Medieval Brides. Anne Herries

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СКАЧАТЬ wimple, Evie extracted a long strand of yellow hair. Then she nodded and stepped back.

      ‘Aye.’ Her sigh was heavy. ‘It is Cecily Fulford. The likeness to Cenwulf is remarkable. If you think back, Leo, Cecily was the sister they sent to the convent…’ Briefly, Evie touched the wooden cross at Cecily’s breast. ‘Both this and her habit attest that she speaks true. This can be none other than Cecily of Fulford.’

      Leofwine’s seax vanished. Taking Cecily by both arms, he shook her so her teeth rattled.

      ‘Listen, Cecily of Fulford, I don’t know why you have come visiting, and to be frank I do not care. I want you to leave. Evie and I have enough to contend with without your family stirring things up for us.’

      Manhandling Cecily to the door, he reached for the latch.

      ‘A moment, please.’ Cecily bit her lip and gestured apologetically at Evie. ‘I…I’m sorry, but I saw my sister Emma at the Cathedral yesterday, talking to Judhael. I thought they might have come here.’

      Evie and Leofwine gazed blankly at her.

      ‘Did they?’

      Leofwine set his teeth, unlatched the door, and attempted to shove Cecily into the street.

      ‘Did they? Evie?’ Resisting Leofwine with all her might, Cecily felt the words tumble out. ‘I would have talked to them if I could, but it…it was not possible. I only want to know Emma is well…that she is not alone. Do you think she’s with Judhael, Evie?’

      Evie turned her head away, chewing her lower lip.

      ‘Evie? Please…’

      Evie spun back, and with little more than a swift headshake stopped Leofwine ejecting Cecily into the street. ‘Cecily…my lady…in the past your family were more than good to mine. Would that we could help you…’ again her hand rested upon her belly ‘…but we have our own family to consider—’

      ‘Aye,’ Leofwine all but growled. ‘Years without her quickening, then now, of all times, when the saints have deserted us and the world is in turmoil…’

      ‘Babies choose their own times,’ Cecily murmured, and sent Evie a warm smile. ‘I am happy for you.’

      Evie inclined her head. ‘I thank you. But you must see how difficult it is for us. I will tell you what I told Emma—’

      ‘So she did come here. I knew it!’

      ‘Evie—’ Leofwine’s face darkened ‘—be wary.’

      Evie placed a hand on her husband’s arm. ‘Think, love. Since Judhael told us less than nothing of his plans, there’s not much we can tell. But we can at least put her mind to rest on one score. Emma is with Judhael, Lady Cecily.’

      ‘They have left Winchester?’

      ‘I believe so.’

      ‘But you don’t know where they’ve gone?’

      ‘No—and we will have no part in any scheme of yours. As we will have no part in any of Judhael’s. I told both him and your sister as much. We are ordinary working people, my lady, and even at the best of times we walk a tightrope. Now—’ she lifted her shoulders ‘—we have to tread even more carefully.’

      Cecily’s shoulders drooped, and she scrubbed wearily at her forehead. ‘I’m sorry. Perhaps I shouldn’t have come. I’d hoped to see Emma—to convince her that flight is not the only road open to her, to persuade her to come back to Fulford with me.’

      ‘She’ll never do that. Not while a Norman is suing for her hand.’

      Cecily met Evie’s gaze, thankful that the poor light hid the hot colour that rushed into her cheeks. ‘Adam Wymark is from Brittany, not Normandy.’

      Evie shrugged. ‘What’s the difference? Breton, Norman—marauders all. Your sister will have none of them.’

      Cecily swallowed. She had heard similar words from Emma’s own lips. And if Judhael was Emma’s lover, Emma’s flight was all the more understandable. ‘Emma need have no fear of Adam Wymark. Not now,’ she said. ‘Evie, if you should see her again, I’d like to leave a message—’

      ‘No,’ Leofwine broke in curtly. ‘No messages.’

      ‘A few words only—should you chance to meet her.’ Suddenly it was vital that Emma knew of Cecily’s betrothal to Adam. ‘Please tell her that the Breton knight has agreed to marry me in her stead.’

      Evie’s jaw dropped. ‘You, my lady? You’d marry one of them?’

      Cecily lifted her head. ‘Aye. I am returning to Fulford. Please tell her.’

      ‘You’re mad. Being cooped up in that convent’s sent you mad.’

      ‘You may have something there,’ Cecily said quietly. ‘I loathed it.’

      Evie’s face softened, and impulsively she took Cecily by the hand. ‘You poor thing. It must have been bad to make marrying one of them a better choice.’

      ‘Adam Wymark is not an evil man,’ Cecily said, knowing it to be the truth, but wondering how she knew this.

      ‘No?’ Evie patted her hand, her face the image of disbelief. ‘You poor thing.’

      ‘He’s not!’

      Another pat. ‘I’m sure he is not.’

      But Cecily intercepted the look Evie sent her husband, and she knew that Evie did not believe her. In Evie’s mind all the Duke’s men had souls as black as pitch. But life was not that simple. It would be easier if it were, for then she would not feel so guilty. It was as if, merely by talking to Leofwine and Evie, she was somehow betraying Adam. But there was no time to examine her guilt—which was misplaced anyway—she had a newborn brother and the villagers of Fulford to look to. They must come first.

      ‘If you please, I will leave now.’

      Leofwine gave her a mocking bow and pushed open the door. A stream of sunlight rushed into the room. Momentarily blinded, Cecily picked up her skirts and stepped over the threshold.

      ‘Don’t fear for your sister, Lady Cecily,’ Evie called. ‘Judhael will look after her.’

      Cecily nodded, though she had to push aside a nagging memory of the cold, almost callous expression on Judhael’s face when he had been talking to Emma in the Minster.

      ‘He will—I swear it.’ Evie smiled through the doorway and opened her mouth to say more, but Leofwine swung the door shut and cut off her words. The bolt scraped home.

      Hunching into her cloak, Cecily glanced swiftly to left and right. At the southern end of Golde Street the sullen workmen were receiving their orders from a crop-headed Norman overseer in a scarlet tunic. The overseer’s shoulders were wrapped in a purple velvet cloak the emperor of Byzantium would have been proud to call his own. The booty of war, perhaps? By comparison the Saxon workmen were dull, in their brown and grey homespun. At their backs, the oxen were СКАЧАТЬ