket, Cathlina headed out of the kitchen and into the yard beyond.
It was early morning in Kirklinton. In late May, the weather was warmer and they hadn’t had rain for several days, which meant the ground had dried up somewhat and the mud wasn’t what it usually was. In fact, it was rather dry and pleasant. Pleasant enough for a trip back to Brampton.
That was her plan, in any case. Dressed in a yellow linen surcoat with a matching linen cloak, the surcoat had lacings in the front of the bodice that, when tightened, emphasized her curvy figure to a fault. It was her favorite dress, given to her by her mother because the color had been so striking against her pale skin and dark hair. Cathlina’s mother, the Lady Rosalund, was rather partial to her middle daughter. She reminded her of a sister she’d had in her youth, now long dead. Therefore, Cathlina usually had the pick of the wardrobe.
Even with the favoritism of her sometimes flighty mother, she was still remarkably unselfish or spoilt. She was, however, quite head-strong, and knew that she would not be punished for whatever she decided to do because her parents could never bring themselves to discipline her. Cathlina knew, therefore, that she would not be punished for her latest scheme. It was simply something she had to do and her parents would have to understand that.
Kirklinton’s bailey was relatively small, as the castle itself wasn’t particularly large. A big, square keep constructed of bumpy gray stone sat in the middle of the complex on a slightly raised motte. There was an enclosed entry and then four rooms of various sizes on the ground floor while the second floor had three sleeping chambers and a smaller chamber used for bathing and other personal needs. On the ground floor, a trap door in the largest room, which served as a smaller great hall, led down into a dungeon-like basement for storage.
The great hall was a separate structure as was the kitchen, both of them built into the curtain wall on the north side of the complex. Cathlina headed away from the kitchen and towards the stables built against the east wall. She could smell the hay and the smells of animals, and hear the braying and bleating as the beasts were fed by the stable workers.
Clutching her basket tightly, she kept looking around to make sure no one noticed that she was dressed for travel. She did not want to be stopped before she could accomplish her mission. Fortunately, everyone seemed too busy to notice.
Cathlina’s horse, a lovely dapple gray mare that was part Belgian warm blood and part Spanish Jennet, was tearing at her hay when Cathlina entered the dark confines of the stables. A litter of kittens nestled near the stash of hay up against the rear of the stall and she had to take the time to pet each tiny furry creature. She set the basket down so she could cuddle the babies. As she put the last kitten down and turned for the horse, she caught sight of a figure standing next to her.
Startled, she gasped with fright until she realized it was her older sister. The Lady Roxane Marietta Anna de Lara was eighteen months older than her middle sister, a plain-looking girl with long features and frizzy dark hair. She was rather silly and not particularly bright, and she had a dreamy manner about her. With Roxane, other people’s concerns or quarrels didn’t interest her in the least. She was mostly focused on what made her happy. She was also quite jealous of Cathlina and often followed her, which is how she ended up in the stable.
Cathlina knew the way her sister’s mind worked. Roxane was very nosy. She was the one person who couldn’t know what she was doing. Cathlina’s heart began to race with apprehension, wondering how she was going to prevent her sister from running for their parents when she discovered her plan to leave Kirklinton. The best way to deal with Roxane was to go on the offensive and hope to bully her into submission.
“What are you doing here?” Cathlina demanded.
Roxane cocked a thin eyebrow. “I saw you come from the kitchen,” she said. “What are you doing?”
“That is none of your affair,” Cathlina hissed. “Go back to the keep.”
Roxane’s eyes narrowed. “Tell me where you are going.”
“Nay.”
“Tell me or I shall tell Mother.”
Cathlina’s expression twisted angrily. “If you tell her anything at all, I shall tell her that you were the one who stole her store of fine wine and used it to ply Beauson so that he would kiss you!”
“You would not dare!”
“If you do not leave me alone, I most certainly will!”
“Oooh!”
“Oooooh!”
They shrieked and pointed at each other, furious and outraged. The next step was usually pulling hair but fortunately that didn’t occur. Still, there was agitated posturing going on that eventually settled with Roxane backing down first. She was still making faces, however.
“I will not tell her,” she finally grumbled. “But tell me where you are going. What is in your basket?”
Cathlina settled down as well, though she was still eyeing her sister with some anger. Roxane had a way of getting under her skin.
“Breads and treats,” she finally said, returning her attention to her mare as she began to saddle the animal. “I am going to Brampton to bring them to the man who saved me and Abechail from the attacker yesterday. It is the least I can do.”
Roxane followed her sister to the horse and actually began helping her tack the animal. “The man?” she repeated, thinking back to the day before and the events surrounding Abechail’s near abduction. “The big man with the dark hair?”
Cathlina nodded as she strapped on the saddle. “Aye,” she said. “He said he would not take a reward but I feel strongly that I must do something for him. Had he not intervened, surely Abechail would now be lost. He would not even come to dine with us so I thought to bring him some manner of treats to show our gratitude.”
Roxane pulled the bridle off the nail on the wall above the mare’s head, her manner thoughtful. “What was his name again?”
“Mathias.”
“Mathias? What was his surname?”
“He did not say.”
Roxane fussed with the straps on the bridle, her mind drifting to the very big, very handsome man who had saved her sisters from tragedy. He had delightful dark hair and a sculpted face.
“Mathias,” she repeated, somewhat dreamily. “He was quite handsome, don’t you think?”
Cathlina could hear the hopeful tone and she was irritated by it. Her sister had an eye for men, any man, and she could already tell that Roxane’s easily-won affections were about to shift to yesterday’s hero.
Cathlina had spent most of the evening thinking about the dark-haired stranger, pondering his beauteous face and deep, gentle voice. The massive arms, the unruly hair, the twinkle in the green eyes… she was smitten by the picture. The mysterious Mathias was her private joy and no one else’s, and certainly not her fickle sister. She would not share a secret fantasy that would surely never be fulfilled. It was but a dream, but it was her dream. She turned swiftly to Roxane, a finger in her face.
“You will not think of him,” she hissed. “If anyone is to show affection towards him, it will be me, do you hear? I was the one he saved, you little fool. You have Beauson and Dunstan to occupy your affections. Leave Mathias alone.”
Roxane looked rather surprised. Her sister never spoke of a man, so this was a rare occurrence. It also made Roxane very jealous because as the eldest, she felt it her birthright to have first right of refusal on any man that crossed the sisters’ path.
“Beauson and Dunstan are merely father’s knights,” she said. “They are not men I intend to marry.”
“Why not?”
Roxane shrugged her slender shoulders. “Because they are mere knights,” she repeated. “I will marry a lord.”
“Then you will put Mathias from your mind because he is not a lord. He is a smithy.”
Roxane’s brow furrowed, just as quickly lifting in realization when she became aware that her sister was right. “You are correct,” she declared. “He is not a lord. We are de Laras and therefore must marry well. Mayhap Father will convince Cousin Tate to find us wealthy husbands. Do you recall when we visited last Christmas and the fine men that were gathered at Carlisle?”
“You mean when you first beheld Kenneth St. Héver?”
“I do.”
“He is a mere knight, Roxy,” Cathlina said, somewhat gently, although she was thankful that Roxane was off Mathias’ scent. “He is not a lord. But I am sure there are many other men of standing that Cousin Tate can align us with.”
“I hope so,” Roxane said wistfully. “I am growing rather weary of kissing knights.”
Cathlina lifted an eyebrow at her. “You should not be kissing them at all.”
Roxane shrugged with a half-hearted attempt at defiance. “I do not kiss Dunstan anymore,” she said, “merely Beauson. I do believe Dunstan has a fondness for you so he is unresponsive to my charms as of late.”
Cathlina finished with the bridle. “Dunstan is a nice enough man, big and strong, but he is not what I would call a smart man,” she said. “Besides, he is too old. I am not interested in him as a romantic prospect. He will have to seek affection elsewhere.”
With that, Cathlina finished the last strap on the bridle and moved to secure the basket on the back of the saddle. Roxane assisted her and between the two of them, they managed to tie it down securely.
“Mayhap you should ask Dunstan or Beauson to escort you to town,” Roxane said. “It is a long ride to Brampton and there are dangers about. You know you should not go alone.”
Cathlina shook her head as she gathered her mare’s reins and turned to lead the horse from the stable. “I do not need an escort,” she said. “The ride to town will take an hour or two at the most. It is a fine day for travel and I shall return in good time.”
Roxane didn’t argue with her, mostly because she knew it wouldn’t do any good. Cathlina was stubborn and determined and Roxane was never strong enough to take a stand against her. She didn’t think the ride into town was a good idea but she had already voiced her objections. Now there was nothing to do but wait until her sister returned.
The wind was picking up as they moved into the stable yard. Bits of chaff blew about as Cathlina mounted her mare and adjusted her cloak, gathering the reins. Once she was settled, she turned to her sister.
“I should be back before the evening meal,” she said. “If Mother or Father is looking for me, tell them that you have not seen me. Swear it?”
“I swear it.”
“Good.”
“Can I have your clothing if you do not return?”
Cathlina made a face at her sister to let her know exactly what she thought of that question. Kicking her mare in the ribs, she trotted out of the bailey quite simply, losing herself in the peasants and farmers milling in and out of the open gates. Being the only castle within a several mile radius, many of the locals came here to do business with each other. It was easy to get lost in the masses of the small and crowded bailey.
Soon enough, Cathlina was on the road south towards Brampton.