Desmond grinned. “To console you,” he jested, watching Thomas roll his eyes and return his attention to the landscape beyond the wall. “To offer you my shoulder to weep upon. Go ahead, Thomas; it will do you good. Cry on me. I demand it.”
He came to stand next to Thomas, who refused to look at him. “Shut your lips, you idiot,” he grumbled. “There is nothing to weep over and I do not need any consoling. Do you understand me?”
“I do.”
“Good. My parents and Northumbria are to arrive at some point soon and you’ll not mention anything about weeping or consoling in front of them. If you do, I will be forced to take measures.”
Desmond fought off a grin. “What measures, may I ask?”
“You may not ask.”
“I see,” Desmond said, rubbing his chin and wiping the smile that threatened. “Then I will be left to imagine the worst. But in speaking of guests arriving, that is exactly why I was looking for you. I wanted to mention that I, too, shall have a guest this evening.”
“Oh?” Thomas looked at him. “Who?”
Desmond dug into the pocket of his tunic and held up a yellowed piece of parchment. “I received this earlier today,” he said, carefully unfolding it. “It seems that my sister will be stopping over on her way to Kelso Abbey. Well, not exactly Kelso, but their charity at Edenside.”
Thomas was interested. “Edenside?” he repeated. “Isn’t that the foundling home?”
Desmond nodded. “It is,” he said. “Haven’t I ever told you about my sister?”
Thomas shook his head. “Not really,” he said. “I knew you had one, and a father, but not much more. Why is she coming to Edenside?”
Desmond leaned on the parapet. “Mae was married to a fine knight when she was sixteen years old,” he said. “A fine knight who turned out to be rather poor and directionless. My father hasn’t much money, you know, so he married my sister to the man in the hopes he would provide better for her. But he didn’t. Poor Mae has had a time of it.”
“Mae? Your sister?”
Desmond nodded. “Her name is Maitland, after my mother’s family, but she has gone by Mae since she was an infant,” he said. Then, he sighed heavily, with traces of regret in that gesture. “The House of de Ryes is a noble institution but the money started to fade with my grandfather, meaning Mae’s chances of finding a good husband were slim from the start. My grandfather liked to gamble, so by the time my father inherited the lands and manse, there wasn’t much left. Only on the strength of the de Ryes name did I foster at Alnwick, you know. My father subsequently lost what remained of the family land and money. I have had to earn everything I have.”
Thomas knew the story with Desmond; an old and respectable Norman family who lost their fortune through a careless ancestor. Thomas and Desmond had met many yearsago, in fact, when Desmond was squiring for a great Alnwick knight. Both men shared the same sense of humor and the same qualities for the most part, and a quick friendship formed. Even when Thomas went on his travels to The Levant, he hadn’t forgotten about Desmond and when he returned to assume his post at Wark, he had his father go to the lord of Alnwick, Lord de Vesci, and bargain for Desmond’s services. The man had served Thomas ever since, a friend and confidant and cohort in crime.
“I know you have,” Thomas replied to his statement. “And you have worked hard. But what about your sister? Why is she attached to Kelso Abbey?”
Desmond snorted ironically. “Because her stupid husband got himself killed,” he said. “This was a couple of years ago. Somehow, he got mixed up with the sheriff from Ashington and the man killed him. The sheriff said that Henry charged him, but I do not believe it. Henry was a buffoon, but he was not reckless.”
“Henry is the husband?”
Desmond nodded. “Henry Bowlin was the name of Mae’s husband,” he said. “In any case, the man was killed and Mae had no choice but to commit herself to a life of contemplation, as they call it. She is a Beguine.”
Thomas understood. A Beguine was a widowed woman who, for lack of other opportunity, would pledge herself to the church for charitable work. It was perfectly acceptable for a noble woman to do so, finding solace in widowhood by serving the less fortunate. Now, the sister’s destination of Edenside was making a great deal of sense.
“I see,” Thomas said. “So she is going to manage the Edenside foundling home?”
“Exactly,” Desmond said. “She was south in Newcastle, serving at a foundling’s home there, but now she is to have a charity of her own. I’ve not seen Mae in a few years, but she was always such a sweet lass. I have missed her. When she marriedBowlin, I was furious at my father, but I supposed he did what he thought was best for her. But sometimes those marriages do not turn out as one had hoped.”
That very same thing could have meant the situation Thomas found himself in, and he and Desmond looked at each other a moment before realizing just how close to home that statement was. First Maitland, now Thomas. In fact, Thomas forgot about Maitland de Ryes Bowlin and returned his attention to the green landscape beyond. He puffed out his cheeks as his thoughts moved to his own situation.
“What am I going to do, Des,” he muttered. It wasn’t a question, but a rhetorical statement. “What to do, indeed.”
Desmond eyed him as he grew serious. Thomas’ predicament sobered them both. “I do not know,” he replied. “Have you spoken to your father about it?”
Thomas was shaking his head even before Desmond finished the question. “You know I have not,” he said. “I’ve not spoken to my mother or my brothers when they came to visit, either. There is nothing any of them can do, except for my father. He is the only one who could possibly do anything and I have a feeling that is why he invited Northumbria to join us for sup this evening.”
“But you are not certain? Why not ask him?”
“I cannot bring myself to.”
“Why not?”
