Page 8 of Wed By Proxy

The second beadle was still staring dumbfounded at her, as though she’d grown a second head.

Then the female, piped up. “I want my horse,” she said in a loud, carrying voice.

The first beadle gasped at her temerity. “Your horse?”

“Yes, mine,” she agreed. “The carter said, ‘if you want me to stop beating him, he’s yours for a sovereign.’”

“You paid the carter a sovereign for his horse?” asked Guy turning his head sharply.

“I did.”

He turned to the beadles. “She paid for the horse,” he said succinctly. “So, why did you say she stole it?”

“Well,” huffed the first beadle. “Seemed an unlikely tale. Some gutter urchin payin’…” he trailed off, realizing the flaw in his logic.

“Well, she’s not a gutter urchin, is she?” said Guy coldly, driving the point home.

“Um…”

“It seems we made a mistake, gentlemen,” said Thurston in a conciliatory manner.

“What about the assault?” asked the second beadle. “What about that?”

“Assault?” echoed her companion indignantly. “That swindler took our sovereign and then tried to take back the horse as well. He’s the thief!”

“That’s right,” she took up the argument spiritedly. “We only tried to defend our own rightful property from that hateful man.” She turned to young Thurston. “I trust you confiscated the animal?”

“I … believe so,” he said, turning quizzically to his companions for confirmation.

“Then I should like it returned to me upon the morrow,” she said promptly. The beadles both looked incensed at being ignored from proceedings, but dared not say anything. They were quite purple in the face. “And I should like that carter clapped in the stocks,” she added. “To teach the ruffian a lesson.”

Thurston laughed, and it dawned on Guy that the young merchant in all likelihood thought she was some fancy-piece, past or present. Perhaps, he thought she had called in a favor from him when they had slipped out of the room. That, or performed him some service.

Guy clenched his fists. He didn’t like the appreciative way the merchant was eyeing her. Far too boldly. But the fact was, there was a reason Guy had not announced her true identity, and it was a good one. He did not yet know how he was going to handle the sudden appearance of this alleged wife. He needed to play a close hand, and letting her claims be known to all and sundry, would not be wise. The downside was, that by not disclosing who she claimed to be, he was leaving her position open to speculation, but what else could he do? He had no intention of rashly saddling himself with her, when he hardly knew what to make of her.

“I trust that concludes the matter,” he said facing everyone down. He chose to take the cough and the shuffling of feet that greeted his words as all the assent he needed.

“After the return of my property of course,” she chimed in, the only person who seemed oblivious to his foul mood. “You have my knife and belt, as well as my horse,” she reminded them.

“It will be returned to you in due course,” said Thurston smoothly, when he realized his companions were momentarily quite incapable of speech.

She beamed at the young merchant, and Guy realized his mood could take a worse turn. As he saw his visitors out, he could feel Firmin’s eyes boring into him, and forced himself to turn and face his steward.

“Have fires lit in the south tower.” He looked at him meaningfully. The south tower was fortified and all the doors had locks. Firmin’s frown grew deeper, but he nodded curtly and left the hall to see rooms were prepared for them. “Your name?” he asked, barely looking at her face. Still, he could quite plainly see her surprised dismay at his query.

“It’s Mathilde, my lord,” she hesitated as if to say more, but deciding against it.

“And I’m Robin Geddings, second son of Sir Edgar Geddings,” said her friend, stepping to her side. His eyes were steely. “Lady Martindale’s protector.” The words were flung at him as if issuing challenge. Guy just about managed not to react to the use of her title. For two pins, Guy realized, this young buck would tangle horns with him, despite his youth. By his estimation he could not be above fourteen. Robin held his gaze, and Guy nodded with grudging respect.

“Robin is a good and friend and true,” said Mathilde hurriedly, and laid her hand on her protector’s sleeve in a conciliatory gesture.

“I’m sure,” responded Guy, remembering the lad’s dire threat to kill him. He smiled grimly. It seemed she could command respect from green, inexperienced boys. But he was no child, and he would not fall such an easy victim to her wiles.

“We’re sorry to rouse your household so late in the night, my lord” she said politely, once she realized he was not going to offer more by way of conversation.

Guy glanced about him. The two servants had made themselves scarce, no doubt to fetch them washing water and lay their fires. Only the three of them stood in the hall. Was she being sarcastic? Perhaps she thought by rights, all the staff should be lined up to welcome her? “Tonight is the solstice eve,” he growled unexpansively. “The household is abed.”

“Solstice eve?” She said her eyes widening. “I had not realized. When one is travelling, one loses track of the days.” She twisted her hands together nervously, before continuing. “We celebrate the midwinter in the south. Some of our customs are a little different I believe.”