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CHAPTER SEVEN

F or the first time in a week, the morning dawned clear. Puffy white clouds were scattered by the breeze across the sky, but the sun was bright over the soaked land.

Having slept for the first time in six nights in a bed of his own and not on the floor of the lady’s chamber, one eye open in case she should run, Tarran was up at dawn with an aching head. Simon and Channing were awake, eating a morning meal down in the common room with the men-at-arms that had been left behind, and Tarran went about securing return transport for the voyage back across the channel for the lady and his men.

But he wasn’t going to go with them.

He had already decided that he was going to Le Touquet.

With the storm gone, the cogs that had been beaten up by the high surf were being tended to as he headed to the inlet of Calais where the ships were lined up. Men were moving about, repairing hulls, fixing what the storm had damaged. He located the shore master, the man who organized the ships and crews and kept track of the tolls from the comings and goings, and the man was able to help him find a cog that was heading back to England later that day. There was room for thirteen passengers, so Tarran paid the ship’s captain a partial fare and made arrangements to have the baggage brought over. When that was finished, he headed back to the tavern.

The town itself was terribly waterlogged and the smell of a water-soaked world was heavy in his nostrils. The streets had been torn up by the gale and men were out on this morning, repairing the damage with shovels and shoring up walls. People were trying to get back to a sense of normalcy after such an event, but as Tarran looked around him, he wondered if the world would ever be the same again. The same storm that had torn up the town had killed men. Men he knew. He thought this morning might see him with a more resigned attitude towards what had happened, but that wasn’t the case.

He felt just as bad as he had last night.

When he finally reached the tavern, there were more people in the common room now, breaking their fast, and Tarran instructed the men-at-arms and the squires to prepare to leave for the ship. Simon was tasked with preparing the horses while Channing was given the duty of making sure all of their possessions made it on board. With the day well under way, Tarran headed up to the rented room overlooking the sea.

Just as he reached the top of the stairs, a serving wench departed Tresta’s chamber and quickly made her way down the steps. Tarran went to the chamber door, a warped thing that wouldn’t close all the way, and rapped softly.

“My lady?”

“Come in.”

He pushed the door open to see Tresta sitting at the small, leaning table with a bowl of something steaming in front of her. She glanced up when he entered the chamber.

“Where did you go so early?” she asked.

“To find transport back to England, my lady,” he said. “Our ship departs in a few hours.”

She nodded returning her attention to her food. “I will be ready,” she said. “Will you make sure Channing takes my baggage?”

“I have already told him to, my lady.”

She nodded, spooning what looked like gruel into her mouth. Tarran watched her for a moment, thinking she looked rather lovely this morning. She had cleaned up and brushed her hair, and looked much more like the elegant woman he knew and not a desperate wife. She was dressed in a dark red traveling dress with a matching cloak, a color that set off the copper in her hair. She was quite a beautiful woman. That had never been in question. But the longer he looked at her, the more he realized that he had to tell her now what he’d heard. The longer he delayed, the more difficult it would be, and it was something she needed to know. All of that business he had that morning, booking passage and dealing with the men, had only been a stalling tactic.

He hadn’t wanted to face her.

Quietly, he shut the door.

“My lady, I heard something last night that you must be made aware of,” he said, his tone low. “It is something of interest to us both.”

She looked up from her food. “Oh?” she said. “What did you hear?”

There was no easy way to tell her, but he tried to be gentle. She may have been a frustrating, mulish woman, but he didn’t want to hurt her more than he could help it. He wasn’t cruel by nature. Even after all of their nasty words and harsh feelings, still, he wanted to be kind. He pulled up a chair and sat down at her table.

“Before I tell you, you must understand that none of this is proven,” he said. “It is only rumor, so you must remember that. It is quite possible that it is not even true.”

She cocked her head curiously. “What is it?”

He took a deep breath for courage. “Last evening, I heard two men speaking of scavengers along a beach not far from here,” he said. “At first, I didn’t pay any attention, but then they started to speak about the foundering of a fleet of ships off the coast. The storm apparently battered the ships and drove them into the rocks, and the scavengers were villagers as they collected debris from the shore that was washed up.”

Tresta stopped chewing, looking at him with wide eyes. “A fleet?” she repeated. “Where did this happen?”

“About a day’s ride from here, to the southwest,” he said. “A village known as Le Touquet. We know the storm was terrible and we know there are other fleets departing for The Levant, but I questioned the men as much as I was able. I wanted to discover what they knew and they told me they believed it to be an English fleet.”

Tresta set her spoon down, staring at him. He could see that her breathing was growing more rapid and uneven. “An English fleet,” she said as if to clarify what she’d heard. “Teague’s fleet?”

“It is possible.”

“But… but you said that Teague was well away from the storm.”

He held up a hand. “I said probably,” he emphasized. “I had hoped so, but it was more than likely that he did not outrun the storm. The fleet was hugging the coast, so I knew they were traveling southwest along the coastline and the storm raged for six days. Six days of not being able to escape the tempest.”

Her breathing grew more rapid and he watched the color drain from her face. “Tell me what you know, du Reims,” she said, her voice strangely hoarse. “You are not telling me everything.”

She was intuitive and he found that he couldn’t look at her. “Nay, I am not,” he said, but forced himself to look her in the eyes again. “There are… indications that it was Somerset’s fleet. One of the men I spoke with said he saw shields washed up on the beach with Somerset’s standard on them.”

She drew in her breath as if she’d been physically struck. “W-What else?”

He shook his head helplessly. “There were horses that made it alive to shore,” he said. “There were men that did not. From what I was told, the shore was littered with a good deal of debris and it is my intention to send you back to Snow Hill today and go myself to see if this was indeed Somerset’s fleet.”

He waited for the explosion. Surely there was to be one, greater than any explosion yet. He wouldn’t have blamed her. But she stared at him without any discernable reaction, at least for several long and terrible moments, until her eyes filled with tears. Tears that spilled over and coursed down her cheeks. But still, she didn’t say a word. She didn’t even move. She just looked at him as the tears ran down her face like a river and dripped off her chin.

“It is not true,” she finally said, her voice barely a whisper. “It cannot be true.”

“That is what I intend to find out, my lady, I swear it.”

Tresta didn’t bother to wipe the tears that continued to fall. In fact, she looked rather dazed, as if she couldn’t quite comprehend what he’d told her. Truthfully, it was a better reaction than he’d anticipated. The woman had never been one to hold back her feelings, but at the moment, she was doing so quite ably. He admired the way she held herself together.

But what came next surprised him.

“Teague can swim,” she said, her lips trembling as she spoke matter-of-factly. “He can swim very well. He taught our sons to swim, in fact, so it is not possible that he should not swim to shore. More than likely, he is lying in a bed right now near a warm fire as some kindly old woman takes care of him. He is waiting for us to come to him. Surely he knows we have not left France yet. He knows we will come for him.”

Tarran hadn’t expected that positive, if not misguided, attitude. “If that is true, I will find him and bring him home,” he said, seeing a spark of madness in her eyes that concerned him. “It would be safer for you to return home and wait for my return.”

But she shook her head, finally wiping the tears from her chin and moving towards her half-packed satchel in a most determined manner. “I will finish packing my things and we can leave right away,” she said. “I do not have a horse, but I am sure we can secure a palfrey in a local livery. Will you please see to that for me?”

Tarran stood up because she was, looking at her with increasing concern. “My lady, it would be best if you let me do this alone,” he said, hoping to persuade her without a fight. “Teague would want you safe, not traipsing about on a dangerous road. It is at least a day’s ride from here and the land to the southwest is wild.”

She began shoving things into the satchel. “I am going,” she said steadily. “Will you please find a horse for me to ride?”

She wasn’t budging. Tarran didn’t want a battle on his hands, but he also didn’t want her going. He watched her as she continued to pack her satchel, noting how badly she was trembling. Somehow, in her twitching and anxious condition, she started coughing. It was just a sputter at first, but it quickly grew to something so severe that she had to sit down, only she missed the chair and ended up on her knees.

Tarran was beside her in an instant.

“Come, my lady,” he said quietly. “Sit down and rest. You needn’t exert yourself so.”

She shook her head, trying to stop coughing, her nails digging into his arms as she gripped him.

“You have denied me everything, du Reims,” she said as she sputtered. “It is because of you I have not been able to follow my husband. It is because of you I have not died beside him, if he is truly dead. The evidence of his fate is a day’s ride from here, and still, you would deny me the ability to discover if I have lost the man I love? What on earth have I ever done to you that you would be so cruel to me?”

Tarran could feel himself wavering almost instantly. It was a truly tragic situation that was different from a stubborn woman attempting to follow her husband to the ends of the earth. Now, he had a woman who simply wanted to know if her husband was dead. It wasn’t an unreasonable desire. The problem was that he understood it completely.

But he still didn’t think it was a good idea.

“I am not trying to be cruel, my lady,” he said, looking into her eyes. “Do you not understand that I am trying to protect you?”

“And do you not understand that I do not wish to be protected?” she fired back softly. “I understand why you took a stance against my not following Teague to The Levant. I understand the reasons behind it even if I do not agree. But this… for pity’s sake, du Reims, you must let me go to this village where my husband may have met his end. It is my right.”

She was begging from the very depths of her soul. The tears were starting to come again even as she choked and coughed, poking holes in Tarran’s reasons for not letting her come with him. He was deeply torn but also knew that if he continued to deny her, she wouldn’t go peacefully. She probably wouldn’t go to the cog at all, never mind returning to England. He’d seen the battle they’d gone through for six long and exhaustive days, so he knew she could keep up a fight. Frankly, he didn’t have any fight left in him. He was tired of it.

If she wanted to go, he was going to let her.

And he couldn’t think up a good enough reason to deny her.

“If you are so determined, I will not stand in your way,” he said after a moment. “But I will also bring Channing and Simon and the men-at-arms. If we are to travel with a lady, then I would have her protected. That I will not compromise on.”

Tresta looked at him as if surprised he had given in so easily. After the battle of wills between them, there was no reason to believe he was going to permit her to go to Le Touquet that easily.

But he was.

Fighting with the man for six long days hadn’t had any effect, but a calm, heartfelt plea had.

So the man had mercy, after all.

“I will be ready to depart within the hour,” she said, resuming stuffing her satchel quickly in case he decided to change his mind. “I will not be any trouble, du Reims, I promise.”

He didn’t say what he was thinking– you’ve already been that . He didn’t want to start something with her that would make their travel miserable. Either he was becoming soft or he was simply resigned; he couldn’t figure out what it was. In either case, Lady d’Mearc would have her wish this time.

He was going to let her go to her husband.

If her husband was in Le Touquet.

“I will see about securing a palfrey,” he muttered. “I will return.”

“Du Reims.” She stopped him before he could get to the door. When he paused to look at her, she lifted a hand in a gesture that looked as if she was reaching out to him. But quickly, her hand dropped. “Thank you… for letting me come. I know you do not want me to, but your decision was the merciful one and I am more grateful than you will ever know. I will not forget it.”

He didn’t say anything. Truthfully, he didn’t know what to say so it was best not to try and find words that wouldn’t mean anything or, worse, may have sounded bitter.

“I will return,” he said.

Quitting the small chamber, he headed out of the tavern, preparing to find his lady a mount for the journey to Le Touquet.

What they would find at the end of that journey wasn’t something he was looking forward to.