amongst others, had all vowed to join the Crusade. What about you, Ranulf? Are you not tempted to go soldiering for Christ, too?”
The temptation was greater than Ranulf was willing to admit-to leave England and this bloody, unending civil war and his own troubles behind in the dust and join a bright, shining quest for God, offering adventure and salvation and a chance to see the holy city of Jerusalem. He was spared the need to answer by a sudden shout up on the battlements. Riders were being admitted.
Hugh’s curiosity had shriveled in the heat, and he continued on toward the hall, only to stop once he realized Ranulf wasn’t following. “Ranulf? You know these men?”
“One of them,” Ranulf said warily. Why would Ancel be seeking him out? By now, Ancel had seen him, too. Halting his men, he dismounted swiftly. Ranulf started toward him, and they met in the middle of the bailey. “Ancel? Why are you here? Annora is not ailing, is she?”
“No. She is quite well.”
Ranulf could think of only one other reason for Ancel to be at Devizes: to make peace between them. There was nothing conciliatory about his demeanor, but apologies had always gone down hard with Ancel. Ranulf was willing, though, to take that first significant step. “I am glad you’ve come, Ancel. Let’s get out of the sun and find a quiet place to talk.”
“I am not staying, Ranulf. I came only to give you this.” Holding out a sealed parchment. “It is a farewell letter from Annora.”
Ranulf made no move to take the letter. “I do not believe you.”
“As I recall, you did not want to believe me, either, when I told you she’d wed Fitz Clement. But you need not take my word. Read it for yourself.”
This time, when he thrust the letter forward, Ranulf reached for it. The seal was Annora’s and unbroken. “What did you do, Ancel? Did you threaten to go to her husband?”
“It is not my doing. I would that it were. But she turned a deaf ear to me, did not come to her senses until she got with child.”
Ranulf was stunned. “Annora is pregnant?”
“Yes, and she has promised God that she’ll sin no more. She may have been willing to risk her immortal soul for you, but not this babe.” Ancel paused, glanced at Ranulf’s stricken face, and then away. When he spoke again, his voice no longer held such a hard, hostile edge. “Annora insisted that she was as much to blame as you, and I daresay it is true. Fools, the both of you, but I’d not see her hurt. Or you, either,” he added grudgingly. “Fortunately, Annora’s husband and our family know nothing of her infidelity, and God Willing, they never will. Be thankful for that much, that this dangerous passion of yours wrecked no lives.”
Ranulf said nothing. The bailey was shimmering in heat, the sky a bleached bone-white, the color of his face. Ancel started to turn away, then stopped. “If you love her, Ranulf,” he warned, “you let her be.”
Annora’s letter was not as brutally blunt as Ancel had been, but the gist of her message was the same. She told Ranulf that she was with child, the babe due in November, at Martinmas, reminding him-needlessly-that they’d not lain together since Ancel caught them last summer at Chester. She’d not let herself hope at first, she wrote, so afraid she’d miscarry again. But she was into her fifth month now, she could feel the baby moving within her womb, and she did not think God would take this child, too, not if she repented. She’d promised the Almighty and Ancel that she’d not see him again, and she meant to keep that vow. She wanted Ranulf to know that she’d truly loved him, but it was not meant to be. She’d long known that, suspected that he had, too. He must try to understand. She wished him well, and asked him to burn this letter once he’d read it.
Ranulf did not burn her letter, not at first. Instead, he tormented himself by reading it over and over, until her words were embedded so deeply into his memory that he’d never be able to get them out. How could Annora give up like this? If she loved him, how could she just walk away? What of the baby, though? How could he expect her to abandon her child? And if she could somehow keep the babe, would he be willing to accept Gervase Fitz Clement’s child as his own? But what if she miscarried again? An ugly thought, one that shamed him when it kept coming back.
He remembered a conversation he’d once had with a soldier wounded at the Battle of Lincoln. The man’s arm had been so badly mangled that the doctors had been forced to amputate it, and he’d told Ranulf that his arm had continued to ache even after it was gone. And after another sleepless night of phantom pain, Ranulf knew what he must do. He had to see Annora. They had to talk. What that would accomplish, he could not say, even to himself. He knew only that it could not end like this.
It was very early, a few stars still glimmering in the dawn sky. Ranulf had saddled his horse himself, for the grooms were not yet up and about. The bailey was deserted, save for the guards up on the battlements. He had hoped to be long gone by the time the castle was stirring for the day. But as he swung up into the saddle, he heard his name being called.
Luke was running across the bailey. “My lord, wait!” Coming to a halt in front of Ranulf’s stallion, blocking the way. “You cannot go off on your own like this,” he insisted. “I know what you mean to do. You are seeking out your lady. I saw him the other day-her brother. I was in the town when he rode by, after leaving the castle. And since then, you’ve been like a man with a wound that’ll not stop bleeding. I am not prying, in truth I am not. It is your safety I care about. You know you can trust me. Take me with you. I’ll need but a few moments to saddle up-”
“No,” Ranulf said. “This I must do alone.”
“My lord, forgive me for saying so, but that is madness! The risk is too great. Let me come-”
Ranulf turned his horse, circled around Luke, then spurred it forward. Luke could only watch, defeated, as the stallion cantered across the bailey. “At least take Loth with you!” he shouted, but he could not be sure if Ranulf even heard him, for he did not look back.
Luke’s fears proved unfounded, for Ranulf reached Shrewsbury without incident. The town was crowded with fairgoers, but he was able to persuade the hospitaller at St Peter’s to find him a place in the abbey guest hall, just as he’d done during his last visit to Shrewsbury Fair, seven years ago.
The next morning, he rose early and headed for the fairground. The August sun was hot upon his face, the Abbey Foregate thronged with cheerful, laughing people eager for the pleasures of the fair. Ranulf soon inhaled the aromas of hot meat pies and freshly baked bread; he could not even remember the last time he’d eaten. All sorts of activity swirled around him. A knot of children were shrieking at the antics of a trained monkey; the sheriff’s men were dragging off a pickpocket caught in the act; merchants were calling out their wares. But for Ranulf, it was a scene haunted by memories, blighted hopes, and regrets.
As he moved between the booths, he kept catching glimpses of Annora, not the woman he hoped to find today, but a carefree, reckless girl clad in scarlet, a ghost from a bygone fair, living on in memories he’d take to his grave. As soon as he’d remembered that St Peter’s Fair was imminent, he’d had to come, knowing he’d have no better chance to encounter Annora. It had worked once; why not again? But he’d not anticipated how painful it would be-revisiting his past.
He saw the dog first. Annora’s pup had grown into a handsome, grey-black animal, not as large as Loth, who was uncommonly big for a dyrehund, but very like his sire in all other particulars, the reason why Ranulf had dared not bring Loth with him. A dog that looked so much like the Fitz Clement dyrehund would have been dangerously conspicuous.
Annora was accompanied by a giggling young girl, about thirteen or so. When Annora called her “Lucette,” Ranulf realized this was her stepdaughter. Seeing her with Annora gave Ranulf a jolt; for the first time, she was real to him. His eyes were drawn irresistibly now to Annora’s skirts. She was already starting to show, and basking in the benevolent, approving smiles people reserved for expectant mothers. She was wearing an apple-green gown, a shade he’d never seen on her before. It suited her, for she looked at ease, quite content-until she glanced over, saw Ranulf standing by the silversmith’s booth.
Ten feet or so separated them, but Ranulf could still see how fast the blood drained from Annora’s face. Lucette also noticed, and plucked at Annora’s sleeve. “Mama?” That, too, came as a shock to Ranulf. But then he realized that Annora-nigh on eleven years wed-was probably the only mother Lucette remembered. “Mama, are you ailing? You’re so pale! Papa! Mama is sick!”
A man at one of the nearby stalls turned, made haste to rejoin them. Ranulf had never seen Annora’s husband before. He was not at all the horned demon of Ranulf’s jealous imaginings, just a compact, ruddyfaced man in his forties, with enough laugh lines to attest to an agreeable nature, hair shorter than was fashionable, a neatly trimmed beard showing signs of grey. “Nan? You do look ill of a sudden. Is it the babe?”
