Chapter Three
“Why are all of these women running around with prayer cards?” Achilles wanted to know. “See them? They’re flooding away from St. Margaret’s clutching those prayer cards. It must be quite a prayer to have them so excited.”
Kress saw what had Achilles’ attention; fine carriages painted with colors from local noble families, or even women simply walking under a canopy surrounded by servants.
The midday prayers had recently ended and the pious were coming through the street of the merchants on their way back home, but most of them were carrying wooden prayer cards with them.
Some were reading as they walked while still others were holding them against their breasts.
And it was all women; no men that he could see.
It was most curious.
“Is it a saint’s day that I have missed?” he asked, looking to Achilles, who was the most religious of the group. “Is it a feast day that only subscribes to women?”
Achilles shook his head, noting a carriage passing him with a woman in a faint, holding a prayer card against her chest as her ladies furiously fanned her.
“Not that I am aware of,” he said. “Unless it is a local saint I have no knowledge of, but whatever it is, there is quite a flurry around it.”
Kress nodded, watching as two women fought over one of the prayer cards like an odd tug-of-war. When the card disintegrated, one woman stood there and sobbed while the other dropped to her knees in the dirt and tried to piece it together again. Kress eyed the pair most strangely.
“It is some kind of madness,” he said. “It must be. I have never seen anything like this.”
Behind him, Alexander snorted softly. “The wilds of Norfolk breed some very strange people,” he said. “Remember that this is a land of witches and demons and killer dogs.”
Kress didn’t believe in any of that. He was a man of reason.
Passing by a merchant stall, he watched a man dressed in fine robes yank a prayer card out of a woman’s hand, a woman who was more than likely his wife, and the woman hit him squarely in the face in response.
Kress’ eyebrows lifted as they rode past the brawling pair.
“It is a land of lunatics,” he said, his attention diverted as the steeple of St. Margaret’s came into view. “Thank God we shall not be spending any time here. Once we are through the town, we take the road to the northeast and that will take us straight to Castle Rising.”
Bric, who served at Narborough Castle where they had stayed the previous night, knew the area well. He spurred his gray steed forward, next to Kress.
“Have you ever been to Castle Rising?” he asked.
Kress glanced at him. “It has been a while,” he said. “I was newly knighted, I think, so it is quite some time ago. Why do you ask?”
Bric was looking out over the avenue as he pondered his answer. “Padraig Summerlin is d’Aubigney’s garrison commander.”
“I know.”
Bric continued. “The House of Summerlin holds the barony of Rothwell over near Daventry,” he said. “They are linked to the House of de Winter through marriage. In fact, Summerlin married my liege’s sister, Lady Delesse.”
Kress looked at him curiously. “Delesse,” he said, rolling the name over his tongue. “Delesse. Where have I heard that name?”
Bric fought off a knowing grin. “That was the lass that Dashiell du Reims was so in love with,” he said.
“All of The Marshal’s men know of it; he made no secret of it those years ago.
You know Dash, of course – he serves the Duke of Savernake at Ramsbury Castle and he’s also the heir to the Earldom of East Anglia.
About ten years ago, when Dash was newly knighted, he was quite fond of Delesse and she of him, but Summerlin swooped in and snatched her away. The man is paying the price now.”
“Why do you say that?”
Bric shook his head faintly, his smile fading as he thought of the unhappy situation.
“Because they knew each other mere days before Summerlin married her without Daveigh’s permission,” he said.
“Delesse is beautiful, but she is spoiled and she has a temper. Summerlin is a man of discipline. It is like mixing oil and water with those two, so be prepared. I have visited there several times over the past few years and it is not a place of peace. In fact, I seriously wonder why d’Aubigney placed the Welsh princess at Castle Rising for that very reason.
The Warring Summerlins are legendary in these parts. ”
Kress shook his head at a combative couple and the story behind them. “I would say if you know a woman for only a few days before you marry her, and steal her away from someone, then you get what you deserve.”
“That is what Daveigh says.”
The two looked at each other, shaking their heads at the impetuousness that had cost the man peace for the rest of his life. They were just nearing an intersection where the main road from the church intersected with the street of the merchants and, suddenly, a woman was darting into Kress’ path.
Startled, he pulled his horse back, and the animal reacted by rearing on its hind legs.
Someone pulled the offending woman out of the way but as she fell back, the money in her purse scattered.
All it took was a scream from someone, announcing a windfall of coinage on the street, and abruptly, people descended on the spilled money.
It all happened so fast that Kress was forced to back his horse away from the swarm of people grabbing for the coinage that had been scattered, but as he and Bric backed away, ramming the butt of their horses into Achilles and Alexander, bringing up the rear, an odd thing happened.
Suddenly, there was a tall woman with long, copper-colored curls swinging her fists in the middle of those who were trying to steal the money.
She was kicking, too, with big boots underneath her skirts.
The woman she had pulled out of the way, a rather pale blonde from what Kress could see, also came out swinging, screeching at those trying to take what she termed “her money”, and aiming for their heads.
People were knocked in the heads, more often than not dropping the coinage from the beating, and once Kress settled his steed, he handed the reins over to Achilles and he and Bric dismounted.
Approaching the group with the intention of separating the money-grubbers from those who actually lost the money, a fist suddenly came flying at his face, catching him in the jaw.
Kress stumbled as the woman with the copper-colored curls came in for another blow.
He managed to duck her this time, shoving her away and using her momentum to send her to her knees.
Meanwhile, Bric had his hands full with the pale blonde, who turned out to be a hellion.
She whacked him with an open hand, right in the face, and clipped his nose.
Stinging, Bric took a step back, hand to his nose as the blood began to pour.
“Get away from my coinage!” the pale blonde snarled. “This is all your fault. Get back on your horses and be on your way!”
Bric stood there and looked at her as if having no idea how to respond. The big Irish knight had a fierce temper, and everyone knew it, so Kress stepped in before he became enraged, addressing the blonde who had just whacked Bric in the face.
“We are not after your money, my lady, I assure you,” he said in his usually diplomatic fashion. “We are trying to help.”
The woman turned her venom to Kress and that was when he got a good look at her. Odd how everything seemed to stop at that moment; movement seemed to slow, and voices seemed distant.
For a split second, Kress was in a world of his own, looking at quite possibly the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.
Her glistening hair was pulled away from her face, secured at the back of her skull, while the entirety of it flowed down her back.
She had ribbons of pearls in her hair; or were they diamonds?
Kress honestly couldn’t tell because all he could see was the glimmer as it framed her face.
And what a face.
Big, bottomless eyes looked up at him, eyes the color of coal.
He could see a faint hint of gray in them, quite unique, and they were set within a sweet oval face.
Her cheeks were flushed with anger and her lips were full and lush, with perhaps the slightest bit of an overbite.
But it only enhanced the magnificence of what he was seeing.
He’d never seen finer.
He would have been quite content to linger in that dazed state until he’d sucked in his fill of her beauty, but the woman opened her mouth and, rudely, he was shaken from his observations.
“You,” she hissed. “It was you who nearly crashed into me. What do you mean by going around, ramming that big horse into unsuspecting women?”
She was articulate and commanding. He could see it in everything about her; this was a woman who knew her importance in life. She was either a duke’s daughter or an earl’s wife, and he sincerely hoped it wasn’t the latter.
In truth, Kress was a warrior with a diplomat’s heart.
He was the man with the silver tongue, the one to talk his way out of an ambush or even a battle.
Whenever a delicate touch was required, Kress was always the man for the job, so at this moment, he realized he had a choice – he could either fight with the woman, which really wasn’t his style, or he could ease the situation and discover this gorgeous creature’s name.
He chose the second option.
“My lady, I am terribly sorry for the mishap,” he said in a tone that could usually get him what he wanted. “Had my comrades and I been paying closer attention, we would have seen you coming and we surely would not have nearly run you down. I assure you that it was quite an accident.”
Her pretty face was twisted with anger. “Accident or not, I have lost a good deal of money because of your foolishness,” she said. “What do you intend to do about it?”
“Will you allow us to make amends by helping you reclaim your money?”