Page 28 of The Forgotten
Gabe finally got into the driver’s seat and turned to smile at Emma and Quinn. “Are you two ready?”
“Yes,” Emma said again. She waved to Mari, who was standing on the stoop with Alastair.
“And off we go, Princess Emma,” Gabe said as the car slid away from the curb.
“Off we go,” Emma cried regally, Mari and Alastair already forgotten.
TWENTY-SEVEN
JANUARY 1347
Dunwich, Suffolk
Avery woke up with a start, unsure of what woke him. His cell at the priory was as dark as a tomb and just as cold. An icy draft seeped through the shutters, and the wind outside sounded like the howling of a wolf. Avery shifted on his narrow cot, suddenly aware of what it was that jolted him out of sleep. He was aroused. The feeling was so unexpected that he nearly laughed out loud at the irony of it. He’d spent the past twelve years learning to deny every desire. It had been hard at first, especially since he thought of Petra often and couldn’t help remembering the weight of her breast in his hand or the silky skin of her inner thighs. Those first two years had been torture, but eventually, the physical memories faded and Avery applied himself to suppressing his every physical need. He fasted for days, spent hours on his knees, and looked at every comely woman as if she was nothing more than God’s vessel and not an object of desire. He thought he’d won his battle against emotion and lust, but one hour with Petra and he was undone. His body throbbed with need, and his mind whirled with thoughts, images of Petra as bright and beguiling as a stained glass window depicting the Virgin Mary herself.
Avery flipped onto his stomach with a groan. He was in agony. His body had betrayed him, and so had his mind. All he wanted was to go to Petra, tell her how much he still loved her, and take her in his arms. He wanted to remove the barbet that hid her hair and run his fingers through the golden tresses that had been like a field of ripe wheat the last time he’d seen it. He wanted tocup her breasts and slip his hands beneath her skirts. He wanted to feel her arousal and know that he was in a position to satisfy it.
Petra had changed since he’d last seen her. How could she not have? Her figure was fuller after carrying three children. It was no longer the coltish body of her girlhood, and her breasts looked larger than the pale, firm globes he’d suckled so long ago. But to him, she was even more beautiful. She was no longer a willowy girl but a grown woman ripe for the picking. He could smell her scent when they’d dined together. She had that intoxicating womanly smell that drew him in like a moth to a flame. He wanted her so badly it hurt, and he groaned with frustrated desire, knowing he wouldn’t be able to get back to sleep.
Avery got out of bed and sank to his knees. The stone floor was icy and hard, and his knees cried out in protest as he put all his weight on them and began to pray for forgiveness, guidance, and strength. Avery prayed for nearly an hour, but God in his wisdom did not see fit to hear him. Instead of devotion and purity of thought, all he felt was molten desire coursing through his veins. It would not abate, and he couldn’t get the image of Petra out of his mind.
Avery finally gave up and lay back down. He hadn’t touched himself in twelve years, not even when bathing. He avoided any physical contact which would remind him what it felt like to feel pleasure. He thought he’d won, his body becoming nothing more than a hollow husk belonging to God, but at this moment it belonged to Petra, even if she didn’t know it. Avery trembled as his hand slid downward, his fingers closing around his shaft. The feeling was exquisite, and he went to work, exploding in a storm of sensation, his body going limp with release, his mind blessedly empty of remorse.
TWENTY-EIGHT
FEBRUARY 1347
Dunwich, Suffolk
Petra smiled to herself before she even opened her eyes to the new day. She felt wickedly decadent for staying abed for an extra hour, but it was Candlemas, and her employer had given her the day off. Petra hadn’t had a full day off since she started working for Lady Blythe, and she relished the prospect of spending it with her family. Candlemas had always been her favorite feast day, not only for religious reasons, but because it came at a time of year that was dark, cold, and barren. Candlemas, or the Purification of the Virgin, was a time of rebirth, a turning point between the waning of winter and the approach of spring and the start of the new planting. Petra didn’t give much thought to planting, but she did associate Candlemas with the coming of spring. Ever since she was a little girl, her mother always said,
If Candlemas be fair and bright,
Winter has another flight,
If Candlemas brings clouds and rain,
Winter will not come again.
Petra couldn’t see what type of day dawned for Candlemas, since there was no window in her loft, but she hoped it was a cloudy one. She would gladly sacrifice this feast day to rain if spring made an early appearance this year. The children would be bitterly disappointed though. They had been looking forward to this day since their bleak Christmas celebration and hoped to enjoy all that Candlemas had to offer. They’d been chattering andmaking plans for the past week, and Petra encouraged them in their planning, glad to see them happy and animated after several months of subdued acceptance.
Even Cyril had enjoyed Candlemas when he was alive. He didn’t much care about the candle-blessing at the church or the procession afterwards, but he did enjoy the games on the green and the performances by the mummers and minstrels. Cyril was a powerful man and always eagerly participated in hammer-throwing contests and wrestling, proud to show off his brute strength. For the past two years, he’d even felt benevolent enough on Candlemas to allow Edwin to try his hand at throwing the hammer, despite the fact that Edwin was still too young to officially enter the contest. The hammer didn’t fly far, but Cyril was so pleased with his own results that he almost praised Edwin for his efforts and promised that he’d help him practice so that he could enter the competition once he was of age. Edwin had been desperate to win Cyril’s approval, and Petra was pleasantly surprised when he didn’t mention the competition at all this time, no longer worried about making Cyril proud.
Petra slid out of bed with a sigh of resignation, dressed hastily, and made her way downstairs. Maude already had the fire going, and it was pleasantly warm and snug. Fragrant broth bubbled over the open flame, and yesterday’s pot of porridge stood off to the side, the pot heating without the contents burning or overcooking. Maude poured Petra a cup of broth and busied herself with setting out the bowls and spoons on the table in preparation for breakfast.
“Get the children up,” Maude said as she hefted the pot of porridge out of the hearth and set it on the table. “We have much to do this day.”
Petra didn’t argue. Her mother had her own set routine for most feast days, and Petra allowed her to take the lead. Maude had so few things she enjoyed and looked forward to. Petra knew exactly why Maude was in a rush for the children to rise. She already had the cooking stone warming by the hearth and would begin to mix the batter for the pancakes as soon as they’d eaten, eager to have them finished before they left for Mass. Using flour for Candlemas pancakes was an extravagance this year, but Petra didn’t object. The flat, round pancakes represented the sun because of their shape and golden color, and she couldn’t bear to deny the children this special treat. Perhaps they wouldn’t make as many this year, just enough to mark the occasion. They’d eat a pancake each as they came off the stone, still hot and fresh, and then have one more after they came back in the evening, having spent the day outdoors enjoying all the entertainment that Dunwich had to offer.
When the children were small, they all went to the green together, but now that the children were older, they’d been hatching their own plans, so Petra and Maude would most likely be on their own, at least until supper. Petra gulped down the last of her broth and went to wake the children.
Ora jumped straight out of bed, eager for the day to begin, and hopped from foot to foot on the cold floor as she pulled on her hose and stuck her feet into her shoes before stepping into her skirt and lacing her bodice. Elia, always the last to wake up, pulled the blanket over her head, hoping for a few more minutes of sleep. Edwin rubbed his eyes and ran a hand through his hair as he sat up in bed, his eyes going straight to his grandmother as he reached beneath his pillow.
“Don’t even think of putting that on,” Maude growled at Edwin, who was studying a bear mask with ill-hidden glee. “’Tis a pagan rite, and you won’t be participating in it. Not now, not ever.”
“Oh, come now, Grandmother. ’Tis nothing pagan about it,” Edwin protested as he set aside the mask. “All the lads have one. And it’s just to mark the awakening of the bears, nothing more. Alfric made this for me. Just look how lifelike it is.” Edwin held up the mask, showing off to all proudly.
Maude frowned and was about to say something when Petra cut in. “There’s no harm in it, Mother. What’s pagan about bears leaving their dens? Let the lads have their fun this day. They’ve earned it.”
