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He sighed, kissing her ear. “You know, Hastings, she is guilty only of wanting me. I am a brave knight, a man of fine parts, a man who gives of himself to a woman even when he is not completely aware of all his giving. I am magnificent in battle. Can you blame her for still desiring me beyond all reason?”
She had no leverage, but she tried. She shoved her fist against his belly. He grunted for her, but his laughter didn’t stop. “What do you say if I have her marry Sir Alan? With the king’s approval, of course.”
“Her silvery hair would still be very close to Oxborough.”
“I prefer a wench with hair with so many shades I still have not managed to count all of them. Look at this—it’s the color of dirt. Isn’t that interesting?”
“My lord.”
“Aye, Beamis? Speak, man. My wife here is bereft of words. It is unexpected, but I bask in it for the seconds it will last.”
“My lord, you are jesting. All are wondering what will happen and here you are, jesting.”
“Beamis, I will tighten my jaw very soon now. We will have our evening meal, then we will all come to agreement on Sedgewick.”
“Come away, Beamis,” Alice said, dragging at his tunic sleeve. “Leave them be. They are newly married—well, not that newly—and they wish to play for just a moment. Why don’t you come with me and I will show you what this play is all about.”
To Hastings’s surprise, Beamis turned his ugly face upon Alice, found something akin to a smile, and gave her his hand. “Not too much play,” they heard him say to her. “Lord Severin must have my head clear so that I may give him superior council.”
Trist waved his paw after them.
When Severin and his soldiers arrived at Sedgewick the following afternoon, the keep was deserted. There were but a few servants milling about, a very old porter who scratched his bald head and muttered about the blackness of men’s hearts, and a dozen chickens who were squawking loudly because they hadn’t been fed. Children and women were nowhere to be seen.
Severin turned to Sir Alan as they came to a halt in the inner bailey.
“He is gone,” Gwent called out. “He and all his men are gone. The old porter tells me he rode out yesterday.”
“Was Lady Marjorie with him?”
“Aye, she was. Riding beside him, pale as an angel, the old man said.”
“Where would he go?” Severin said aloud. Then he realized that he had left only twenty soldiers at Oxborough. Only twenty, but still it was enough. The gates were closed and barred. No one unknown could enter, no one.
Severin remembered that day so long before when two of de Luci’s men had managed to get into the inner bailey. He had been stabbed in Hastings’s herb garden. No, Beamis had orders. No one unknown would be allowed into Oxborough.
Still he worried. He worried more when they questioned some farmers on the return route to Oxborough and discovered that de Luci had come this way.
Severin cursed, plowing his fingers through his hair.
“My lord,” Sir Alan said, “de Luci can do nothing.”
“He is mad and he is smart. I don’t trust him.”
“I hope he has not harmed Marjorie,” Sir Alan said, and all could see that he was smitten.
They rode hard back to Oxborough.
“Please show me where the Healer lives, Hastings. My belly hurts and Lady Moraine told me that the Healer could make even a dying pig well again.”
“We can’t leave Oxborough right now, Eloise,” Hastings said, coming down to the little girl’s eye level. “Lord Severin wants us to pretend that this is a siege. Now, let me try to make you feel better.”
But Eloise’s bellyache went away before Hastings could give her a rather sweet-tasting potion of pounded daisy powder mixed with wine.
Hastings was mending one of Severin’s tunics—a pale blue one—when Beamis came running into the great hall. Edgar the wolfhound raised his head and growled deep in his massive throat.
“It’s the Healer,” he shouted. “By Saint Ethelbert’s elbows, de Luci has her!”
Hastings didn’t at first understand, then she rose quickly, the tunic falling to the rushes at her feet. “Oh no,” she said, “oh no.”
