Page 3 of Her Noble Groom
Chapter two
T homasse tossed and turned on her bed. In the ten days since the party, she had confined herself to her chamber, leaving only for morning prayers and vespers at the family chapel.
Oft she sent her meals back to the kitchen untouched.
Knowing Arthur could never be hers only made her heart pine for him all the more.
When her thoughts were not consumed by Arthur, she fretted about Jack. At his age, why was he not yet married? Had he been sent away to hush up a scandal? Was there a bastard child hidden somewhere? Or did he have a penchant for gambling? It was all so distressing.
Abandoning hope of sleep, she lit the candle beside the bed, and retrieved Maud’s letter, hidden earlier beneath the bolster.
She had read only the first line, for it promised no good tidings.
Unable to delay knowing the truth any longer, she wrapped herself in a blanket and sat by the hearth to read it by the dwindling fire.
Thomasse,
I pray this letter finds your spirits improved and that its contents will set your mind at ease, although it contains unsettling news.
My days are busy attending Queen Margaret, but I have found time to make inquiries at court.
All speak highly of Lord John Courtenay.
He was not sent away from home, but rather placed in service to the Percy family, common for boys of noble birth.
His own father was a loyal knight who fought bravely for our king in the battle at St. Albans .
I do not mean to cause alarm, but my mind is deeply troubled. All morning, I watched the king’s knights ride out to the north. Rumors abound that another battle looms between the houses of Lancaster and York. Every day I pray for peace and that our paths cross again soon.
Toujours amis, Maud
Thomasse refolded the letter and returned it to its safe hiding place beneath the bolster. She crawled into bed, her fears about Jack assuaged.
The bliss of a long, elusive sleep had nearly found her when pounding on the outer door jarred her awake. Loud male voices could be heard below, and she wondered who had so rudely arrived at this late hour. Footfalls pounded on the stairs, followed by a rap on her chamber door.
“Wake up, Mistress Thomasse! Wake up!”
She rolled out of bed and padded to the door. “What is it, Agnes?” she asked, lifting the latch.
Her maidservant pushed past her into the room. “Master Nicholas says you must depart forthwith.”
Thomasse followed Agnes about the room as she retrieved a satchel from the wardrobe and stuffed it with a kirtle, a woolen gown, and various items from the dressing table.
“What happened?” Thomasse asked. “I am not going anywhere in the middle of the night without a proper explanation.”
“Make haste—the horses are being readied. Master Nicholas will explain on the way.”
Not willing to defy her father, Thomasse relented and allowed Agnes to dress her in a sturdy cotehardie. “I am frightened,” she whispered as the maidservant tightened the laces.
“Do not be. Your father always protects you. I pray you will be gone but a few days.”
Thomasse threw herself into Agnes’s arms and hugged her tightly.
Within the quarter hour, Thomasse was astride Freya, the dappled palfrey she received on her twelfth birthday.
Clouds shrouded the half-moon as they rode out the gate of the estate.
Her father rode up ahead with a half-dozen men-at-arms dressed in hauberks and coifs, lanterns held high, swords strapped at their sides.
At her father’s command, they encircled her as they rode southward.
The clouds thickened, the wind picked up, and the skies dumped heavy rains, leaving her drenched and cold.
She gritted her teeth and wrapped her cloak more tightly around her, although it did little to dispel the chill that settled in her bones.
In the stormy darkness, she feared her beloved horse might stumble and suffer injury.
What possessed Father to leave at such an inopportune time and in harsh weather?
After nigh an hour, her father joined her.
“What is the meaning of this?” Thomasse asked. “What is so pressing you must drag me from my bed?”
“You wished to tour the Continent. The perfect time has presented,” he said with a forced smile. “If we delay, we shall miss the boat.”
“And my friends?”
“They will join us in Paris,” he replied.
“But I have no proper clothes. And without Agnes, who will attend me?”
“All is arranged. You shall order new garments upon our arrival, and I shall retain a new maidservant. Now, no more questions.” Her father nudged his steed forward, rejoining the circle of men.
After several hours of riding, the sun crept over the hills.
Her father ordered his men to veer into a dense copse some distance from the road.
There, they dismounted. Thomasse was grateful for the break for every muscle in her body ached.
Once the horses were tied, the men removed sacks filled with bread, cheese, and leather costrels of ale.
The victuals were passed around and quickly vanished.
While the men cleaned up, her father instructed half the group to take the first watch while the others slept.
The other half fetched blankets from their saddle bags and stretched out on the ground beneath the trees.
Thomasse’s eyes widened when her father handed her a blanket. “Surely you do not expect me to sleep under the open sky like a mumble crust? Can we not take a room at an inn?”
His glare warned her to hold her tongue. “We must make the best of it. We have a few nights’ journey ahead, so take your rest.”
“Would it not be safer to travel by day? ”
He settled down beside her and leaned against the tree. “I know what I am about.”
Aware her father would accept no further argument, Thomasse retrieved her satchel to use as a pillow and pulled the blanket over her.
The ground was hard; her bruised body conscious of every pebble.
Despite her efforts, she could not get comfortable, and her body rebelled at the idea of slumbering in the day.
She struggled to make sense of what had happened over the last several hours.
Her father’s explanation seemed suspect.
If they were truly travelling to the Continent, they would travel by day and in comfort.
Travelling under cover of darkness on muddy roads was unsettling.
The surreptitious manner of their journey made her feel they were fleeing.
But why? What could they be running from?
Maud’s letter spoke of an impending battle in the north. If so, why was her father not joining King Henry’s forces. And only days earlier, her father had dismissed the planned tour of the Continent. Now, he acted as if everything were happening just as planned.
She bolted upright. “Tell me, Father, why do we hide as if someone were in pursuit?”
“Who put such nonsense in your head?”
“I heard rumors of a coming conflict in the north. You have always fought with King Henry, and yet we journey to the south.”
“The battle is over. My concern is for your safety.”
“My safety? What am I in danger from?”
“Brigands along the highway.” Her father stood. “I refuse to discuss this with you any further.” With that, he strode away and joined the men on the first watch.
Thomasse wrapped the blanket more tightly around her, trying to stave off the cold, still troubled by her father’s explanation. The sudden departure seemed unnecessary. Finding no logical explanation, she hoped a warm meal, a hot bath, and a comfortable bed awaited, whatever the destination.
T homasse gripped the ship rail, searching for any sign of land.
After four days of riding, they arrived in Southampton, where her father sought a buyer for the horses.
Despite her tearful pleas, he would not be deterred from selling her beloved Freya.
Money exchanged hands, and passage was purchased on the next boat leaving the harbor.
He never even inquired about the destination.
Waves slapped against the sides, and the ship rocked.
She braced her feet to steady herself. This vessel held no comforts for a lady, no private quarters where she could wash or change out of her dirt-streaked cotehardie.
She was certain bruises covered her body, and now, the constant wind had turned her hair into a mass of tangles.
It was unthinkable that she would step ashore in such a state of disarray. How much easier it would be to endure this humiliation if her friends were beside her to share the experience and buoy her confidence.
Loud voices captured her attention. Her father appeared to be in a heated confrontation with the captain. He threw up his hands and stalked over to her. “Fie on him!” he muttered. “I would run the arrogant bastard through with a sword, except the crew would toss us both overboard.”
“What were you arguing about?” Thomasse asked.
“Nothing of consequence. When we reach the Continent, this will all be behind us.”
The gale whipped her cloak away from her body, and she shivered. Ahead, a narrow shadow appeared. “Look!” She pointed eagerly. “Land! We are almost there.” Soon she would be reveling in a warm bath.
The crew lowered the sails, and the ship slowed. “Grab your satchel,” her father said, “we are leaving this ship.”
Thomasse gasped. “That cannot be. We are still miles from land.”
“They will lower a boat, and I will row us to shore.”
She stared, at a loss for words. What did either of them know about rowing a boat through choppy winter waters? Or even smooth waters? The captain might as well hang them or toss them overboard. Those would be quicker deaths.
The crew lowered a small boat into the water and dropped a rope ladder down the side of the ship.
Her father patted her arm. “I shall go down first.”