more, but her sister Armes tugged at her arm, pulling her away from the high table, the tinkling of bells signalling their passage from the hall.
‘Do we even know this Peregrine?’ Nicholas demanded.
‘Better a squire than no one,’ Campion said, obviously unwilling to debate the merits of the youth. And what was the point? No matter who Reynold had taken with him, they were only two people travelling alone on often treacherous roads.
‘What pilgrimage will he make?’ Joy asked. Durham, Glastonbury, Walsingham and Canterbury were far away, Santiago de Compostela and Rome even further. ‘Surely he isn’t going to the Holy Land?’ The thought of that longest and most dangerous of journeys stole her breath, for she remembered when King Edward, then a prince, had marched in a crusade on those foreign lands.
Silence reigned between the three de Burghs as Campion shook his head, unable to provide an answer. Joy studied her husband, but he gave no outward signs of distress, only wore that thoughtful expression she knew so well.
‘You can send someone after him,’ she suggested.
‘I’ll go,’ Nicholas said, eagerly.
But Campion shook his head.
‘He must do what he must do.’
Joy knew that her husband wasn’t infallible, but the certainty in his voice comforted her and she reached for his hand. Although Reynold was not as grim and bitter as she had once thought him, he was the unhappiest of Campion’s seven sons, an anomaly in a household so prosperous and loving. Perhaps his father hoped that this journey, though perilous, might bring Reynold what had eluded him so far in life.
Joy silently wished it so.
Seeing the fork in the road ahead, Reynold slowed his mount, uncertain which route to follow. Where was he going?
‘Where are we going?’
The sound of someone voicing his own silent question startled Reynold, and he turned his head to see the dark-haired youth the l’Estranges had pressed on him. Lost in his own thoughts, he had passed the hours since his departure in silence and had nearly forgotten about the boy. Peregrine, was it? Accustomed to the chatter of a train when travelling, Reynold wondered if his companion was mute, but then he remembered the words that had spurred him to leave.
With a frown, Reynold assessed the boy, who, though dressed simply, was clean and neat. Reynold had no idea why the l’Estranges had decided this Peregrine was fit to be his squire, but he was accustomed to choosing his own.
A proper squire would be of a good family well known to him, courageous and honourable. Many squires began as pages, serving at table before being allowed to clean a knight’s equipment. He must know about weapons, hunting and tournaments in addition to all that would be taken for granted, such as proper manners, music and dancing. And any squire to a de Burgh would have to be able to read, with wide-ranging interests and a thirst for knowledge.
Had Peregrine learned these things in the household of a pair of eccentric old women? Reynold doubted it. And even if the youth were well prepared, Reynold had no business leading him into the unknown, travelling to where he knew not.
‘My destination does not concern you, for I am travelling on alone. You may ride back to Campion,’ Reynold said.
‘I can’t, my lord.’
Was the fellow incapable of finding his way already? ‘Just turn around and follow the road behind us,’ Reynold said. ‘‘Twill lead you back home.’
The boy shook his head. ‘No, my lord, for the Mistresses l’Estrange told me not to return without you.’
Reynold grunted. Did the silly women think that young Peregrine was equipped to watch over a hardened knight? More likely, it would be the other way around, the lad becoming a nuisance the further they travelled.
‘Then I release you from service. Find the nearest village and present yourself to the manor’s lord,’ Reynold said.
Again, the boy shook his head. He appeared neither alarmed nor angry, just calmly insistent. ‘I am bound to the l’Estranges.’
‘Then make your way back to their manor and other duties there,’ Reynold suggested. Although he had never been to the l’Estrange holding, he knew Bridgid’s aunts lived on the edge of Campion lands, a journey that should not be too long or dangerous for the youth.
‘I could not. I am bound by my vow, my lord.’
Annoyed as he was by the boy’s refusals, Reynold had to respect such loyalty, especially coming from an untutored lad. He could insist, of course, but there was always the possibility that Peregrine would try to follow him, falling into some sort of mischief on his own. At least the youth wasn’t the sort of companion who would chatter constantly along the road, Reynold mused, which brought him back to the original question.
Where were they going?
Although unwilling to admit as much to the boy, Reynold had no idea. When he had decided to leave Campion, he’d had a vague notion of joining Edward’s army. But somehow fighting against the Welsh didn’t seem right when his brother’s wife had inherited a manor house there. And it was whispered that Bridgid possessed the kind of powers that you didn’t want turned against you. The l’Estranges were all … strange, and Reynold frowned as he remembered their actions this morning.
‘How did your mistresses know that I was leaving?’ he asked.
‘I don’t know, my lord. However, it is rumoured that they hold the secrets of divination, so perhaps they became aware of your departure through such means. A quest, they called it,’ Peregrine said.
Reynold snorted at such nonsense. ‘I have no quest or mission of any kind to fulfil.’ He slanted a glance at the boy. ‘This journey bears no resemblance to the romances, if that is what you are thinking. We travel without the usual train and even pilgrims face dangers of which you know nothing. I will not be responsible for you undertaking such a trip, vow or no vow.’
But Peregrine did not appear daunted. In fact, the boy flashed a grin that made his eagerness obvious. ‘Who would not seek adventure, if given the chance?’ he asked, as though questioning Reynold’s sanity.
Reynold’s lips curved at the challenge, for he and his brothers would once have asked the same. And for the first time this day, his heart felt a little lighter. He had seen himself as a lone wanderer, an outcast even, though of his own choosing, but this youth might prove to be a welcome companion.
‘Then let us be off,’ Reynold said. He urged Sirius towards the right fork, away from the road that led to his brother Dunstan’s holding. This route, as Peregrine had pointed out so cheerfully, led to something new, though unlike the boy, Reynold was not looking for adventure. Indeed, he hoped not to meet with any. Or anyone.
And yet, they had not gone far along the new track before they were hailed. Squinting into the distance, Reynold saw a horse standing ahead, alone with its rider. As they neared, Reynold realised it carried both a man and a young boy. They were neatly, if not richly dressed, and looked harmless, except for a sturdy wooden staff that protruded from their pack.
‘Good morning, sire,’ the man said, inclining his head. ‘Where are you bound?’
‘We
