Page 17 of Castle of Refuge

She caught sight of a well at the edge of the road. She went straight to it and drew herself some water, just as she had at the last village. This time fewer people were milling about. Most were probably eating the evening meal at home. So Audrey took her time, drinking a dipper of water, then another, before finally moving on.

As she passed a house, she heard laughter and voices. Throughthe windows she could see people smiling and talking. A mother and a father and several children of a variety of ages were sitting around a table together, eating supper.

What would it be like to have a family like this one?she wondered. A mother and father who loved each other, and siblings to laugh and play with? Brothers and sisters who would never dream of tripping her and sending her into the fireplace. Brothers and sisters who would care about her and protect her.

Audrey passed the house with a heavy feeling. She stopped, telling herself she would prop against the tree to rest awhile. She continued gazing at the family. Perhaps she should go and knock on the door and ask if they would give her a flask for carrying water. But they might think she was lunatic. After all, a young woman traveling alone? They might ask questions, might think she was a villein escaping her master, running away from her proper place in life.

And perhaps that was what she was doing—running away from being a viscount’s daughter, someone with too many scars to be married for love.

No, it was better to keep walking. With one last look at the laughing brood inside the cheerful little house, Audrey headed down the road.

She was no longer sure which direction she was going. Was it west? Or north? At least when the sun came up tomorrow she would know. But did it even matter? Perhaps it was a bad idea to go to her aunt and uncle’s house.

She nestled into a small grassy hollow just off the road and fell asleep, her head pillowed on her bag.

Four

Audrey awoke the next morning to her stomach growling and her throat hurting. Was it caused by thirst or some kind of contagion? She went back to the village she’d passed through the evening before and drank more water. But the water did not soothe her burning throat, and her neck was beginning to ache as well.

She’d had nothing to eat except the bread she’d bartered for. She’d eaten two of the loaves, but the remaining one was so hard after only one night she could hardly bite it. So she soaked it, a bite at a time, in the water to soften it. The bread was very unappetizing, but at least it was something.

She’d hoped she might be able to find someone who would trade her some cheese or other food for another one of her dresses, but it was such a small village, she decided to continue walking.

The sun was still hiding behind the clouds after Audrey had been traveling for what seemed a very long time. She was sohungry, even after eating the soggy bread, but her stomach no longer growled. She just had a sick feeling, and her throat hurt worse than ever. She wondered if she had a fever, she felt so shivery, chills sneaking all over her upper body, her legs aching. But she just kept walking. If she made it to her aunt and uncle’s house, at least they wouldn’t turn her away. Surely they would give her a bed to sleep in and something to eat.

Some warm soup would feel good on her throat.

Someone was coming up behind her. She was so tired, but she needed to hold up her head so they wouldn’t think she was an easy target.

She turned and saw that it was a man and a woman, about forty years old perhaps, with a pair of oxen pulling a cart.

“Pardon me,” Audrey said, “but do you know how much farther it is to Derbyshire?”

“To Derbyshire?” the woman asked. “You are a long ways from there, bless your soul, child.”

The man stopped and leaned his head to one side, frowning and squinting. “I would imagine you will have to walk two more days to get to the southern border of Derbyshire,” he said. “Or three, if you’re not accustomed to walking so much.”

Audrey’s heart sank.

“Where are you going?” the woman asked.

“To my aunt and uncle’s house.”

“You poor dear. Did your parents die of the Pestilence?” The woman said the wordpestilencewith a look of horror. No one was immune to the fear of the terrible sickness that killed whole families and even whole villages, the contagion that had killed, somesaid, more than half the people living in London a few years before Audrey was born.

The woman drew closer and seemed to catch a glimpse of Audrey’s scar.

“No. That is, my mother died giving birth to me, but my father...”

“Did he cast you out?” she asked softly.

“No. I just wanted to visit my aunt and uncle.” That wasn’t entirely true. Audrey felt a pang of guilt.

“He should not let you travel alone,” the woman said, still looking into her face with concern.

Audrey suddenly felt more feverish than ever, but the woman might not be so kind in her manner if she thought Audrey was sick. She might think she had the Pestilence and run away from her.

What if Audrey did have the Pestilence? Would she get the dark-colored buboes under her arms and on her neck? Would she die?