It was early morning, and the golden sun was only just rising over the mist-covered fields as Gwaine walked. He was leading two somewhat pathetic horses, each carrying a young and almost impossibly lovely young woman. Gwaine wondered (already the fortieth time that morning) how he had managed to become their protector.
When Gwaine had inexplicably agreed to help her, Sister Hildegard had immediately collected Sister Rachel, a dark-haired, sorrowful-eyed young angel, from the convent. Neither of the girls could be a day over 19 years old. Dressed in simple clothing that served to hide their holy profession, the girls had together collected the most basic of provisions: three blankets, a coil of old rope, a small hatchet, a flint, two water skins, a leather bag, two pounds of cheese, two loaves of bread, and some dried fruit and fish. A woman, whom Hildegard had met at the well while filling the water skins, insisted that the girls borrow her husband's two plow horses for the journey. Thus, after a night spent (not uncomfortably) sleeping in a stable, Gwaine found himself leading two helpless maids toward the heart of Albion's darkest realm.
"Sister Hildegard," said Gwaine to his young employer, "What exactly are we going to do when we get to Cenred's keep? Do we have any sort of plan?"
"We will find the children, collect them, and bring them home," she said.
"That's the entire plan?"
"It is."
"That's no plan." Gwaine looked at Sister Hildegard. She sat with perfect serenity on her horse, her eyes on the horizon. It irritated him. "How are we going to get into Cedric's castle?"
"We don't need to worry about that right now."
"Are you insane? We're headed toward the most heavily guarded fortress in Albion, and you're telling me not to worry?"
"Yes." She looked over at Sister Rachel. "Do not worry, sister. A way will be provided." Then she looked pointedly at Gwaine, as if daring him to continue.
Gwaine had a number of choice things he wanted to say about this brilliant plan. But glancing at the dark-haired girl to Hildegard's right , he grudgingly bit his tongue – a thing he had not practiced in recent memory. Sister Rachel's big, sorrowful eyes looked uneasy, and it occurred to him that this journey had required a great deal of courage for such a girl. "I'm sure we'll think of something," he said lamely.
The more Gwaine walked, the more irritated he felt. Who was this little nun to suddenly expect him to lead this madcap journey? What could possibly make her so sure that he, a complete stranger, was the man for the job? How could she sit on that sorry excuse for a horse and wear such a look of complete serenity on her face? What on earth was he doing here?
In the late afternoon, the travelers stopped by a small creek to rest and eat. As Gwaine considered their options for camping, the sky began to darken with formidable-looking storm clouds.
Sister Rachel had walked a few paces away down the creek bank, and Gwaine and Hildegard were alone. "Looks like we're in for a rough night. No shelter and a storm on the way: this is quite a plan, sister."
The wind began to whip through Hildegard's red-gold hair, but she looked entirely undisturbed by it. "I know you will keep us safe and well, sir."
Gwaine was suddenly torn between wanting to hug the girl and wanting to throttle her. Neither of those actions would have been even remotely appropriate. The result was an overwhelming feeling of frustration which led him to utter a strangled and not quite inaudible "Grrrrraaagggghhh…"
Sister Hildegard blinked at him. "God will provide," she said. Then she smiled at him with understanding. "You must have faith." Her sweetness at that moment was more intoxicating than anything he had ever drank.
"What am I doing here?" he asked the darkening sky.
Gwaine thought it best that they ride on in the remaining daylight and search for some sort of shelter. They had travelled not five minutes when they crested a little hill and looked down upon a plowed field, a stand of trees, and a little farmhouse. A wisp of smoke from the chimney seemed to welcome them. Gwaine looked at Hildegard. She clasped her hands, smiled at him, and said, "There, you see?"
It was Hildegard who knocked on the door, while Gwaine stood protectively nearby and Rachel stayed a few paces behind with the horses. A silver-haired woman opened the door. In moments she was ushering the girls inside to sit by the fire while Gwaine saw to the horses. When he returned, the woman was assuring them that they were all welcome to stay the night. She then insisted on preparing them some soup and tea.
The cottage was not large or grand, but it was tidy and sensibly furnished. Indeed, as the moments went by it seemed to Gwaine that the cottage was a reliable reflection of the woman who had become their hostess. Her name, she told them, was Martha.
"Thank you so very much for your hospitality," said Hildegard, as she watched the woman cut vegetables and add dried meat to a steaming stew pot.
"And I am glad for your company," said Martha.
"Do you live alone, then?" asked Hildegard.
The woman, surprisingly, began to weep. "I do not know how to answer. I have lived in this house for twenty-two years with my husband. And now he is gone."
Hildegard went to put her arms around the woman's shoulders. "I'm so sorry. Did he die suddenly?"
"No", said Martha, "My husband, John, is not dead. But he is gone. He was taken."
"Taken by whom?" asked Gwaine.
"A man named Jarl came here. He seemed a decent fellow at first, speaking of work for my husband in a distant town. But when my husband refused to leave me, Jarl became insistent. And then he and his men took John away. I have not seen him since. It has been nearly six weeks."
"I've heard of this happening before," said Gwaine. "He likely was sent to work, but will not be paid or allowed to leave. Bad business. King Cenred does little to discourage it, I'm afraid. Some say he even profits by it."
"Our errand takes us to Cenred's Keep," said Hildegard. "Perhaps we can hear news there of your John. If we can do more for you, be assured, we will."
"Bless you, dear child," Martha said.
After supper, the evening passed gently in the cottage, while the storm raged outside. Rachel and Hildegard took warmly to Martha, and Gwaine was allowed to rest comfortably by the hearth while the women chattered. Sleepiness was just about to overtake him when a surprisingly sweet sound roused him to wakefulness. Martha had opened a chest and retrieved a small ten-stringed wooden instrument.
"A psaltery!" gasped Hildegard and Rachel in unison.
"You've see the likes before, then?" asked Martha.
"Oh yes," said Rachel. "In fact, we both play. Well, I play a little. Sister Hildegard plays very well indeed."
"Do you?" asked Martha.
Hildegard nodded with delight, and a moment later was holding the psaltery in front of her, checking the tuning and strumming contentedly. "Someone sing," said Hildegard. I'll play along."
Rachel looked down shyly. Martha shook her head apologetically. Gwaine grinned.
For the next two hours Gwaine sang. He knew every drinking song in Brittain, and he rendered each with gusto for the women, doing his gallant best to censor the ones whose lyrics seemed inappropriate for maiden ears. When he ran out of drinking songs he moved on to ballads, and when the ballads were done he sang a few hymns. Hildegard was indeed excellent on the instrument, and her pleasure in their collaboration was obvious.
At last Martha insisted that they all get some rest. Gwaine was relegated to the far side of the cottage, while the women slept near the fire. As he stretched out and closed his eyes, he found that the image of Hildegard's face seemed to remain before him. He knew that could only mean trouble.
Gwaine had never really been much good at avoiding trouble.
More to come soon, I hope!
Reviews are adored and appreciated.