bringing brands to a burning barn."
“But Mistress Dow says..." Maud began for what was probably the fifteenth time to judge by her voice's strain.
“Master Colfoot's here," Bess interrupted. “He's come all unexpected and gone in to see the master. Where's she at? He'll be asking to see her surely."
Maud looked around and made a distracted curtsey toward Frevisse. “Gone out." She nodded her head toward the window. “To walk in the orchard for a while she said, though it's still damp and chill."
The chamber's long window overlooked a pear and apple orchard that a few weeks ago must have been beautiful and fragrant with blossoms. Now it was a canopy of young leaves sloping away to a stream that boundaried the manor from a stretch of forest to the east.
“Should we tell her he's here, do you think?" Bess asked, moving toward the window.
But Sister Emma chose that moment to throw back her covers and swing her feet toward the floor. “I'm hot ," she declared. “I want to go home. Where are my clothes?" And they were all three immediately busy in settling her back into bed and persuading her to the medicine that would make her rest whether she wanted to or not.
* * * * *
Nicholas was laughing softly to himself as he slipped out the rear gate of Payne's garden where Cullem had been waiting this while with the horse they had "borrowed" from Dame Frevisse. If fat Colfoot had a hound's nose it would be twitching on a hot scent in Payne's parlor right now. But for all he was a dog, the man didn't have a good hound's nose. Nor a fat purse either.
At the memory of last night, Nicholas laughed out loud. As easy a picking as he'd had these past five years. Slip out from behind a hedge, clout the yeoman from behind to send him tumbling into the ditch, and prick a sword into the franklin's fat arse. There'd been no trouble in having the purse handed over and being away without ever being seen. A handsome purse, and a handsome lot of silver in it. And, God's teeth, the man had roared afterwards, enough to shake the rain off the eaves.
Chuckling, Nicholas jumped into the saddle Cullem had vacated, and took up the reins. “Any trouble?" he asked.
“Not here," Cullem said. He took Nicholas's hand and pulled himself up behind the saddle. He nodded toward the stableyard. “But I was talking with Tam in the stable. He was into village this morning."
“And there's talk enough there, I'll wager." Nicholas’ grin widened. There was bound to be talk when there was robbery hardly outside the village bounds; it would liven the sheep-brained place after years of complacency.
“It's Beatrice," Cullem said.
Nicholas turned in his saddle, finally hearing Cullem's unease. He asked sharply, “What about Beatrice?"
“She was beaten last night."
“Beaten? Who'd beat Beatrice? Why?"
“From what Tam heard, she's not saying. And that's made talk, too, ‘cause she's bad, Nick. Hasn't left her bed this morning, and Old Nan's talking of sending for the apothecary maybe."
Nicholas turned back to face the road. He hated the bother of other people's pain, but Beatrice... “We'd best go by way of the village then."
* * * * *
“She's poorly," Old Nan muttered, leading him toward the rattling stairs up to the rooms above her alehouse though she knew he knew the way. “She's that terrified I have to tell her who's coming or she'll set to screaming. I'll just warn it's you and then it will be all right."
“Who did it to her?" Nicholas demanded.
Age had shriveled and begun to stoop the alewife, but her tongue still had its vigor. “If she'd tell me, I'd have the hide off him! But she won't say, and I've no way of knowing who comes to see her." Beatrice had her room at the head of the stairs, while Old Nan slept at the back. The downstairs door was left unbarred for just such as might want to come to Beatrice after the alehouse closed; they barred it
“But Mistress Dow says..." Maud began for what was probably the fifteenth time to judge by her voice's strain.
“Master Colfoot's here," Bess interrupted. “He's come all unexpected and gone in to see the master. Where's she at? He'll be asking to see her surely."
Maud looked around and made a distracted curtsey toward Frevisse. “Gone out." She nodded her head toward the window. “To walk in the orchard for a while she said, though it's still damp and chill."
The chamber's long window overlooked a pear and apple orchard that a few weeks ago must have been beautiful and fragrant with blossoms. Now it was a canopy of young leaves sloping away to a stream that boundaried the manor from a stretch of forest to the east.
“Should we tell her he's here, do you think?" Bess asked, moving toward the window.
But Sister Emma chose that moment to throw back her covers and swing her feet toward the floor. “I'm hot ," she declared. “I want to go home. Where are my clothes?" And they were all three immediately busy in settling her back into bed and persuading her to the medicine that would make her rest whether she wanted to or not.
* * * * *
Nicholas was laughing softly to himself as he slipped out the rear gate of Payne's garden where Cullem had been waiting this while with the horse they had "borrowed" from Dame Frevisse. If fat Colfoot had a hound's nose it would be twitching on a hot scent in Payne's parlor right now. But for all he was a dog, the man didn't have a good hound's nose. Nor a fat purse either.
At the memory of last night, Nicholas laughed out loud. As easy a picking as he'd had these past five years. Slip out from behind a hedge, clout the yeoman from behind to send him tumbling into the ditch, and prick a sword into the franklin's fat arse. There'd been no trouble in having the purse handed over and being away without ever being seen. A handsome purse, and a handsome lot of silver in it. And, God's teeth, the man had roared afterwards, enough to shake the rain off the eaves.
Chuckling, Nicholas jumped into the saddle Cullem had vacated, and took up the reins. “Any trouble?" he asked.
“Not here," Cullem said. He took Nicholas's hand and pulled himself up behind the saddle. He nodded toward the stableyard. “But I was talking with Tam in the stable. He was into village this morning."
“And there's talk enough there, I'll wager." Nicholas’ grin widened. There was bound to be talk when there was robbery hardly outside the village bounds; it would liven the sheep-brained place after years of complacency.
“It's Beatrice," Cullem said.
Nicholas turned in his saddle, finally hearing Cullem's unease. He asked sharply, “What about Beatrice?"
“She was beaten last night."
“Beaten? Who'd beat Beatrice? Why?"
“From what Tam heard, she's not saying. And that's made talk, too, ‘cause she's bad, Nick. Hasn't left her bed this morning, and Old Nan's talking of sending for the apothecary maybe."
Nicholas turned back to face the road. He hated the bother of other people's pain, but Beatrice... “We'd best go by way of the village then."
* * * * *
“She's poorly," Old Nan muttered, leading him toward the rattling stairs up to the rooms above her alehouse though she knew he knew the way. “She's that terrified I have to tell her who's coming or she'll set to screaming. I'll just warn it's you and then it will be all right."
“Who did it to her?" Nicholas demanded.
Age had shriveled and begun to stoop the alewife, but her tongue still had its vigor. “If she'd tell me, I'd have the hide off him! But she won't say, and I've no way of knowing who comes to see her." Beatrice had her room at the head of the stairs, while Old Nan slept at the back. The downstairs door was left unbarred for just such as might want to come to Beatrice after the alehouse closed; they barred it
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