Chapter Eight

A lyce wanted nothing more than to escape the castle, her brother, the king's knight, and her frayed nerves after finishing her daily duties. Her discussion with Hawk earlier that morning had left her unsettled. Changing into her sturdiest boots and simplest tunic, she picked up a small basket and headed through the outer gate to the forest that stood just beyond the fields being worked by the villagers.

She had not been able to get her brother alone to discuss the incident in the barn. He was always training with his troops, meeting with the stablemaster, or listening to grievances from the villagers. Even when she met with him to discuss the management of the castle and the progress of the planting of the fields, there were others in the solar with them, ready to carry out the directives of Alyce and Cynwulf. When the meeting was over, he'd hurry off to his next duty before she could stop him.

Even if she had been able to get a moment of Cynwulf's time, either Hawk or one of his men was lurking nearby. Hawk had made his intentions clear that as long as he was at Hawkspur; he would not allow anything to happen that would displease the king. In truth, Hawk was acting as though Cynwulf needed his approval for any action he took.

And if he did not approve, what then? Would Hawk swoop in and take over as lord of Hawkspur in Cynwulf's place?

Alyce's uncle had ruled over the strategic fortress with might and kindness, protecting his village as his family. Lordship over the castle meant much more than just possessing the stones with which it was built or reaping the benefits of the crops and livestock. Her uncle understood that. Cynwulf understood that. She understood that. A knight of the king, traveling from one battle to another, could never understand the skills and compassion required to keep a castle and village thriving and safe.

Ffyddlon wriggled excitedly by her side, nudging her hand to get her moving. Alyce shook her head to put an end to the frustrating thoughts in her head and scratched the hound behind the ear. They passed under the heavy portcullis of the castle gateway, through the village, and onto a trail that wound through the copse of woods at the edge of Hawkspur. She picked a few flowers, and herbs for the kitchen, placing them in her basket as she walked.

The trail soon sloped down into another valley behind the castle and her tension eased once in the protection of the trees, tall and thick with leaves that formed a canopy over the forest floor. She set down her basket next to the trunk of a mossy tree, hiked her tunic to her knees, and slanted her eyes at Ffyddlon.

"Are you ready for the chase?"

Ffyddlon crouched in a playful stance and then bounded up the trail. Alyce picked up her feet, the folds of her gown clutched in her hands and chased the dog until she could not catch her breath. When she could not run at a fast pace any longer, she slowed to an easier pace and continued to run along the path behind Ffyddlon, up another hill. The forest was tiny compared to the vast swaths of woods beyond the borders of the fields, but it felt like a hidden paradise to Alyce. Here she could let down her guard and be free.

Ffyddlon yipped excitedly but slowed her pace to allow Alyce to catch up. Even when running ahead, she constantly looked back to be sure Alyce was still in sight. Ffyddlon was tall and could be very imposing when she felt the need, and Alyce had no doubt she would protect her at any cost.

She loved Ffyddlon as much as she loved Cynwulf or Edna. Many would think her foolish, but Ffyddlon filled the hole in her heart created by an unfaithful husband and a childless marriage. When Geoffrey had died, Ffyddlon had stayed by her side and offered comfort as she'd cried herself to sleep night after night.

That Ffyddlon craved her attention and wanted to do everything at her side was perfectly acceptable to Alyce, and thus she indulged the dog by playing chasing games and exploring the forest with her. She'd soon discovered that playing and running was as beneficial for herself as it was for Ffyddlon. They would run until Alyce could not take another step, her chest heaving with every breath. It was in this state of pure freedom and exhaustion that she was able to think through more clearly the perplexing and irksome details of her life.

Ffyddlon stopped when they reached a secluded pond in the forest, much to Alyce's relief. Rarely had they encountered another person here and she had come to think of it as her own private paradise. She removed her boots and crawled up on a large rock on the edge of the little pool of water and lay back on the flat of the stone until her breathing returned to normal. Ffyddlon splashed into the pond and lapped up water, waiting for her mistress to follow.

Once the sun had warmed her into feeling drowsy, Alyce stripped down to her chemise and lowered herself into the cool water. Her skin tingled at the decadent feel of the water caressing against her nearly naked body, and as usual, she said a prayer that nobody would discover her hidden pond while she indulged herself. She wrapped her braid around her head to keep it dry and held it there as she walked in circles in the pool, Ffyddlon still splashing near her.

"Now," she said to the rocks and trees as the cool water reinvigorated her, "What am I to do about Cynwulf?"

*

Hawk waited nearly two hours for Alyce to emerge from the forest.

He had watched Alyce slip through a side gate of the castle after meeting with the young lord. She had a basket on her arm and Ffyddlon at her side. Curiosity got the better of him, so he returned to the parapet to see what she was about. A movement near the base of the hill caught his eye. He recognized the long copper plait hanging down the back of the woman who disappeared into the trees, so he stayed at the wall, watching. The logical conclusion was she ventured into the forest to gather berries or flowers, or whatever it was women filled their baskets with, but his suspicious nature forced him to wait and confirm her intentions.

When she did not return in a reasonable amount of time, he started to doubt she was as innocent as he first believed.

Or some misfortune had befallen her.

He was about to leave the parapet to search for her when finally the wolfhound bounded out of the forest just before Alyce emerged from the trees. Her brisk pace and carefree swinging of the basket did not ease his mind—two hours foraging in the forest should have returned more than just a light basket of spoils.

Could he have been wrong about Lady Alyce? He found it hard to believe he misjudged her, but until he was sure, he would assume her as guilty as he assumed everyone else.