Uncertainty
For a fortnight, Mandeville led the trek north, the group’s progress slowed by a dramatic change of terrain. The rolling downs and verdant fields of southern England were left behind. The track they followed now traversed rock-strewn hillsides and bleak, windswept moorland. High peaks loomed in the distance.
Sheep—their thick wool snarled and tousled—wandered at will, bleating annoyance at being forced to move out of the way. There was a day’s delay when a crossbow bolt brought down a sizable buck that happened to stray into their path. Adelina was saddened by the killing of the magnificent animal, especially when most of the meat was left behind after one night’s feast of venison.
“Shame, that,” Glenda hissed as they rode away from the carcass, “Maybe locals will find it and feed their families. Judging by the sorry state of the farms we’ve passed, I’d say it was much needed.”
Adelina nodded, scarcely believing her fractious maid had expressed such an altruistic sentiment, never mind it was the most she’d heard the woman say at one time since their first meeting.
They frequently dined on roasted hare, abundant in this part of the country and easily snared by the soldiers. That fact only heightened Adelina’s disgust over the senseless slaughter of the deer.
Though the northern climes were far different from the south coast where she’d grown up, the untamed nature of her new surroundings appealed to Adelina. People had to be strong to cope with life’s challenges here. If no rescue came, she would rely on her own courage and strength.
The courageous woman she’d saved from King John, now Becket’s wife, hailed from Cumbria. Trapped inside the castle during the two-year siege of Gaillard, Marguerite had survived worse trials than those that faced Adelina.
Whatever happened in the days ahead, Adelina was determined to live up to the name de Quincey.
* * *
Leaving Ireland behind, and uncertain of their welcome by the Norsemen who ruled Ellan Vannin, Roland and his companions gave the island a wide berth.
Visible on the far horizon, the round tower of Peel Castle on the island’s west coast helped them get their bearings.
“It’s ironic,” Adrien remarked. “We’re descendants of Norsemen, yet we dare not risk going ashore.”
Roland shared his disappointment. “I’d like to explore as well,” he admitted. “Bradick told me King Magnus Barefoot of Norway built the castle.”
“And the cathedral within its walls,” Adrien added. “Maybe on the way back to Normandie, we can sneak ashore.”
“I doubt we’ll have time for sightseeing,” Terric retorted.
Roland had taken note of his cousin’s ill humor since they’d left MacLachlainn Tower. “You’re probably right,” he allowed. “We’ll have to get far away from England as quickly as possible.” He decided to further test the waters. “How do you think Adelina will feel about leaving England, possibly for good?”
Terric shrugged. “We have no choice,” he replied bitterly.
Roland sympathized. “I too would feel very bitter if we were forced into exile and banished from Normandie. I wouldn’t rest until the wrong was set aright.”
“I fully intend to do so,” Terric asserted. “Eventually, John will die. In the meantime, I will build alliances in order to one day regain our birthright. Then, Adelina and I will return to England.”
Roland had to ask. “Even if she doesn’t wish to return with you?”
Terric’s gaze locked with his. “Why wouldn’t she?”
Roland suspected his cousin was baiting him, but he refused to look away. “She might want to stay at Montbryce.”
The staring contest continued. “There’d have to be a bloody good reason.”
“You never know,” Roland said, finally breaking eye contact, “she might fall in love with the place.”
Adrien had watched the back and forth. “What’s amiss with you two?” he asked.
“Your brother fancies himself in love with my sister,” Terric hissed.
“He’s never met her,” Adrien scoffed. “How can he be in love with her?”
“Ask him that question,” Terric threw back before stalking off.
Feeling more foolish than ever, Roland avoided his brother’s puzzled gaze.