Chapter 9
Agnes
Agnes watched the guards shove the bandit into one of the wagons, the dogs barking at her heels. She should have insisted on having the guards with them for the walk. Then again, had she done so, the bandit would now be dead – a mess she was sure Barden would not wish to deal with.
Barden himself was keeping to the very edge of the party, standing beside their horses. He jumped as she approached, flinching when Litillwitte nudged at his limply hanging hand.
‘Bar— Ash?’
He turned, at last. His face was wrong. He looked terribly pale, his freckles stark against his skin. There was a fine sheen of sweat across his brow, and his pupils were tiny, eyes darting across her face as if he was not sure she was even there.
‘Are you all right?’
He nodded at her, his lips tight.
‘We must return to Dunlyn,’ he mumbled. ‘I am … tired.’
She wanted to talk to him, but sensed there was no use. The attack had shaken him.
‘You saw him?’ he said, suddenly.
‘Saw who?’
‘The man who … who attacked me. You saw him?’
Something was wrong. ‘Of course I did.’
Ash nodded thoughtfully. She appeared to have reassured him.
‘I had him placed in one of the carts, with a guard,’ she added, trying to soothe him. ‘We can bring him to Dunlyn, and—’
His expression was icy. The relief vanished. She reached out to place a comforting hand on his shoulder.
‘Ash, are you sure you are all right?’
‘I am fine!’
Agnes snatched her hand back. He’d often been cynical, always grumbling, but that … that was anger, pure and, she was forced to admit, a little frightening.
She lowered her hand, but did not step away. Ash was trembling. Agnes realised that she wasn’t the only one who was frightened.
‘My apologies,’ she said calmly. ‘It should not be too much further.’
Ash ignored her, pulling himself up on the horse and tugging it away at a quick trot.
The rest of the ride to Dunlyn passed in intense silence.
Ash rode ahead from the rest of the party, Litillwitte at his horse’s hooves.
When they stopped again to rest and eat, he refused to so much as take a bite of bread.
He avoided the cart in which they’d placed their prisoner like it was a plague house.
Agnes approached Ash’s steward when she was sure Ash was out of earshot to ask if he was all right. He gave her a sympathetic look.
‘This is not unusual,’ he said eventually. ‘Since France …’ He trailed off. ‘It will pass.’
She watched Ash’s departing figure, and hoped that he was right.
She spent the rest of the journey riding at Sara’s side – who had agreed to accompany her to her newest home – and while they could not discuss Ash’s mood while travelling with his retinue it was a relief to be riding beside a friendly face.
Agnes had anticipated their arrival to Dunlyn being under happier circumstances. She had been told at length about Ash’s family – about his brother most of all – and she was keen to meet them all, especially Ash’s sister with her unusual dressing habits.
And yet as the castle loomed at the top of a hill, she felt only dread. Ash rode ahead, looking forwards, ignoring her. Every so often, he shot a nervous glance over his shoulder, as if they were being followed.
She approached the steward again.
‘I … am worried,’ she said, watching his expression carefully. ‘Could you perhaps ride ahead, alert Ash’s brother that we will be there shortly? And that Ba— that my Lord will require attendance?’
The steward smiled at her. ‘Of course, my Lady. I will ride ahead and inform Raff. He should be able to speak to him more plainly.’
He rode off. As he dashed past Ash, his horse at a gallop, Ash flinched away. Agnes sighed.
Steeling herself, she approached him again, this time more gently. She called to him before she was too close, and even that seemed to startle him. He twisted to look at her, but said nothing.
‘Are you looking forward to seeing your family once again?’ she asked. ‘The keep is truly magnificent.’
Ash looked towards it, as if only just noticing it was there.
‘It is,’ he said quietly. ‘And … I am, yes.’
He lapsed into silence once more. But now, at least, he was riding at her side and not rushing off ahead.
By the time they arrived at the gates of Dunlyn Castle, a gaggle of people had already gathered to meet them.
Staff to see to their horses and things, as well as another pair of guards.
Clearly the steward had informed them they had a prisoner in their party.
Standing ahead of the waiting servants were two men – one tall, taller even than Ash, with a mass of curly hair, and the other shorter and stockier with a face full of freckles and long, dark hair.
At once, Agnes guessed who the second man must be: Raff, Ash’s brother.
They looked so painfully alike that it could be no one else.
Ash seemed to sag in the saddle as they approached, as if something within him had melted.
A pike, stuck through his spine, had finally been removed.
He slid from the horse so quickly that Agnes feared he would fall, but Raff – and the taller man – were on him in an instant.
Raff slung an arm around him, and even though Ash’s expression turned momentarily thunderous, he did not shrug him off.
‘Let us get you inside …’ Raff murmured, his voice a low rumble. ‘That is— ah, my Lady …’
Agnes too swung down from her horse. She wanted to follow them into the keep, but knew that her presence would likely burden Ash even further.
‘Bring her.’
All three of them snapped around at Ash’s voice.
‘You ought to follow me, my Lady,’ Raff said, looking apologetic. ‘And …’ He sighed, then straightened his back as best he could with Ash leaning on him. ‘The bandit, was it?’ he asked the steward.
‘Yes, my Lord.’
‘Get him in one of the side rooms. I do not care which. Lock him in the pantry if you must.’
‘At once, my Lord.’
With another apologetic look towards Agnes, Raff heaved Ash towards the keep. Agnes left Sara to organise their things then hurried to follow. The other man kept pace with her.
‘I am very sorry about this,’ he said. ‘We had hoped—’ He cut himself off with a sigh. ‘Forgive my rudeness. I am William. He … may have spoken of me?’ He shot a look at Ash’s back. ‘I can never be sure, given the circumstances.’
Agnes tried to remember all she knew about the Barden family.
‘William de Foucart?’ she landed on, at last. ‘The— that is, I—’
‘The hostage, yes.’ William gave her a devilish smile.
‘Ash mentioned that the situation was …’ She gave him a look up and down. He did not appear to be a prisoner of the family. ‘Complicated,’ she finished.
The grin only grew. ‘Indeed it is,’ he said. ‘But you’ve time to learn. And … please, do call me Penn.’
She nodded. ‘Of course.’
They followed Raff and Ash into the great hall.
Her breath caught: it was enormous. Chandeliers heavy with lit candles hung from the vaulted ceiling; a walled-off fire crackled merrily in the centre of the room.
A huge, glazed window was set into the far wall, catching the sunlight in flashes.
The whitewashed walls were dark with smoke and age: once they had been painted, but the art was faded, now.
Before she could take the rest in, Raff pulled Ash into a side room, beckoning her to follow. He deposited him in a high-backed chair, tugged off his cloak, then sat beside him.
‘What happened?’
It took Agnes a moment to realise he was talking to her.
‘We were attacked,’ she said. ‘We were walking, the two of us, and he just … appeared, from nowhere. He ignored me and leapt upon Ash, and I—’
‘She pulled him off of me.’ Ash’s voice was hoarse. Penn’s eyebrows rose.
‘Did you now?’ Raff said.
‘I did,’ Agnes said. ‘I had to stop him.’
‘Did he take anything?’
Agnes paused. ‘No …’ she said at last, ‘but it did not appear that he was attempting to take anything, either. Were he trying to rob us then he would have gone for Ash’s purse, but he did not even try.’
‘Odd,’ Penn said. ‘Why try to kill him? What reason would he have?’
Agnes wished she knew the answer. After a long while, Ash spoke.
‘I saw him again.’
Agnes did not know what he meant. Raff, however, seemed to. He squeezed Ash’s hand.
‘I am sorry.’
‘He … he keeps following me. I thought I was—’ Ash’s voice broke. ‘I thought I could be better,’ Ash mumbled. ‘He is like a ghost. He will not let me rest.’
Agnes opened her mouth to ask who, then immediately shut it again.
Think, she told herself. Think. Before they had agreed to the match, Ash had explained to her – if not in detail – his own past. His previous vows, broken before they could ever be made by the death of the person he had vowed himself to.
She had assumed it had been a woman, snatched from the world before her time. Now, she wasn’t so sure.
Pieces seemed to move into place, drawing out a pattern. The refusal to talk in more detail, the terrible sense of loss. The war.
She looked again at Ash. He looked so distraught that she could not bring herself to ask. It would beyond rude – it would be cruel – to ask him such delicate questions in such a state.
‘My Lady?’
She turned. Penn was offering her his arm.
‘Would you like me to escort you to your chambers?’
She took another look at Ash, his head down. Raff gave her a brief nod: I have this in hand.
‘That would be very kind,’ she said.
Penn led her to the neatly made guest chambers on one of the upper floors. Most of the things she had brought with her had already been sent up, and Sara was arranging the space and making the bed. It was a relief to see her familiar face.
‘What happened?’ Sara asked, as soon as they were alone.
‘I am not sure …’ Agnes said, shaking out a blanket. ‘But I intend to find out.’
Once the room had been arranged to her specifications, she headed back into the hall.
She spoke briefly to Ash’s steward and introduced herself to Ash’s housekeeper, Ellen, who was taking Agnes’s servants under her wing while they settled in.
It felt good to be busy: ensuring that everyone was in the right place.
She found Qwippe in the kennels, waiting patiently for a feed. Everything seemed to be in order.
Raff came across her as she was making her way back inside.
‘My Lady,’ he said apologetically. ‘I am sorry that we have not yet been properly introduced.’
‘It is quite all right. Circumstances have been unusual,’ she said. ‘How is Ash?’
Raff shrugged. ‘As well as one can expect. He wishes to speak to you.’
Agnes let him lead her back into the side room. Ash looked brighter, now. He stood when she entered.
‘How are you faring?’ she asked.
He grimaced. The expression was enough to tell her everything she needed.
‘I will be outside if you require me,’ Raff said.
He gave Ash a nod, a stiff bow towards Agnes, and left them alone. Agnes took the chair beside Ash next to the fire.
‘I ought to have introduced you properly,’ he said, as if only just realising his mistake.
‘It is too late for that now,’ Agnes said. ‘Raff said you wished to talk to me?’
‘I … yes.’
‘Is it about what happened on the road? Not the attack,’ she quickly clarified, ‘but afterwards?’
Ash gave her a hard, knowing look.
‘Sometimes I struggle with … memories,’ he said.
‘Dreams and memories. My mind confuses them. I was …’ He took another breath.
Clearly, this was not a topic he often discussed.
‘You are aware that I was involved in a battle in France?’ When Agnes nodded, he continued.
‘I lost someone very dear to me. I watched him die. And then I was attacked myself before I could reach him. Sometimes …’ He twisted his hands together.
‘It is like I am back there. I struggle to tell what is real and what is not.’ He lowered his head. ‘I am sorry, Agnes.’
It all but confirmed her suspicions.
‘He was your friend?’
‘My dearest friend. Sometimes it is as if I have forgotten he is dead.’
Agnes placed her hand on his arm. She could not imagine such horror – such a betrayal of your own mind, to make the imagined real.
‘It sounds awful,’ she said at last. ‘I am sorry that you are forced to face that, Ash.’
‘And I am sorry that you were forced to witness it,’ he said. ‘The attack on the road … it was like I was back there.’
‘Is there anything I can do?’ Agnes offered.
Ash finally looked at her. ‘No,’ he said. ‘But … thank you.’ He sighed, closing his eyes, then in a swift movement got to his feet. ‘Might I show you around? It would be good to get some air, and … I really am keen for you to settle in here.’
He offered her his arm. When Agnes took it, he placed his hand over hers. It was warm and soft. Her stomach squeezed. The smile he gave her was a little strained, but genuine.
‘That would be lovely,’ she said.