I pushed aside the idea they might not be and fixed a smile to my face. Tonight was for merrymaking; not just because of Martinmas, but because of what, together, we’d achieved—the ale. There were five barrels full of the heady liquid awaiting purchase and more lying in troughs in the brewhouse.
Adam and Will deposited the first barrel in a corner of the shop and returned for the second. The premises might have been bare, having been stripped by Hiske, but they were clean and stools had been found as well as a few wooden mazers for potential customers—most of whom I hoped would bring their own. Extra candles waited to be lit, and plates of flowers and late-season apples and some nuts had been discreetly tucked in corners, to give the place a festive feel. One of the women had even thought to leave parchment, a quill, and bottle of ink to record sales and a small tin in which to place coin. The shutters between the office and the shop had been opened and the fire blazing in the office had taken the chill off the room. I smiled at their thoughtfulness. We’d decided not to light the hearth in the shop, not to waste wood, not until we knew we would be allowed to trade.
“Market’s finished,” said Karel, his hands and face pressed against the window. Betje and I glanced up to see the train of carts and people ambling past. The wind whipped capes and the rain provided miserable company. Heads were bowed, cloaks swam heavily on shoulders, caps and headpieces were lowered and few words exchanged. Rain appeared to have put paid to the festivities in town. Pursing my lips, I looked at the long ale-stake jutting into the street, announcing to all and sundry that a brew awaited the tasters. Once permission to sell was given, we’d attach a bushel to the end of the sign, letting people know they could buy it as well. If only the ale-conners had come earlier and given permission, these disappointed passersby might have been my first customers. With wistful eyes, I watched potential business drift out of sight and wondered at these men that they were so busy they couldn’t be prompt. A flash of anger toward the abbot and his machinations caught me off balance.
“Come,” I said to Betje and Karel, ushering them into the corridor. Hunger and a heavy gloom gripped me at the same time. I thought to satisfy one and ignore the other by returning to the company in the kitchen. I also needed to wash and change, to look respectable in order to conduct business. If the ale-conners arrived soon, I still had a few precious hours before curfew.
The twins scampered ahead and I shut the hall door, only realizing as I did that it needed to be open for Adam and Will. Pushing it back, I was startled to see two cloaked shapes by the front door, huddled under the awning outside. The ale-conners. At last!
“Betje, Karel,” I called to the two little shapes darting into the hall. “Tell Adam to make haste, the ale-conners have arrived.”
Straightening my tunic and clicking at the stains on my apron, which I removed swiftly and pushed under a stool, I went to greet them, when the door was flung wide open and upon a flurry of wind, rain, and leaves, the men stepped inside. The first was so tall he obscured the second, who struggled to close the door.
Shocked at their presumption, I froze, my hand rising to my throat. I was about to scold them when the first man pushed back his hat, revealing his face. Words caught in my throat. I knew the ale-conners, as they were long-standing citizens of Elmham Lenn, one was even an alderman. But I’d never seen this person before. I would remember him if I had. The gray light formed an aura behind him, giving his features an almost saintly glow. Long dark hair fell over his forehead, coming to rest against straight brows. Beneath these were eyes the color of midnight, of the deepest, darkest blue, like the Virgin’s robe in the church window. Sparkling, as though fevered, they traveled over me leisurely and color rose in my cheeks. I did not, would not look away. Who was this ale-conner to appraise me so? My heart began to thud painfully. Just as I had with Lord Rainford, I returned the regard, with a deliberateness that was not in character but which something about this man spurred to life. Sweeping the rest of his face, I noted the long, dark lashes, high cheekbones, a full bottom lip and strong chin. It was a face that exuded strength and mastery and drew my gaze.
Aware of how I must look, my hair escaping from its binds, tumbling over my shoulders, my tunic streaked with charcoal, if not my face, and reeking of the brewery, I self-consciously pulled at my dress. That this man needed to shave drew my disapproval. He might be striking but he had no regard for his duties or those whose homes he visited—at least I had an excuse. Contempt began to control my study of his broad shoulders, wide chest, and long, shapely legs. I was staring at his boots, wondering that a man of his station should possess such quality when I noticed that one foot was turned slightly and he leaned against a stick—a polished piece of wood with a metal band at the top, upon which he had a white-knuckled grip. Sympathy rose within me. I was about to speak when the front door banged shut and a slightly shorter man joined him.
“Anneke!”
I blinked as I was pulled into the tightest of embraces and quickly released.
“Tobias?” I said weakly, not wanting to believe. I stared at the beloved face, matured and changed but still recognizably my brother. My heart soared and with a cry of joy I returned his hug, fiercely, protectively, showering his face with kisses, hearing laughter bubble inside him. “Tobias!”
Over Tobias’s shoulder, my eyes flew to the other man. Amusement and something else, something that was neither polite nor warm but quizzical, shaped his expression.
Drawing me away slightly so he might consider me, my brother beamed. “Look at you! You’d be mistaken for a slattern in that dress. Is that an apron over there? What have you been up to?”
“You’ll never guess.” I smiled.
Tobias’s eyes slid to the barrel. “Think I might.” He held me again and I became aware that he was broader, harder, taller. This time, I pushed him away and studied him, gripping his forearms to hold him in place. Over two years had passed since I last saw him and the boy had become a man. Taller than me, he had dark curls, gray-blue eyes, and a windburned face. His teeth looked so white against his skin. His body had filled out, grown where it needed and diminished in other parts as well. Gone were the chubby cheeks, the childlike stomach. I smiled at him, tears blurring my vision, and drew him back to my breast.
“Oh, Tobias, I’ve missed you so . . .”
Then I remembered.
“Tobias . . .” I wrenched out of his arms, but kept one hand upon him. “You know about . . . Father?” I could have kicked myself for hesitating over the word.
A dark look flashed across Tobias’s face, and in that second I saw and felt pain, anger, and quickly stifled resentment. Tobias may appear a man, but like a child, he’d not yet learned to guard his emotions.
“Of course. I’m sorry, Anneke, sorry I wasn’t here for you, the twins. I came as soon as I could.”
“Don’t apologize. I’m just so glad you’re here.” I took a deep breath and noticed for the first time the state of his clothes. “What am I thinking? You’re soaked. You’ve traveled to get here. From London? The docks? Don’t answer. Come through to the hall, please. There’s a fire and food. We have to get this sodden cloak off you, dry your hat, get you some wine and—”
The other man cleared his throat and I swung back to him in horror. Here I was daring to be critical of his manners when my own were so lax. I’d completely forgotten about him.