Page 97 of How to Cross a Marquess (The Way to a Lord's Heart 3)

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Fenella trudged along a lane, trying to avoid stepping on sharp stones with her bare feet. So far, she’d seen no sign of people. The fields on either side had been harvested already, and the golden stubble was empty. The workers had moved on to others. Her hopes of coming across a cart to carry her were waning, and the cold of her damp shift and weariness dragged at her. She’d had a spurt of energy when she reached the shore, but now the efforts of last night were taking their toll. Still, there was no choice but to keep walking, one foot in front of the other.

Movement caught her eye. A gowned figure emerged from a clump of bushes some way down the lane. Fenella raised her arm and waved. “Hello,” she called. Her voice caught and rasped like a rusty hinge, the lingering effects of maltreatment with the cord. She tried again, forcing a louder shout. The figure turned and looked in her direction. “Please help me!” cried Fenella, waving again.

The person started toward her. When she came closer, Fenella was astonished to recognize the girl Lally. “What are you doing here?”

“I live up yonder.”

Following the little girl’s pointing finger, Fenella saw a stream tumbling down the incline toward the sea. She could just see the crest of a roof above its lip. This must be the mill.

“Are you dead?” Lally asked. “’Cause if you’re a haunt, I ain’t speaking to you.” She made a banishing sign with extended fingers.

“I’m alive.” It hurt to talk. And Fenella’s mouth was parched with thirst. Her whole body yearned toward that stream.

“They said you was drowned. Like Maid Marian was. I saw them carry her from a boat up to the tent. Never knew she was so old.” Lally looked anxious suddenly. “Don’t let on I told you. Dad said I wasn’t allowed to go to the pageant. On account of what I did.” She looked as if she didn’t understand her transgression completely, and as if this was a familiar experience. “I sneaked over when my dad thought I was in my room, ’cross the sand.” She grimaced. “Which I’m also not meant to do. You won’t tell?”

Fenella shook her head wearily. “I got out of the sea,” she said. “She tried to pull me under.” Memories of the dark sea made her shudder. Or perhaps it was just the breeze on her wet shift. She wrapped her arms around her torso for warmth.

Lally frowned. “Pull you under the water? After she shot at you? I don’t understand what she was about.” The girl looked frustrated.

“Let’s go up to the mill and find your parents.” With a stop at the stream for a drink, Fenella thought.

“My dad,” the girl corrected. “My mum’s dead.”

“I’m sorry.”

Lally shrugged. “I don’t remember her.” She eyed Fenella. “You’ve gone all bluish.”

“I’m very cold.” Fenella started walking again. The girl fell into step at her side.

“Did somebody steal your clothes?” asked Lally. “Some boys did that to me once when I went swimming.”

“No, I had to take them off in the sea, so that they wouldn’t drag me down when I swam across from Lindisfarne.”

Lally looked shocked. “Nobody’s supposed to swim in that channel. You’re like to be carried away by the tides.”

“I very nearly was. That’s why I need your help now, Lally.”

The girl’s face shifted. She seemed to take in Fenella’s plight for the first time. Her dark eyes filled with sympathy. “I’ll fetch a cloak,” she said and ran off before Fenella could reply.

With a sigh, Fenella trudged on. She veered off the lane to a loop of the stream and half knelt, half fell to drink from the rushing water. The cold liquid was a balm for her bruised throat as well as her raging thirst. But it chilled her further. Really, she had never been so cold.

She had just struggled to her feet again when Lally came running back with a heavy cloak. Gratefully, Fenella draped it around her shoulders. The cloth dragged on the ground. She gathered it closer. Wool was a marvel, she thought, as she felt the first touch of warmth. “Does your father have a horse and cart?” she asked. Surely a miller would need such a thing.

Her heart soared when Lally nodded, then sank when she said, “Dad’s gone out in it with a load of flour. Be back before supper, he said.”

“He left you all alone?”

“Mrs. Fisk’s here,” answered Lally. “She didn’t like me taking the cloak. Tried to snatch it away. You’ll tell her I was helping?”

Fenella nodded as they started walking up the hill. They would just have to see what could be done. It might be hours before she could reach home, which was a disappointment. But she was here, and warmer, and she could see her way to a solution. Pulling the cloak closer around her shoulders, Fenella was overtaken by a giddy sense of astonishment. She’d done it. All on her own, she’d thrown off a murderous assailant and battled her way to safety. “I fought the very tide,” she murmured. “And won. Unlike King Canute.”

“Who?” said Lally.

“An old king who challenged the sea,” said Fenella. She realized that she’d gone quite dizzy with relief. “Only he didn’t really. People get the story wrong. He was demonstrating the power of God to his courtiers.”

“His who?”

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