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Time To Rise
Adelina woke, surprised she’d managed to sleep wedged between the trunk and the wall. The message—torn into tiny pieces which she’d then soaked in water from the ewer and danced on until they were unrecognizable smears in the threadbare rug—had brought a glimmer of hope.
There was no window in the wretched cupboard but voices echoing off the stone walls of the corridor indicated folks were up and about. It was past dawn.
She was attempting to slip out of bed past the trunk when the red-haired maid who’d packed her clothes entered without knocking. “I’m to accompany thee,” she declared with a scowl as she dragged back the bedcovers. “Time to rise.”
The news explained the girl’s heavy cloak and sturdy boots. Startled and irritated by the rude behavior, Adelina didn’t know what to think. The provision of a maid was a boon she hadn’t expected, especially if this girl had delivered the message. But if she hadn’t? “May I know your name?” she asked.
“Glenda.”
Gooseflesh crept across Adelina’s nape when the maid threw open the lid of the trunk, rummaged about and finally drew out a woollen gown and the hooded cloak that had belonged to Adelina’s mother. “These’ll do, I reckon,” she said, showing no sign of noticing the leather pouch carefully put back in its place.
Hands braced on hips, Glenda eyed Adelina. “I can’t help thee dress unless the night gown comes off.”
“You’re surly for a servant,” she replied, peeling off the nightrail then reaching for her chemise. Surly didn’t begin to describe the woman’s lack of deference for Adelina’s station, but if they were to travel together…
Shrugging on the chemise, she couldn’t think who else might have had an opportunity to secrete the message in her baggage.
Glenda lifted the woollen frock over Adelina’s head and shoved her arms into the sleeves. “Thou’d be surly at the prospect of traveling into the wilds of Cumbria.”
Struggling to hold on to her temper, Adelina stared at the idiotic maid. How did she suppose her temporary mistress felt? Glenda wasn’t being forced to wed an old man when they arrived wherever they were going.
She was taken aback when a hint of a smile tugged at the corners of the maid’s mouth. “I reckon that makes two of us.”
As they left the cupboard, Adelina took solace in the warm familiarity of her mother’s cloak. “Am I permitted to break my fast before we leave?” she asked.
Glenda shook her head. “The escort has been provisioned. We’re to eat en route.”
It appeared John and Isabella were taking no chances. Adelina wasn’t to be allowed in the dining hall. Most people probably thought her long gone—if they’d thought of her at all.
Glenda led her through the kitchens and out into a courtyard she hadn’t known existed. Shrouded in the early morning mist, a small troop of mounted soldiers awaited, tabards with three lions passant indicating their allegiance to John. Snorting horses shook off the fine droplets of water hanging in the air. The weather looked as unpromising as her future. She raised her hood and placed her foot in the meshed hands of a stable boy.
“Forgive me, my lady,” he whispered as she mounted the horse.
Seated in the uncomfortable side saddle, she looked down at the raven-haired urchin and smiled. He would never know what his words meant to her. At least someone knew—and cared.
She was used to galloping across the South Downs astride a spirited steed; the long journey ahead loomed like a rock on which her fledgling hopes would be dashed.
A burly footman appeared with her trunk and hefted it onto a cart on top of what appeared to be cooking pots and other paraphernalia for setting up a camp. A soldier accosted him and an argument broke out. Her trunk was removed and shoved under the equipment. The sturdy mule in the traces eyed the commotion with apparent disdain then suddenly bared his teeth and brayed loudly. Adelina knew just how he felt.
“Women in the center of the column,” a deep, unfriendly voice commanded.
It seemed the officer in charge was as unhappy about the journey as she was. Or perhaps he simply had no regard for women.
Four soldiers led the troop away from the castle. Adelina and Glenda followed. Four more riders brought up the rear.
“We should be grateful we are well protected,” she remarked to Glenda with deliberate sarcasm. “My betrothed must have paid the king a fortune to buy me.”
The maid’s snorted reply proved unenlightening as they rode north into the early morning mist.
* * *
As he stared at Quilleboeuf, the rock in Barfleur’s harbor that had sunk the White Ship, Roland contemplated the fate of Caedmon and Agneta FitzRam, lost in that terrible disaster almost a century ago. The Montbryces had been one of the few families not to lose sons and daughters, thanks be to God, although the Fitzrams were part of the family, if an illegitimate branch.
The wind dropped suddenly, jolting him out of his reverie. “Cease rowing,” he commanded.
Anxious faces, Terric’s among them, stared at him as the galley drifted slowly towards Quilleboeuf.
