A Knight's Quest Page 2

  Eleanor’s lashes fluttered as she looked down at her own clothing, touching the gold embroidery that lined the neck. “I have two kirtles left. That is all. How can you possibly suggest that I—”

  “I am not suggesting anything.” Sophia reined in her temper. The woman had had everything taken away after the siege—her husband, her home, and her son who’d seen only four summers. Her mind seemed to slowly be unraveling. The smallest comment could set her off, and Sophia needed her to keep her wits about her. “I’m sorry you find my attire lacking, but it is actually quite comfortable.” She bobbed a quick curtsy, hoping to make light of the topic.

  Eleanor merely turned away.

  “Spring will soon be upon us.” Sophia tried a more neutral subject. “We should decide what to plant in the garden.”

  Eleanor spun to face her, and Sophia knew immediately she’d made a mistake. The snarl on Eleanor’s lips matched her tone. “I suppose you think I should plant and tend the garden.”

  “I merely thought you’d like to assist us in doing so.”

  Her scoff was answer enough. Sophia bit her tongue, wanting to shake the woman. She hadn’t been the most pleasant of people prior to the siege, but since then, she’d been impossible. The last day of the battle, when the castle had been breached, Sophia had gathered what belongings they could carry, decided who could be trusted, and secured their escape. Eleanor had moved about as though in a daze. In the fortnight that followed, Sophia had managed to find them a temporary place to stay, enough food to see them through, and sold some of her things so they could rent this cottage. She hated to think of all she’d done since then as it was both exhausting and daunting. All while Eleanor had sat first in numbed silence, and now, in derision.

  Sophia couldn’t afford to waste time with either.

  She’d taken action rather than allow the fog of despair to envelope her. They’d all lost more than they could bear. They’d all needed time to grieve. But survival came first. While some thought her insensitive to the devastation around her, she’d had no choice. Her family needed her, as did the servants, the tradesmen, the merchants—many of those who had previously depended on her brother now looked to her for assistance and direction.

  Her brother, William, had served as governor of the city for several years as had their father before him. Their father had taken great pride in watching the city grow and prosper. He’d always told them that when the city prospered, so did Scotland as well as their family. Sophia had been taught from a young age to serve the people however she could. She had an excellent memory, was a skilled negotiator, and could charm honey from a bee when necessary.

  But none of those skills had saved those massacred or their city. In the past two years, she’d learned not to take anything for granted, including each day.

  “Have you seen Alec?” Sophia couldn’t remain here a moment longer without screaming at Eleanor. That would be a waste of time and energy, and she had none to spare.

  Her brother popped his head in the door. “I’m waiting out here for you.” His wary glance at Eleanor explained why.

  Her heart eased at the sight of him. “I’ll be right there.” She turned to Eleanor. “We’ll return soon.”

  Her brother’s wife said nothing, only continued to smooth the gold trim of her kirtle as she sat in her chair at the table.

  Sophia retrieved her cloak from the peg near the door, grabbed a basket, and left without a backward glance.

  Alec lengthened his stride to match hers. At fourteen years of age, he’d had to grow up quickly but had become accustomed to the change in their circumstances more easily than the rest of her family. Sophia cast him a smile, ruffling his dark, wavy hair. Ilisa was the only fair-haired member of the family. Sophia, William, and Alec shared dark hair and brown eyes.

  He ducked out of reach but grinned at her before sobering. “Why does she do that?”

  “What?”

  He waved a hand toward their cottage. “Choose not to help.”

  She sighed. “I’m not certain Eleanor has a choice.”

  “She demeans all we do yet refuses to do anything herself. Her gowns are far too elaborate to wear but she won’t allow us to sell them. She does nothing all day while we—”

  “Alec. Enough. She has been through much, and she is not as strong as we are.” At least that’s what Sophia told herself.

  He smiled. “Or mayhap ’tis that she’s not as stubborn.”

  Sophia couldn’t help but smile. Alec’s ability to cheer her helped far more than he knew. “True. We Douglas’s are a contrary lot.”

  The dawn church bells announcing the beginning of a new day had already rung. Their maidservant, Coira, had no doubt risen early to fetch water from the well along with other sleepy servants. When she returned to the cottage, the maid would set pottage to simmer over the fire. If supplies permitted it, she’d bake bread on a hot stone in their cottage for luncheon.

  Blacksmiths and butchers would be up and about already, starting their day’s work on the other side of town. The rest of Berwick would soon follow suit, but for now, the streets were quiet.

  Sophia glanced up at the keep on the rise a short distance away. Though it had been her home all her life, someone else occupied it now. A pang of longing for all they’d lost filled her as she studied the stone tower, which had once been her chamber. How often had she stared out its window at the city below, blissfully unaware of what was to come? More times than she could count.

  “Ilisa said to tell you she wouldn’t return home until after supper,” Alec said, pulling her thoughts back to the present.

  “Do the nuns have need of her so late?” Their sister had seen eighteen years and made herself useful at the nunnery since the siege. Even they had sustained damage in the attack. Repairs were still being made to some of their buildings as was true for other homes and businesses in the city.

  “She is helping the sisters prepare the gardens for the spring planting.”

  “She’s been spending a lot of time there.” Sophia worried about her. Younger than Sophia by two years, Ilisa had withdrawn into herself since the siege. She’d forgotten how to enjoy life. Sophia wished she knew some way to lighten her sister’s heart.

  She shook her head. How sad that their lives were now defined by ‘before’ or ‘after’ the tragic event when so many had been killed and much of the city destroyed by the English king and his brutal soldiers.

  When she closed her eyes to fall asleep each night, she imagined what it might be like to have a new beginning, to live in a town where no one had heard of the Douglas family. She imagined walking through the streets where friendly villagers called out greetings. Where no one snarled at her or blamed her family for the attack.

  Such a thing seemed so far out of reach as to be impossible. For now, she’d settle for a day or two free of worry. In truth, she couldn’t imagine that either. Her sister wasn’t the only one who’d forgotten how to enjoy life.

  Pushing aside her dismal thoughts, she focused on the tasks before her. “Allow us to buy some bread before we carry on with the rest of our day.”

  Alec sniffed the air. “We’re nearly at the baker’s.”

  Sophia could smell it now too. The aroma of freshly baked bread scented the street, causing her stomach to growl. Unfortunately, between now and the harvest, bread would be expensive. A movement from the shop next to the baker’s caught her eye, and she braced herself.

  “Why are you still here?” The cooper’s widow stood in her doorway, glaring at Sophia and Alec. “You’ve done enough harm.”

  Though her heart grew heavy at the woman’s words, Sophia gave her a polite smile but continued walking. “Good morn to you, Agatha.”

  Alec stared straight ahead, his face flushing as they passed the shopkeeper.

  Sophia put her arm around her brother’s shoulders. “Pay her no mind,” she whispered. “She lost her husband in the siege.”

  “I fail to see how that is our fault,”
Alec muttered. “Why do so many blame us?”

  Sophia asked herself the same thing. In truth, she didn’t know. Rumors abounded that someone had let King Edward into the city that fateful day. Some suspected her or her family of doing so. That made no sense. Her brother’s loyalty had always been with Scotland. No advantage could come to him from siding with the English king.

  That wasn’t the only rumor that traveled to her ears. She’d been blamed for all sorts of ill happenings. The only way she knew to battle those tales was to help others rebuild their lives when she could. All her life, she’d aided her brother, William, in her own way. Their mother and father had long since passed and once William had become governor of Berwick, when she’d been thirteen summers, they’d moved into the keep.

  Already a bustling city on the English-Scottish border located near the mouth of the River Tweed, she’d understood her brother’s vision of expanding Berwick into a market hub for many countries.

  Never had she expected it to be used by the king of England to drive home a brutal lesson to all of Scotland.

  King Edward’s barbaric murder of thousands of men, women, and children who’d lived peacefully in this city had left such devastation that it would take decades to recover. Two years had put only a small dent in the rebuilding needed. Many residents had left and English merchants moved in, deciding the city was ripe with opportunity and safer after their king’s actions.

  Sophia’s knowledge of the tradesmen, merchants, and growers was helpful to many. And if she could help the people here regain some of what they’d lost, she’d gladly do so.

  Sophia and Alec purchased bread, the baker giving them an extra loaf for help in gaining him another source for barley flour.

  “Let us stop by Alice’s home to see how she fares,” Sophia said.

  Alec smiled. “Her three little boys are certainly boisterous.”

  “With no father to guide them, she has her hands full. Mayhap you could offer to take them down to the river one day to fish with you.”

  “I’ll ask her if that would be agreeable. Are you going to give her that extra bread?” He stared at the loaf she hadn’t yet tucked into the basket she carried.

  “Indeed, I am.”

  “What else will you do for her?”

  Sophia smiled down at her little brother. “I’m going to suggest that her oldest might run a few errands for Dugald.”

  “If you think Alice and her boys need help, why don’t you give them some of our coins?”

  “We have none to spare. Besides, providing them a way to earn their own money allows them to keep their pride and help themselves.”

  Pride was a luxury when times were bad, but with pride often came hope. What better way to keep her own hope alive than to help others keep theirs?

  If this day went well, Edgar would negotiate with her. With luck, he was in need of something she could find for him and in turn, he would use his influence to help sway those who might free her brother and bring him home.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Garrick rode alongside Chanse and Braden as they approached Berwick. The River Tweed dominated the landscape, cradling the city along its curve. The thawing of spring snow had the river full to the brim, and it threatened to spill over the banks. Villeins tilled the dark earth in the distant fields that dotted the gently rolling hills. Sheep grazed in other pastures.

  Clouds mingled with the mist of the river, hiding the horizon in places. The air held a distinct chill. He hoped the dreariness of the day was not a bad omen for his quest.

  They’d made good time and arrived earlier than anticipated. Based on his hunger, it was nearing midday.

  “You can already see the destruction,” Braden said as he pointed at part of the city on the hillside visible above the wall. Several buildings had blackened sides from smoke, and others appeared newly built.

  “I don’t think the king was the first to lay siege to this city,” Chanse offered as he took in the area. “Berwick’s location at the mouth of the river makes it ideal for trade. And to plunder.”

  “True.” Braden shifted in his saddle as he, too, looked about.

  “Did you know that Berwick means barley farm or barley village?” Chanse asked.

  Garrick glanced at his cousin, surprised he knew such a thing.

  “Aren’t you full of interesting facts,” Braden said.

  “I merely took the time to learn a little about our destination. Did you?”

  Ignoring the brothers’ banter, Garrick considered what their first step should be. A bath was in order as well as a meal, and he was certain his cousins would agree. A tavern with its many patrons was always a good source of information. Perhaps someone there could offer advice as to whom they should contact regarding their wool. And with even more luck, rumors as to what was happening in the city might arise along with who might want to cause trouble. If only it would be that easy. Discovering who had something to gain from any unrest might be another avenue to explore.

  Thus far, one of the rumors had uncovered a half-formed plan to kill the king while another made mention of meetings to organize those in favor of Scottish rule. The man who’d discovered those had been sent deeper into Scotland, leaving the need for someone in Berwick.

  It had been some time since Garrick had visited a city of this size. A wooden wall surrounded the city but was being replaced by gray-colored stones laid two-stories tall. A glimpse of rooftops, a church spire, and chimneys could be seen over the wall. Even from a distance, burnt structures with only charred frames dotted the view while other buildings appeared newly built.

  “I’m certain the city will grow busier as summer approaches,” Braden said as they neared the gate, mingling with other travelers. The guards collected taxes from those with goods, causing the line to move slowly.

  “True. ’Tis not yet prime market season.” Chanse looked up at the twin watchtowers that flanked the iron gate. “Those apparently did little to stop the king’s entrance.”

  Garrick cast a wary glance about, hoping no one heard his cousin’s comment.

  At Garrick’s glare, Chanse shrugged. “Any visitor who knows the history of this place would have questions.”

  “He’s right,” Braden agreed, his voice low. “No purpose would be served in avoiding the topic entirely. Not when the evidence is directly before us.”

  Garrick nodded, telling himself to relax. “True. ’Tis difficult to ignore.”

  “State your business in the city,” one of the guards said as they approached.

  “Wool trade,” Garrick answered.

  The guard nodded and turned his attention to the party behind them.

  Garrick released a breath of relief. He needed to calm his nerves. No purpose would be served by giving into them. He couldn’t imagine serving as a spy. This mission worried him enough let alone trying to play both sides of a conflict.

  Two wide cobbled thoroughfares fanned out from the gate, one veering to the east and the other north. Narrower side streets crisscrossed the wider streets. This end of the city held mainly businesses. The buildings were three and four stories tall with the upper levels jutting out above the street.

  Colorful signs hung above the doors, declaring the type of merchandise for sale. Some buildings had the top half of their front walls lowered, creating a counter to display merchandise. One carried boots, belts, and purses. Another had pots, pans, spoons, and the like. A glance inside showed shopkeepers and apprentices busy creating more goods to sell.

  Most passersby were on foot. Artisans wore brightly colored tunics. Members of the clergy walked at a stately pace with brown or black robes. Housewives wearing mantles to stay warm chose from the wares offered. Wealthier merchants were recognizable from the fur trim on their cloaks. This first sight of Berwick revealed a bustling, successful city. It was difficult to believe that thousands had been killed here only two years past.

  “I’d like to gain a feel for the place,” Garrick told his cousins. “Shall w
e ride through before we find an inn?”

  “Excellent notion,” Braden said as Chanse nodded.

  A flock of geese crossed the street just ahead of them, honking in protest as they scattered to avoid the horses’ hooves. The appetizing aroma of roasting meat hung in the air as they passed a cookshop, making Garrick’s stomach protest even more. A stray dog lingered near the doorway, sniffing the air.

  Chanse gazed longingly at the tempting display.

  “We’ll seek out a meal soon,” Garrick promised with a smile, knowing exactly how his cousin felt.

  They continued down the street, catching the wary eye of some residents. Garrick didn’t blame them for being suspicious of strangers. While this was a market city, with all that had come to pass here, outsiders would be watched.

  At last they neared the heart of the city where the market square came into view. Large halls provided places to trade wool, cloth, and spices. A few smaller stalls sat in the open square, selling both merchandise and food.

  “’Tis a busy place,” Braden noted. “And loud.”

  The chatter of people was interspersed with the cries of vendors, most notably the fishmonger, whose loud, booming voice carried across the area.

  A large church sat just north of the square, its spire a landmark to note the market’s location. More clergy were visible, going to and from the church to the other buildings nearby.

  Garrick turned and led the way down the other thoroughfare. More houses lined the street, built with tall posts and beams. Butchers and tanners occupied the district at the far side near the city wall with the linen makers nearby as well. The stench of garbage and animal dung filled his nostrils.

  “Let us return to the market and find an inn near there.” Garrick turned his horse, ready to stretch his legs and find food and drink. He caught the eye of a man walking past and inquired as to the location of an inn.

  Within a short time, they halted before a large building on a side street near the market, its wooden sign declaring it The Old Mill Inn.