Chapter 25
Olly
It was the day of Lord Justin’s much-anticipated hunting party.
Olly and the others would be spending the day in the fields – dawn till dusk, the world their own.
Agnes had appeared in her men’s clothes, with her breasts flattened, in Ash’s chambers just after sunrise, eager to set off.
Since their tryst – if one could call it that – a week or so ago, the door to the servant’s quarters connecting their rooms had found itself in quite regular use.
They had been joined by Raff and Penn today, much to Raff’s delight.
Raff was, Olly was learning, a skilled hunter – even if he was now hampered by his wound.
Penn, with Iseult on his arm, was a force of nature amongst the little scrabbling animals of the gorse.
Several times Olly watched as Iseult swung from the sky like a bolt of lightning, catching whatever unfortunate thing Penn had spotted so quickly that in a single blink the creature was dead and twitching against the grass.
With his poor eye, Olly had been relegated to Agnes’s page. He was peering through the brambles, keeping watch.
There was a sound – a twig snapping. And then another blur, the flap of wings.
Agnes threw herself between two gorse bushes. Behind her, Olly crashed through the undergrowth with far less grace. There was a distant bark, and a pheasant burst from the field just ahead of them, scattering twigs and leaves as it took off into the sky.
Agnes lifted her bow, already notched, and fired off a single, clean shot.
The bird tumbled from the sky like a stone.
Olly watched on in awe. He had never seen anything like it.
‘Come!’ she called to Olly over her shoulder as she darted forwards to find her kill.
‘I cannot believe I have been relegated to fetching and carrying,’ Olly huffed, jogging to keep up.
‘Would you prefer a bow?’ Agnes raised her eyebrow as she examined the kill before throwing it into the basket slung over Olly’s shoulder.
Olly exhaled sharply through his nose. ‘Cruel.’
‘You may assist Ash, if you are so bored with me.’
Agnes notched another arrow, heading back towards the gorse.
‘Ash and Justin are talking about crop yields,’ Olly said. ‘If I wished to be bored to tears, I would let Raff talk me through his garden.’
Agnes grinned. ‘Then cease complaining.’
As they picked their way through the patches of gorse and tall, imposing brambles they ran into another handful of hunters, men from Lord Justin’s party. One of the younger men examined the basket on Olly’s back, making an appreciative sound.
‘Impressive,’ he said, raising an eyebrow. ‘And you got all of these yourself, Angus?’
‘I did,’ Agnes said, a little smugly.
‘Remarkably clean shots,’ the man said. ‘Very good job.’
‘He’s the best bowman I’ve ever seen, certainly,’ Olly said. ‘Those poor creatures … one would almost feel sorry for them, were it not for the wonderful things Lord Barden’s cook can do to a bird.’
‘Do you not hunt?’ someone asked.
Olly shook his head. ‘I am burdened with an old wound,’ he said. ‘But I am more than happy to keep up with my talented friend here and collect his kills. Maybe even pass a few off as my own, if I find the chance.’
Agnes gave him a playful shove as the men around them laughed.
They said their goodbyes, intending to seek out Ash to see if he’d had any luck in his own hunt, heading back towards the road where they had left him and Lord Justin.
But as they approached they realised that the rest of the hunting party was no longer alone; they had been met on the road by several horses and carts.
Agnes froze, then grabbed Olly around the arm and tugged him back beneath the trees.
‘What in God’s—’
‘That is my family,’ Agnes hissed.
Olly frowned, then looked down at her. She was on the verge of outright panic. And, he realised, wearing men’s clothes.
‘I presume they are expecting Agnes, not Angus?’
‘Quite.’ Agnes gave a mirthless chuckle.
‘Will they recognise you? Like this?’
Agnes hesitated. ‘I do not know,’ she said.
‘Then best to assume they will,’ Olly said, thinking fast. ‘If we head the way we came we should be able to get back to the castle without them seeing us. We can keep to the trees, but we will have to make a dash across the final field— Why are you giving me that look?’
‘Sometimes I forget that you spent so long evading the law,’ Agnes said. ‘And then you say things like that.’
Olly grinned, feeling proud. ‘It taught me some useful things, at least.’
‘Such as how to avoid one’s family members?’
‘Exactly. Although I had been doing that since I was a lad.’
Together they crept back into the woods. It was a longer route, but with luck it would avoid the main road; and besides, Agnes’s family appeared to have been locked in deep conversation with Ash and Justin. Perhaps they would be waylaid.
‘I hope Ash is all right,’ Agnes said, breaking the silence. ‘He has met Muriel – my sister – once before. It did not go well. I should have been there to ease the way the first time he met my parents.’
Olly hesitated. ‘It cannot be helped,’ he said. ‘Unless … we can turn around, if you want. I suppose you must ask yourself which would be worse: them speaking to Ash alone, or them seeing you as Angus.’
Agnes huffed. ‘Both are poor choices,’ she said. ‘We must hurry.’
They made quick time around the edge of the trees.
Soon, they stepped back onto the path through the field and up towards the outer wall of the castle.
With luck, Agnes would be able to hurry inside, change, and be back to greet her parents before anyone said something that they would come to regret.
‘This is absurd,’ Agnes muttered, as Olly hurried her along the path. ‘But I do not know what else I can do. My family can be difficult. I feel awful leaving Ash to deal with them alone.’
‘He will be fine. He is an earl, after all. He needs them to approve of him just as much as you do.’
Agnes sighed. ‘That much is true.’
‘It is not as if they can attempt to kill him on the road, after all.’
‘Olly!’
They made their way down a path that wove through a thicket of unripe brambles, Olly leading the way.
‘You can head in through the garden,’ he said, ‘and then— Ah.’
There was a man beside a horse blocking the path. He was finely dressed, and did not appear to be a servant. No doubt he was with Agnes’s family. But it was too late to turn back: the man turned, spotting them.
Olly would have to hope he was not a relation. Knowing that he could not ignore the man, he instead set his shoulders and stepped out of the shrubs, pulling Agnes with him.
‘My Lord!’
The man looked down at him. ‘Greetings.’
‘Excuse me,’ Olly said. ‘We were just bringing Lord Barden’s catch to the kitchens for the cook to prepare, and if we tarry they will have both our heads. If we could—’
‘Agnes?’
Shit.
‘I do not know who you are—’ Olly began.
‘Shut your mouth.’ The man’s voice was so sharp that Olly complied, despite himself. ‘Agnes, good God, girl, what are you doing?’
Agnes froze at Olly’s side, saying nothing. Olly stepped in front of her, shielding her from his view.
‘I am afraid there has been some mistake,’ he said. ‘I am not sure who you believe you are talking to, my Lord, but this is one of our kitchen boys. Now if you would excuse us—’
He shouldered past the man, taking Agnes by the wrist and dragging her with him. As he forced her away, he heard the man mutter as they passed.
‘Degenerate …’
Olly did not stop until he had pulled Agnes inside the walls of the castle.
‘Are you well?’
Agnes nodded.
‘Who was that?’ Olly continued, shooting a look over his shoulder.
‘Francis.’ Agnes sniffed.
The family friend – the one who they suspected had been crucial in hiring John’s services. The one with whom Agnes shared a history that she refused to talk of.
Olly was beginning to wish he had punched the man instead of just shoving past him.
‘Let’s get you inside.’
He dumped the basket beside the door and shepherded Agnes inside, up the stairs, and into her chamber. She stood beside the bed, arms wrapped around herself. She looked lost.
‘Is there anything I can do?’ Olly asked.
‘I will be fine,’ she said. ‘I just need a moment. Although … Let Ash know that Francis is here – that way he may be prepared if he sees fit to speak with him.’
‘Of course.’ She looked so dreadfully unsure. Olly could not bear it. ‘Oh, come here—’
He pulled her into a crushing embrace. Her arms were flattened between them, but after a moment she wriggled them free and, finally, wrapped her arms around him in return. She let out a long, low sigh as she relaxed against him.
‘Better?’ he asked.
She breathed against his chest. ‘Yes,’ she mumbled. ‘Thank you, Olly.’
When he finally released her, she looked calmer.
‘I’ll go and warn Ash.’
She looked up at him, tears clinging to her eyelashes. Olly was assaulted with the sudden image of storming back outside, finding Francis, and removing that smug expression from his face with his fists.
Or perhaps his boot.
He gave her shoulders a squeeze.
‘Will you be all right?’
She nodded, lips tight. Olly was not sure if he believed her, but left the room anyway, hands tingling.