stones in his shoes. He was sweating severely. Seeing Sylvanne awake he yelled out, “Master Kent, Sir! She arises from her slumber. That calls for a wee stoppage for a morsel, don’t you think?”
Kent circled back on his mount, and tipped his cap to Sylvanne. “Are you feeling better, Ma’am?”
Sylvanne made no answer. She’d awoken thinking of her husband, and only after a moment had she remembered he was dead. She looked about her, thinking, I don’t even know these men, this country.
“If we keep a brisk pace we reach home before dark tomorrow,” Kent was saying to the fat man, who went by the name Gwynn. “Wouldn’t you rather we reunite with wife and children under the sun’s light, and not arrive to a cold hearth and a dark night?”
“You forget I have no wife, Sir,” answered Gwynn.
“No, it’s you forget I do.”
“The lady looks in need of a cup of comfort, Sir.”
“Let her express her own opinion,” said Kent. He turned his horse alongside Sylvanne’s cart. “Are you in need of anything, m’Lady? A sip of water, perhaps? A stop for relief?”
“How dare you dump me in a cart like a pig carried to market,” Sylvanne said indignantly. “I want a horse.”
“I told you earlier you could have mine, m’Lady,” said Kent.
“If I may say something,” interjected fat Gwynn, “I fear my feet are not meant for such gruelling hikes as these. At this pace they’ll be bloody stumps by nightfall. Could I take her place in the cart, Sir?”
“Here’s a man who feels no shame at being carried like a pig to market,” Kent laughed. “It’s true the feet of a horseman can grow tender when he’s forced afoot, and I worry about mine, in fact. Here’s a plan: you will have your cart ride, Gwynn, and maid Mabel will join you there. I’ll take the horse she rides, and the Lady can have mine.”
And so it was. Sylvanne mounted his fine stallion and slowed it to a walk, falling in behind the cart where Gwynn and Mabel sat, for it was understood that Mabel had a role to play as chaperone; to keep things seemly she was expected to keep her Mistress in her sight at all times. Kent also kept watch, riding discreetly at the Lady’s shoulder.
They passed through golden fields where peasants gathering the harvest stopped to gape openly at them. Gwynn kept up a running commentary, remarking how the fields were lush and productive, and the soil of these lands must be very fine. “They belong to the Earl of Apthwaite, and he’s been very gracious to let us pass through unhindered,” he informed Mabel. “Of course it’s not entirely from the kindness of his heart, for young Gerald was deeply indebted to him, and now that he’s deceased, the Earl will be quick to gobble up his lands and properties as payment.”
Kent told him to shut his mouth, and not speak of such things within earshot of a Lady in mourning. Sylvanne said nothing, but seethed within. After some time they left the fields behind them and skirted dark forests where the ages of trees were measured by centuries. For a stretch the woods enclosed them, and the men and horses were required to walk single file. The cart was wider, and square-shouldered; rogue branches slapped and rapped against it, causing Gwynn to wrap his arms around Mabel protectively. “Hang tight, I’ll not let any old tree snatch you from me,” he snorted.
“It’s what you might snatch that worries me,” Mabel retorted. “Your hands have already taken liberties for which, if I were upon terra firma, I’d slap your face crimson.”
“Shall I let go then?” he asked playfully, leaning close against her. Just then a deep rut jolted the cart and nearly sprang Mabel airborne.
“No!” she cried. “Hang on to me.”
“With pleasure.”
Mabel pushed against him as if he were a lumpy armchair. “This is the furthest I’ve ever been from home, and the furthest from comfort, too,” she said. “And what’s that poking me?”
“In my breeches there’s a bone, Madame, though it’s made of flesh.”
“Keep your flesh well clothed, so that I might keep my chastity intact,” Mabel scolded him.
“Chastity? Have you no husband?”
“Never.”
“Then you’re overripe. The fates must have made this meeting, for I have lost a wife.”
Kent and Sylvanne, riding close behind, couldn’t help but listen to this banter. Kent turned to her and asked, “And you m’Lady? Ever further from your home?
Sylvanne stared straight ahead. “I have no home,”