Page 19 of Wed By Proxy

“What’s wrong with the name?” asked Mathilde. “If I were ever to have a son…” she broke off wistfully. “Well… It’s a very good sort of name.”

Robin snorted, and tilted his head back to look up at the sky. “It’s snowing again!”

Mathilde brushed away the flakes that were settling on her eyelashes. “Snow!” she breathed reverently. “It’s a sign!”

“Sign of what?” asked Robin curiously.

“When it snows,” she replied softly. “Everything is covered over, including the past, and made crisp and new again.” They gazed a moment in silence at the falling flakes.

“You don’t need to be made over,” Robin said abruptly.

“No,” agreed Mathilde. “Because I already have been, by the adventure of our journey north.” Feeling Robin’s curious gaze on her profile, Mathilde turned to face him. “Thank you for accompanying me, Rob. You’re a very good friend to me. In truth,” she hesitated. “You and the Countess Vawdrey are my best friends in all the world.”

Robin flushed. “What about the other pages?” he asked looking away.

“They are good friends to me,” she acknowledged. “Very good friends. Willard, Gordon, Piers, I’m very fond of them all. You boys were my first friends. But you and Fenella are my very best.”

Robin cleared his throat. “We should probably light some more fires. We will need to keep the house warm.”

“Why don’t we just sit around the kitchen fire?” Mathilde suggested. “It’s cozy there, and welcoming. It seems foolish to use up all the firewood Waldon chopped for us, by lighting fires in all the rooms. Especially,” she added. “Since we are a household of only three.”

Robin brightened at the idea. “That’s not half bad,” he said. “Of course, I can chop us more logs as we need them.”

“Of course,” agreed Mathilde. “But there is no point in creating additional work where it is not needed. Should we shut up the chickens in their basket?” she asked looking at the crate which had been filled with straw.

“Maybe we should leave them to choose, until it grows dark?” Robin shrugged. “They can make up their own minds till then.”

“Very well, but we must not forget,” Mathilde said with a shiver. “We are very close to the edge of the wood, and you never know what predator might emerge under cover of night.”

Robin nodded in agreement and they made their way, still arm-in-arm to the warm, bright kitchen where the fire burned merrily in the hearth.

X

“No,” said Guy, his patience wearing thin. Almost he was tempted to bring his fist crashing down on the table top, but he restrained himself. Just. “I do not want the pick of the confiscated horses,” he said scathingly. “I want the horse that was brought in with my — with the two young lads the day before yesterday,” he corrected himself hastily. What the hells had he been about to call her? He had slept badly the previous night, dreaming about foxes and chickens and the gods only knew what. He needed to pull himself together. Through gritted teeth, he elaborated. “The horse the carter claimed was his after the affray.”

The jail official gazed back at him unhappily. He was not one of the beadles that had accompanied Mathilde to Acton March. It irked Guy to think of her by that name, but she had given him none other, so it would have to suffice for now.

“But my lord,” the man bleated, spreading wide his hands. “The carter likely took the beast with him.”

“You mean he has been released?” barked Guy, looking suddenly furious. The bastard should have had a spell in the stocks at the very least! “There was also some personal property that needs to be released to me. A belt and a knife taken from the smaller boy.”

The official quaked. “If you would wait here for one moment, my lord,” he said, lurching to his feet. “I will go and make enquiries.”

Guy bit back his retort, which was to enquire rather acidly, why the fellow had not done so in the first place. He gazed around with dissatisfaction at the surroundings of Wickhamford jail, which was a gray stone structure of rather bleak aspect. The holding cells were below this floor, in the cellars. The air was dank. He found it hard to believe it would be any more congenial on the floor below. When he thought of Mathilde being dragged here, he had a strange acrid feeling in the pit of his stomach. Hearing footsteps in the corridor outside, he turned his head to see reinforcements had been brought this time.

“My lord!” cried a large jovial looking man, who looked vaguely familiar to him. He gave a hurried bow. “Your servant, sir, your devoted servant. My name is Bernard Thurston. We have met previously on several civic occasions.” Catching sight of the expression on Guy’s face he added, “Right sorry am I, to hear there has been such a confounded mix-up around this matter!”

“Thurston,” Guy repeated in clipped accents. “I believe your son played a part in this debacle.”

Thurston flushed. “He,— er, he was performing his duty that night here,” he answered cautiously. “And gave an account of it afterward that ensured we did not release the animal into the carter’s possession when he left us.”

“The horse is still here?”

“It is, in the courtyard below, my lord. It has been awaiting your collection.”

Guy felt himself relax in spite of himself. He cleared his throat. “Well, that’s something at least,” he conceded. “What about the carter?”

Thurston cleared his throat. “He was released, my lord,” he confessed apologetically. “In truth we did not have any charge to keep him here.”