The Seasons Series; Five Books for the Price of Three

by Domning, Denise

  These words tore through Rob, leaving him breathless with hurt. Last even, Johanna had mentioned she was convent bound. Had she had so little faith in their future that she'd given herself to God to escape Katel's plot? All the joy he'd known in anticipation of this reunion departed, leaving him drained and empty.

  Heartsore, Rob stared after the churchwoman as she hobbled through the office's inner doorway. When she had stepped into the cloistered reaches of her domain she pulled the door tightly shut behind her. It was but another statement of her intention to keep Johanna from him

  Depression tried to consume him. Of a sudden Master Colin's ancient words rose in him. Doomed was the man who lacked the courage to ask after what was his heart's desire. Aye, and second chances were a rare thing, never to be refused. This advice was as good in affairs of the heart as it was in business matters.

  Hope roared to life in him. If a married woman wished to enter a convent it took her husband's permission to do so. Rob had never given his permission for Johanna to enter this convent, thus any vows she'd spoken were worthless. What he needed now was to twist Abbot Eustace into declaring them well and truly wed.

  Hope doubled in strength. He had cartloads of wheat in the abbey's courtyard. Surely, if offered in trade the churchman would find it in his best interest to move at all speed on this issue.

  "Master?" Syward asked. "What will you do now?"

  "Do?" The word left Rob in a gust of blazing determination. He turned on his heel and strode for the door. "I think me I shall return to Stanrudde and speak to the abbot. This woman cannot stand between me and my wife."

  The Priory of Saint Anne

  two hours past Terce

  The feast of the Conversion of St. Paul, 1197

  The storm that had arrived three days ago had finally exhausted itself, leaving in its wake naught but a still and icy cold. In an effort to trap what heat they could within the cloister the nuns had not removed the shutters that protected the walkway from the elements. Thus, what was usually an open-air passageway became a long, dim corridor lit only by tallow lamps.

  This afternoon found Johanna sitting on one of the wooden benches that lined the wall along with the majority of the sisters. It was their time for laboring, the nuns doing what women everywhere else did: plying their needles. In this case, the sisters worked on behalf of Stanrudde's abbey. Some of them produced grand embroideries; others sewed the simple garments given to those laborers who worked for that house. Guided by the same rules as their brother house, labor was done in silence, or what passed for silence during the winter. From up and down the cloister's narrow length, women sniffed and coughed against the cold. It was in the hopes of restoring suppleness that they raised their fingers to their mouths, blowing the warmth of their bodies onto them. Behind it all, the rustle of fabric could be heard along with the squeaking draw of thread passing through it.

  Johanna's hands were cold as well, but her heart was by far the colder. She stared at the lengths of linen that lay across her lap: the unassembled body of a shirt. A threaded needle pricked its weave.

  Why she'd been given sewing to do she did not know, nor did she care. Her tasks during her last stay at the priory had been to tutor the girls who came to learn the same lessons she had so long ago. It mattered naught what she was asked to do since she was beyond doing anything.

  From the passageway's end came the steady tapping of Mother Sybil's walking stick. One by one, the nuns raised their heads to acknowledge their prioress's presence, all save Johanna. It would have taken more strength than she owned to do so.

  Three days had passed since Katel brought her here. The morn after her arrival, that being Saint Blesilla's Day, Johanna's heart had burned with the certainty that she'd succeeded in saving Rob from Katel's plot. She'd been certain Rob, or someone, would come before day's end to fetch her back to Stanrudde. By the dawning of the second day her faith strained against doubts. Still, she assured herself that Rob's absence did not mean he was dead. Many were the circumstances that might have kept him from finding her here. By yesterday's dawning, depression had set its claws in her heart. Evil doubts tried to rise in her, whispering to her that he had abandoned her once again.

  Johanna tried to slay them. Had she not failed him once by disbelieving when she should have kept her faith? She couldn't allow herself to make the same mistake twice. Instead she kept telling herself that, years ago, Rob had vowed to love her always and he had kept his vow. If he had promised that only death would keep them apart, then Katel must have won.

  The tapping stopped before Johanna, and the hems of Prioress Sybil's black habit flowed into soft heaps onto the stone floor. Slowly Johanna raised her head. The prioress stood as erect as possible, her nostrils flared, her mouth tense and harsh, as she looked on one who had been a former student.

  How easily Katel had poisoned one who had known Johanna so well for so long. Three days ago, Johanna would have sworn the prioress would never have been taken in by Katel's lies. Now, in every word Mother Sybil uttered over how Johanna must find succor from her sin in prayer, Johanna heard herself convicted of adultery.

  With a hurried glance over her shoulder, the old woman thrust out a hand, as if Johanna were once more a child, not a woman of one and thirty. "Come with me to the lady's chapel," the prioress commanded. There was a raw urgency to her words. "We must speak."

  Johanna's heart sank. These lectures were unendurable in her present state of mind. Once Mother Sybil had her cornered, she'd ramble on and on about how Johanna must commit herself to God. Yesterday's rhetoric had been so intense that Johanna had finally agreed to don a novice's habit simply to win free of the old woman. But on the issue of taking her vow Johanna would not budge. She had no desire to be a nun. If Rob was dead, then she’d happily wait for the sheriff to find the grain and come to fetch her back to Stanrudde. It would be with joy not fear that she would face the hangman. Rob would be waiting for her in the hereafter.

  If Rob was not dead, but had abandoned her once more ... Johanna stopped herself, not even wishing to think of this.

  "Mother Sybil, could we speak another time?" she asked quietly.

  From the courtyard beyond the dorter came the sound of the gate bar being dropped. There was a subtle murmuring among the sewing nuns as they all aimed their gazes in that direction. The gates were opening, rather than the smaller, inset door through which most folk walked. This meant a substantial party was arriving.

  "Nay, we must talk now, and you must go to the lady's chapel." This was a frantic demand.

  "My lady prioress!"

  Johanna looked in the direction of the man's quiet call. Their chaplain, a man almost as old as Mother Sybil, stood at the end of the hall. Beside him were two of the farm laborers that the priory supported.

  In the courtyard metal jangled. Horses whinnied as men called out for their mounts to halt. Female murmurs rose into a quiet trill of fear. Every one of the sisters stared at the woman they hoped could protect them from attack.

  All save Johanna. She smiled. It was the sheriff, come at last.

  Forgetting that the prioress knew nothing of what Katel had plotted, she said, "Do not fear for me, my lady. I will go with him."

  "You cannot!" the prioress shrieked as Johanna rose to her feet. This set all the other women to squawking and crying as well. "You cannot go with him. I will not allow it!"

  "I know you mean well," Johanna told her, "but it is better this way."

  It was with a light step that she started for the office. The churchwoman hobbled after her. "Your life and your soul will be the forfeit, Johanna. Do not do this!"

  "Nay," she assured Mother Sybil, "it is not I who has sinned. No matter what my husband said, you must believe that I have done no wrong."

  "No wrong!" The prioress caught her by the arm.

  However gnarled and twisted her fingers the old woman's grip did not lack for strength. She pulled Johanna to a stop, then grabbed her by the other arm and shook her. "
Did you not come here in unfit gowns and with your hair unbound and uncovered? How can you even contemplate this? Mother of God, but you were bruised!"

  Johanna stared at the prioress, unable to make sense of her protest.

  "Mother Sybil!" Sister Porter came streaking down the corridor, her black skirts and mantle flying out behind her. Usually harsh in temperament and stern in attitude, her plain face was twisted in terror. "Forgive me, but they threatened to batter down the door if I did not open it to them. There are so many of them!"

  At fright in one usually so bold, panic erupted in the hallway. Women screamed and leapt to their feet. Needlework flew in all directions. Some turned toward the chapel in the hopes of sanctuary while others went toward the dorter to hide under their blankets. In the chaos two tallow lamps fell, their crockery bowls shattering on the stone floor. Rendered fat oozed across the hard, cold surface.

  The scattering women thrust past their prioress. Mother Sybil released Johanna to steady herself. With her mind yet fixed on the sheriff and death, Johanna once again started for the office.

  "Catch her, Father," the prioress screamed to the chaplain and his aides at the head of the corridor. "Bring her to the chapel. We will bar the door and hold her there against them."

  Stanrudde

  Late August, 1180

  Johanna sat on the cot in her bedchamber. She hadn't moved since Helewise had placed her here, once she was fully dressed. With her head bowed, her hair flowed freely down around her, a curling red-gold curtain. She stared at her hands in her lap. Her fingers seemed a deathly white against the blue-gray of her wedding gown.

  "Rob will come for me," she whispered to herself, her voice as pale and wan as she felt.

  Today was Dies Mala, a day for bad luck. Even the priest at St. Stephen's had suggested the wedding date be changed, but Katel was in a great hurry to say his vows to her. Until he'd done so, Papa's will could not be read, or so the abbot had told him.

  "Rob will come for me," she repeated to herself. Only these words stood between her and what she could not bear.

  Papa had died three days ago. She tried to find tears to shed at that thought but she'd cried so much of late there was no moisture left within her body. With a shaking sigh, she forced her head to lift. This took every ounce of energy she owned.

  Her father's bed still stood in its corner, just where it always had, but it no longer belonged to her sire. Katel ordered it be stripped, its linens, draperies, and mattress, burned. So, too, had her husband-to-be demanded that the woodwork be washed with the harshest of soaps, against the possibility that what felled Papa might be contagious. Katel's new curtains were blue and gold. For vanity's sake, so were the blankets. It was a finer, softer mattress that filled the bed's box.

  Where her father had been frugal and simple in his tastes, Katel was already spending Johanna’s inheritance, even before he had it. In the last days he'd bought himself three robes, all of them made of the finest fabrics, and sent the goldsmith into bliss by ordering four heavy chains for himself. He was sating his anger, repaying himself for having to take a bride who was no virgin. Still, if Katel continued at this rate, what her father had accrued over his lifetime would be gone within the year, leaving her impoverished as well.

  Once again, desperation nipped at Johanna's heart. "Rob will come for me."

  In her mind's eye she conjured Rob. He would appear out of the crowd at the moment the priest demanded any objections to her joining to Katel. Rob would call out that they were already wed then take Katel's place before the church door. Together, they would share new public vows to replace the private ones they'd traded.

  "Rob will come," she assured herself.

  He had to come, else she would be trapped in a horrible place from which she would never escape. Beneath her depression there was the tiniest spark of anger at this thought.

  "I think that he will not, little mistress," Helewise responded from the doorway. There was a quiet sadness in her voice.

  Johanna stared up at her. It was time. She could see it in Helewise's eyes.

  The need to run from Stanrudde, as far and as fast as she could, woke. It would do no good. No matter where she went Katel would find her. Even if Katel no longer wanted her he still meant to wed her. Only if they were married could he spend what Papa had earned.

  Johanna tried to stand; she swore she did. "I cannot rise," she breathed. "You must help me."

  The housekeeper came to sit beside her on the cot. Wrapping an arm around Johanna's waist she pressed her former charge's head into her shoulder. For just a moment Helewise rocked her, crooning just as she'd done when Johanna was a babe.

  "Helewise!" Katel's impatient call rose from the courtyard floor. "Hie you and bring her down. It is time."

  Glancing at the window, Helewise huffed in deep dislike. "How he slavers to get his hands upon what was once your sire's. God be praised he had sense enough to keep this a private affair, given that your father is barely cold."

  Johanna loosed a dry sob at this reminder.

  Helewise pressed a kiss to her forehead. "You will survive this," she said softly. "You are my strong and fiery girl, who is always brave where I feel weak and powerless. Vow to me that no matter what he does to you, you'll not let him take your spirit from you."

  For some reason Johanna could not fathom, Helewise's words made that spark of anger in her grow. In its heat she found, if not strength, comfort. Even Helewise knew that this marriage to Katel was an awful, evil thing. How could her father have demanded that they wed when Rob loved her?

  Guilt shot through her at this thought. Her father was dead. It was wrong to think ill of him. Her thoughts slipped to Rob. Better than any other on this earth Rob knew the sort of man Katel was. How could he have left her to this fate?

  Anger grew yet again. This time, its heat sent the illusion of power through her. Rob had better come. If he did not she would never forgive him.

  "God be damned," Katel sneered from the doorway. His new tunic was a maroon samite over which he wore a summer mantle of gray. A braided chain, loaned to him by the goldsmith until his own were finished, lay across his chest. Atop its clasp sat a great round piece of amber to match his new tunic's golden trim. "Here you sit, Helewise, when I have called that it is time to leave. I will not tolerate such insubordination in my servants. You are dismissed. Be gone by week's end."

  Johanna's back stiffened in surprise at this. Who did he think he was, telling her housekeeper that she must go? The anger in her expanded, eating up all that ached in her. By God, it felt good to hate. Her eyes narrowed as she plotted some way to see he paid for this.

  "Such was my intention, Katel," Helewise replied. There was nothing of her usual show of meekness in her voice. "I will not be in a house over which you are the head."

  Shock dashed across his features then died. He shrugged. "We are in agreement, then. Now bring her, or you'll not stay the night to witness her bedding He turned on his heel and left the bedchamber.

  Johanna stared at Helewise. "I hate him," she breathed with every ounce of passion that lived in her.

  "That's my fiery girl," the housekeeper replied in proud approval. "Come then."

  Together, they rose and descended to the courtyard.

  The Priory of Saint Anne

  two hours past Terce

  The feast of the Conversion of St Paul, 1197

  "Johanna!" The shout echoed from the prioress's office. "Where are you?"

  New fire took life in Johanna's cold, dead heart. "Rob?" she breathed. "Rob!" she shouted.

  As joy exploded within her she lifted her heels. The priest and the farm laborers were holding the inner office door shut against Rob. She heard the crash of his shoulder against the panel.

  "Let me by!" she screamed at them. "It's Rob!"

  "You cannot go with him, child," the priest told her, yet straining to hold the door shut. "To do so is sin."

  There was a brief pause in the battering. Footsteps tap
ped on the office’s tile floor, receding away from the inner door. "Take her now," the chaplain cried. The two serfs released the door then grabbed her by the arms.

  "Rob," Johanna shouted as she writhed between them. "They are forcing me away!"

  Although she fought them, the two men steadily dragged her down the corridor toward the chapel. She peered hopelessly over her shoulder. The office door was yet closed with no sign of Rob. Ahead of her the prioress was waiting at the chapel's door. Sister Porter had the bar in hand.

  "Do not let them keep me here!" Johanna screamed to Rob.

  One of them slipped in the spilled fat. As he stumbled, his grip loosened. Johanna wrenched her arm free and turned on the other. With every ounce of strength she owned, she kicked him. The man barked in pain and released her to grab his damaged leg.

  Once again there was a crash, and the old priest stumbled aside as the door flew open. Rob stepped into the corridor. He wore a thick brown tunic with a soft leather vest atop it. Despite his hooded cloak, traveling had left his hair badly in need of combing. His face was reddened with the cold, and he looked not to have slept for several days.

  Never had he looked more beautiful to her. Johanna threw herself against him, latching herself tightly to him that no man could part them. He laughed and wrapped his arms around her, his embrace no less tight.

  "I thought you were dead," she cried into the curve of his neck. His skin was warm against hers. "When you did not come two days ago, I thought I had failed."

  "I was here," he said, lowering his head to press his lips against her cheek. "She would not let me see you."

  Of a sudden a touch of his lips on her cheek wasn't enough for her. Johanna turned her head and pressed her mouth to his. With her lips she begged Rob to prove to her this was no dream, that he was indeed alive and that he had come for her. Rob's arms tightened in response to her request. His kiss deepened until Johanna gasped against the heat he made in her. The joy of loving him, of desiring him, tumbled through her, feeding her starving senses and making her hungry for more. She rose slightly, letting her body flow into his in that wondrous unity. Rob drew a sharp breath at this then his mouth slashed across hers. Johanna's knees weakened with desire.