something Gilbert found incomprehensible.
‘I imagine Lady Emma will see it as a personal insult if you send a messenger in your place.’
Gilbert pouted. ‘It’s the daughter I have to marry, not the mother.’
Gui gave him a stern look. Diplomacy was not Gilbert’s strongest feature.
‘I suppose you’re right,’ Gilbert conceded. He broke into a trot and they skirted around the edge of Lady Emma’s land towards the forest path. Gui followed, uneasy on horseback and watchful for signs of trouble Gilbert might ignore.
As they reached the edge of the forest Gilbert pulled his reins sharply and turned to Gui.
‘You go as me!’
Gui drew his horse to a halt, momentarily puzzled.
‘You go in my place to Byland,’ Gilbert clarified. He smiled. ‘Take my name. Lady Emma is sending word I am coming, but the Lady Sigrun and I have never met. She won’t know you aren’t me. I’ll even give you my seal to wear to add to the deception.’
He trotted on, lost in his plans, talking half to himself. ‘It would cause difficulty if she discovered the deception halfway home. Swear to me that you will take my name until you return here with my bride.’
‘I haven’t agreed yet,’ Gui pointed out. ‘She’ll discover I’m not you on your wedding night. What will she do when she finds out she has been deceived?’
‘She’ll be uncomplaining if she’s as timid and compliant as her mother says,’ Gilbert answered. He smiled. ‘Court the girl on my behalf, Gui, but do not let her know what we have done. When she arrives here she will be more amenable to the thought of marriage. If I went to bring your bride back, I can see that would be a problem, but as it stands...’
He left the thought unfinished. Gui ended it for him.
‘As it stands she will take one look at you and thank God she does not have to marry a one-handed, scar-lipped, crook-nosed beast after all.’
Gilbert had the grace to look abashed. ‘That isn’t what I meant.’
It had been, but Gui had long grown accustomed to Gilbert’s unwitting tactlessness. The offence was never meant. Besides, it was true. A wife of his own had seemed an unobtainable dream since his injuries.
‘You really don’t look as bad as you imagine,’ Gilbert said. ‘If you were wealthier, a woman would look past your injuries anyway. When I am master of this manor I’ll have the power to grant land. If you do this for me, I’ll grant a portion to you. I’ll make you my reeve. My second-in-command.’
Gui gazed around him. Lady Emma’s land had been spared the worst of the harrying that had all but destroyed the north. A river ran through the flat plain that lay barren, but in time could be brought back to life. It reminded him a little of home and the farmer’s son in him awoke. To be master of his own lands under the fiefdom of his friend would be a good thing to be.
Gilbert had been spinning tales of riches and power for them both since they had left France. They had so far failed to appear, for Gui at least, and this could be the opportunity he craved to rebuild his life and start afresh. All for making a journey of a week and escorting a girl to her home. What could be simpler? His lips twitched into a smile.
‘I’ll bring your bride,’ he agreed. ‘I’ll take your name if I have to. I’ll do whatever it takes.’
* * *
Gui raised himself high in the saddle and rolled his shoulders back. It was now mid-afternoon and he had been riding all day, but the final stage of his journey was almost complete. He had reached the highest point of the hill and stopped beside the stone marker, and could make out the roofs of the priory nestling in the dip below. It stood along the opposite bank of the river that wound lazily between hills and back towards York, passing by the remains of a couple of desolate villages and vanishing periodically into knots of trees.
He pulled at the neck of his cloak to loosen it. In the three days since he had left York the spring weather had changed steadily for the better and the new wool was still stiff and itchy in the unexpected sun.
Not that he was complaining about his new attire. Gilbert had been so grateful for Guilherm’s agreement he had presented Gui with the new cloak, two fine linen undershirts and a new tunic of light wool with a deep band of embroidered braid along the thigh-length hem. A new buckle adorned the worn leather belt Gui insisted on retaining along with his old boots and gloves. They were by far the finest clothes Gui had ever possessed and how he looked exactly like what he was supposed to resemble: a knight of middling wealth hoping to make a favourable impression on his bride.
He could almost believe their plan would be a success, and as he rode he passed the time making idle plans for the crops he would plant and the house he would build when the promised land was finally his. It wouldn’t have to be a big house; he would be living there alone after all. Best not dare to dream too big—a companion to share his life with was so unlikely that the pit of loneliness that made his heart ache soured his thoughts.
He brushed his hair back from his forehead where it had become damp with exertion from the ride. Despite all Gilbert’s coaxing Gui had steadfastly refused to shave his head in the same style as the knight, and had kept his dark-brown hair longer than fashionable so it skimmed his jaw and framed his face. Sweat pooled beneath his arms and the linen clung to his torso. He frowned. It would not do to arrive at the priory looking so travel stained. No doubt the prioress would provide the means to bathe, but sunlight turned the river silver and to Gui it was a more appealing prospect. He turned the horse towards the river and in a lazy walk he made his way down the hill to one of the bends where trees would afford him some privacy in the unlikely event he encountered anyone.
Gui tethered his horse to a tree close to the river where she could drink as she wished or take shelter from the sun. He unbuckled the short sword he wore at his belt and stowed it alongside the bow and quiver of arrows he could not bear to part with, which were wrapped in leather and strapped to the pannier. He stripped off his clothes, gritting his teeth in frustration as he worked the buckles and laces with his right hand. He paused before removing the padded glove on his left hand, but in this isolated spot no one would cast their eyes on his affliction so he removed that, too.
Naked, he plunged into the river, which proved to be deeper than he had expected. He stood, gasping and shuddering, toes curling in the silt as the chilly depths closed around him to his waist. When he became accustomed to the cold, he swam under the surface with powerful strokes and emerged downstream when he could no longer hold his breath. He scrubbed at his hair and body until his flesh stung, wishing he had the means to scrape the bristles from his jaw that had become a rough beard. He resembled one of the Yorkshire Norsemen the longer he wore it.
The sun was still warm, lessening the worst of the chill. He lay back in the water and closed his eyes, taking deep breaths of the sweet-scented air. He drifted along with the gentle current, allowing the water to caress him, feeling knots in his muscles loosen as the current and weeds played around his body. For what was almost certainly the first time since stepping foot in England, Guilherm felt truly at peace.
* * *
‘That’ll do until I come again next week.’ Aelfhild tightened the knot holding the bandage on Brun’s leg. She wiped the greasy balm from her fingers, pulled the threadbare blanket back over the old man’s legs and smiled. ‘Try to move a little if you can or you’ll get more sores. That poultice will help ease the discomfort.’
‘You’re a good lass, Aelfhild. You’ll make a good wife to some man,’ Brun rasped.
Her first thought was that she’d rather be a good nurse, and her second was whom would she marry anyway; now Yorkshire’s men were in short supply.
‘I don’t think a foundling with no dowry would be many men’s first choice,’ she sighed.
Brun started to answer, but coughs racked his frame. ‘I won’t be