‘I am to go to Scarborough?’ Owen asked.
‘Indeed. I should think you will have more luck in ferreting out the weasel Sebastian than Master Chaucer. He is a poet, better at asking questions than finding answers. Eh, Chaucer?’
The poet smiled and shrugged amiably, but Owen noted the man’s heightened colour. He was embarrassed by his failure, fool that he was. If Owen had failed more often he would be quietly measuring out medicines in York at Lucie’s side.
Fourteen
Summer was in full song. The lavenders were sending up flower stalks; on some the tightly closed buds were already visible. Both valerians were blooming, the delicately scented pink blossoms of the garden valerian and the intense, cloying white clusters of the true valerian. Melisende sprang out from the bushy balms and caught a butterfly drinking nectar from the pink blossoms. The comfrey bells trembled with bees, the starry borage blossoms bobbed in the gentle wind.
Lucie’s head ached. When she bent over her growing stomach, the blood in her head pounded. She sat back on her heels, closed her eyes, took a deep breath.
She must have drowsed in the sun, for she thought she heard a familiar voice singing,
‘Heo is lilie of largesse,
Heo is parvenke of prouesse,
Heo is solsecle of suetnesse,
Ant ledy of lealté. .
‘Blow, northerne wynd,
Sent thou me my suetyng!
Blow, northerne wynd,
Blou! blou! blou!
‘For hire love y carke ant care,
For hire love y droupne ant dare,
For hire love my blisse is bare,
Ant al ich waxe won;
For hire love in slep y slake,
For hire love al nyht ich wake,
For hire love mournyng y make
More then eny mon.’
Lucie started as a hand pressed her shoulder. ‘Would you be grateful for a strong arm to help you rise up off your knees? Or shall I kneel beside you?’
She turned round and rejoiced to find Owen’s voice had not been a dream. Her weariness gone, Lucie gladly grabbed his steadying arm and rose into a fierce embrace.
‘Sweet Heaven, how I’ve missed you,’ Owen whispered into her hair.
Lucie began to cry. Confused by her reaction, Owen held her tight until the spell passed. Then he held her at arm’s length and asked, ‘What is it? Are you not happy to see me?’ His face was furrowed with concern, then puzzlement as Lucie smiled up at him.
‘It is wonderful to hear your voice and see you here before me, to touch you. The tears were — ’ she shrugged. ‘Of late strong feelings conjure them.’ She hugged him hard.
‘What does Magda say about the babe?’
‘That all is as it should be.’
Owen crossed himself.
‘You are so soon from Pontefract. Did all go well?’
‘Yes, but Lancaster has given me a task that will take me away again. He wishes me to go to Scarborough to look for Hugh Calverley.’
‘The Duke of Lancaster concerns himself with Joanna?’
‘Longford, actually.’
‘Soon all of England will be caught up in Joanna’s story.’
‘This reaches far beyond Joanna, Lucie. Longford may be scheming with King Charles to lure our soldiers into the Free Companies to fight against Don Pedro.’
Lucie caught herself as she was about to admit knowledge of the possibility. The time was not right for confessing her continuing involvement. ‘But why you, Owen? Why must you go to Scarborough?’
He drew her back into his arms. ‘I shall hurry back to you. I promise.’
With Owen’s return, Sir Robert and Daimon moved to a room in the York Tavern, which Bess and Tom hastily readied. Sir Robert used the opportunity to repeat his offer of the house next door.
Lucie was glad of the privacy when Owen blew up at the news that she had dined with Thoresby and visited Joanna at the abbey. They managed to hold their anger in while they were downstairs in the kitchen with Tildy, trading their new information with courtesy, but Owen slammed the door when they went up to their bedchamber.
‘Sweet Jesu, woman, you shall drive me as mad as Joanna.’
‘Owen, for pity’s sake, lower your voice. All York will know you are home with such a ruckus.’
He began to pace the room.
Lucie sat on the end of the bed, kneading her lower back with her knuckles. ‘I thought we were going to bed.’
‘My legs are stiff from sitting my horse all day.’ Owen’s voice was not friendly. ‘God’s bones, Lucie, I cannot leave you for a few days without your behaving recklessly.’
Lucie wearily rose and began to unpack Owen’s bag, seeing that there was to be no immediate rest. ‘You grow tedious. We have had this argument before. I am not a simpleton.’ Lucie regretted her sharp tone, but he treated her like a child.
Owen’s scar stood out angrily. ‘Do you not want my baby? Is that it?’
Lucie blinked. Whence came that remark? ‘What does this have to do with our baby? Of course I want our baby. What are you talking about?’
‘You should be resting.’
‘Sweet Mary and all the saints, there would be precious few people on this earth if mothers must rest while carrying their babies. Who has the leisure to rest for nine months?’
Owen crossed the room to her, put his hands on her shoulders. ‘You put yourself right in the path of danger.’ His grip tightened.
Lucie shrugged away from him. ‘And you do not? Does our child not also need a father?’
‘I do not volunteer for these things, Lucie.’
‘I did not volunteer either. I was asked.’
They stood a few feet apart, mirror images with hands on hips, chins thrust forward.
‘The archbishop himself does not know what to make of Joanna Calverley, whether he should admit her back into the convent. And why? Might it be because a man’s neck has been broken, a woman has been raped and strangled, and Colin may die? Yet you go gaily quizzing the woman who seems to be the centre of all this.’
‘I have not done it gaily, and I have had an armed escort.’
‘I don’t like it.’
Lucie sat down on the bed and bent over to pull off her shoes. Anger and the ache in her lower back brought tears to her eyes.
Owen dropped to his knees and gently pushed her hands away, slipping off her tight shoes, then pulled her into his arms. ‘God’s blood, why do we argue, my love?’
Lucie let the tears come freely, knowing it was futile to fight them. When she was quiet, Owen patted her eyes with the edge of the blanket, then covered her face with kisses.
Lucie put her arms around him and leaned her head on his shoulder. ‘I pray every chance I get that this baby will live and thrive and grow to be like his father,’ she whispered into Owen’s ear. ‘I could hope for nothing better.’ She kissed his cheek.
He turned and kissed her on the lips, a long, lingering kiss, then held her away so he might see her face, smoothing back a stray lock. ‘And I pray that she will be just like her mother. Perfection.’
‘I have avoided asking Magda whether it is a boy or a girl.’
‘She would know?’
Lucie gave a little laugh. ‘What doesn’t Magda know?’
Owen squeezed Lucie’s side and she squirmed and giggled. ‘I’d wager she does not know where your ticklish spot is.’ He reached for it again. Lucie tried to grab his hand, but he kept snaking it out of her grasp. She dissolved into giggles. Owen pushed her back on the bed. She rolled over on top of him and tried to pin down his hands. ‘Shall we remove these clothes and have a real homecoming?’ Owen was already unlacing the back of her shift. ‘Unless your condition. .?’
‘Magda says it is fine.’ Lucie wriggled out of her shift.
Dame Isobel gave Owen a little bow. ‘I fell on your wife’s mercy and she has been my deliverance, Captain Archer. Joanna is much calmer.’ She turned to Lucie, took her hands. ‘I am most grateful.’