Chapter Sixteen
When Maddy reached the door, she paused and listened. She heard nothing, except for the rustling of busy mice feet skittering about the undercroft. The raiders might have left a man to stand guard, but she did not think they had. She unlatched the door and pushed it open. The kitchen lay in darkness, silent and empty. Tiptoeing all the way, Maddy headed toward the stairs and ascended as quickly as she was able in her weakened state. She had to retrieve her dirk, which she’d forgotten in her haste to dress.
Back downstairs, she debated whether to exit through the kitchen door leading outside and walk around to the vicarage, or go the usual way, through the long expanse of Dacre Hall. It was more likely that men would be posted outside, so she chose the usual route. Maddy was about halfway down the length of the hall when the door creaked open. A solitary figure carrying a candle was moving toward her, and it was too late to hide.
She would have to brazen it out, as she’d once done with Musgrave. She had her dirk for protection. Breathe, Maddy. Be calm.
“Madeleine, is that you? Oh, you gave me a fright, looming out of the dark like that! I’ve come to see if you were safe.”
Lady Dacre. She looked witchlike with the candle casting its eerie light under her chin.
“I-I heard noises, saw men running around with torches out my window. Is it a raid?”
“Yes, they’ve gotten away with some livestock. The men have ridden after them. You should not be out of your sickbed, my dear.”
The first thought that struck Maddy was how calm the lady was. And the second: she was lying. Her purpose was to ensure Maddy remained in her chamber. The men who’d been searching must have told her she wasn’t in her bed. For now, she’d have to do as her mistress bade her.
“No, of course I should not, but I was frightened. I will return to my chamber then, unless—”
“I’ll accompany you to your room. You are still weak.” Lady Dacre gripped her arm.
“That’s not necessary, my lady. I am perfectly able—”
“Nonsense, I’ll see you safely back to your bed.”
Maddy decided not to protest, but to appear helpless and grateful for the assistance. “Thank you, madam. ’Tis true, I do not have my strength back yet.” Maddy entered the chamber first, hoping the scabbard strapped about her waist wasn’t noticeable in the near-dark. Useless emerged from behind the wardrobe, and while Lady Dacre fussed over the dog, Maddy removed the sheath and shoved it under the bed coverings.
The woman did not depart until she’d helped Maddy undress and tucked the coverlet under her chin. “Do you need anything before I leave you?”
“Oh, no. Pray return to your own bed.”
Then she was gone. Maddy lay there, counting. When she reached two hundred, she deemed it safe to dress and set out for the vicarage once again. Earlier, a welcome surge of strength had possessed her. But now, bones aching, Maddy moved more slowly. She considered returning to her bed—she was not yet recovered from her bout of influenza, after all. But something about this raid smelled rotten, and she intended to find out what it was.
Maddy proceeded more cautiously this time, edging along the east side of the great hall, ready to duck under the enormous oak table if the door suddenly opened. At the far end she waited, straining to hear any sounds of men or horses. After a reasonable amount of time, she went to the door and peered through the window, to no effect. The dark of a moonless night blanketed everything.
No sooner had she pushed the door open and stepped out than a couple of men holding torches came striding her way. This was no raid; it was a gathering. The word tugged at her memory; she had heard it recently. Christopher Dacre had reminded his mother about a “party” gathering at Lanercost on Friday, tonight, but in her feverish state she’d not made the connection to the letter she read in his chamber. Now she remembered. “F, H, and B in attendance.” She had thought it strange to hold a festivity on Good Friday.
Maddy leaped back into the shadows. A tall man came into view behind the first two. He moved with purpose, his eyes riveted on the vicarage. She wondered which of the initials he was. One of the torchbearers unlatched the door for him, and he disappeared inside. Unfortunately, the other men did not.
“They’ll be a while,” one of them said. “Meantime, we can have our fill o’ the priory’s hospitality over at the stables.” He slapped the other man on the back and guffawed.
Had they seen her? She held still, praying they would turn and march back the way they’d come, from the gatehouse road. She flattened herself against the wall, knocking something free. A piece of stone, loosened over the centuries, had chosen that precise moment to give way, and it was enough to draw their attention. They swung around, and with the light cast from the torches, spotted Maddy right away.
Her skin prickled.
“What have we here?” the brawnier of the two asked. Not that he truly wanted an answer. Bullnecked, he was built like a stone fortress.
His compatriot, much slighter of figure and longer of leg, said, “Why, ’tis a fair lassie!” They both laughed and came closer, to better inspect her. At that moment, she wished she were covered with warts and had crossed eyes.
“Who are ye?” He swung his torch close, and Maddy recoiled, saying nothing.
They looked at each other. Bull Neck said, “Remember our orders? We’re meant to—”
“Nay, dinna say before the lass!”
Maybe she could make a run for the stables. It was plain they were both well into their cups. Bull Neck stuck his face close to hers, bolstering that impression with his spirit-laden breath. “Would ye like to take a ride wi’ us, lass?”
The other man shook his head. “Nay, we should not.”
“Why? We’re meant to be reivers, are we not? We should act the part.” He handed his torch to his friend, who placed both of them in holders by the door to the vicarage.
Maddy’s sense of self-preservation kicked in. Run. Now!
She spun, surprising them. Lifting her skirts, she dashed along the grassy area that ran beside the hall. She could get to the stables this way, and since they’d come the other way, perhaps it would disorient them.
Maddy heard Long Legs call to his friend. “Get the horses, man. I’ll catch her.”
She zigzagged, hoping to confuse him, and that ploy seemed to work for a while. His curses rang out. But luck was not on her side this night, and her strength was waning. Tripping over a low hedge, invisible in the dark, Maddy fell face-first onto the cold ground, air whooshing out of her. “Oof!”
The man giving chase hauled her up and did not let go. She was gasping, trying to catch her breath. All too soon, Bull Neck returned with the horses. He passed a wine skin to the other man, who drank a long draft before handing it back. Maddy tried to yank her arm from his grasp, but it was no use. He was too strong, and she, too weak.
“Lovely night for a ride, eh mistress?” he said, jerking her toward the horses.
The events of the evening were beginning to take their toll. Since Maddy had fallen, her head was spinning, and she feared she might faint if forced to sit a horse. Her cheek was stinging—when she touched it, her fingers came away bloody. No doubt she’d landed on something sharp when she hit the ground. Maybe if they knew she was sick… “Pray sir, allow me to return to my chamber. I have been ill with influenza these past few days. I have no strength for riding.”
They glanced at each other. “The lassie found her voice. Dinna ye worry, because ye’ll no’ be doin’ anything but hangin’ on,” Long Legs said.
“But—” It was useless to argue. They weren’t listening. Long Legs mounted and his friend tossed Maddy up behind him. She refused to put her arms about his waist but clung to his doublet instead. It hung loose, because, unlike Bull Neck, he had no fat on him to speak of.
Once through the gatehouse and on the road, they whipped their horses into a gallop, slowing only when they crossed the bridge. She squeezed her eyes shut. It was dangerous to ride at this speed on such a black night, for both horse and rider. A loud buzzing in her ears made her dizzy, so she rested her head against Long Legs’s back. After a time, he called out to Bull Neck, and their pace slowed. They must be halfway to Brampton by now. Lulled by the motion, Maddy fell into a stupor, and for a time, was blessedly unaware of her predicament.
Eventually their voices roused her. The horses had slowed to a walk. “What’re we to do wi’ her?”
“Ferniehurst said we’re no’ to harm anybody. From the look and sound o’ her, she’s gentlefolk.”
“Aye.”
“Here’s as good a place as any to dump her,” Long Legs said, right before he shoved her off the horse. Another ignominious fall to the earth. Though it jarred her, the ground was yet soft and still covered with last autumn’s leaves. Maddy lay there, too exhausted to even cry out. Though she hated showing such weakness, it might be wiser to let them think she had passed out.
“She’s no’ dead, is she?” Bull Neck asked. That was the last thing she heard before they galloped off, back toward Lanercost.
Not dead, but Maddy felt as if she might be dying. If she stayed where she was, the first traveler on the road tomorrow might find her cold, lifeless body. She had to be close to Brampton, and if she could summon the energy to walk the rest of the way, she could find Ryder’s house. He would take her in. Even if he was still angry with her, even if he did not trust her, he would take her in.
…
In the middle of the night, a pounding on the front door awoke Nicholas. Since his father was in York, he’d best see who it was. Wearing only his nightshirt, he rushed downstairs. When he approached the door, he saw that a servant had already flung it open. He heard a pathetically weak voice—a familiar one—cry out. “Help me.” And then, “Pray, let me in!” Nicholas pushed the servant aside, and his worst fears were confirmed.
“Maddy! God’s wounds, what’s happened to you?”
She was shivering so hard her teeth were clacking together. Without another word, he picked her up and carried her up the stairs, giving orders all the way. “Wake Margery and bid her come to the blue chamber. Bring hot water and clean cloths. Extra blankets, too.” Maddy was so light as to seem boneless.
Nicholas laid her down on the big tester bed and unfastened her cloak. “Are you hurt, sweeting? Jesu, whoever did this to you will answer to me.” Her face was scratched and bleeding in a few places, but not enough to account for her extreme weakness.
“Cold.” That was the only sound she uttered, other than feeble moans every so often.
Nicholas began piling blankets over her. “We must get you warm. You will be warm,” he said. In a few moments, Margery entered with a basin of water, linen cloths draped over one arm.
“I’ll take that,” Nicholas said. “Leave us, pray. Wait outside the door.”
He wet a cloth and wrung it out, then sat on the edge of the bed. “You are covered with grime, Maddy. Let me wash your face.”
She nodded. For the first time, her eyes focused and she appeared to know where she was. Who he was. Gently, he stroked the warm, wet cloth over her face. She moaned, and he ceased immediately, afraid he’d hurt her. But she said, “Don’t stop. Are you an angel? Nay, perhaps the devil.”
That made him smile, but it did not diminish his rage. “Only a man, Maddy. Can you tell me what befell you? How did you get this cut on your cheek?” Nicholas tried to keep his voice soothing, even though he wanted to kill whoever had done this to her.
Gradually, her chills subsided. But still her voice shook when she spoke. “Some men were chasing me. I fell.”
“Who? Who was chasing you? Can you remember?”
“Aye. Long Legs and Bull Neck.”
Nicholas laughed. “I believe you are delirious. There will be time enough later for you to explain.” He dipped the cloth into the basin and swept it over her face again, then moved lower, wiping her neck. The candlelight lent a soft glow to her skin. He laid his cheek against her forehead.
“Wh-what are you doing?”
“Checking to see if you have a fever. You are burning with it, Maddy.”
“I-I’ve been sick. With influenza.”
“Aye. Margery will provide a remedy for it. But that is not what brought you to me.”
“Nay. Would you wash my hands, Nicholas? They are filthy.” Maddy closed her eyes and drifted while he lifted each hand, one at a time, moving the cloth over them, then up and down each finger, even cleaning the dirt from her nails. When he finished, Nicholas kissed the center of each palm. He did not think she would remember. Then he summoned Margery.
“Margery is going to undress you,” he told Maddy. “Your clothes are soiled. And then you must sleep.”
“Where will you be?” she asked, a note of desperation in her voice.
Squeezing her hand, he said, “Don’t be afraid, Maddy. I’ll be close by.”
What she had endured this night, on top of suffering from influenza, he did not yet know. But he would get it out of her and would not rest until he’d found the villains who had caused her such pain. Nicholas studied her face while she drifted off, dark lashes sweeping across the tips of her cheekbones. Pulling a chair over to the side of the bed, he covered himself with a blanket and watched her until his own lids grew heavy and he dozed off.
…
Hours later, Maddy awoke, an uneasiness gripping her. Where was she? The faint light of dawn had crept into the room, and she heard the early morning songs of thrush, robins, and chaffinches. Propped on her forearms, she glanced around. Ryder was sleeping in a chair nearby, his head lolling on his chest, a blanket wrapped around him. She lay back down until sleep once again carried her away.
The next time she woke up, the sun was streaming in. Ryder was gone, and she thought maybe she’d dreamed his being there. But she glimpsed the blanket draped over the chair and decided he’d been real enough. It made her happy, knowing he’d watched over her. But she didn’t wish to dwell on it overmuch. His moods seemed to change unpredictably, and God only knew whether he would be gentle, loving Nicholas or judgmental, curt Master Ryder when next she saw him.
Before long, Margery tapped lightly on the door and entered. She set a tray down on the table near the bed. “And how’re you feeling this morning, mistress?”
“You didn’t bring me anymore of that vile brew you forced me to drink last night, did you?”
She laid a hand on Maddy’s forehead and gave a satisfied grunt. “I did, but I’ll not make you drink it again unless your fever comes back.” After she’d bathed Maddy thoroughly and helped her into a clean smock, she said, “Might you be able to eat something?”
“As long as it’s not pottage.” Maddy didn’t think she could ever eat it again, after that brute Wolf had forced it on her at Carlisle Castle.
“Nay, that would not sit well on your stomach, you being ill with the influenza. Can you sit at the table, mistress?”
“I think so.” Cautiously, she swung her legs over the side of the bed and remained there until she felt steady enough to stand.
“Here, put this about your shoulders.” It was a lovely cloak, made of fine, soft wool and embroidered with flowers around the neck and hem. It must have belonged to Daniel’s mother. Margery laid out the meal on the small table. Fresh strawberries and cream, manchet with butter, broth, a tankard of ale. The sight of it gave Maddy the last bit of strength she needed to stand up and walk.
“Master Ryder will see you while you are eating, if you feel well enough, mistress.”
She glanced down at her attire. With the cloak, she was decently covered. “Aye. Tell him he may come.” When Margery turned to leave, Maddy stopped her. “Thank you, mistress. Much as I hated that tea, I suspect it lowered my fever.”
In a few minutes, Ryder strode in. “Good morrow, Maddy,” he said, studying her. She sipped at the broth and let him look. “You are feeling stronger?”
“Pray, be seated.” She gestured to the settle, which he pulled around so that it faced the table. “Would you share my meal? It is far too much for me.”
“Nay, I’ve already eaten.” He had washed and dressed, and appeared so handsome, Maddy had to look away. His beautiful green eyes shone bright; his curly dark hair and beard were both neatly combed. The shirt and leather doublet showed his broad shoulders to advantage—best if she concentrated on eating. She needed her strength.
Face resting against his hand, Nicholas watched while she ate. Just when she was beginning to feel uncomfortable, he said, “Who are Long Legs and Bull Neck?”
She sputtered, half laughing, half choking. “Did I mention them last night?” Maddy thought maybe he was angry, but he was smiling. “My captors. That is what they looked like, so it was easiest to think of them with those names.”
Nicholas laughed. “I thought you were delirious. How did you come to be taken by them?” He leaned forward and wiped something off her cheek with a cloth.
“I…they were reivers. Or they wanted me to think they were, at first. But then one of them said to the other, ‘We’re meant to be reivers; we should act like them.’ Those weren’t precisely his words, but close enough.”
Nicholas’s hand was suddenly gripping hers, gently. “Can you start at the beginning, Maddy? Do not leave anything out.”
And so, with his hand clutching hers, at times stroking it with his thumb, Maddy gave him an account of all that had happened last night. When she was finished, he said, “What makes you so sure it was not a raid?” He let go of her and helped himself to a piece of manchet.
She sighed, frustrated. “I must have left things out. It was all so confusing, and I didn’t feel well.”
“We can finish later, if you wish to rest.” He got to his feet.
“Sit down, Nicholas.” Impatiently, Maddy motioned toward the seat he had vacated. “I’m quite well.” He did as she asked, although she’d expected him to argue. “I did not think it was a raid because, aside from what I’ve already told you, they didn’t actually take anything. Except me.”
“You’re sure about that?”
“Lady Dacre said they made off with some livestock, but I think she was lying. I saw no evidence of it. They weren’t dressed like reivers—no steel bonnets, no padded leather doublets or breeches. And there wasn’t a lance in sight.”
“Hmm. And they planned it for Good Friday, a day they knew most folk would be in their homes. Why would they want you to think it was a raid?”
“Most likely to conceal the fact that they were meeting with the Dacres.” Then Maddy remembered she hadn’t told him about the short letter she’d found in Christopher Dacre’s room. She had related only last night’s events. “There is something more I’ve not yet told you.”
“Which is?” He cocked a brow at her.
“After our meeting at the wall”—she couldn’t look at him when she mentioned it—“I decided to search Musgrave’s chamber, but it was locked. I passed Dacre’s chamber on my way back down the passage and it struck me that I should have a look in there instead.”
“And you found something, I take it?”
“A strange missive. It was very…concise.” She paused, because she had to rack her brain to recall what it said. So much had happened since.
“Maddy?” Ryder said.
“Wait a moment. I am thinking. Directly after I found it, I went down with influenza.” She leaned her forehead against the heels of her hands, finally looking up. “This is not it exactly, but close enough. ‘The gathering on Friday will go on as planned. Attending will be F, H, and B.’ No signature.”
“You said the two who took you were Scots?” When she nodded, he said, “So the initials most likely stand for Ferniehurst, Hume, and Bucceleuch. The lairds suspected of sheltering the rebels.”
“Aye! Long Legs mentioned Ferniehurst by name. Said he’d cautioned them not to hurt anybody. That must have been the tall man they led into the vicarage.”
“Did you see the other lairds?”
“No. But they may have been there. Perhaps Ferniehurst arrived late, after the others.” What did it all mean? Maddy’s head was a jumble of disparate facts that did not make sense. She pushed herself up from the table, suddenly feeling a great need to lie down.
Nicholas was on his feet in an instant. “I have exhausted you with my questions. Come, let me help you to your bed.”
“I am not usually so frail,” Maddy said, embarrassed by her weakness. “There is much more to discuss.”
“But not now.” At the bedside, he removed the cloak from about her shoulders. She felt her cheeks burning, as she wore only the smock underneath it. Nicholas leaned in and kissed her forehead, the barest tickle on her skin, before she lay down. “I shall call Margery in to close the drapes and help you with the bedclothes.”
Maddy wanted to ask him where he would be, but he was gone before she had the chance. It wasn’t that she was frightened. She was not, not any longer. When Nicholas was near, her mind—her soul—hummed with a higher degree of awareness. Colors seemed brighter, voices louder, taste more acute. At the same time, she felt buoyant and light. Maddy wasn’t strong enough to fight these odd, opposing feelings, nor did she want to. She could only succumb.