Page 2 of Lion and the Lamb: Easter

True, they were supposed to have left on their journey two days prior, but Rachael kept finding excuses to stay here. Her last hope now was that she could put off going to confession long enough that by the time they actually left, it would be too late to make it to Porth Enys in time to marry the man before Lent began.

“Agnes, if I can stall long enough, it will be tomorrow, the Day of Ashes. Then it will be the beginning of Lent.” A smile pursed the corners of her mouth, as she mulled over her sly plan in her head.

“My lady, no weddings can take place during Lent,” Agnes reminded her. “That is why you need to hurry.”

“Nay, Agnes. That is why I need to slow down. No weddings and no coupling during Lent,” she reported proudly to her handmaid. “With any luck, my father will return by Easter. Then I’ll beg him to release me from this ridiculous alliance my uncle has made. Hopefully, I will never have to marry the vile Lord Hatchet at all.”

A group of children ran by kicking a ball and pushing each other, playing roughly. Rachael’s head snapped up and she called out to her eight-year-old son who was part of the group. “Drew, be careful! You might fall and hurt yourself.” Her son ignored her as usual, and continued to follow the boys, wanting to be accepted. He was the smallest of the group and often the others teased him relentlessly.

“Lady Rachael, you are too protective of the boy, and need to let him grow up.” Agnes put her hand on Rachael’s back and ushered her over to the well to talk in private. “He is no longer a baby.”

“Aye, but Drew is my only child and all I have.” Rachael’s eyes remained on her son. Sadly, he was the runt of the litter, and different from all the other boys. His hair was blond like hers, so light that it was almost white. The other boys called him toad head instead of towhead because they thought it was funny. It wasn’t funny; it was harsh and mean, and only made her son cry. Andrew was skinny and small, and she could only hope that he’d grow to be a strong man someday.

“Enough about the boy. We need to talk about your wedding,” said Agnes. “Don’t you think you’re overreacting a little where Lord Hatchet is concerned? After all, we don’t really know that he is vile at all.”

“His name is Hatchet, Agnes,” said Rachael with wide eyes. Just the name to her sounded dangerous and bloody. “Remember, his family killed many of our people through the years in battles.”

“That is an exaggeration.” Agnes raised her chin. “True, your father and his father had a feud going for years, but your side killed some of his as well.”

“What started the feud, Agnes?” Rachael wondered, never really knowing the details.

“I hate to admit it, but it was over a simple thing – a missing shipment of wool I believe.”

“Wool?” asked Rachael, thinking it was something more important than that.

“Aye. Your father paid for fine wool, but never received it. Lord Hatchet runs a shipping company and said he sent it, but your father claims he never did.”

“Then that is proof enough that the Hatchets cannot be trusted,” said Rachael. “That is another reason why I don’t want to marry Sir Lionel. I’ve already had a bad marriage, and don’t need another that might end up being worse.”

“This alliance is important because it’ll finally end the feud,” Agnes tried to tell her. “It is a good thing, my lady. You have to carry through with it.”

“My father wouldn’t agree. I know he wouldn’t.” Rachael stubbornly clung to her beliefs.

“It’ll be fine. I’ll bet you and Lord Lionel will be very happy together. I actually heard from the castle’s strumpet that he is a very handsome man.”

“Agnes!” Rachael glared at her handmaid. “I don’t want to hear about strumpets and my betrothed in the same breath. That doesn’t make me feel any better.”

“I’m sorry,” she apologized, her gaze dropping to the ground. “I suppose I shouldn’t have told you where that information came from.”

“My uncle won’t tell me a thing about the man I am to marry. All I know is that his family owns a small castle and shipping firm that overlooks a fishing village. I’ve heard his holdings are so tiny that the nobles refer to the place as Mousehole.” Rachael sat on the edge of the well and stared down into the water, letting out a deep sigh. “I’ve managed to find that out from the alewives who always have loose tongues.”

“What else did you hear?” Agnes peered at her with narrowed eyes.

“Nothing good, unfortunately.” Rachael played with the handle to the wheel that lowered the bucket into the well. “They said Lord Lionel’s sickly wife died over five years ago, and that he went mad.” She looked up at Agnes with wide eyes. “It’s said he kills anyone who rubs him the wrong way. He has a horrid temper and all he wants to do is fight. That’s probably why he hasn’t married again.”

“Mayhap it was by his choice to remain single,” said Agnes, trying to make Rachael feel better, but only making things worse. “He could still be in mourning over his wife.”

Rachael’s eyes met with the older woman’s gaze and she shook her head. “Still in mourning? For five years? That is absurd.”

“Well, you haven’t remarried either, and it’s been nearly six years for you,” Agnes told her, making her point clear.

“That’s different.” Rachael got off the well and brushed off her skirt. “I was pregnant at a very young age, and my marriage wasn’t a good experience at all. Besides, face it, no man wants to marry a woman five and twenty years of age who already has a son. They all want virgins who will bear only their own heirs. I don’t understand why Lord Hatchet even agreed to marry me in the first place.”

“Well, it seems to me that your betrothed doesn’t mind your age or that you have a son.”

“Probably only because he can’t get anyone else to marry him,” Rachael mumbled under her breath, thinking it was odd that the man should agree to this alliance at all.

“I don’t want to sound harsh, Lady Rachael, but this might be your last chance to ever have a husband. As you said, you’re no longer a young girl.”