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Belonging
Armed with a warrant of safe passage signed by William, Roland felt fairly confident they would make it safely to Melton Manor on the south coast, though it would take a sennight at least. Riding any faster would quickly wear out the horses William had provided.
They sought refuge the first night in St. Andrew’s church in Shifnal. The priest in the tiny village welcomed them effusively, seemingly starved for conversation. He didn’t question their explanation for being on the road, nor ask to see their warrant.
William had assured them the Odingsells would shelter them at Hobs Moat in Solihull and they made it there by the second night on the road. Roland was nervous about traveling through the more populated areas of Wolverhampton and Birmingham, but no one paid them any heed amid the bustle of the busy market towns.
The lord of Hobs Moat was polite but clearly nervous about their presence, so they departed before dawn the following day.
Unsure of their welcome at Banbury Castle, they chose to spend the third night camped beside the River Cherwell.
* * *
After leaving the village of Sutton Courtenay early on the fifth day of their journey, they crossed the Wessex Downs. The distinctive round hills, the towering beeches, the Bronze Age earthworks, the ubiquitous rabbits darting here and there, or watching them curiously—all served to fill Terric’s heart with a certainty he was almost home.
He was more sure of it the next day when they rode across the South Downs. Even the air smelled different. The landscape of the northern moors was ruggedly impressive, but he was a man born and bred in southern England. It was where he would make his stand against tyranny, albeit a covert one.
It was clear Adelina also felt more attuned to the rolling hills. Her eyes brightened and she smiled more often. She would find it difficult to leave England, but she was going willingly. He knew she would always carry him and her native land in her heart. He discovered, somewhat to his surprise, that he was at peace with that.
* * *
Adelina let the tears flow as they rode into the courtyard of Melton Manor late on the sixth day after leaving Ellesmere. She’d begun sobbing as soon as the turrets and chimneys of the house had come into view miles before they arrived.
Roland’s reassuring hand on her thigh let her know he understood. He immediately cradled her in his embrace after helping her dismount. No words were necessary as they swayed together.
Terric, on the other hand, strutted about, grinning broadly while soaking up the noisy, joyous greetings of various men and women who suddenly poured out of the house. Her heart lifted when she recognized several faithful servants who’d served their family for years.
Adelina was happy for her brother. He’d encounter difficulties in reestablishing himself at Melton Manor, but would never have been content to live in exile. He’d regained what was rightfully his. It would be easier to liaise with others opposed to the king’s tyranny from within England.
“It will be hard to leave this place,” Roland whispered.
“Yes,” she agreed, “but it would be impossible to leave you.”
She accepted his arm and he escorted her into the house where she’d lived most of her life. The servants bowed and curtseyed, fluttering about like chickens who’ve seen the fox slain. The well-loved tapestries, the sound of waves crashing on the beach below the cliffs, and the smell of home filled her with poignant nostalgia. It was a bittersweet homecoming.
“I’ll never forget this house,” she told her beloved.
“We’ll return when it’s safe,” he promised. “Melton is in good hands with Terric.”
* * *
The servants who served the evening meal told harrowing tales of the first days of occupation by John’s thugs. However, their tenure hadn’t lasted long and the house had been empty since then.
Replete after eating too much of the tender braised mutton, Roland relaxed in the opulently furnished dining room. It was easy to imagine the comfortable lifestyle the de Quinceys had enjoyed in this magnificent house.
“I ate too much,” Adrien confessed, loosening his belt.
“As did we all,” Terric added with a smile, presiding proudly at the head of the table. “Too tempting after the meager fare we had on the road.”
Roland was glad he’d had this chance to share something of her home with Adelina. Melton had helped make her the woman she was.
When all the servants had been dismissed, Terric tapped the side of his nose. “I think it’s a good idea for Roland and Adrien to know how to get into the tunnel from this end.”
Roland chuckled, remembering his and Becket’s frantic search for the secret door in the cave below the cliffs. “Agreed. One never knows when flight might become necessary.”
“I’ll show them,” Adelina declared. “I’ll be able to tell if the mechanism has been tampered with in our absence.”
Roland and his brother followed her to the secret panel behind the pantry. He helped her lift down the stone concealing the mechanism that opened the door. He reached up to pull the stubborn lever, fully appreciating for the first time the courage and strength it had taken for Adelina and Marguerite to accomplish such daring with King John an unwelcome guest in the house.
“Nothing has been touched. I would say the tunnel remains a secret,” she said, to everyone’s great relief.
