Page 61 of While Angels Slept
Cantia eyed Hunt as the boy wiped tears from his face. “I do,” she said. “But I enjoy sewing.”
The man simply nodded, throwing the topaz silk over his shoulderas he continued to rummage around in the bag. “My mother used to sew, and sew very well,” he told her. “I developed an eye for fine work. Based on your wardrobe alone, I believe that you are Winterton’s wife. It takes money to purchase what you have.”
Cantia didn’t know what to say to that. She pushed herself to her knees and crawled over to the pallet where Hunt was sitting. She sat beside him, wrapping her arms around the boy to comfort him.
“What are you going to do?” she asked.
The man finished with one satchel and began digging around in the other. Then he looked up at her, flashing that toothy grin. “Steal your clothing.”
Cantia didn’t say anything. She wasn’t entirely sure what was happening, so she looked down at Hunt, kissed him on the forehead, and reached out a hand to hold on to Arabel, who was still lying there, weeping.
“Please,” she said after a moment. “Can you not see that this child is very ill? We must return to Rochester.”
The man glanced over his shoulder at the young girl still lying on the pallet. She was very tiny, very thin, and seemed to be unable to use her arms or legs very well. He shouldn’t have cared about it but he was curious nonetheless. In that curiosity was a fraction of inherent pity.
“What is wrong with her?” he asked.
Cantia held Arabel’s hand tightly. “She was born this way,” she said softly. “She is crippled and I am sure the abduction last night has severely weakened her. She cannot take such excitement. Please… have mercy and return us.”
The man’s rummaging slowed to a halt. He looked at the trio on the pallet, seeing their scared and tired faces. For the first time that morning, he began to show signs of uncertainty and perhaps even remorse.
“My name is Gillywiss,” he finally said. “These people,mypeople, live here because one way or another, we have been chased or scattered from our homes by men such as your husband. Why should I showmercy to you?”
Cantia wasn’t without pity. She knew that those who did not live in castles were subject to terrible things. She knew that times were dark and desperate.
“Because the children and I have done nothing to harm you,” she said softly. “We are innocent, just as you are innocent. Would you punish us for things beyond our control?”
“No one is innocent,” he snapped softly. “Your husband is evil, lady.”
“My husband is a good man,” she replied, anger now joining the other emotions she was feeling. “He is kind and generous and sweet, and he cares very much for his family.”
“He is a murderer!”
“He is commanded by those in power and does what he is told to do,” she fired back. “He does not murder for the sake of murdering. He is part of this terrible war that is going on, brother against brother, where all men suffer.Ihave suffered. I have suffered great loss because of this foolish contention between Stephen and Matilda, so do not think to lecture me on the evils of battle, for I have lived them.”
He was not convinced. “What have you possibly suffered?”
She looked away from him. “Death,” she muttered. “The death of someone very close to me. Never imagine you are the only one who has suffered through death and loss.”
“Who has died?”
Cantia looked at Hunt, her gaze soft and lingering. “His father,” she replied. “He was killed in an ambush, more than likely by people such as yours. You think my husband a murderer? Perhaps you should see it from my perspective.”
“Winterton is not his father?”
“Nay.”
Gillywiss stared at her, surcoats in hand, preparing a sharp retort that simply died on his lips because she would not understand, anyway. But she had a point. He was an odd man, odder still because he stoodup and pulled the surcoat over his head and tried to fit into it. Cantia watched, increasingly baffled, as the man tried to pull a substantially smaller garment onto his frame. When he caught Cantia and Hunt looking at him rather strangely, he flashed that crazy smile.
“Lady, you will scream now,” he told her. “Scream until I tell you to stop.”
Cantia still wasn’t over their conversation, but he apparently was. Like someone had lit a flame, his demeanor change was instantaneous. When he waved his hands at her as if to encourage her to obey him, she took a deep breath and screamed, perhaps fearful of what would happen if she didn’t.
“Again!” he commanded. “Scream as if I am violating you in every possible way. Do it!”
She let go of Hunt and moved away so she wouldn’t be screaming in his ear. She howled and cried, on and on for several minutes as Gillywiss tried on her surcoats and fine things. Belts that wouldn’t fit around his waist were put on his head, like a diadem, and he pulled the fine silk stockings onto his arms, smelling them. In fact, he smelled and touched everything, and when he came to a vial of expensive perfumed oil, he spread it liberally on his hands and inhaled the heady rose scent.
After many long minutes of screaming, Cantia was growing tired and her throat was beginning to hurt. When she thought perhaps Gillywiss had forgotten about her as he focused intently on her clothing, he finally waved a hand at her and she ceased.
