His wife had made the tunic for him, he thought as he dressed. The wool was fine and very soft. Trist would like the feel of that tunic. He wondered where the marten was. He hadn’t slept with them the night before. Ah, the tunic did fit him. He left her, whistling, saying over his shoulder, “We will leave by the noon bells.”
But they didn’t leave Oxborough at the noon bells.
• • •
“My lord,” Alart called down from his tower on the ramparts, “men from Sedgewick are nearing Oxborough.”
“Sedgewick,” Severin said, frowning. “I wonder what they want. I wonder if Sir Alan is in any difficulties.”
Severin had known the man who led the men-at-arms for many years. His name was Remis. He was getting old, but he was still strong, trustworthy, loyal. The group remained a goodly distance from the outer wall. Remis rode just a bit closer, drew in his horse, and called out, “My lord, there is the sweating sickness at Sedgewick. I have brought the child Eloise and her guardian, Lady Marjorie, and ten men, none of us as yet ill. Sir Alan insisted on remaining. He was not yet ill when he ordered us to come here.”
Trist poked his head out of Severin’s tunic. He sniffed the air and pressed his face against Severin’s neck. “You have done well, Remis. Who else is still at the castle?”
“Sir Alan has men guarding the bulwarks, my lord. None wished to remain within the castle or the walls. If outlaws come to plunder, the men will kill them. Sir Alan is a brave man.”
Hastings stepped forward. “Remis, to be certain that none of you brought the sweating sickness here to Oxborough, I believe it wise for you to camp outside the outer wall for at least three days. No more. Ask Lady Marjorie if she needs anything.”
Remis returned to the group of men who were surrounding the woman and child. There was discussion. Then he returned.
He shouted up to the ramparts, “The lady brought all we would need. She foresaw that we should not immediately enter Oxborough. We will remain without.”
“If anyone sickens, I will put a potion outside the walls.”
“My thanks, Lady Hastings.”
Severin was frowning. “This is a pity. Sir Alan is my friend. It is unlikely that he will survive. Should I go prepare him a proper burial?” Trist continued to stare at Remis. He made a soft growling sound deep in his throat, then pulled back.
She shook her head. “You might not get ill if you travel to Sedgewick, but if you did, I do not know if I could save you, Severin.”
He was already nodding. “I will keep Sedgewick closed for a week more. Do you think that is enough time, Hastings?”
“A fortnight, at least, perhaps more. I will discuss this with the Healer.”
In the three days that followed, none of the Sedgewick people who had come to Oxborough became ill. Father Carreg gave long and grateful thanks to God. Trist stayed close, never once going out of the keep. Whenever Hastings wanted to hug her husband, she had to see first if Trist was sleeping inside his tunic, against his chest.
Hastings stood next to her husband on the great front stone steps of Oxborough keep when the Sedgewick people rode through the gates into the inner bailey. Remis gave his horse over to a stable lad, then came to bow before Severin.
“My lord. My lady. God has blessed us. He has allowed us to live. My lord, I do not believe that you were at Oxborough when Lady Marjorie arrived to take Eloise back to Sedgewick.” He turned and smiled at the woman. She walked gracefully to where Severin and Hastings stood. Slowly, she raised her head and pulled back her veil.
Severin turned to stone.
Hastings did not at first notice. She saw now that the woman was even more beautiful than she remembered. “My lord,” she said, “this is Lady Marjorie.”
That beautiful melodious voice said, “Ah, Severin. It has been many years since I have seen you.”
Hastings blinked at this as she turned to her husband. He was staring at Lady Marjorie, just staring, unmoving, staring as if she were a phantom. He looked frozen; red stained his cheeks. He said finally in a hoarse, very deep voice, “Is it really you, Marjorie?”
“Aye, Severin. I am a widow now, twice over. You remember that my father forced me to marry that filthy old Baron Lipwait? He died and my brother forced me to wed Baron Outbraith, a young man who was pleasing enough.”
“I was told that Eloise’s new guardian was a widow of a knight who had once saved Edward’s life. What is this, Marjorie?”
“It is true. King Edward owed my husband his life and thus he repaid him by giving me the guardianship of Richard de Luci’s daughter. I am content. I live well at Sedgewick. It is good to see you again, Severin.”
Hastings said in an overly loud voice, “Why did you not tell me, Lady Marjorie, when you first arrived to take Eloise away, that you knew my husband? You said nothing at all.”
Marjorie gave her a beautiful, soft smile, dimples deepening in her cheeks. “I had not believed it important, my lady. What was important was the child. Eloise, come here and bid hello to Lady Hastings and Lord Severin.”