Evermore (Knight Everlasting Book 3) Page 16

  “It’s a nice enough village,” Marjorie started. “But …”

  “It’s more that we never get to go anywhere,” Batty finished. “A trip to Purgatory would be a welcome break from the monotony.”

  “Batty, don’t say such a thing,” Marjorie said, then they both giggled. “But she’s right. We only want a change of scenery. Don’t worry, though. I do think you’ll find the village pleasant.”

  “I’m not worried. I’d happily take a trip to Purgatory if it meant a day in your company,” Jordan said, smiling at Marjorie. He hurriedly smiled at Batty as well. They both looked shocked and Batty raised an eyebrow. He saw Marjorie give her a warning look and, pleased with himself, he concentrated on his breakfast.

  The party got underway about an hour later, with Gunther, a giant of a man who oversaw the page and squire training sessions, a listless Sophie, Anne, regal and excited, Sir Harold who stayed solicitously close to Anne, and the two maids.

  The red-haired knight made sure Anne was secure on her horse, checking everything on the saddle twice before mounting his own horse. Anne’s shy pleasure at the attention drove Jordan to walk over and fuss over Marjorie, making sure she was settled before he mounted up.

  “Goodness, Lord Jordan,” she said, turning beet red. “I’m fine.” She stared straight ahead, refusing to look at him. When he heard Batty snorting, he realized he was being too obvious.

  Flustered at making her uncomfortable, he got on his horse, trying and failing to meet her eye. He was positive he heard Sophie snicker derisively and felt worse. He rode alongside Gunther until they drew even with Sir Leo’s house. From the road, they could see the chimneys through the trees and far out into the fields men were diligently working to fill in the huge hole that had been dug to lead to Drayton’s tunnels.

  “He’s doing that at his own expense,” Anne said loudly, smiling encouragingly at Sophie. “He’s certainly proven himself loyal to Father.”

  Sophie nodded halfheartedly. Jordan searched the road and the path leading to the house, purposely slowing his horse. He’d told Leo to meet them in the morning on this day. It was the most accurate time he could give and hoped Leo would be there. He was about to pretend something was wrong with his saddle to give Leo more time but, to his relief, the surly-looking knight appeared. Looking surlier than usual, Jordan noted with a frown. He hoped he wouldn’t put Sophie in a worse mood.

  Sophie squealed joyously at seeing him and his gruff face transformed into about as happy as it could possibly look. She kicked her horse close to his and, in spite of everyone watching, she leaned far enough out to risk falling off her saddle to throw her arms around his neck.

  “What a perfect coincidence,” she cried. “We’re on our way to Cambrey Village. Please, you have to join us.”

  Leo frowned over Sophie’s shoulder at Jordan. “It isn’t a coincidence at all. Lord Jordan sent word you would be going and invited me to join you. I pray I’m welcome?”

  “Certainly,” Anne said briskly, nudging Sir Harold’s stirrup with her foot.

  “I’m hoping you’ll return to Grancourt. I’ve been looking forward to training with you,” Sir Harold dutifully added. “Your skill with the longsword is well known across the land.”

  Just like that, they were all on their way again. Jordan had to admire Anne’s simple, authoritative way of making everything all right and was touched that she must have coached Sir Harold on what to say the next time he saw Leo. She truly must care for Sophie like a sister. And Sophie was transformed. She rode beside Leo and when Jordan passed her to catch up with Gunther again, she gave him a grateful smile.

  He hoped it was the beginning of a fresh start and their wedding plans could get back on track. If he stood any chance of breaking the curse, he needed to meet some eligible ladies. The thought made him swing his head around to look at Marjorie. He’d never been excited about the plan but now he found it downright distasteful. He couldn’t imagine himself enjoying any fourteenth century lady’s company more than hers. Before he could examine that thought too closely, the village walls were in sight and everyone’s excited exclamations pushed it out of his mind.

  The man sitting at the open gates recognized them and waved them through without fanfare. They took their horses to the inn to board them while they strolled through the town. He hadn’t known what to expect at all, only hearing that it was a “pleasant” village with some fine shops. He thought Marjorie might have oversold it a little.

  The narrow main street was dusty, uneven cobblestones and the many thatched-roofed shops lining it were small, with wooden signs or faded banners announcing their wares. There were no big picture windows showing off the items for sale like he was used to, but open areas with crates and tables loaded with different goods for sale. A few folks had stalls set up selling foodstuffs and a man with only one leg balanced himself against a barrel outside the inn, intermittently strumming a banged up lute. Still, it wasn’t as bad as Purgatory and there was a charming church at the top of the street and quite a few large, stone houses interspersed with the shops. It was clear it was a bustling, vibrant village and he wondered why it had so thoroughly disappeared by the twenty-first century.

  Sophie gasped with delight, pointing up the street at the church. “I want to see that,” she said. “And the cemetery of course.”

  Anne, Batty, and Marjorie gave her almost identical odd looks, but Jordan understood. His history loving sister had been obsessed with old graves for as far back as he could remember. They’d traipsed through dozens of them on family vacations at her insistence. Jordan had to admit it was slightly interesting to find a really old tombstone, but he’d never felt the same passion as Sophie.

  “I have an interest in that sort of thing as well,” he said loyally, earning himself another grateful look. He hadn’t realized how upset he’d been that she was ignoring him, but he was happy and relieved she didn’t hate him anymore, for the moment at least. Hopefully, he’d still have time to find someone to trade with him for his gold.

  “I’ll accompany them,” Sir Leo offered.

  “Well, have at it, then,” Batty said, shaking her head. “I want to see if there are any new fabrics.”

  “Yes, do go ahead,” Anne agreed, her eyes shining as she looked back and forth across the shop-lined street. “I have such a long list of things I want to find, I don’t think there will be time for me to join you.”

  Jordan looked hopefully at Marjorie, but she shook her head. The siren call of shopping was too strong and she linked arms with Batty. Sir Harold offered his arm to Anne, who shyly took it, and Gunther led the way, clearing a path through the villagers with his great bulk. Jordan turned away, sorry he wasn’t going to get to spend time with Marjorie. But Anne and Batty would have prevented them from having any kind of meaningful conversations, and he certainly wouldn’t have been able to take her hand. With a sigh, he followed his sister and Leo toward the church.

  “If you’d rather go shop, go shop,” Sophie said. “Although I don’t know how far you’ll get with no money.”

  God, she was a snot. “I have this,” he said, pulling the gold chain from a clever pocket Marjorie had sewn inside his new tunic. Which his bratty sister hadn’t noticed. “I want to see if anyone will give me today’s currency for it.”

  “Ooh, it’s pretty,” she said, leaning closer. He held it up for Leo to inspect.

  “Do you think I can get anything for it?” he asked. “It’s awfully thin but it’s real gold. 18 karat.”

  Leo screwed up his brows. “I think you should be able to get a fair amount. The craftsmanship is very fine.”

  “It’s probably made by a machine,” he admitted.

  “I’d love to see some of your machines,” Leo said. “It seems you have one for everything.”

  “Just about,” Jordan agreed. “It’s both good and bad, I guess. Puts a lot of craftspeople out of business and makes things worth less. But it makes things cheaper and easier to get, so …�
��

  “A conundrum, indeed,” Leo said. “Sophie, my—” he stopped short. Jordan was certain he was going to call her some soppy endearment but felt like he couldn’t.

  “Leo, can you take some advice without hitting me?” he asked. Leo frowned and gestured for him to go ahead with the advice. “Sir Walter’s over it, Sophie was never bothered by it, so you need to move on as well. I get that it’s got to be a huge blow, and you’re worried about your mother’s fate, but Sophie has a fate you need to be worried about, too.”

  “Jordan,” Sophie hissed, trying to swat him. Leo caught her arm and gently took her hand.

  “Your brother is annoying, but correct, my love. Please forgive me for leading you to believe my feelings were anything other than what they’ve always been. And for my cowardice in asking your father for your hand. I will. Soon.”

  Jordan wanted to demand how soon, but Sophie hurried to reassure Leo. “It’s all right. There’s no hurry. And I never doubted your love.”

  Jordan rolled his eyes. Never doubted? Marjorie had reported to him repeatedly that all Sophie had done in the two weeks since Drayton’s betrayal came to light was cry her eyes out. And no hurry? Did she forget about the curse? He decided to let it go when he saw her eyes light up at all the juicy graves on the other side of a low, stone wall behind the church.

  “Imagine how old some of these will be,” she said.

  “They won’t be old at all,” Jordan retorted. “Not in this time, anyway.” He pointed to the far end of the small cemetery. “How come some are outside the wall?”

  Leo crossed himself and frowned. “Those are the poor, lost souls who had to be buried in unconsecrated ground.”

  Well, that seemed more interesting than looking at the stones of the upright citizens. “Let’s look at all the criminals first,” he said.

  “Don’t get excited, you ghoul,” Sophie said. “All it takes in this time to end up in unconsecrated ground is to not be Catholic. Did you forget we’re not Catholic, Jordan?”

  Leo looked around and crossed himself again. “Please don’t say that too loudly, my love. Perhaps, don’t speak of it at all.”

  “Well, I’m going to look at the sinners, first,” Jordan said.

  Sophie sighed, but followed along behind him. They climbed over the knee-high wall and looked over the shoddy, wooden crosses or crude planks stuck into the ground for markers.

  “It’s only the kindness of one of the villagers that any of these people are buried here at all,” Leo explained. “They’d have to pay for the gravedigger’s service. My father donated for a poor beggar who worked at our farm when I was small. I think he’s by the tree over there.”

  Jordan didn’t ask what happened to the ones who didn’t have a burial benefactor and leaned over to read the names scratched into each marker. Sophie wasn’t pleased because only a handful of them had dates and, as Jordan had already pointed out, none of them seemed earlier than around thirty years in the past. Which, if it had been their own time, would have been beyond ancient. But here in 1398, it wasn’t that impressive.

  He leaned over a particularly fresh-looking marker and choked. On the cross, the carefully engraved name jumped out at him, making him dizzy. Goosebumps crawled over his skin from his scalp to his toes. He called for Sophie and Leo who were already heading back to the cemetery proper, barely able to find his breath. When they hurried over, he pointed with a shaky hand.

  Lyra Winifred—Lost Lamb.

  Sophie’s face went pale. “Anyone could have that name.”

  “Is Lyra a common name in this time?” he asked Leo.

  Leo shrugged slowly. “I have never heard it before, but that doesn’t mean—”

  “You guys,” Jordan said, dropping to his knees beside the wooden cross. It was neatly tied with rope and a date ran down the vertical length of it, under the carved name. 1398. “She died this year. I don’t think it’s a coincidence.”

  “It’s always this year,” Sophie said weakly, clutching Leo’s hand. She bobbed up and down on her toes, a clear sign a meltdown was imminent. “Oh my God, oh my God, was I right all along?”

  “We need to find out who this was,” Jordan said, pushing himself back to standing. He didn’t want to believe it and hoped the village priest could put an end to his fears. “I think you might have been right though, Soph.” Sickened, he remembered how Lyra had amazed him by taking on the looks of different people. Glamor, she’d called it. Now he didn’t believe it. “She was possessing them, same as Marjorie.”

  Sophie’s eyes were as wide as saucers and she hugged her arms. A cold wind blew past them, making Leo bark out a nervous laugh. He turned and marched toward the church. Not wanting to be left alone by that grave, Sophie and Jordan exchanged a terrified look before hurtling after him.

  Inside the cool, quiet church, the candlelight reflecting off the golden accoutrements Jordan didn’t know the names of, Leo looked around wildly. Leo’s loss of composure did nothing to soothe Sophie’s increasing slide toward hysteria and it didn’t help Jordan one bit either. He wanted to take a very long, hot shower then curl up with his head on his mother’s lap. Neither of which he could do, so he gripped his hands tightly enough to feel his fingernails digging into his palms and prayed it was just a coincidence.

  Finally the priest appeared from a room off the side of the nave and bowed to them. He perked up when he recognized Sir Leo, saying he was not aware he was back in the area. Jordan smirked at the clear “why haven’t you been to church” undertones of the greeting. The priest then apologized for his mother’s plight, saying he’d been praying for her soul.

  “Thank you Father Gregory,” Leo said. He quickly introduced them and jumped right into the horrific topic at hand. “I wonder if you know of the grave that is marked Lyra Winifred, Lost Lamb?”

  “Ah, that poor woman. She was, indeed, lost,” the priest said, nodding and stroking him vestments. “It was the miller’s wife who kindly paid for her final resting place.”

  “Who was she, Father?” Leo pressed. “As you know, I’ve been out of the country for some years.”

  “I really don’t know much about the poor dear. She didn’t seem to know herself. She was only in the village for a short time before she met her unhappy end.”

  “What do you mean?” Sophie asked. The priest gave her a slightly distasteful look that made Jordan bristle. Leo calmly repeated the question.

  “And what do you mean by unhappy end?” Jordan added.

  The priest rubbed his hands together, looking to settle in for a tale. “She came to town about a year ago. At first she called herself Lyra. She was a beggar, and I feared she may come to ruin by any one of the patrons of the inn. But though she wandered the streets at all hours of the night, no one got close to her. I approached her one time, to offer succor, but she hissed at me like an angry barn cat.”

  “What do you mean she first called herself Lyra?” Jordan asked.

  “Yes, there’s that.” The priest nodded for an eternity before answering. “Only a fortnight before her demise, she came into the church. Inconsolable. Saying her name was Winifred and she didn’t know how she’d come to be in our village. She was close to starving at that point so I offered her some of my own repast. She gobbled it down and was promptly ill. She begged me to point her to the nearest convent. She feared for her life and her sanity, and promised me she was baptized and only wished to fight whatever evil had descended upon her.”

  “Did you help her?” Leo asked. He looked down when Jordan and Sophie shook their heads at him. “I suppose not,” he added sheepishly.

  “I tried. Indeed, I tried. I found her a place with the miller and his family, who reported back she was a sweet and gentle girl. Nothing like the wild creature who’d been roaming the streets. I sent a messenger to the convent who returned saying she’d be welcomed there. But the day she was to leave for that place, the miller’s wife found her dead. Drowned and half-crushed by the mill wheel. We don’t know if
she took her own life, but there was no reason for anyone to harm her. Even when she was no longer in her maddened state, no one bothered her. Too fearful, I suppose. But I decided to give her the benefit of the doubt and allowed her to be buried here.”

  “In unconsecrated ground,” Sophie said bitterly. The priest didn’t even glance her way.

  “We didn’t know if her given name was Lyra or Winifred, so both were carved into the marker.” The priest crossed himself and smiled benevolently. “Hopefully our Lord sees fit to grant her mercy.”

  Before Sophie could make any rude noises, Leo took her arm and bowed. “Thank you for patronizing our curiosity, Father. We’ll be on our way, now.”

  The priest looked disappointed to lose the company, but bowed as they left. Outside, Sophie crumpled onto the cemetery wall. Leo sat beside her, patting her arm while Jordan paced, stomach and mind churning.

  “I think Lyra’s the same as my Lyra,” he said, forcing himself not to be sick. “And poor Winifred was her …”

  “Vessel?” Leo asked, looking like he was struggling just as hard not to vomit.

  Sophie moaned. “I’ve never felt so awful about being right. But I was right, wasn’t I?”

  Leo closed his eyes. “It seems so, my love.”

  Jordan felt like he would jump out of his skin. He had to say the word, free himself from the utter terror that clawed at him from the inside. He silently counted to ten. “Lyra’s a ghost,” he finally managed.

  Leo and Sophie looked at him. Both of them were full of despair. He didn’t feel any better, either.

  Chapter 20

  Marjorie rolled the perfectly formed pink pill between her fingers. It looked different from the first medicines Jordan had given to Sophie for Anne’s coughs and fevers. The first course, as Sophie had called it, had seemed to work miracles. But now, Anne was back in bed again, burning up and hacking hard enough to turn herself inside out.