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True Colors
Sickened by the stench and angry he’d allowed himself to be captured, Roland eyed the soldier who’d apparently recognized Terric. The three golden lions passant on his red tabard indicated he was a member of King John’s army. He clutched a small chest as if his life depended on its contents.
“Mandeville?” Terric asked, his voice laden with incredulity.
“The very same. I didn’t expect to see you again. When I sent the note to your sister…”
“Would somebody mind telling me what’s going on?” Roland demanded, his patience at an end.
“Certainly,” Terric replied, his tone turned sarcastic. “The last time I saw Major Harcourt Mandeville was in Angers, just before I was taken prisoner by the French.”
“And I assume the major evaded capture,” Roland said.
“I believe he was in the contingent that broke ranks when the French charged.”
“We had no choice,” Mandeville hissed in reply. “I’m sorry that you were captured, but I prayed you survived. And I gave your sister hope.”
“You’ve lost me,” Roland said, suspecting from the anger contorting his cousin’s face that he and the major had once been friends.
“I entrusted a note to the maid assigned to travel with Adelina. I was confident the woman couldn’t read. As far as she knew, the message contained instructions about the journey.”
“And this missive actually said what?” Terric asked.
“I wanted to give your sister hope. You and I were comrades. I suspected you’d been taken prisoner and suggested you might still be alive.”
“Well, lucky for you, he is,” Roland retorted. “Now, cut us loose.”
The major stepped away. “I can’t do that. I won’t betray you to the Cumbrians, but if the powers that be in Carlisle hear I’ve thwarted the king’s wishes, I’d be arrested for treason.”
Roland struggled in vain to get to his feet. “But you cannot allow this travesty of a marriage to proceed.”
“I must do my duty,” Mandeville replied hoarsely. “I tried to offer comfort to your sister on the journey, to make her ordeal easier. I can do no more.”
Terric spat into the straw. “Coward,” he shouted as the soldier fled.
Roland fumed, wondering what kind of comfort Mandeville had offered en route.
* * *
Adelina found it curious when the handful of servants in this godforsaken place readily obeyed Glenda’s commands. It was almost as if they were afraid of her. Mind you, she’d felt nervous in the woman’s intimidating presence a time or two, and was more than grateful when her filthy chamber on the second floor was quickly cleaned and the gray bed linens changed.
Glenda even ventured forth to procure food. Adelina should have been hungry after the long walk. The shock of realizing Waterthwaite was a poverty-stricken ruin made it difficult to swallow whatever the tasteless mush was in the bowl her maid brought.
“Eat up,” Glenda urged, apparently not bothered by the film of grease atop the gruel. Her belly had obviously recovered quickly from the seasickness. Perhaps the walk had done her good.
“I dread meeting the baron,” Adelina admitted.
“Ye’ll know on the morrow, I expect,” Glenda replied with a shrug. “At the wedding.”
Unable to breathe, Adelina swallowed too quickly. A bit of gristle lodged in her throat. “How can you be sure of this?” she rasped, sitting down on the edge of the mattress when dizziness threatened.
“The auld bugger told me so himself,” came the cheeky reply.
Chilled to the bone by a sudden dreadful certainty flooding her veins, Adelina fisted her hands in the threadbare linens. “You’ve been here before.”
“Born here,” Glenda replied nonchalantly. “The baron’s my father, though I’m bastard born, of course. Bertha’s my mother.”
Cold fear crept up Adelina’s spine. “The other wives.”
