“Then I will take her, marry her, and there will be nothing he can do about it.”
“Exactly.”
Tad liked that suggestion a great deal. Still moving a bit gingerly, he made his way towards the massive wardrobe in his room where his broadsword lay resting in a custom-made casket of silk and oak. He opened the door to the wardrobe and lifted the lid of the case, eyeing the sword that had cost his father a small fortune. Not strangely, he could see le Bec’s suffering reflected in the blade.
“Summon our army, then,” he said, looking at his father. “We will travel light and hard, riding swiftly for Whitby. If le Bec is indeed traveling north to the abbey, then he’s a substantial head-start. However, traveling with a woman, I would suspect his pace has been very slow. It is possible if we ride hard enough to make it to Whitby before he does, where I will wait for him to come. Then, I shall take what is mine.”
Ovid wasn’t too keen on parts of that plan. “You are too weak to ride,” he insisted. “A ride to Whitby will take over a week at a swift pace. You should stay here. The lady will be brought to you when she’s captured.”
Tad shook his head. “If we do manage to capture her, unless le Bec is dead, I will need to marry her as quickly as possible because he will track her like a hound. To suffer a journey all the way back to Goring risks her being recaptured and taken out of our control. That must not happen.”
Ovid didn’t want his son riding the two hundred miles to Whitby but he understood his reasoning. “I do not suppose I can stop you.”
Tad shook his head. “He tried to kill me, Father,” he said, his voice quiet and deadly. “This time, vengeance shall be mine. Le Bec will pay once and for all.”
Ovid didn’t doubt him in the least.
*
The trip northhad been something of a delight.
True to his word, Richmond stopped in the villages where Arissa wanted to stop, purchasing anything that she desired. If she saw a trinket, she got it, and if she even mentioned the fact that she liked a purse or admired a pair of boots, she received that as well. Richmond would do anything to make her happy, loving the smiles he received when she clutched a pretty vial of expensive perfume or a bolt of exquisite material. Each day, each delight, saw his love for her deepen. He was becoming acquainted with her on a level he could have never imagined.
Since he had promised Arissa a leisurely trip, a journey he could make on a hard march in ten or twelve days took almost three weeks. They stopped where they wished to stop, camped by great rivers or stayed in lively inns. Whatever Arissa wanted, Richmond would comply. The weather, for December, had been remarkably mild so the trip hadn’t been a difficult one. But no matter how languid the pace, eventually, they drew close to Whitby.
Just to the north of the city of York, they passed through a berg called Pickering. There was a big castle overlooking the village but Richmond bypassed the castle, mostly because he knew the garrison commander and the man tended to be fickle in his loyalties, so he at least sent word of greeting to identify his big army as he passed through the town. It was his intention to camp just north of the city before reaching their destination of Whitby Abbey on the morrow. Already, he could feel the anxietybuilding in his chest for the separation to come. He’d been ignoring it for weeks, but now, he could ignore it no longer.
Pickering had a fairly large merchant street and although the army paralleled the street of the merchants as they traveled the main avenue through town, Arissa and Emma could nonetheless see the stalls in intervals when houses would part and reveal the street beyond. Richmond could see it too, as he and Gavan traveled at the head of the column and he knew it was only a matter of time before Arissa called a halt. It was not long in coming.
“Richmond!” she called.
He reined his charger around, noting the smirk on Gavan’s face as he made his way back to Arissa and Emma in the provisions wagon. He reined the animal next to her.
“Aye, kitten?”
It sounded more like a statement of resignation than a question, but Arissa smiled brightly and pointed.
“I saw a merchant’s stall over there with garments hanging from the rafters,” she said, rather sweetly. “Do you think we can go and look?”
He grunted softly, with resistance. “Riss, I am not entirely sure we have any more room to store your goods,” he tried to sound gentle, not like a man who was going back on his promise to buy her anything she wanted. “Do you not think you have enough? I am going to have to build a monstrous castle as it is to house everything.”
Arissa giggled, not taking him seriously. “I simply want to look. Please?”
Richmond’s resistance held out for another second or two before he finally nodded in defeat. Dismounting his charger, he handed the reins over to the nearest soldier as he reached up and lifted Arissa from the wagon bench. Emma squealed and he lifted her down, too. Taking the ladies in-hand, he called a haltto his brigade and led the women over to the next street where a good deal of commerce was taking place.
The avenue was wide and filled with holes and ruts, with lots of activity occurring beneath moderately sunny skies and a very brisk temperature. Wagons, people and carts were everywhere in the cold, clear weather. Arissa and Emma went straight for the merchant with the garments hanging from the rafters as Richmond hung back and watched them dive into the merchandise with gusto.
“You are going to be broke by the time we reach Whitby,” Gavan came up behind him, fussing with a gauntlet. “You must learn to deny her once in a while.”
Richmond puckered his lips wryly. “Think not to lecture me,” he told him. “I seem to recall you having difficulty denying your wife anything.”
Gavan returned the wry expression, although there was a defensive attitude with it. “This is not about me. This is about you, and you are spoiling Arissa. She’s going to expect this from you for the rest of your life.”
Richmond just shook his head, watching Arissa giggle happily as the merchant, a thin woman with bad skin, held up a lovely blue surcoat against her to see if it would fit. Arissa took the surcoat and, with Emma’s approving nod, rushed over to Richmond as he stood in the street with Gavan. Her lovely features were alight with joy.
“Richmond, look,” she held up the surcoat. “What do you think? This woman has all manner of coats that are already sewn. She says that she sells a great number of them because they are already made. Have you ever seen such a thing?”
Richmond shook his head. “Alas, I have not,” he said. “May I point out that you already have plenty of fabric to make your own coats with?”
