A Lady Under Siege(19)
Kent told him to shut his mouth, and not speak of such things within earshot of a Lady in mourning. Sylvanne said nothing, but seethed within. After some time they left the fields behind them and skirted dark forests where the ages of trees were measured by centuries. For a stretch the woods enclosed them, and the men and horses were required to walk single file. The cart was wider, and square-shouldered; rogue branches slapped and rapped against it, causing Gwynn to wrap his arms around Mabel protectively. “Hang tight, I’ll not let any old tree snatch you from me,” he snorted.
“It’s what you might snatch that worries me,” Mabel retorted. “Your hands have already taken liberties for which, if I were upon terra firma, I’d slap your face crimson.”
“Shall I let go then?” he asked playfully, leaning close against her. Just then a deep rut jolted the cart and nearly sprang Mabel airborne.
“No!” she cried. “Hang on to me.”
“With pleasure.”
Mabel pushed against him as if he were a lumpy armchair. “This is the furthest I’ve ever been from home, and the furthest from comfort, too,” she said. “And what’s that poking me?”
“In my breeches there’s a bone, Madame, though it’s made of flesh.”
“Keep your flesh well clothed, so that I might keep my chastity intact,” Mabel scolded him.
“Chastity? Have you no husband?”
“Never.”
“Then you’re overripe. The fates must have made this meeting, for I have lost a wife.”
Kent and Sylvanne, riding close behind, couldn’t help but listen to this banter. Kent turned to her and asked, “And you m’Lady? Ever further from your home?
Sylvanne stared straight ahead. “I have no home,” she said.
“I sympathize with your circumstances. I’m certain your mood will improve when you come to know my Lord and Master, Thomas of Gastoncoe. A more honourable man you are never likely to meet.”
“Honourable?” Mabel shouted indignantly from the cart. “What’s his purpose, stealing a wife away from her husband?”
“I know on the surface of things it’s easy to assume the worst in his actions,” answered Kent. “But there’s more to it than meets the eye. Lord Thomas has a daughter, barely twelve years in age, who now lies gravely ill with the same enigmatic and untreatable affliction that robbed him of his wife, whom he loved ever so dearly. It’s said that, of late, this Lady whom you chaperone, the lovely Lady Sylvanne, has come to dominate his thoughts so thoroughly that he believes she alone holds the key to the salvation of his daughter. It was for this reason he wished to consult the Lady.”
“Does he not have physicians?” asked Mabel.
“He has consulted as many as could be sent for. All have failed him. Wife dead, daughter waning and wasting away, one day he gave a most unexpected order: Bring Lady Sylvanne to me, says he, but to attain her, refrain from violence as much as you are able. Deliver her in good health and good spirits, using the powers of your persuasion.”
“Powers of persuasion?” Mabel repeated incredulously. “Since when is starvation persuasion?”
“It’s the fault of her own husband in his obstinacy,” Kent retorted. “From the beginning our two hundred could have easily stormed and overpowered that ramshackle excuse for a castle, with its no more than twenty able-bodied defenders—”
“Twenty-six, plus some boys who were willing, but deemed too young,” Mabel corrected him.
“Our master’s orders were to avoid bloodshed at all cost. He felt that his prize, if gained by bloodshed, would thereby be disposed to hate him, and would be no prize at all. You may or may not know it, but he sent emissaries several times to the Lady’s husband, begging simply for a meeting and a chance to speak privately with her. But all petitions were rejected, out of jealousy and mistrust.”
“That’s a husband’s right,” Mabel asserted. “It’s his duty, in fact, to shield his wife, to keep her close, housebound. He can’t be lending her out like an ox at ploughing time.”
“She’s not to be compared to an ox, that one,” Gwynn interjected. “More like a doe, with her big eyes and quiet demeanour. Our Lord will be well pleased to possess her, whether or not she knows anything of wondrous spells or miracle cures for the daughter.”
“Tomorrow will bring us answers,” said Kent. “What say you m’Lady? Any special aptitude for healing the sick or curing the lame?”