Chapter Seventeen #3
Kevin’s expression remained impassive even though inside, he was wild with shock and concern.
How could he possibly know that? Still, he would not give his thoughts away.
He would not confirm what he hoped was only speculation on Piers’ part.
Still, it was an effort not to rush at him and snap his foolish neck.
“Get out,” he repeated. “Get out of here before I kill you and worry about the consequences later.”
Piers simply grinned; an annoying, deadly grin.
Winking boldly at Kevin, he turned and ran off the field, heading towards the town and losing himself in the cluster of structures.
Kevin and Adonis watched the man go even as the marshals came out to speak with Kevin and usher him from the field.
He had dismounted, and was therefore disqualified, but Kevin didn’t care about any of that.
He still had horses he’d won and men he planned to ransom.
In all, it had been a very successful bout even if he hadn’t been the eventual winner.
That title, after unseating young Fen de Lohr, eventually went to Gorsedd de Bretagne.
For Kevin, however, the competition had been over and done with the moment he set eyes on Piers de Evereux. At that moment, the stakes of the game, and of his very existence, grew much higher. Now, he knew what danger lurked about him and he would need all of his wits to survive it.
And to protect Annavieve.
*
Having left the lists only a few minutes before, Annavieve was already overwhelmed with the sights and sounds of the town. There were so many people who had come from neighboring bergs to see the tournament that the streets were literally jammed with bodies.
Vietta had sent out a soldier to track down the location of the food vendors and as the group of ladies and guards headed into the main part of town, the soldier returned with information on some food stalls.
They ended up following the man to the opposite side of the big, squat church, to a street that was filled with a myriad of heavenly smells.
Vietta was already on the prowl, rushing up to the very first food stall she came across.
Being that it was fall, there was an abundance of pumpkin and squash products as well as baked apples with honey and cinnamon, pears with clove, a variety of meats including rabbit and fowl, cooked on sticks, and puddings that were sold in hollowed-out gourds.
They even came across a woman who made cakes and cheeses with honey.
Vietta was poisoned by selection, wanting all of it, but her strict nurse told her that she could only have a few of the delicacies.
Pouting, Vietta stood in one of the stalls, negotiating with the proprietor on the price he would charge for a feast of roasted pigeon, baked apples, and honey cakes.
Annavieve stood back with the nurse and the rest of the guard, waiting for the word on when they could eat.
But the wait became excessive as Vietta negotiated and Annavieve’s mind began to wander.
For some reason, her grief for Magda began to make a resurgence and it was difficult to fight back the tears.
She wished she could have shared all of this with the woman but she knew that, in the same breath, Magda would have disapproved of all of it.
It made her smile to think on what Kevin had said earlier; pretend you have outsmarted her and are attending the tournament she didn’t want you to attend.
No doubt, Magda would have been very much against it.
With thoughts of Magda heavy on her mind, Annavieve glanced at the nurse standing next to her.
Seeing the old woman brought even more thoughts of Magda, but she fought them.
Now was not the time to grieve, as no one would understand.
To distract herself, she made simple conversation with the old woman standing next to her.
“Do you travel with Lady Vietta to every tournament?” she asked politely.
The woman, pale, with hazel eyes, looked at Annavieve. “Every tournament, my lady,” she assured her. “She is like a squirrel. If she is not watched constantly, she will run off and get into trouble.”
Annavieve giggled. “She is very sweet and friendly,” she said. “Have you been with her all of her life?”
The woman nodded. “All of her life, my lady.”
Annavieve smiled faintly. “I would assume you have nursed all of the de Lohr children?”
Again, the woman nodded. “Lady Vietta has a younger sister and an older brother,” she said. “I have nursed all three of the de Lohr offspring.”
“The younger sister did not come?”
The woman shook her head. “She is fostering at Somerhill Castle in the north,” she replied. “Lady Mavia is fourteen years of age. She is not as flighty as this one.”
She nodded her head at Vietta, who was still trying to negotiate a good price for the food. Annavieve chuckled when she realized that Vietta was becoming frustrated with her inability to convince the man to sell her the food for less than what he wanted for it.
“She certainly seems to know a great deal about tournaments,” she said, unwilling to comment on the alleged flighty nature of her friend.
“You and I have not been properly introduced, by the way. I am Lady de Ferrers. I told Vietta that she may call me by my name, Annavieve. You may call me by my name also if you wish.”
The old woman simply stared at her. “An-Annavieve?”
Annavieve nodded. Then, she cocked her head thoughtfully.
Perhaps this old nurse would remember a young lady in the de Lohr household, long ago.
Perhaps she would even know what had become of her.
Both Kevin and Lord William had said that they would send word to the House of de Lohr to see if Lady Alys was still with them, but Annavieve thought she could find out for herself – who better to know such things than old household servants?
“In fact, mayhap you can help me,” she said to the old woman. “I… I was wondering if you know of a Lady Alys Marshal. She served in the House of de Lohr many years ago. Can you tell me if she is still there?”
The old woman was still staring at her. Annavieve didn’t notice that the woman was beginning to sweat, nor did she notice that the woman’s pallor had gone from pale to a sickly sallow. Before the woman could answer her, Vietta emerged from the vendor’s stall and their attention was diverted.
“Finally!” Vietta crowed. “I have procured a feast fit for a duchess, my lady. Mayhap we can find a shaded area to eat it.”
That was the cue for two soldier to head off, looking for an area where they could eat their meal, but the old woman shook her head and put a stop to the soldier’s forward movement. When the old nurse spoke, everyone listened.
“Nay, lady,” she said sternly. “We will return to the lists. Your mother said so.”
Vietta frowned. “Must we, Mimsy?”
The old woman was severe. “You must,” she reiterated. “Lady Agnes insists. Your father will want you there when your brother wins the competition.”
Vietta rolled her eyes. “Fen is an excellent knight but if he wins, it will be a miracle,” she said, sighing. Then, she looked sadly at Annavieve. “I am sorry, my lady. Mimsy says we must return. We can eat together in the lists, I suppose. Not as nice as if we found a nice, shaded area.”
Annavieve smiled, looking between the pale old woman and Vietta. “Mimsy?”
Vietta pointed to the old woman. “I fear I have not properly introduced you two,” she said, putting her arms around the old woman.
“This is Lady Alys but everyone calls her Mimsy. She has raised my brother and sister and me, and we love her dearly, even if she does not have a frivolous or fun bone in her entire body.”
The ground swayed. Annavieve looked at the older woman with as much astonishment as she had ever felt in her life, struggling to regain her balance as she was faced with the shock of the truth.
This is Lady Alys… Lady Alys! God’s Bones, was it true?
Was this older woman, this nurse, actually the woman who gave birth to her?
Annavieve could hardly catch her breath and she actually stumbled back, pretending to have stepped on her gown to cover her stagger.
Vietta reached out to steady her, concerned, but Annavieve assured her that she was fine.
The entire time, however, her eyes remained riveted to Mimsy.
Lady Alys. The tears she had fought off since Magda’s death were now fighting tooth and nail to return.
Annavieve had never struggled so much in her life not to cry.
God, is it really true?
“It… it is a pleasure to meet you, Mimsy,” Annavieve said tightly.
Mimsy did nothing more than nod her head, but the big hazel eyes were fixed steadily upon her.
Does she even know who I am? Annavieve thought.
She wasn’t sure, but she wanted so badly to identify herself to the woman that her palms were sweating.
But Mimsy simply stared at her without the slightest hint of warmth or recognition.
She was as cold as stone. Heart pounding, mouth dry, Annavieve dared to speak, hoping to elicit some kind of response from the woman.
“Have… have we met before, Mimsy?” she asked, her voice trembling. “You seem… familiar somehow.”
The old nurse didn’t react. She simply stared at her.
It was a golden opportunity for her to say something to the affirmative, to perhaps acknowledge what Annavieve knew.
What, perhaps, they both knew. The old woman’s hazel eyes glimmered, perhaps reflections of a love lost and a daughter lost. Perhaps she was pondering painful memories, things she did not wish to be reminded of.
There was no way to tell. Whatever the case, after several seconds of tense silence, the old nurse simply shook her head.
“Nay, my lady,” she said, lowering her gaze. “We have never met. I do not know you.”
Annavieve felt as if she had been physically struck.
The woman would have done less damage had she taken her fists to her.
Her answer had been most final. I do not know you!
Annavieve realized that she was unwanted and unacknowledged by the woman who had given birth to her.
The decision was final. It had been almost nineteen years ago as it was now.
Shaken, she could do nothing more than turn away.
Annavieve had once told Kevin that her mother was a stranger to her, that she had no desire any longer to meet the woman.
But she found out, very quickly, that was not true.
It was possible that the death of Magda made her more emotional about her mother, but in any case, meeting Mimsy had her reeling.
Her breathing quickened as she realized the tears were coming again.
She wanted to return to her room, or a tent, or anywhere that she wasn’t around Vietta or Mimsy or even William or Victor.
She didn’t want to be around anyone at the moment.
She was feeling wild and emotional and she knew, no matter what, that she could not hold back the tide of tears that was surging.
One mother lost today, one mother gained today. She couldn’t think anymore.
She had to get away.
“I… I am sorry, Vietta,” she said as she began to separate herself from the group. “I… I am afraid I am not feeling very well at the moment. I am so sorry. I must return to my room and lie down. Please… please forgive me.”
With that, she bolted off, listening to Vietta calling after her in a panic.
The de Lohr guards were dispatched to follow her, but Annavieve ran like the wind, losing herself in the labyrinth of small homes and businesses that comprised the town’s square.
She ended up in a back alley, weeping hysterically, cutting through someone’s kitchen yard and making her way to the end of town where the Cock and Bull was located.
The last time she’d been at the tavern, there had been a scene of devastation but as she burst into the tavern and ran up the stairs, she saw that Magda’s blood had been washed from the landing.
Everything was clean now, as if nothing had ever happened.
As if Magda had never existed. Her chamber was unlocked because of the Dorset guards in the common room below, men who had watched her dash up the stairs with some confusion.
Bursting into her borrowed room, she slammed the door shut and bolted it.
Then, she collapsed on the bed and sobbed her heart out.