Page 8 of Fortress of Snow

“Thank goodness it’s not very cold today,” Piers said, wiping the rain from his face with his wet hand, succeeding only in removing the larger drops of water.

“Yes.” But the rain dripping from her hair, soaking her clothing, and running down her neck was most unpleasant. The wet clothing chafed her skin and made her shiver.

Perhaps she should have worn as many layers as Piers seemed to have on. A shirt was peeking above his laced-up tunic, a thin cloak over that, and another thicker cloak over all, with two hoods covering his head, and that was only what she was able to see. Meanwhile, she had only a thin linen underdress, a sleeveless summer bliaud that laced up the sides, and a rather thin cloak, the hood of which was plastered to her head, soaked through.

When Piers was able to coax his donkey back on the road, they continued on their way, struggling to dodge the muddiest parts of the road.

They would have to stop and spend the night somewhere. The thought made her stomach sink a little. It would be all right, she told herself. She wanted to travel, and travelers must accept the difficulties of the road.

Whenever they encountered other travelers, Mazy studied them to see how they were dealing with the rain. A couple of men rode past them on large warhorses. They could be knights, as they wore expensive-looking clothing, rode like they were accustomed to being in the saddle, and had swords strapped on their backs. They wore hoods but looked as if the rain did not bother them at all. When she looked closer, she saw that their cloaks appeared to be made of waxed wool, as they were shedding water like a duck’s feathers.

That was what she needed. Perhaps she could find someone at Strachleigh who could teach her how to wax her cloak.

They met a few people walking with sticks or staffs, with packs slung over their backs. One old woman was so bent over, the hump in her back was higher than her head. What was so important that she needed to travel in this rain? But the woman did not even glance at them, so focused as she was on the road just in front of her feet.

How many different people there were in the world! People who did things and knew things and worked at things Mazy had never thought of before. Her life had always been so isolated at her father’s castle, although she’d learned many things from the servants and her tutors.

“Thank you, Father,” she whispered under her breath.

And now she was going to be with her John. No doubt he would have many more interesting things to teach her that he’d learned in his training. She especially hoped he’d teach her how to wield a sword, which she’d always thought was the noblest way to defend oneself.

Three

The sun was going down on the second day of her journey when Mazy and Piers arrived at a village. They’d slept the night before on the soggy ground, too tired to go on.

“Pardon me,” she said to the first woman she encountered on the little village’s only street. “If you please, can you tell me the name of this village?”

“This be Strachleigh village, miss,” she said.

Her heart rose at the news. Praise be to God.

“Strachleigh Castle is just beyond that bend at the end of the street,” the woman went on. “They will not turn you away if you need a place to rest from your travels.”

“Thank you.” Mazy’s voice was wispy as the breath rushed from her.

“You look as though you could use a rest,” the woman said with a smile.

Mazy reached up to smooth down her hair, wishing she hadbrought a looking glass with her. Her clothes had finally dried, though it had taken a good part of the day. She felt herself blush as a few people stopped to stare at them, as had happened at most of the villages they had passed through.

“God speed you on your travels.” The woman smiled, letting them go on their way.

Mazy’s heart beat hard as she imagined John seeing her for the first time in two years. How would he greet her? Would he run to her and embrace her? No, he had never been very demonstrative.

And he had not come to Father’s funeral. Perhaps he would not even be pleased to see her.

No, she would not think like that. Of course he would be pleased. He loved her.

Around the bend a castle of gray stone with several towers, a curtain wall, and a large gatehouse came into view. The castle itself was massive, resting on a rise above the village, surrounded by groups of trees and a meadow.

They walked across a wooden bridge that spanned a dry trench to the gatehouse, and a guard stepped out and greeted them.

“We are here to see my brother. I am Mazelina of Wexcombe and my brother is Sir John of Wexcombe.”

The young soldier’s brows went up. He pointed. “I don’t know the whereabouts of Sir John, but the knights’ quarters are in that stone building there.”

“Thank you.” Mazy nodded to the soldier, and he stared after her.

The back of her neck prickled as she walked toward theknights’ quarters. Was this something she shouldn’t be doing? She glanced at Piers, but he wore the same slack, unbothered expression he always did.