A Lady Under Siege(28)
When she was certain Betsy had settled safely to sleep, Meghan lay down on the living room couch, checked the phones one more time, pulled her duvet to her neck, and thought, I’ve gone to a whole lot of trouble to make myself feel secure enough to fall asleep, and I’ve completely, abysmally failed. But no wonder, when there’s a hole in my door big enough for a raccoon to come through. Are there raccoons in this neighbourhood? Of course there are, they’re all over the city. One could jump in and not even knock over the wine glass.
She told herself she was being absurd, adding wild animals to her list of worries, which served to remind her of all the other worries on her list. The fridge in the kitchen grumbled and groaned like a hungry man’s stomach, and every change in tone made her eyes pop open. This is ridiculous, she thought. I will never get to sleep like this. And yet she was so tired that sleep came quickly.
16
On the afternoon of the second day of their journey they ascended a low, wooded ridge. At the summit the land was cleared for grazing, and afforded a view down the other side. A pleasant river snaked through neatly tended fields, and in the distance a village appeared to nestle against the walls of a stout castle much larger and more grand than the one Sylvanne had known. The men called out happily at the sight of their homes.
As they descended through the fields women and children toiling at the harvest dropped their rakes and scythes and rushed to greet them. There was much merriment, and if some embraces were overly tearful, at least they were tears of joy. Sylvanne rode aloofly among the peasants, aware of eyes upon her, but looking neither left nor right. In front of her the oaf Gwynn had lifted Mabel from the back of the cart to walk with him, and was introducing her to one and all as his betrothed. Mabel blushed like a girl paid her first compliment, and protested only mildly.
One farm wife broke from happy reunion with her husband to stare at Sylvanne unabashedly. “So this be the great Lady herself,” she proclaimed. “I can see why our Lord obsesses. Quite the fair flower, ain’t she?”
“Beauty’s not enough,” her husband added. “She’ll need to perform.”
“If she’s half as eager as I am, m’Lord will be delighted with her,” she grinned, jumping up into his arms and wrapping her legs around him with such force that he tumbled to the ground with her on top, to the laughter and teasing of the many merry onlookers.
More and more peasants and villagers joined the happy throng. They paraded into the village and crushed together in the narrow lanes leading to the castle, which soon loomed over them. Then suddenly they stopped, having reached the point where a lowered drawbridge spread across a narrow moat. Kent dismounted and took the reins of Sylvanne’s horse in his hand. He yelled for the disorderly mob to make a passage for them, and they squeezed through the crush onto the stout timbers of the bridge. Sylvanne looked over the side at the blue waters of the moat and saw half a dozen pure white swans approach, gliding closer as if to have a look at her. “Even the birds are curious, Madame,” Kent laughed. Then they passed from the sunlit bridge into the shadowed passageway of the barbican, then through it and back outside into sunlight. The castle had two walls of defences, with the space between—the bailey—occupied by stables and liveries, servants’ quarters and storage sheds. Here the cobblestoned path to the inner sanctum was lined with maids, menservants and vassals, a flood of faces all freely gawking up at the Lady upon her horse. On their master’s orders, no one spoke, and after the carnival-like chatter of the peasants outside, the sudden silence gave Sylvanne a chill.
They passed through another gate to the inner courtyard, where yet another gaggle of onlookers waited at the bottom of a long stone staircase. Their finer attire showed them to be courtiers and noblepersons, but they gaped at her just as openly as any peasant had. Kent held out a hand and helped her dismount from her horse, and when she wobbled for a moment, unsteady on legs made stiff from the long journey, a murmur of concern went up from the crowd, as if this first impression marked an inauspicious portent. A single voice called out, “Welcome, m’Lady,” but was shushed by the others. Sylvanne composed herself, and allowed Kent to lead her up the staircase. Behind her she could hear a buzzing of low voices, of whispered, pent-up remarks that exploded into chatter as she passed through the doorway and entered the castle.
The hall was murky and dim. She blinked her eyes to speed their adjustment, as Kent guided her further within. They made a left turn, then a right. Light fell upon them from a high window. They reached a dead end in the hallway, and stood before a heavy wooden door. Kent rapped upon it, and a voice bade them enter.