Heat spilled into Marian’s cheeks. “Oh no, that’s not what I meant. I only wanted to know what I would wear to stanch the flow of blood.”
Sarah began the process of braiding and coiling Marian’s hair with deft fingers. “’Twill not be long, milady.” Her voice was low and soothing as though attempting to offer Marian comfort. “You are still young and will have many babies.”
Many babies? As if that was the sign of her success as a woman? Marian wanted to protest but realized she would be foolish to do so. Already she was foolish to bring up so personal a topic. “Tell me more about you, Sarah.” Time to change the subject. “How long have you been married to Thad? And do you have children?”
Again Sarah’s hands stilled.
Marian waited. Had she crossed an invisible line? She guessed nobly born women didn’t interact so personally with their maidservants. But proper or not, Marian wanted a friend, someone she could talk to. Lady Felice and her retinue disdained her. Christina had secluded herself in her chambers until she could return to St. Sepulchre. Sarah was the only other female who made any effort to engage her—though she likely had no choice.
Marian wished she could assure Sarah that she wasn’t a noblewoman, that there weren’t any differences between them, that in the eyes of God they were equal. But she realized it would be hundreds of years yet until class distinctions held less sway.
Marian tried again. “Thad seems like a kind husband.”
“He is very good, milady.” Sarah’s hands resumed their grooming.
“And he’s a good father?”
Several slow strokes of the comb followed before Sarah answered. “I wist that he would be. But I have not yet borne him any wee ones.”
During Marian’s years as an intern before working with Mercer Pharmaceuticals, she’d spent part of her time testing infertility drugs, and now her mind raced with all the possibilities of medicines. If only she could recommend something to Sarah. Of course, the problem might not lie with Sarah at all, but with Thad. But without modern labs or medicine, there was no way to know. Or to help them.
“I lose my courses,” Sarah continued slowly. “I oft feel the flutter of the new life. But my womb will not hold the babe for long.”
Sarah was plagued with miscarriages? Marian’s heart fell. She searched for words of comfort, but before she could think of something to say, a commotion outside the open window at the front of the manor caused both of them to startle. The voices were boisterous and angry and reminded Marian of the disturbance she’d heard the day the peasants had attacked St. Sepulchre.
Sarah rushed to the window and peered out before pressing a shaking hand against her mouth.
“What is it, Sarah?” Marian rose from her dressing table.
“Rebels are here, milady.” Sarah’s voice was hollow with fear. “A very large group of them at the gate.”
Marian crossed to stand beside Sarah peering at the growing horde. The shouting and the clamor increased, and Marian prayed the gate would hold the peasants at bay. As some began to climb over the wall, Marian hoped the men Will had left behind would be able to fight them off.
But as more peasants dropped over the wall, she could see that the guards would soon be outnumbered and cut down. What if rather than fighting, they opened the gate, allowed the peasants inside, and attempted to broker peace?
As if one of Will’s guards had drawn the same conclusion, the gate began to swing open from the inside. Within seconds, the peasants swarmed through, shouting their victory.
For a moment, all Marian could hear were the screams of the nuns trapped inside the priory as the peasants attacked. What would they do here at Chesterfield Park? Loot and destroy? Rape and murder?
She glanced around the room, wanting to find a hiding place, somewhere she could be out of harm’s way. But as swiftly as the desire came, she just as swiftly swept it aside. She was the lady of the house. She had Robert and Phillip to consider along with all the others in her care. If she didn’t attempt to make peace with the peasants in Will’s absence, who would?
Marian strode toward the door. “Where are Robert and Phillip?”
“They were with their tutor.” Sarah raced after her.
“I must keep them safe, Sarah.” Her chest pounded with the need to go to the boys. They would surely be frightened. If she could whisk them down to the vault and hide them there, they would be out of harm’s way until Will returned.
If Will returned . . .
What if he’d ridden into this mass of marauding peasants? What if she’d sent him out to meet his death?
A shudder crept up her back. He would have been here, if not for her insistence on taking the ampullae to Canterbury today. He would have known what to do to calm the angry men, or at the very least, he and his men at arms would have been present to defend the place and protect his sons.
Now, everyone was in danger. Because of her.
“Robert? Phillip?” Her voice and footsteps echoed with desperation in the long corridor. She picked up her skirts, annoyed with the thick material for tangling in her legs. As she descended the stairs and stumbled into the great hall, she stopped short at the sight that met her.
In the middle of the room, two rebels held Robert and Phillip with knives pressed to their throats.
~ 21 ~
DESOLATION AND DESTRUCTION met Will wherever he rode. The low burn of anger in his chest had fanned into a fire by the time he finished in town and started toward home, his squires close on his trail.
Didn’t the rebels know their raiding and looting would only hurt them? Didn’t they understand that abandoning their labor in the fields would bring hardships and starvation once winter settled?
At least workers had begun repairs at St. Sepulchre and most of the nuns were restored. He’d given the prioress a donation toward the rebuilding of the gates, gaining her promise that this time she would have them constructed of iron and kept locked at all times.
When he’d made his way to the cathedral, the devastation within had been worse—especially in the archbishop’s chambers. He’d heard that the Bishop of Canterbury had not been present in town when Wat Tyler and John Ball had entered. If so, the bishop’s head would have been at the end of a pike at the forefront of their calamitous parade.
Will had received no opposition at the cathedral since the monks were distracted and busy bringing order back to the chaos. Even so, he instructed his squires to stand guard at the entrance whilst he went below.
He was surprised to find Marian’s hiding spot exactly where she’d described it. As he stuffed the ampullae and strange note she’d penned to her father into the small space, he wasn’t able to halt the barrage of questions. How had Marian known about this hiding place? How was her father involved? Where was she really from?
He didn’t want to have any doubts about her, wanted to trust her completely. But as before, he had a premonition something was not as it ought to be. He’d intended to be patient and allow her to reveal her past in her own timing. However, maybe he needed to probe for more information. At least then, he could prepare himself for repercussions that might arise.
Amidst his inner warring, his pulse warmed at the remembrance of her standing before him that morn, the early light reflecting off her bed-tousled hair, highlighting its deep brown and red. Of course, rushing out to him in her thin shift and uncovered head had been naught short of scandalous.