Come Back to Me by Jody Hedlund
~ 21 ~
DESOLATIONANDDESTRUCTION met Will wherever he rode. The low burn of anger in his chest had fanned into a fire by the time he finished in town and started toward home, his squires close on his trail.
Didn’t the rebels know their raiding and looting would only hurt them? Didn’t they understand that abandoning their labor in the fields would bring hardships and starvation once winter settled?
At least workers had begun repairs at St. Sepulchre and most of the nuns were restored. He’d given the prioress a donation toward the rebuilding of the gates, gaining her promise that this time she would have them constructed of iron and kept locked at all times.
When he’d made his way to the cathedral, the devastation within had been worse—especially in the archbishop’s chambers. He’d heard that the Bishop of Canterbury had not been present in town when Wat Tyler and John Ball had entered. If so, the bishop’s head would have been at the end of a pike at the forefront of their calamitous parade.
Will had received no opposition at the cathedral since the monks were distracted and busy bringing order back to the chaos. Even so, he instructed his squires to stand guard at the entrance whilst he went below.
He was surprised to find Marian’s hiding spot exactly where she’d described it. As he stuffed the ampullae and strange note she’d penned to her father into the small space, he wasn’t able to halt the barrage of questions. How had Marian known about this hiding place? How was her father involved? Where was she really from?
He didn’t want to have any doubts about her, wanted to trust her completely. But as before, he had a premonition something was not as it ought to be. He’d intended to be patient and allow her to reveal her past in her own timing. However, maybe he needed to probe for more information. At least then, he could prepare himself for repercussions that might arise.
Amidst his inner warring, his pulse warmed at the remembrance of her standing before him that morn, the early light reflecting off her bed-tousled hair, highlighting its deep brown and red. Of course, rushing out to him in her thin shift and uncovered head had been naught short of scandalous.
But her delicate features had been tense with the need to see him. And that realization, more than anything, burned a slow trail through him all day. She’d defied all properness and modesty to come to him. She’d been unashamed of her desire to see him. And she’d willingly accepted his embrace and kiss.
He’d known the kiss was her apology along with her acceptance of his decision. And it had contained the depth of her feeling for him—something he was still trying to comprehend. Yes, he could admit his fondness for her was growing, different from the physical attraction that came easily. Was it possible she was experiencing the same kind of fondness for him?
The soggy ground slowed his mount. The mud in the beast’s hooves was thick and heavy. As he crested the rise of the hill, he motioned to his squires and slowed the horse, intending to dismount and pry loose the sludge. But as he tugged the reins and brushed a hand over the stallion’s withers, appreciating the powerful muscles of its neck and shoulders, a wisp of smoke in the distance snagged his attention.
The black curl drifted upward like a coiling adder. And it came directly from Chesterfield Park. The beating in Will’s chest silenced, and a deadly calm fell over him. Something had happened.
With a sharp jab to the horse’s flanks and a quick flick of the reins, he urged his mount to gallop. The closer his home loomed, the harder he pushed the stallion, moving well ahead of his squires. With each pound of the hooves, his chest pounded harder, until it hurt painfully.
The visions of Thomas’s body filled his mind’s eye. The vultures perched on his brother’s sightless head, the putrid body pieces in the ditch. The moment he’d recognized his brother amidst the decimated remains, he’d fallen to his knees and vomited until he’d had naught left.
He hadn’t been there to protect Thomas. And now, what if he was too late to protect his family? His wife. And his sons.
“God have mercy.” His breath came in quick spurts. Nausea crowded his throat, and he tasted bile at the back of his tongue. “God have mercy.”
As he charged through the open gatehouse, another thought assailed him. Someone among the ranks of his household must have betrayed him and opened the gates wide to a roving band of rebels. Who had done it?
He unsheathed one of his swords, his body rigid with the need to kill the one who had been disloyal. The grounds swarmed with men, looting his storehouse and stables and home. But even as he charged forward, his sword swinging at anyone close enough to feel its blade, his mind cautioned him against too much bloodshed, at least until he determined what had become of his kin.
At the manor entryway, he dismounted, slashing away the rebels who converged upon him in an attempt to capture him. He entered the house with long, angry strides, the blood on his weapon a warning that he would kill if need be.
As he stalked into the great hall, he repelled several more men. With curses, they fell back.
“Sire.” A familiar voice called out a warning. He spun to see Thad, his steward and friend, standing next to a stranger, who clearly, with in his simple garb, sun-bronzed face, and plain chaperon-style hat, was no nobleman. Yet, he held himself with the bearing of a leader, his expression hardened, as if he’d witnessed so much heartbreak that he’d lost his heart altogether.
Thad’s young face compressed with worry lines, and his gaze darted behind the stranger.
Will followed the glance, and his chest seized. Two men stood at Marian’s side. One was pinning her arms behind her back, and the other held a knife to her throat, which she’d arched in a desperate act to keep her skin from being nicked. But already blood trailed down her pale neck and pooled in the hollow at the base of her throat. Surprisingly, her eyes were calm, even angry. On the floor behind her, Phillip crouched low, shielding Robert in his arms.
“Sir William, welcome home.” The stranger offered a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “We’ve been waiting for you.”
Will sensed half a dozen men closing in around him. He lifted his sword in warning.
“If you be putting down your weapon”—the stranger glanced toward Marian—“then we will be putting down ours. But if you choose not to . . .”
Marian released a pained gasp, and the rebel holding the knife grinned as fresh blood trickled down her neck.
Instantly, Will’s dagger was in his hand, aimed at the man’s heart and ready to throw.
“Wait!” Thad stepped forward, his expression wreathed with urgency. “They’re here to seek peace. They mean you no harm.”
You. Not us. “So you are the one who betrayed me.” Will spat at the man who’d been his most trusted companion.
Thad shook his head, then cocked his head to the corner where Sarah stood with the other women, amongst them Will’s mother and sister. Thad’s eyes said it all. Whatever he’d done had been to protect Sarah and everyone else. Now Will must do likewise for the people he loved.
“Please, sire. ’Tis Wat Tyler. And he’s here to recruit you to be the sovereign captain.”
Wat Tyler? The leader of the rebellion?
Will examined the stranger again, taking in the smattering of gray at the man’s temple, the leathery lines in his forehead and at his eyes, and the sorrow—deep sorrow—etched into those lines. He didn’t know much about this man except hearsay from the knights who’d visited him earlier in the week. One of the rumors was that his daughter had been indecently assaulted by a poll tax collector. Seeing the sadness in the man’s face now, Will could almost believe it was true.
Even so, Will’s fingers tightened around his dagger, its lethal tip aimed at Marian’s captor.
Wat looked at it pointedly. “You’ve a brave wife, sire. She insisted that if we must be hurting someone, it be her and not your sons.”
Marian didn’t move. Every muscle in Will’s body tensed with the need to set her free. Could he impale her captor before the man slit her throat open?
“I’ve been hearing you’re a mighty warrior.” Wat’s voice echoed in the now-silent hall. “I be supposing you can kill my man Jack clean through quicker than a bat can fly. But my man Chester. Now he’s a fair shot with the arrow.” Wat nodded to the side of the room where a youth had his bow taut and arrow notched. It was aimed at Marian’s heart.
Will’s muscles twitched with the need to slay both rebels at the same time. But with only one dagger, he was at a disadvantage. The truth was, if he wanted to save Marian and his sons, he would have to play along with this crowd of miscreants—at least for the time being.
Slowly, Will lowered his blade and used it to point to the trestle table closest to the hearth fire. “Let my wife be, and I shall sit down and share a drink with you.”
Wat didn’t smile, but the tight lines at his mouth relaxed. He nodded at Marian’s captor, who released the pressure of the knife and shoved Marian behind him.
Marian knelt and gathered Robert into her arms. The little boy came to her willingly, clinging to her and burying his face into her bosom. Phillip lifted his chin at the rebels, as if to say they would have to kill him first before he let anything happen to his brother.
The boy’s ferocity reflected Will’s except that his encompassed both of his sons. And Marian. She kissed Robert’s head and held him tightly before meeting Will’s gaze. Her eyes reached out to him and seemed to tell him she was strong, not to worry about her, that she would take care of his boys.
In that instant, he knew he loved her, that the emotion building within his breast was not mere fondness. It was love. He loved her more than he’d ever loved anyone or anything.
Although Will would never agree to be the sovereign captain of these rebelling ruffians, for now he would do whatever was necessary to protect the woman and the family he loved.
* * *
Marian’s neck stung painfully, but she bit back her complaints and focused instead on Robert and Phillip throughout the long night. Although Phillip had been brave for a boy of eight, he finally curled up against her with Robert and slept.
She tried to stay awake so she could listen to the discussion between Will, Wat Tyler, and several of the other leaders within the group. But eventually she gave in to sleep too.
She heard enough to understand that Will had no choice but to go along with Wat. Although Will argued eloquently and presented a multitude of considerations against becoming their captain, Wat Tyler remained steadfast in his insistence. The rebel leader didn’t say so, but it was clear that Will would join their cause or lose his family.
Apparently Wat had seen what Marian had when Will had stormed into the great hall with his sword drawn, effortlessly cutting down anyone in his path. Will was mercilessly determined to save his family. He’d do anything to keep them from harm. He’d kill anyone. He’d sacrifice his own life. And he’d even align himself with his enemy.
Maybe Wat had known all that ahead. Maybe that’s why he came to Chesterfield Park. And maybe that’s why he cornered the boys and her first.
Whatever the case, Marian sensed she and the boys would be safe as long as Will did exactly what Wat asked of him. At first she found a measure of comfort in the realization that Will would go to any lengths to protect them.
However, that comfort had dissolved into fear as she’d begun to understand why Will was able to sacrifice himself so willingly. Yes, he was noble and honorable and placed their needs above his own. But ultimately, he loathed himself, didn’t believe he deserved to live. Such self-hatred pushed him to a recklessness that could someday end in his death.
The very prospect chilled her to the bone.
In the morning, Sarah roused Marian. Around them, the men were rolling blankets, strapping on weapons, and preparing to be on their way. The air was sour with the stench of so many unwashed bodies, and after just one day, the sweet scents from her bath were gone.
Sarah, who had tended her wound, now silently pressed a bundle and a leather jug into her arms, as she did to each of the boys. Then, the same peasants who had guarded them all through the night forced them to their feet and hustled them outside. Ahead, Will was mounted on his horse next to Wat Tyler, speaking with the man in hushed tones. Outfitted in his padded gambeston and chain mail, Will had his weapons in hand and a squire on the horse next to him.
She paused and waited for Will to see and acknowledge her. But he was apparently too consumed with his conversation to give her notice.
Thad assisted her onto a horse and placed Robert in the saddle in front of her, thankfully giving the boy the reins. Marian had seen Robert ride, and at six he was much better at handling the horse than she was. In truth, he was an expert compared to her.
If only Phillip could have his horse. She strained to see him among the group of men on foot. Upon glimpsing him, she gasped. Someone had stolen his pack and jug. And now his hands were tied behind his back and a rope wound around his neck. He held his chin high, and his mouth was set with the same determination she’d seen in Will’s expression. Clearly he planned to bear the situation with dignity and courage—just as his father would.
Even so, indignation swelled within Marian’s chest, especially at the sight of the coarse hemp already chafing the boy’s fair skin. Boys his age were supposed to play Little League baseball, build forts in the woods, and watch Star Wars. Weren’t they?
Marian started to slide off her horse, determined to take Phillip’s place, but Thad forced her back up.
“Let me down.” She glared at him. “I’m planning to walk.”
“My lady.” Thad didn’t relinquish his grip upon her, his splotchy face growing redder. “Sir William wants you to remain on the mare with the young lad.”
“I want Phillip to ride instead.”
“Sir William insists.”
As though sensing the commotion, Will’s gaze shot her direction. The stark desperation in his stunning blue eyes rent her heart in half. She could only imagine his agony at seeing his son bound so viciously.
He shifted his gaze to Thad and nodded curtly.
Thad produced a rope and started to unravel it. “If you try getting down, the master’s instructed me to bind you to the horse.”
The words gave Marian pause, and her sights returned to Will. But he’d already nudged his horse forward, his stiff back turned to her, the matter settled. How could he let his son endure such humiliation and pain without making an effort to stop it?
“No telling what they might do to you, lady.” Thad’s eyes beseeched her to comprehend his meaning. “But they durst not harm the lad.”
With a sickening lump forming in her stomach, she nodded. She finally understood. As a woman, she was dispensable, worthless, and in much more danger. Will was doing his best to protect her, and she needed to trust his wisdom and decisions.
Thad roped their bundles onto the saddle before patting the horse’s flank and stepping back. Even though Thad had allowed Wat Tyler into the manor, Marian understood he’d only done so to avoid bloodshed and protect everyone. Now he took his place among the men of his own rank, as much a prisoner as Will.
As they started out the gates of Chesterfield Park, Marian glanced behind to the magnificent stonework, the large windows, the entrance with two open arches, and the hall tower on the east end. While not as sprawling or magnificent as the modern home, it was still impressive.
And it felt like home. It had been a safe and comfortable place amidst the dangers and disorder of 1381. Now she was being thrust out into the middle of a rebellion. From her previous research into the uprising, she knew the outcome already. The revolt wouldn’t last more than another week before it was squelched.
In the meantime, however, thousands of people—nobility and peasant alike—would be slaughtered.
Marian could only pray, desperately, that Will and his sons wouldn’t be among those who died. And that she wouldn’t be either.