Come Back to Me by Jody Hedlund

~ 22 ~

MARIANHUDDLED against Robert and Phillip in the darkness. Even though the June night was balmy and the sky studded with stars, she couldn’t get warm. She’d been shivering off and on since the horde had stopped earlier in the evening.

After four days of being on the road, the peasants had steadily gained more followers until the ranks swelled beyond what her eyes could see. If she had to guess, she would say at least twenty—if not thirty—thousand had congregated, with more arriving every hour, not only from Kent but also from Essex, Sussex, Staffordshire, and Bedfordshire.

Robert had predicted they were heading toward London. And he’d been right. The boy had been an astute guide as they made their way slowly to Rochester and Rochester Castle, which Wat Tyler had taken without a fight. The lord, a knight by the name of Sir John, had been forced to join the peasant ranks the same way Will had, with his family held hostage.

Now they were only a few miles southeast of the capital on Blackheath, a sprawling hilly area covered for miles around with peasant camps. The air was hazy with smoke and the scents of a thousand meals being cooked in the open. The raucous noises of celebration had been ongoing for hours, especially from the pillagers who returned from looting London.

Earlier, Wat and the other leaders of the revolt had sent Sir John by the River Thames to the Tower of London to bear tidings to the king. He’d been instructed to ask King Richard to come out to Blackheath and negotiate peace with the rebels. Sir John returned with news from the king that he would visit Blackheath in the morning and meet with the leaders.

In the meantime, the rebels had threatened to burn the suburbs around London and then conquer the city by force, slaying all within if the mayor didn’t open the gates.

Faced with so many armed men, the city officials had no choice but to give in to the demands. Wat Tyler, the priest John Ball, and others had led thousands throughout London. Reports had begun to trickle back regarding the destruction, particularly the slaying of rich merchants, noblemen, men of the court, as well as clergy. The rioters had broken in to the king’s prison and set free the criminals, who had then joined in the killing and looting.

All evening, Marian prayed that Will, wherever he was, would remain unharmed. She’d seen him only at a distance during the long days of riding toward London. The jostling of the crowds, the sheer masses of people, had separated them. But thankfully, as the ranks had swelled and as they’d drawn closer to London, the peasants had become too preoccupied to pay attention to Phillip, a lone boy among the many hostages they held. Marian had persuaded Thad to cut the boy’s binding loose, and, although afraid of the repercussions, Thad had finally done so.

Will had tasked Thad with guarding them, and the young steward hadn’t strayed from their sides. Even now, Thad sat in front of them, his hand on his sword pommel.

It was June 9. She’d been in 1381 for fifteen days. While the two weeks had seemed to last an eternity and had been filled with one life-threatening danger after another, in some ways she felt as though she’d just arrived, especially when it came to being with Will.

If Ellen or Harrison had gotten into the crypt yesterday and found the ampullae Will had hopefully been able to put into the hiding spot, then she might very well be taking a hot shower and sipping a cup of coffee soon. At the thought of indulging in the two luxuries, she should have been excited. Instead a strange trepidation slithered through her.

What would happen to her body here in 1381? Would she fall into a coma on Blackheath? If so, how would a 1381 comatose body survive without IVs, NG tubes, and antibiotics to ward off infections?

Without modern medical advancements, a coma in the Middle Ages would most certainly lead to death. How long would she have before dying? A few days? A week at most?

When first crossing time, she hadn’t considered—hadn’t really cared—what became of her past body once she returned to her real life. But here, with Robert and Phillip, she couldn’t keep from worrying. They would be frantic if she suddenly fell into an unconscious state.

With the imminence of going back to the present, she’d begun to more carefully examine all the angles of the return process. When her comatose body died in 1381, would she also die in the present time? She suspected her modern body would terminate at the same time her 1381 body did. After all, on her dad’s list of speculations, he’d indicated a death in the past or vice versa would result in a corresponding death in the other time era. She’d already concluded that’s what had happened to him.

If her 1381 body was doomed to die, that meant even if she fully awakened in the present, she wouldn’t have long to live. Unless . . . There had to be an unless. Surely the process of crossing back into time wasn’t fatal for everyone. After all, there were records of people who had lived to tell about their visions. She could only speculate that meant they’d discovered a cure.

The ultimate cure . . .

Of course. Those early accounts were from people who had access to the wellsprings. They’d likely had the holy water to draw them back to reality and additional water when they started feeling ill as their comatose body in the past began to die.

That meant, once she awoke in the present, her body would require another dose. Was that why her dad had put two ampullae into the crypt? Had he known he would need two in order to survive? One to bring him out of the coma and another to sustain his life?

If she gave one of the ampullae to Ellen, Marian wouldn’t have the two doses she would need herself. That meant her only hope for saving both Ellen and herself was to find the old wellspring in the area where St. Sepulchre had once stood. What if St. George’s Tower, the old square tower at the edge of a shopping plaza, was truly the place? What if it had been built to guard the well? Maybe the gargoyle holding the clock was issuing a warning not to disturb the spot.

Even if it was really the location of the old well, there were no guarantees. Besides, how would she and Harrison begin investigating and digging without drawing attention from the competition who was bent on stealing the miracle cure from them?

Marian squeezed her eyes shut, wishing she could as easily squeeze away all the disturbing thoughts. Robert’s hair tickled her chin, and she snuggled him tighter.

The distant shrill screams and the accompanying vicious laughter sent a shiver through Marian. Robert slipped his hand into hers and lifted his head from the crook of her arm. “I promise to protect you, Mother.”

It was the first time he’d called her anything beside “my lady.” And his declaration brought stinging tears to her eyes. “You have already.” She worked to get the words past her constricting throat. “You are a brave and good man like your father.”

He laid his head back down, apparently satisfied that all was well. Marian pressed a kiss into his dust-coated, uncombed hair, and he released a small tired sigh. On the other side of Robert, she caught Phillip watching her.

Phillip was decidedly more reserved and solemn and nodded at Marian. “You are brave and good likewise, my lady. I see now why my father chose you. If I find a wife half as beautiful and kind as you, I shall indeed be fortunate.”

“Thank you.” Again, tears pricked Marian’s eyes. Though the ground was hard and cold and her body ached all over and they’d finished the last of the food Sarah had packed for them, somehow Phillip’s affirmation took away every thought of discomfort—even if just for a moment.

Suddenly, she hated the fact that she could be jerked out of 1381 away from these boys, away from her duty to take care of them, perhaps without even being able to say good-bye.

She wanted—no, needed—to be able to say good-bye to Will. How could she leave without seeing him one more time, without looking into his eyes, hearing his voice, and maybe even tasting his lips? The idea of never speaking with him again wrenched her heart. She closed her eyes to fight against the need for him that welled up within her more and more often lately.

Shouts and laughter once again pierced the air. If the long grass hadn’t been crushed against her cheek and the scent of soil so strong in her nose, she would have been tempted to think this was just one long nightmare she was experiencing. But the warmth of Robert’s small body, the soft pressure of his breathing, and the crackle of a nearby fire proved this was all very real.

“Father.” Phillip’s whisper cut through the night.

Marian’s eyes flew open to see Will hovering above the boy, who was now kneeling.

“You have done well keeping your mother and brother safe.” Will rested a hand on the boy’s head.

Phillip nodded, drinking in not only the sight of his father but his praise.

Firelight flickered across Will’s face. His expression was grim, his eyes sadder and more haunted than Marian had ever seen them.

Robert stirred and opened his eyes. At the sight of his father, he released Marian and sat up. It was clear he wanted to bury himself against his father’s chest. But he held back.

“And you, Robert,” Will said. “You did well guiding the horse for your mother.”

Robert straightened and smiled.

Will ruffled the young boy’s hair but didn’t smile back. Instead, his gaze shifted to Marian. Even in the dark, his eyes were intense and hungry and desperate all at once. She could sense he needed her. She wasn’t sure exactly how, but that thought sent a quiver through her belly and a sudden keen need to be with him too.

He didn’t say anything to her. He didn’t have to. When he held out his hand, it was enough. She took it and let him help her to her feet. After the past days of riding, her beautiful emerald gown was filthy, her hands and nails crusted with grime, and her face likely streaked with dust. But at the moment, nothing seemed to matter except that Will wanted to be with her.

He led her to a spot a dozen or so paces away from Thad and the boys, into the shadows and out of the light of the flames. It wasn’t private. She could sense the boys’ eyes upon them with each step they took. And yet, she felt no shame or embarrassment as Will lay in the grass and pulled her down. He draped his cloak over them and then drew her against him, wrapping his arms around her so that he was holding her much the same way he had the night he’d slept with her.

One arm encircled her waist, and the other slid up to her neck. She realized he wanted her to free her hair, and she quickly loosened her braid. As soon as her hair was free, he buried his fingers and face there with a soft groan that rumbled through her all the way to her toes.

She expected him to kiss her, was ashamed at how much she wanted his kisses. But within moments, she could feel the even rise and fall of his chest and knew he was asleep. She guessed he hadn’t slept much since they’d been captured. And now, with the rebel leaders occupied for the night, maybe he’d decided to finally allow himself to rest.

Her eyes closed in exhaustion too. For the first time since the peasant mob had descended upon Chesterfield Park, she felt safe again. She was where she wanted—no, needed—to be. She laid her hand over his and intertwined their fingers. And she prayed she would have at least this last night with Will before she had to leave him.

* * *

The crunch of grass awoke Will. Through the slit in his eyelids, he glimpsed Thad adding more fuel to the fire. From the way Marian relaxed against him, he knew she was still asleep. A glance in the direction of his sons told Will they slumbered too. And a peek at the sky overhead informed him he’d slept several hours and had another hour or so ere dawn broke. Several hours of unbroken, dreamless sleep. It only happened with her.

A quietness had settled upon Blackheath. After the frenzy and fighting of the past eve, most of the rebels had likely passed out from intoxication or exhaustion.

From what he’d seen and heard, the rebels had torn asunder Marshalsea prison in Southwark along with Fleet and Newgate prisons, so that now not only were the bondmen ravaging London, but so were countless murderers, thieves, and rapists.

The rebels had attacked numerous palaces and abbeys, demolishing the buildings and burning priceless books and paperwork in the streets. Then they’d moved on to ransack the Tower of London with a list of hated nobles and officials that they demanded be executed. Will was glad he’d been there to prevent the rebels from slaying some of the royal family, including the king’s half sister.

Even though Will had tried to protect whomever he could, the rebels had hunted down and beheaded as many of those nobles as they could find, putting their heads on pikes and parading them around the city before affixing the heads to London Bridge. The bloody display had been all the permission the masses had needed to continue the looting and bloodshed far into the night.

It hadn’t mattered that King Richard had issued charters announcing the abolition of serfdom and had promised to administer justice. The rebels hadn’t been satisfied. And Wat Tyler intended to make more demands of the king at the meeting on the morrow.

Will had decided this meeting was his chance to do something decisive. So he’d sent a secret message to Walworth, the mayor of London, to be prepared for action. He’d also informed Thad that if his efforts at helping the king failed, he was to take Marian and his sons forthwith to the Continent for safekeeping.

As if sensing his wakefulness, Marian’s fingers tightened in his, offering him fortitude. Just the feel of her alone was enough to calm his spirit. After the senseless killings and violence he’d witnessed earlier and with what was to come in the hours ahead, he needed the balm of her touch, the quietness and peace of her body, her soft, steady presence to hold his nightmares at bay.

She shifted so that she was facing him. In the darkness, he sensed more than saw that she’d opened her eyes and was attempting to study his face. “Sleep longer.” Her whisper was faint so only the two of them could hear it.

“You sleep.” He drew her head against his chest and pressed his lips into her hair.

She snuggled against him. Any other night he might have been aware of how enthralling her body felt against his, how much he still longed for her. But his mind overflowed with images he’d seen in London earlier—images of the gruesome torture and death everywhere he’d gone. With each new corpse he’d stumbled upon, he’d pictured Thomas, until he’d thought he would go mad if he had to look at one more headless body on the street.

“What is it?” she whispered.

He tightened his arms around her. For a long moment, he just held her, drawing succor again from her.

“Will, tell me what haunts you.”

He shook his head.

“Please. Then I can help bear the burden. You won’t have to carry it alone anymore.” Her breath was warm upon his neck, her voice filled with a plea.

Could she really want to hear about his troubles?

Part of him cautioned against revealing those deep wounds. The pain and heartache were his cross to bear. At the same time, he longed to share with her in a way he hadn’t with anyone else. He wasn’t sure what about her beckoned him to open himself up. Maybe it had to do with the vow he’d made to spend time getting to know one another.

Still he hesitated. “I do not want to trouble you—”

“Don’t hide this from me. I want to know about every part of you, even the hardest parts.”

What about the parts she was hiding from him? He wanted to know that too. He wanted complete honesty, no matter what may come of it. But maybe that kind of openness had to start with him.

“Very well,” he whispered. “I shall share. But then you must share also.”

“Share what?”

“The truth about your past.”

She was motionless for several heartbeats, then nodded.

He released a breath and dug his fingers in her hair, as though that could keep him from sinking into the despair that sought to suck him down like quicksand every time he relived the past.

“I did not want to take Thomas with me to Bergerac, but he was young and eager, much like I had once been.”

The garrisons had been camped outside Bergerac, surrounding the French town. The winter had been particularly cold, and the army had grown restless. Smaller groups had made raids into the countryside as a means of foraging for food and supplies. Will eased his conscience by telling himself the army depended upon such raids for survival. If innocent men, women, and children were killed during the confiscation of goods and securing of supplies, it was all a part of the brutality of war.

Even as he excused the killing, Will understood that taking food from poor French people ensured their death anyway, by starvation rather than by sword.

“I never let Thomas out of my sight.” Will shivered as he recalled the cold of that winter. “But he was ill, supplies were low, and we were hungry. Thomas was too weak to go anywhere, and I tasked my squire with watching him. I left to lead a raid of a church tower rumored to contain a large supply of food.”

The newer soldiers always were more susceptible to the diseases that were rampant in the army camps. Will hadn’t worried about Thomas, had known his brother simply needed time to adjust to the starkness of life on campaign.

Unfortunately, the forage had been farther away and lasted longer than Will expected. Even now, regret pummeled him as he pictured the flames licking the church tower. Families had locked themselves inside to evade the English soldiers and protect their fortress. At the threat of the fire and the first flames, Will expected the people to come outside and surrender themselves and their goods.

But the French had decided they would rather die than face the English. In hindsight, Will could understand why. They’d heard the stories of having to offer patis—money for protection—which so few of them had. Without the payment, many captains brutally beat, chopped off the ears of, or even strangulated their prisoners. The townspeople hadn’t known Will wouldn’t do those things to them.

Whatever the case, the winter foray hadn’t produced the supplies the English army had needed and instead resulted in languishing death for innocent people. Will had watched helplessly as the structure was erelong engulfed in flames, the screams and cries of the dying inside fading to silence in the crisp winter day.

He’d ridden away, discouraged with the futility of the war, the weight of needless deaths upon him, and with very little to show for all the destruction. After two days of hard riding, they arrived back at the encampment around Bergerac only to discover chaos and more bloodshed.

The French captain, Arnaud de Cervole, had attacked during the moment of weakness, when several contingencies—in addition to Will’s—had been away pillaging. Cervole slaughtered those too weak to defend themselves and took some of the noblemen as prisoners.

“Thomas was captured.” Panic welled in Will’s gut, the same way it had the day he’d gone into his tent only to find his squire dead and Thomas gone. Marian’s hand rose to his chest, to his heart. The steady pressure and warmth brought him back to Blackheath, to the June night, to the sweetness of having her there in his arms even if they were both captives.

“I sent missives to Cervole pleading with him to take me in Thomas’s stead. But he would not harken and demanded one thousand gold francs for Thomas’s release. I returned home with all haste, emptied the coffers at Chesterfield Park, and crossed the Channel.” Will closed his eyes against the memory of the frantic race to procure the ransom and get back to Thomas, the days of sleeplessness and bone-weary travel.

His throat tightened, and suddenly he didn’t want to talk anymore. He wanted to stand up and punch something.

Marian lifted her face away from his chest. Her breath hovered above his mouth. And then her lips brushed his. Tentatively and yet tenderly. Her kiss contained understanding and heartbrokenness—as though she felt his pain in every part of her being.

Her lips moved to his cheeks, eyes, nose, almost as if she was giving him a benediction that offered forgiveness and absolution for everything he’d ever done. When her lips returned to his, he was ready for her, ready to receive her blessing. Maybe he’d never be able to let go of the burden of Thomas’s death. But her acceptance, regardless of his mistakes, had loosened the straps of the heavy weight.

He could not kiss her tenderly just now. His need for her swelled too forcefully. He captured her mouth and did not tame himself. He kissed her until the heat and the passion consumed him and made him forget about Thomas and the war with the French and even the fact that he was a prisoner and would go into battle today.

He wasn’t sure if he would have stopped himself from taking her fully, except she pulled away and buried her face against his chest—in embarrassment or discomfort, he wasn’t sure. Even if they were secluded and covered, they weren’t alone. And this was neither the time nor place to make her wholly his. That would need to wait for when they were alone, and he could cherish her as she deserved.

For long moments, he held her tight, willing his pulse and breathing to return to normal. She, too, seemed to be fighting to bring herself under control. And that thought pleased him.

He lifted a silent prayer of gratitude that God had brought her to him. In the same breath he despised that he must leave her today to go into battle. Although he’d always believed he was ready to die—that in dying he could somehow atone for his mistakes at Bergerac—he was no longer so certain. He wanted to spend every night in Marian’s arms. He wanted to taste of her kisses every day. And he wanted to remain like this—baring the deepest parts of their souls with one another.

If he lived beyond today, he prayed God would make a way for them to be together without so many months of separation.

He brushed a kiss against her forehead.

“I guess it’s my turn,” she whispered.

He wanted to tell her she didn’t have to share about her past. He suspected in doing so, the truth might disrupt this beautiful peaceful moment, and he wasn’t ready to let go of it.

She struggled to put some distance between them. As much as he wanted to hang on to her, he loosened his grip.

She seemed to search for the right words to say and her body grew more rigid. “If I tell you the truth, you’ll think I’m insane.”

“Test me.”

She drew in a deep breath. “I’m from another time and place.”