“I am Sir William Durham.” Menace radiated from his body and tone, making him a formidable foe. From the exclamations and whispered oaths, the peasants clearly knew Will’s name as well as his reputation. “I mean you no ill will. Let me pass.”
The man with the dirk in his foot groaned, but no one came to his aid. While Marian didn’t want the man to suffer needlessly, she hoped the inaction meant the others were sufficiently afraid of Will and would do as he commanded.
“Whose side are you on?” One of the peasants stepped forward, a gray-bearded man wielding a two-pronged haymaking fork. “Ours or theirs?”
Before Will could answer, horse hooves pounded behind them. A moment later a rider reined in on the outskirts of the circle of peasants. “Hold your weapons!”
In the faint starlight, Marian recognized Will’s companion from earlier. Thad. But he was alone now, without Christina. As if noticing the same, Will visibly tensed.
“Sir William Durham is my master.” Thad’s voice rang out. He’d thrown back his hood, revealing a humble but earnest expression. “I’ve pledged him my fealty. He is fair and honest and kind, not only to me, but to all his vassals.”
Another murmuring arose.
“He’s renowned for his feats of valor in battle.” Thad spoke hastily, clearly attempting to sway the group before hostility broke out. “We would do well to have a friend in this strong warrior rather than a foe.”
Marian moved out of Will’s shadow to his side. His raised sword remained unswerving, ready to cleave anyone in half if they made the wrong move. From their frozen stances, they must have realized that too.
“If he is on our side,” called a younger man with a bold white scar running the length of his face, “then why is he helping a nun?”
For a heartbeat, Thad didn’t answer. And suddenly Marian was relieved Will’s servant had the foresight to leave Christina behind.
“She is my betrothed.” Will broke the silence. His jaw flexed, and Marian marveled that he could state a bold-faced lie so calmly.
“A nun, your betrothed?” The same man released a guffaw.
“I’m not a nun.” Marian stepped forward, deciding if Will could act, she could add authenticity to his fabrication. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see him shake his head curtly, as though cautioning her to stay silent. But she pretended not to notice him. “I was staying at St. Sepulchre Priory until our wedding could be arranged.”
At her pronouncement, the men eyed her with suspicion and grumbled to each other.
Apparently she needed to be more convincing. She drew in a fortifying breath and spoke again. “Since Sir William expects to leave for France any day, we hope to be married as soon as possible. So if you will let us be on our way, we would appreciate it.”
The volume among the peasants escalated. Thad exchanged a look with Will, a grave one that said the two would fight their way free if need be.
What had she said wrong? A shiver raced up her spine.
“If ’tis a wedding you want,” shouted the older man with the hay fork, “then we durst give you one.”
The others rumbled their agreement, and within seconds, their voices turned boisterous—a new sense of excitement inciting them.
This wasn’t going well. In fact, it was going from bad to worse. She tried to catch Will’s eye, nodding at him to say something—anything—to make things right. But he wasn’t looking at her, was instead exchanging terse words with Thad.
“Father John’s up the road.” The proclamation echoed in the night air. “Methinks he can perform the wedding!”
The men cheered at the suggestion.
“No!” Her protest resounded above the commotion. As the men quieted and stared at her again, her mind raced to find an excuse. “It’s just that we want to be married in the presence of family—and—and in a chapel.”
“Are you saying we’re not your family, milady?” The question was drenched with spite from a man on the perimeter of the crowd. “That we’re not good enough to be witnessing your vows?”
Before she could think of a way to get herself out of this new dilemma, Will spoke. “Do not heed her words. She is only a woman and knows not what she says.”
Irritation rolled in to replace her panic. Although she didn’t know him well, he hadn’t struck her as being chauvinistic. Was she wrong?
As though sensing her ire, he grasped her arm and guided her so that she was out of sight behind him. “I welcome you to witness our exchange of vows. All of you. But once I have wed the woman, I shall take her home to bed straightaway.”
The peasants burst into raucous laughter and lewd jesting.
With a fresh burst of exasperation, Marian jerked to free herself from his grip. His gentle squeeze stopped her. Was that a signal he was only playacting? She surely hoped so. Whatever the case, she knew he was asking her to cooperate if they hoped to leave this group peacefully.
Amidst more laughter, the men lowered their weapons, their animosity dispelling as they started down the road.
Will retrieved his dirk from the foot of the peasant who’d kicked her. After sheathing his weapons, Will turned to her and encircled her waist. As he lifted her toward the saddle, he leaned in, his body brushing hers. “This is the safest course.”
His nearness, the hard length of him, the strength of his hold—everything about him made her weak so that she could only nod, somehow rendered mute. Then he gently deposited her in the saddle sideways. He didn’t join her atop the horse, but instead led the magnificent creature by the reins as he followed the peasants, their voices raised in song and laughter.
Leading his horse too, Thad walked alongside Will. Every now and then, they exchanged terse words, as if arguing. But Marian couldn’t hear anything above the ruckus the peasants were making.
After walking a short distance, they came upon what appeared to be an encampment of peasants not far from Canterbury’s city walls. Several large fires crackled and spewed flames and sparks high in the air. Men loitered around them, the loot from their raids strewn in piles and spilling from bags. Food, wine, garments, belts, blankets.
The men were eating and drinking in celebration. The waft of roasting meat mingled with the heavy, almost stinging, aroma of smoke. By the light of the fire, Marian was able to distinguish the clothing—the long hose that hugged their legs, the tunics that fell to below their thighs, and the strange variety of hats including one that resembled a hood with a long dangling tail.
A few women mingled about, tending large pots or turning spits. Most appeared older and haggard, as worn as the frayed tunics and cloaks they wore.
Everything fascinated Marian and yet sent trepidation through her at the same time. The sights, sounds, and scents told her this was real, that she wasn’t simply dreaming this in her coma-induced state.
She remained on Will’s horse as he stalked off with his purposeful stride. Thad held the reins of both horses, and she wanted to ask him where Christina was. But she prayed that soon enough they’d be on their way, and she’d be reunited with the young nun. Just as soon as Will managed to find a way to convince these peasants that a wedding wouldn’t be necessary . . .
As she waited, her backside grew stiff, and she shivered in the dropping temperatures. She hugged her arms over the habit and shift underneath. What she wouldn’t give for the smooth leather seats and heated interior of the Bentley. And the speed. Even if Bojing’s driving had been crazy, at least he’d been able to whisk them away from danger.