Coffee Pot Blog Tour: Virginia Crow / The Year We Lived
The Details
The Author Virginia Crow
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The Blurb
The Excerpt
Edith passed without challenge into the
countryside which was wooded and boggy. The road followed the high ground,
twisting and turning like a writhing eel, while on either side trees drank from
the marshy pools. A short way along there was a road to the right. It was not
well-trodden, but she knew it would take her out to the reed beds. The ground
gave beneath her feet as she walked along it and she felt as though each step
became harder than the one before. Finally, the trees lessened and gave way to
vast marshes. The pools shrank to become deep waterways and the heavens
stretched away before her. It was always cold here, and she pulled the deerskin
tighter around her as she carefully picked her way down to the water’s edge.
Drawing out a small knife Robert had given her two years ago for her twelfth
birthday, she struck the blade through the stalk of the damp reeds, collecting
them on a pile behind her.
The sun must have been shining somewhere
beyond the clouds, but she never saw it until it was preparing to set. She
berated herself for losing track of time and looked at the cluster of damp
reeds she had harvested. Only now did she consider the question of how to
return with them, frowning thoughtfully as she sheathed her knife. A moment
later the blade was firmly clenched in her hand, this time as a weapon, not a
tool.
Someone was watching her.
Edith did not know how she knew, but she was
certain she was no longer alone. Perhaps she had seen a shadow moving, or heard
a heavier rustle in the reeds than the wind or a bird would make. Whatever the
reason, she was certain someone had their eyes on her, and equally certain it
was someone she did not know. Robert had taught her how to use the tool as a
defence, how to hold it lightly and move it with slight, delicate movements.
But, as the frightening sensation of being watched by an unseen observer
continued, Edith only gripped the handle all the more tightly.
“Who are you?” she demanded, but her gentle
voice quivered like the tall reeds. “Where are you?”
“Not in the direction you’re looking,”
laughed a voice from behind her. “But I live here. I should be asking who you
are.”
She spun around to face the intruder, who
only laughed again as her knife flew from her hand. Still she could not see
him, and now she was unarmed. Her knife appeared before her, offered by an
outreached hand which parted the dense reeds around it. She took the handle
uncertainly and drew back the reeds to find the hand’s owner. He was kneeling
in the tall plants, almost camouflaged in a pale shirt which, far from being a
winter garment, hung loosely from his shoulders. His eyes were dark and set so
far into his skull that no amount of the dying sun’s light could reach them.
But it was his smile which caught her imagination and gave her cause to lower
the small blade. True, it was mischievous, but it made him look like a child
rather than a villain.
“You live here?” she whispered, sheathing the
knife. “But I often come here, and I’ve never seen you. Have you seen me?”
“Not until today.” He drew the rushes further
back and looked at the reeds she had collected. “You can’t carry all those back
to the lea by yourself.”
“How did you know I was from the lea?” she
whispered, turning the knife in her hand.
“Well, you’re not from the marsh, and the lea
is the only settlement hereabouts.” He held up his hands in a surrendering
gesture as he noticed her grip on the knife handle tighten. “I can help you
carry them back.”
“Thank you,” she muttered, rising to her feet
and hugging the damp reeds to her stained coat. “Do you live in the marsh?”
He gathered the rest of the reeds.
“Hereabouts.” There was a mysterious twinkle in his eye as he answered, so
Edith was unsure whether he was being truthful or trying to tease her.
“There aren’t many houses,” she pointed out.
“And I thought I knew everyone who lived in each of them, right the way down to
the miller at the end of the river.” She waited for him to follow her. “Where
do you live?”
“Not in a house.”
“Are you from the garrison?” she asked,
spilling her reeds to point the knife at him once more. His dark eyes glistened
as they narrowed.
“You must really hate them.” He bent down to
gather the reeds she had dropped, never taking his gaze from the point of the
knife. “Have they harmed you? Or do you hate them for their accents?”
“Hate?” She sounded shocked by his choice of
words. “I don’t hate them, but they hate us.”
“You are lucky, then, that I’m not one of
them. And they do speak strangely.” He watched as she returned the knife to its
sheath and began walking forward. “Why does Lord de Bois hate you?”
“He hates my brother,” she returned. “Robert
has done nothing to deserve it, but last year alone he had to repel three
attacks from the Normans.”
“Robert?” the young man asked. “The master of
the lea?”
“Yes,” Edith returned, watching as her new
companion paled before flushing a deep crimson, a change visible even in the
dying sunset. “He is my brother, and those reeds are for his hearth.”
“I’d heard he had a sister. I didn’t expect
to find her alone in the marshes collecting fuel. But these reeds won’t burn
well.”
“They’re not meant to,” she answered,
slightly affronted. “They’re to slow the burning of the yule block.”
She led him towards the road, at which point
he looked anxiously around him, as though he expected the attack she had
accused him of. In the twilight the spreading limbs of the tree might have
hidden anything, their twig tendrils forming a tight hedgerow along the
pathway. Edith continued ahead of him, never speaking a word. Similar thoughts
were passing through her own head and she began to imagine the hands of the
trees reaching out to take her. The Normans were feared throughout this corner
of the land for their devious and underhand attacks on the people of the fens.
They sought to conquer each corner of their new kingdom without any
consideration for the people who knew and understood its landscapes. They would
think nothing of striking down a young woman on the road, for it would be no
different to slaughtering sheep or cattle. This feeling did not subside until
she heard a familiar voice calling out to her.
“Liebling? Liebling Edith?”
“Alan?” she called back, her heart racing
and, as she saw the tall flame of a torch approaching from further up the road,
she felt all her fears slip from her. Alan rushed forward and looked down at
her, a mixture of emotions visible on his face, culminating in one of extreme
relief.
“You’re soaked, Liebling,” he began, looking
down at her muddy coat and marked hem. “Your brother has sent twenty men out to
find you. Where have you been?”
“At the marshes,” she replied, feeling
suddenly confident in the appearance of this man. “I was collecting reeds.”
“Where are they?” Alan asked gently.
“He has them,” Edith returned, turning to
look at the young man who carried her gathered fuel. She frowned to find she
and Alan stood alone on the road. There was no sign of the dark eyed man, not
even footprints. The only trace was the large bundle of reeds he had carried
for her which were placed on the side of the path. She moved over to them,
almost expecting to find him hiding behind them, but he was gone. “There was a
young man,” she whispered, more as a reassurance to herself than an explanation
to the guard. “He carried them for me. Where did he go, Alan?”
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Thank you so much for hosting me and my book on your lovely blog! I hope your readers enjoy the excerpt!
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