you do not understand! You are a young, beautiful woman. We know nothing of this man, except that he looks dangerous. At least wait until Urban arrives.’
‘I cannot wait,’ Sabina said heatedly, though she kept her voice to a whisper. ‘If we dally, these two will be gone, and our last chances for aid gone with them.’
Ursula started wringing her hands. ‘Mistress, please, we can leave ourselves. We have but to—’
Sabina cut her off with a sharp shake of her head. The argument was a familiar one, which she did not intend to resume here and now. Quickly, she glanced out the window to see that the boy had dismounted as well, but it was the man who held her interest. Large, muscular and formidable, he seemed the answer to her prayers. Drawing a moaning Ursula to her side, Sabina stepped back into the shadows, her hand on a small dagger that was hardly more than an eating utensil.
It would be little use against the strength of the stranger, but Sabina did not fear for her safety. Instead, despite Ursula’s warnings and the man’s grim expression, for the first time in months she felt a glimmer of hope.
Motioning the pale-faced Peregrine towards the door of the building, Reynold drew his sword. He had never stepped so armed into a place of worship, but this was no ordinary church. Those bells had not rung themselves, and he did not wish to be cut down by robbers intent upon luring their victims inside. At his nod, Peregrine pulled open the door, and Reynold peered into the darkness. But he saw no movement within.
‘Maybe the wind struck the bells,’ Peregrine whispered.
Holding up a hand for silence, Reynold slipped into the building, but the shadowed interior appeared empty, and he heard nothing except what sounded suspiciously like a whimper from Peregrine.
‘Who is there? Show yourself.’
‘Don’t kill us! Have mercy!’ a female voice rang out, and an older woman fell before him, quaking with fear.
Reynold stepped back, startled, for she was no beggar, dressed in rags. Nor did she appear to be ill or hurt, a victim abandoned by her fellows. But she could be in league with robbers, who, as he had already discovered, went to great lengths for any spoils.
‘Who else is here?’ Reynold called, refusing to let down his guard.
‘Only I.’ It was a woman’s voice, but unlike the shrill screech of the other’s, this one was low and smooth and made Reynold think of honey. The figure that emerged from the shadows was different, too. Definitely not a cutpurse or any sort of mean female, she was dressed in the finer clothes of a lady and held herself thusly, with grace and composure.
And she was beautiful, like an image from a book or a tapestry. Golden hair fell about her shoulders, and her skin was flawless and pale. Although she was slender, her dark green gown revealed a woman’s form, and Reynold had never seen any who so approached the romantic ideal. For a long moment he simply stared, wondering whether she was some sort of vision. But Peregrine’s gasp told Reynold that he had seen her, too.
‘I am Sabina Sexton of Sexton Hall here in Grim’s End, and this is Ursula,’ she said, helping the older woman, who was still shaking, to her feet.
‘Grim’s End?’ Peregrine’s voice was little more than a squeak.
‘Yes. May I not know your name?’
‘Peregrine,’ he answered. Then he stepped into the light, so as to make a better target of himself. But before Reynold could reprimand him, he spoke again. ‘And this is Lord Reynold de Burgh.’
Reynold frowned. Had the boy not learned to keep his confidences? If they were outnumbered, they might well be held for ransom and Reynold would wring the cost out of his squire’s hide. But a few strides around the inside of the church revealed no one else. Yet why would these two be here, alone in a deserted village? Had they survived some illness that had killed the other inhabitants?
‘We are pilgrims, on our way to Bury St Edmunds,’ Peregrine said, and Reynold shot him a quelling look. But the boy appeared to be totally enthralled by the woman, and who could blame him? Fleetingly, Reynold wondered whether she was some kind of siren, luring travellers to their death in this empty place called, fittingly, Grim’s End.
‘My Lord de Burgh.’ If she was intent upon mischief or murder, it was not apparent, for Mistress Sexton called his name with a mixture of urgency and entreaty. She even moved towards him, only to step back, away from his outstretched sword. With a frown, he sheathed it, though he remained alert.
‘Obviously, you are no simple pilgrim, but a lord, and a knight as well?’
‘All the de Burghs are knights,’ Peregrine piped up, with a giddy smile that Reynold longed to wipe from his face.
‘Quiet, you,’ Reynold admonished. Although the women appeared to present no threat, the situation was hardly normal.
‘I am not familiar with these de Burghs of whom you speak, yet I am in most dire need of a knight,’ Mistress Sexton said.
Reynold slanted her a glance of surprise. Although he did not expect everyone in the country to know of Campion and his seven sons, still her reaction made him uneasy, as if she were not of this world. Dismissing such a fancy, Reynold turned towards the other woman, who looked ordinary enough, if frightened. ‘What happened here? Where are the rest of the villagers? Did some sickness kill them all?’
‘Nay, my lord,’ the one called Ursula said. She drew in a shaky breath and began ringing her hands in agitation. ‘‘Tis worse than that, more horrifying and deadly than any illness.’
Again, Reynold felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise.
‘But no challenge to a man such as this! Knights fear nothing,’ Mistress Sexton said, with a certainty that Reynold could not share.
He feared plenty, but he was not about to go into the details with these two. Were they being menaced by outlaws or brigands? Had there been a kidnapping? Murder?
‘Perhaps you should explain the situation more fully,’ Reynold said, returning his attention to Mistress Sexton. She appeared the more lucid of the two, though neither made much sense. ‘Are you and this woman all who live in the village?’
‘Nearly,’ Mistress Sexton said. ‘There are a few stalwarts who remain with us.’
Reynold frowned. Had he and Peregrine stumbled into some kind of local conflict, a battle between neighbouring landowners? He walked towards the window and glanced out, but all was still and quiet. ‘Where are the others now?’
‘Hiding! We are always hiding!’ Ursula wailed. ‘I beg you, my lord, take us away from this place.’
Reynold glanced sharply at Mistress Sexton, but she shook her head in disagreement. Still, if only a few people were here, they could hardly survive for long. Maybe the older woman was the more lucid of the two.
‘What are you hiding from?’ Peregrine asked, wide-eyed.
‘Yes, if sickness didn’t kill the others, what did?’ Reynold asked.
‘Nothing! They fled like cowards, rather than face our foe,’ Mistress Sexton said, with obvious contempt.
‘What
