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The Journey Begins
Terric’s impatience grew in the two days it took to assemble a crew and gather provisions for the voyage to Cumbria.
His apprehension kept pace with his impatience. Though he’d lived his entire life in a manor house built on a cliff overlooking the Narrow Sea, he wasn’t a sailor—unlike his cousins. Montbryce Castle was far from the sea, yet the Montbryce men had plied the mighty rivers of Normandy and maintained the seafaring skills inherited from the Vikings. He had to trust Roland and Adrien when they assured him they were capable of navigating the treacherous waters that lay ahead.
The comte had dissuaded Becket from joining the adventure, which Terric considered all to the good. He didn’t want the heir to Montbryce to leave his wife and family to risk his life in what might turn out to be a lost cause.
It was humbling enough that Roland had thrown himself into the preparations as if they were embarking on a holy crusade. A stranger might think Adelina was Roland’s sister, but Terric wasn’t about to complain. He stopped reminding his cousin they must save Adelina before the marriage else they risk the anger of the Church. The Pope would condemn anyone who came between a man and his wife. Such reminders tended to incense Roland and increase his fervor.
Terric deemed the behavior odd, and, according to local gossip, out of character for the heretofore devil-may-care Roland reputed to be something of a philanderer.
Adrien was enthusiastic too, but in the way young men are excited by the prospect of adventure.
On the morning they set off, Terric could only be grateful. Roland, Adrien and the crewmen were risking their lives for a woman they had never met. Honoring kinship was their only motivation, although Terric sometimes wondered if Roland had some other reason for undertaking Adelina’s rescue.
* * *
“We normally ride to the Orne,” Roland informed Terric, “then sail to Ouistreham, where we always have a galley ready to sail.”
His cousin eyed him curiously. “However, on this occasion, we’ll travel by road all the way because of the wagonload of supplies.”
Roland felt foolish. Terric knew every detail of the plan. They’d gone over it often enough.
“Your thoughts are elsewhere, brother,” Adrien remarked.
Roland gritted his teeth and rode on. Several times, he’d been on the verge of confiding his certainty that he was destined to marry Adelina. But what to say?
By the bye, I intend to wed Adelina after we rescue her. Yes, I know I’ve never met her, but she and I are soul mates.
Terric would deem him a lunatic. As Adelina’s sole surviving male relative, he would decide whom she should marry. It was unlikely he’d sanction marriage to a madman.
Perhaps it was madness to fall in love with a woman he’d never met. Had his thirst to emulate his older brother’s wedded bliss robbed him of his wits? Was this perhaps the infamous curse?
Another troubling possibility arose. Adelina might not want to marry him. Might not even like him. Or, he might not find her attractive, though Marguerite had said Adelina was beautiful.
By the time they reached Ouistreham after a day on the road, he’d convinced himself he was a fool.
“Are you sure you still want to do this?” Terric asked as they dismounted. “You seem to have lost your enthusiasm.”
The dread in his cousin’s brown eyes jolted him out of his melancholy. “Of course,” he replied, clamping a reassuring hand on Terric’s shoulder. “We are duty bound to save your sister.”
“Fyke,” he swore as he watched a dejected Terric walk away to assist with loading supplies into the galley. “That wasn’t what I meant to say at all.”
* * *
It was fully dark when the smaller of the two galleys moored at Ouistreham cast off. The six crewmen worked in complete silence, every man clearly knowing his role without being told.
Terric volunteered to ply an oar. He had no sailing experience, and would likely be more of a hindrance than a help. Besides which, he preferred to have his back to the pitch blackness into which they were bound.
According to Adrien, the first stretch of the voyage, north-west to Barfleur, presented no danger. However, they wouldn’t light torches in order to be prepared to sail in complete darkness if and when the time arose later. He got the feeling the well-trained crew didn’t need light in any case.
The creak of the sail being hoisted took him by surprise. He hadn’t noticed the wind pick up, but the crew acted in unison at precisely the right moment.
Occasionally, a crescent moon peeked from behind the clouds, casting its meager light on Roland standing in the stern. He couldn’t see his cousin’s face properly, but his stance suggested relaxed confidence. How he managed to know which direction to steer the galley was beyond Terric.
He copied the other rowers and slumped forward on his oar.
A gentle elbow in the ribs nudged him awake some time later. “Yonder Quillebeouf, my lord,” the man next to him whispered. “Time to row.”
Disoriented, Terric couldn’t believe he’d slept all night. The rock on which the White Ship had foundered almost a hundred years before glowed eerily in the dawn’s early light.
He took up his oar and pulled with all his might. To his surprise, Roland still stood at the stern, staring out at the rock, one hand on the tiller. There wasn’t an Anglo-Norman family that hadn’t lost loved ones when hundreds of noblemen and women drowned in the White Ship disaster. The de Quinceys were no exception. Even King Henry I had lost his only son, the heir to the English throne. Terric had no doubt Roland was also remembering ancestors claimed by the sea so long ago.
