Epilogue #3
“It’s fine. I understand you perfectly. I’m sorry to have wasted your time with such frivolities as giving you my heart. On second thought, Rupert, if anyone has wasted their time here, it has been me, dallying with you.” Lady Alice huffed and walked off, stamping her feet.
Rupert cursed under his breath. “Alice, wait.” He hurried after her.
Bronwyn let out a breath. Were Rupert and Lady Alice ending their relationship?
She didn’t know. It had sounded like a lover’s quarrel.
And yet, she felt sad for Alice, that Rupert was treating her this way.
Alice was a lady. It seemed like at times Rupert forgot that, and just whom he was getting involved with.
“At least I know where Theobold’s allegiance lies,” Bronwyn said aloud to herself. “He always said that his master comes first. Without a doubt.”
The knowledge of that fact made her sad. And yet… she loved him, even if she was second in his eyes.
The next day, Bronwyn joined the other released prisoners as they formed a small party to rejoin the empress’s court.
Under armed guard, they were to be escorted from the city and marched south, while the queen and her son, along with her lady-in-waiting Lady Muriel and a party of warriors, would travel west for the prisoner exchange, to a place that lay between Winchester and Bristol, Devizes.
Bronwyn had been one of those to collect food for the journey, and upon entering the castle kitchen, she received dark looks from the other cooks, especially Master Christopher.
He handed her a basket of food, but as she reached for it, he withheld it. “As far as I’m concerned, you’re a traitor like the lot of them. You should’ve been in the cells this whole time,” he said, showering her with spittle.
He knew he’d spat on her and the food but didn’t care. That much was clear from his knowing grin.
She met his eyes and calmly used her apron to wipe her mouth and cheeks clean. She sighed. “Give me the food, Master Christopher, or you get to tell the queen why you’re allowing her party to go hungry.”
He shoved the basket at her—hard. She stumbled back but held it and straightened. A few of the other cooks snickered.
Christopher leaned toward her, his face inches from her own. His breath stank. “Mark my words, girl. If I ever see you in my kitchen again, it’ll be the worse for you. Don’t let me see your face here again, or I’ll set the dogs on you.”
She turned away when he grabbed her braid and pulled. She dropped the basket, whirled around, and smacked him in the face. The slap rang out in the silent kitchen, and he dropped her braid and stumbled back.
“Don’t you ever touch me again. You hear?” she said, loud enough for the other cooks listening to hear. “Ever.”
Christopher glared at her and opened his mouth when he stopped and looked behind her.
“So this is why we’ve had such a delay. I might’ve known. You bloody cooks,” Sir William of Ypres said. He stood by, with a group of guards and Rupert by his side. “Mistress Bronwyn, this man is giving you trouble?”
Sir William walked forward, swarthy and girthy in his gait, wearing chainmail, a sword hanging at his belt. His accent was strong and he glared at Christopher. “You. Who are you?”
“I am Master Christopher, the head cook here.” Christopher drew himself up importantly. He rather looked like a stork, with a long beak of a nose, but for his beady eyes that darted everywhere.
“You don’t look fit to clean my boots,” Sir William said. “I saw you spit on our food and pull her hair. You treat all your fellow cooks this way or only the pretty ones?”
Bronwyn started. Christopher turned red. “It’s my kitchen. I’ll do what I like.”
“Not anymore, you won’t. Clear off.” He turned and pointed to another, senior cook. “You. You take over. Clean this food. And you’re head cook from now on.”
“W-Who do you think you are?” Christopher sputtered. “You can’t do that.”
“I’m Sir William of Ypres, and yes, I bloody well can. Clear off. I command Their Graces’s armies, and we could always use a good man for the front, especially one full of hot air.” He grinned.
Christopher stiffened. “I’m not a fighter. I’m a cook.” His voice shook.
“Then I’m sure you’ll find employment somewhere else. We don’t want you. Clear off. And if I hear that you’re still skulking around the castle like some miserable sod, I’ll run you out of the city myself. Understand?” He rested a hand on his sword pommel.
Christopher nodded.
Sir William of Ypres said, “Now where’s our bloody food? We need it for the journey. Come on.” He looked at the new head cook. “Well? Are you going to make us new baskets for the journey or not?”
The cook clapped his hands and said, “Come on, lads.”
Cooks started moving, filling crates and baskets full of bread, meat, cheese, and pitchers and jugs of ale.
“Get these out to the courtyard in the next quarter hour. If I don’t see them, I’m coming back,” Sir William said.
“Yes, sir.” The new head cook bowed.
“Mistress Bronwyn, with me.” William crooked his finger, and she followed him out, forming part of the group of armed men.
As they marched, Bronwyn felt waves of embarrassment, unease, surprise, and gratefulness.
Part of her knew that Christopher would never have given her a moment’s peace.
And yet he’d only really listened when another man had stood up for her.
It was the best possible outcome and yet she felt she needed a better response for standing up to bullies, for certainly, the world was full of them.
She followed the men out to the courtyard, where the armed party was waiting. It was a few days’ journey, so she helped load a small wagon with blankets and foodstuffs, with the help of the other cooks, who quickly came out.
Sir William came to her and asked quietly, “You all right?”
She nodded. “Yes. Thank you.”
“It’s nothing. Can’t stand to see a man torment a woman like that. He needed to be thrown out on his ear. Maybe he’ll learn something out on the road.” Sir William grinned.
“What will happen to Lady Susanna and Tristan, the squire?” she asked.
Sir William shrugged. “If what he says is right, he’s proven himself a traitor to both our causes.
No one will want him. The lady… I’m not sure.
The queen is benevolent. For now, they’ll sit in jail.
Let the king decide once he returns. And that rude taster woman of hers is to travel with us too.
Let’s hope she gets indigestion and spends most of her time in the privy, eh?
” He turned and bellowed orders to the grooms sorting the horses.
She spotted Lady Alice nearby on a dull, brown roan, sitting stiffly in the saddle and looking straight ahead.
A familiar figure came up to Bronwyn and sighed. “She’s not talking to me,” Rupert said at her shoulder.
“Oh?” Bronwyn realized she should play dumb.
“She can’t forgive me for not abandoning my master.”
“I thought you were coming with us,” Bronwyn said.
“I’m not. This is where we part ways. I go with the queen and prince and to rejoin my master.
Not to be with her. Once the exchange is done, I’ll see what comes.
Maybe I’ll return here.” He rubbed the side of his face.
“I can’t seem to get my words right around her.
I always say the wrong thing.” He paused.
“Would you give this to her? To let her know I’m thinking about her, even if she’s mad at me? ”
Bronwyn looked. In his hand he held out a rose.
It was pink and lovely. She could smell its sweetness from just a few feet away.
Seeing it made a part of her wistful. Would that gift were for me, she thought.
But then, Theobold had spoken poetry to her from the depths of his cell, and in that moment, it had seemed as those he’d spoken from the darkness of his soul.
He’d laid his intentions bare to her, and she would take that honesty with open arms. How could she even think about Rupert when Theobold had promised his fidelity and loyalty to her?
His heart was hers. She couldn’t throw that away.
But she knew, looking upon Rupert’s face, that she wasn’t entirely Theobold’s either.
She looked over her shoulder to see Theobold watching. “Sure.”
“Thanks. You’re a good friend.” Rupert clapped her on the shoulder and went to help with the packing and loading of the horses as Bronwyn twisted the rose’s stem in her hands. She went to Lady Alice and held it up. “This is from Rupert.”
Lady Alice sniffed. “I’m not talking to him.”
“Will you accept the rose?”
Lady Alice looked down and gave her a filthy look. “No. He will have to do better than that to prove his worth to me. Keep it for yourself if you like, I don’t care.” With a swift kick, she sent it flying out of Bronwyn’s hand and onto the ground, where her horse soon trampled on it.
Bronwyn felt sorry for it. She would have loved to receive such a gift.
She looked over at Theobold, who was fussing with his horse and trappings.
He’d been so busy, he’d barely said two words to her, so focused he was on preparing for the journey.
Maybe once they were on the road, Theobold might look upon her kindly again. Maybe.
As the groups exited the city of Winchester and set out on their separate paths, Bronwyn wondered what the next few days would bring. An ill wind blew, sending leaves spiraling around her feet, heralding the coming of a harsh winter.