Free The Raven and the Rose by Jo Beverley Page A

trust, and she needed to be on her way.
    She took out a cloak of fine russet wool and found some other items beneath—stockings, garters, green leather shoes, a delicate white cloth and a plaited circlet of red and yellow cloth.
    Suppressing her qualms, she quickly put on stockings and shoes. The stockings were of a fine weave and would be easily damaged. It would be a shame to walk through rough woodland in the new shoes, but God must know best.
    The cloth must be a veil, but it was square, so it wouldn’t easily cover her head as her usual one did. She remembered seeing the ladies at the tournament with their loose veils stirred by the breeze. Folly, but so be it.
    Those ladies had had long hair to show off, however, either in plaits or hanging free. With her short-cropped hair, she was going to be an oddity. She shrugged and draped the cloth over her head and then pulled the woven circlet down on top to hold it in place.
    She wished she knew what she looked like, but there was no one to tell her, or to adjust her garment or hair if they were awry. She could see only from her chest down. She spread her skirt. The green was very pretty, like the green of spring grass, and the russet and yellow made a lovely trim. It felt sinful to take pleasure in such ornament, but if this was God’s will, would it not be ungracious to object? What was more, she wanted to look well when she finally met Michael de Loury in reality.
    She folded her habit and placed it in the chest with her nunnery belt, then closed the lid. She glanced around the hut to be sure she’d not overlooked anything, then went back out into the warming sunshine, ready to carry on. When she looked around, however, the woodland seemed unbroken, with no sign of a path.
    â€œNow what?” she demanded of the universe.
    The raven swept down and around, and then flew into the woods. “There’s no path,” Gledys protested. “That undergrowth will ruin these lovely clothes!”
    Craak! Craak!
    Muttering grimly, Gledys marched forward, skirts raised.
    But how little faith she had. As she approached the tangled bushes, a path opened, one just wide enough for her to travel safely. There were not even branches low enough to trouble her.
    Gledys laughed for joy, all doubt blown away. This was right and good, and soon she’d find her knight with no dreams or visions between them.
    Perhaps even at Glastonbury Tor.
    ***
    Gledys had not walked far when she realized that her magical path had blended with a well-worn one, and she glimpsed open fields ahead. She hurried forward, but when she emerged from the trees she halted, a new panic fluttering in her.
    What noise was that? Clashes and bangs, yells and cries. Lord save her. Men were fighting nearby!
    The raven swept ahead, however, and she was compelled to follow, but as the noises grew louder, her steps slowed and her heart thumped with fear. Such anger and violence in every sound. Murderous hatred.
    But then she glimpsed a stone keep with pennants flying. A keep she remembered. Her heart pounded with a new beat now, and her steps speeded. This was the tournament. This was where she’d seen Michael fight!
    She picked up her skirts and ran, but halted again at the sight of a mass of tents and people covering the land on this side of the castle. She tried to take it in, but she’d never seen so many people in her life, or heard such a jumble of noises, from screams to singing, clangs to music. Then she made out roofs near the castle and she realized there must be a small town of some sort there. And also a large open area to the right of the town, roped off all around, in which the men were fighting.
    That must be where she’d seen Michael defeat the big man, so he might be there now, but the war camp lay like a barrier between. To get to Michael, however, she’d pass through a fiery battlefield, and so she walked on, head held high.
    To her right, she saw rough-looking men