As the lady beside her prattled on, Hildegarde was becoming increasingly aware that Rohese was nowhere to be seen again. She sought Alys and spotted her standing with her parents and a knight from Giles’ household whose name she did not know. An uneasy feeling began to creep over her, not improved when one of the stewards came to her and cut in abruptly on the lady Richildis’ conversation. Richildis’ already high colour darkened in offence as the steward waved an airy hand at her and, taking Hildegarde’s arm, drew her towards the door.
Hildegarde paused, pulling back slightly, and the steward turned, an enquiry in his eyes. “Young man, have the goodness to tell me where you are taking me.” Her tone was frosty. The steward looked back with total unconcern, which further aggravated Hildegarde’s worries.
“My lady Abbess, my lord has need of speech with you concerning your niece.”
Hildegarde’s knees felt suddenly weak. Drat that girl! What danger had she got herself into now? She was further disturbed by John's knowledge that Shannon was her 'niece'. She knew he had been watching her. Had he also been making enquiries? Sweet Mary, protect us. And a curse… No, that was not seemly. Pulling herself together, she followed him to the alcove beyond the door of the great hall.
John appeared in front of her, a little older now than when she had last seen him. She curtsied deeply and then raised her head. “My lord?”
He offered his hand and assisted her to rise, saying, “My lady Abbess, pray do not be alarmed.”
Well to expect her not to be alarmed with an opener like that. Did he have to be so theatrical?
“Should I be, my lord?” She kept her tone low, even managing to raise a smile. Heaven forfend he should think she had aught over which to be concerned.
“In truth, I think not. However, the lady Rohese has been taken unwell.”
If you’ve touched her… “My lord?” Still that carefully even tone.
“I came across her in the corridor. She seemed to be ailing.”
She is likely indeed to be ailing if you have touched her, you…you…
She allowed her brow to furrow a little, gazing at him quizzically, and wished she had not when she saw the mischief on his face.
“I had the pleasure of being able to aid her. I’m afraid she’d partaken a little too liberally of the spiced wine.” He gave her a confiding look. “She seems to have evaded your careful watch. I feel sure, had you noticed, you would have prevented her ‘ere it came to this.”
Hildegarde clenched her fists under the sleeves of her habit, then forced herself to relax again, hiding her mortification behind a blank expression. He was blaming it on her, and to a degree, he was correct. Then again, it had been hard to concentrate on Rohese once Lady Richildis had claimed her. “It seems I have cause to thank you for your care of her, my lord. If you would allow your steward to take me to her, I will see what may be done.”
John’s lips curved upwards. Why was it his smile made her trust him less than his wolfish expression?
“I assure you, it is no great matter for me to take you myself. Hugh, you may resume your duties.” He waved the steward away and took her arm. Even wearing her habit and at her age, Hildegarde felt unpleasantly vulnerable to his predatory nature. Swallowing her bile, she gave him a gracious nod and allowed him to lead her from the hall, trying to remember the route they took.
He paused at a twisting stone stair, released her arm and gestured ahead of him. “My lady.”
She felt no better when he let go, for it seemed almost as though his eyes were burning into her spine as she trod cautiously up the steps. How she hated castle stairs. At Sparnstow, she’d had guard rails added to prevent accidents, but there was no such luxury here.
The darkness of the poorly-lit stair, the sense of John’s presence, the dampness of the stone all served to increase Hildegarde’s unease. As she ascended, her foot slipped on a worn step, and she felt herself start to topple backwards. Before she could regain her balance, John’s hands came around her waist to steady her.
“Have a care, my lady Abbess. I would not wish men to say you met your death at my hands.”
Hildegarde felt suddenly sick. It would be so easy, wouldn’t it? She took a deep breath and trod with more precision.
As the stair twisted one more time, she glimpsed the top and almost sagged with relief before she straightened her back and resumed her customary poise.
“There, Mother Abbess.” His eyes were mocking her, green glints lurking in the depths. “Never let it be said I have failed the Church. Do you wish to recover your breath before we proceed?”
He leaned against the wall in the full light of the torch sconce, a slight smirk tweaking at the corners of those mobile lips.
“My lord, I am a long way from being decrepit.” How she itched to slap his face; John did not bring out the best in her, she would have to pray about that later. “Please, do lead on.” Thinking, I would so much rather follow you than walk beside you.
She was out of luck. He took her arm again and led her down the short corridor to a dead end. The door which blocked the way was suspiciously ornate, and Hildegarde felt as though her worst suspicions were about to be realised, when, to her surprise, John paused and looked hesitant before he raised the large lion-headed latch and ushered her inside.
The chamber was large and richly furnished. Bright tapestries hung from walls, light flooded in from the expensive glass windows, and on a bed covered with silks and furs, the hangings drawn back, Rohese lay asleep, her head pillowed on her hand. As Hildegarde, stunned, took in the scene, a woman, older than herself but just as ramrod straight, dressed in a brocade gown embroidered thickly with gold thread and scattered with pearls, emerged from a shadowy corner. Her face was stony, her lips pressed tightly together; a gleam of something very unsettling flickered in her catlike eyes.
“John? What does this mean? Explain yourself, if you please.”
John detached himself from Hildegarde’s arm and went towards her, holding both hands out. “Ma mѐre, I see, once again, you’ve exercised that uncanny ability of yours.”
Hildegarde quailed. Ma mѐre? Unsure of the protocol of the situation, she forced her slightly creaky knees into as deep a curtsy as they would allow. “Your Grace,” she murmured.
The Queen ignored her and ignored the hands John held out to her. “Well, John? What folly induced you to bring your latest leman here? To use my own apartments?” Her eyes blazed, but her voice was cold as ice. Hildegarde felt as though her throat was closing and fought to stay in control. She could not afford to make a slip here. Standing upright, she braced herself, praying she would not err.
John seemed unmoved by his mother’s fury. “Ma mѐre, you do me great injustice,” he protested, that irritating, hateful smile of his lurking.
A smile? He was smiling even now? What arrogance! It was as much as Hildegarde could do to stop her legs trembling, and she was not a woman who gave way to fear easily.
The Queen’s eyes narrowed further until they were mere slits. “How so?”
“Believe me, ma mѐre, had she been my bawd, the last place I would have brought her would be your own apartments. I came upon her taken ill in the passage and thought the best way to keep her reputation intact would be to bring her here. Even the most slanderous of my enemies would not suspect me of ravishing her on your bed, Madame. Although, it would seem you are all too ready to believe the worst of me.” The smirk on his lips turned downward in a sudden pout. “Sadly, as always, you credit me with that which even they would not.”
As she stood there, an expression of disbelief on her face, he took her hands and raised them to his mouth, pressing a kiss onto each of them. Her eyes widened, her tight lips bent into a reluctant smile. She inclined her head. “Very well, John, I will believe you. Although, in truth, you try my trust so often, it becomes difficult.” She turned in Hildegarde’s direction, “And indeed, it is unlike even you to bring an abbess into your amorous activities.”
“Ma mѐre, this is the Abbess Hildegarde of Sparnstow Abbey. The lady Rohese is her niece, so I understand. I thought to fetch her myself.” Hildegarde dipped another rusty curtsy and watched the Queen. Almost, she could see the cogs turning in her head.
“My lady Abbess, welcome. I have you to thank for my son’s life, I believe.”
When Eleanor looked like that, few could withstand her. Hildegarde felt the warmth come back into her frozen face, and her legs ceased their ridiculous wobbling. Eleanor held her hand out for Hildegarde to kiss and indicated that she should rise and seat herself.
“My sisters and I are always at your service, Your Grace. Yet, I promise you, we did very little. And your gift was so generous, so beautiful…” Hildegarde was genuinely lost for words. She was used to ruling her own little community, completely confident and able to outface most men, whatever their rank, but she had never before met Eleanor. And indeed, the illuminated book which had been sent as a token of gratitude was more beautiful than anything Hildegarde had ever seen. Words failed her. Her confusion was not lost on the Queen who inclined her head graciously.
“It was nothing, Abbess Hildegarde. I assure you, I was most grateful for your loyalty and the care you gave my son. However, I was at a loss to know why he had also brought you here.” She paused and turned her head. “I confess, the workings of your mind, John, are beyond even my ability to fathom.”
“That must be both a blessing and a curse to you, ma mѐre.” He stalked to the door, turned and, outrageously, thought Hildgarde, blew his mother a kiss. “I leave her in your oh-so-capable hands, Mother.”
Eleanor raised her slender shoulders ever so slightly. “The more sons a woman has, the more she must be driven to distraction.” She gave Hildegarde a disarming smile. “And now, what must be done with this niece of yours? I think you may have to watch her more closely in the future. We cannot have her coming to harm with any of the rogues and churls who call themselves knights.”
Hildegarde kept her tongue still with difficulty. The most likely person to cause Rohese harm was the hellspawn whom Eleanor called son.
A noise from the bed caused them both to turn round. Shannon was sitting up, a slightly green tinge to her face, veil askew, one hand to her mouth, her eyes wide with alarm.
“Child, where are your manners?” the Abbess scolded. “Do you know where you are?”
Shannon flinched and scrambled inelegantly off the bed, performing a deep and very wobbly curtsy. “Your Majesty, I’m so…so…” Sorry was somewhat inadequate, Hildegarde supposed. And how would she have greeted royalty had it been her in such an awkward position?
Shannon stood up, appalled. What should she do? She glanced at the creases and folds she had made on the bed and – oh no! Was that a small patch of drool? She looked up again. The Queen was regarding her with a straight face, but Shannon thought she detected a slight tremor at the side of her mouth. With a bit of luck, she was finding the predicament amusing.
She curtsied deeply again, keeping her balance a little better this time by bracing herself against the side of the bed and pushing on it to help her rise. “Your Majesty, I am so…” and her voice trailed off. So what? So sorry to have been sprawling and drooling all over your royal bed? So sorry to have been sick in your toilet? She took a deep breath and tried again. “Your Grace.” How did one address Eleanor of Aquitaine? That was something she hadn’t checked. She forced her trembling legs into another deep curtsy, this time remaining in it. “Madame, I’m sorry, I can’t find the words. I never…I didn’t…I felt so ill, you see. I didn’t know where I was. I’m so, so sorry.”
“I see.” Eleanor’s lips had stopped twitching, although Shannon thought she could see a glimpse of humour in those green eyes. “And my son came upon you in your distress?”
Er, your son caused my distress!
Eleanor, unable to read her thoughts, continued, “And he brought you here, did he? I trust he was gentle with you.”
“My lady, he was very,” Shannon paused; those eyes watched her intently, “very kind to me, once he realised I was ill.”
Well, that was true. Once he realised she was going to be sick, he was kindness itself. She blushed, remembering the vomit on his shoes.
“And I am pleased to see you are recovering. My child,” the Queen came to her and placed one finger under her chin, tilting her head up, looking into her eyes, “be aware that not everyone will be so kind to a young woman alone and in distress. Some might even be the cause of that distress.”
Shannon accurately read the message Eleanor conveyed. She knows.
“Allow an old woman to offer you some advice. Make sure you do not stray so far from the care of your aunt in the future. You cannot always be sure of being rescued by my son, although it does seem,” she paused, head on one side, “yes, it does seem he has had a care to your welfare. This time.”
Only because I was sick on him. Shannon bit her lip to make sure she didn’t utter her thoughts.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Shannon shifted restlessly on her narrow pallet at the foot of Hildegarde’s bed. She couldn’t get comfortable. The mattress was lumpy, stuffed with straw, and there was no pillow. It was pitch dark; the stone walls of the small, cramped chamber they had been allocated smelt dank and musty even with the shutter open, and the occasional owl-like shriek from outside made her jump.
Hildegarde lay still, making no sound except for her quiet breathing. Lack of a pillow didn’t seem to worry her.
Shannon fidgeted again. Her mind sifted through the events of the day, and she wept silently, trying not to hiccup, scrubbing at her eyes and nose with some squares of linen she had found in her coffer.
Were they all like that? She’d never trust another man as long as she lived. They were all hateful; how could she ever believe a word any bloke said ever again? She wished Chloe was here. She’d always thought her sister flighty but…she sniffed…maybe she was the flighty one.
Three men taking her for an idiot, one after the other. Chloe didn’t get herself into situations like this; she wasn’t so gullible. Shannon hiccuped again. And she still felt sick. She’d drunk far too much of that spiced wine.
Suddenly, she stiffened. What was that scrabbling in the rushes? Surely not…not mice?
Round and round her thoughts went, as she tossed again with a little too much fervour, and the pallet wobbled dangerously. She clutched the sides. She must lay still or she’d never get to sleep. And she didn’t even want to tell Hildegarde about Adam; she’d be disgusted with her. I’m such a fool. If my eyes are all red in the morning, I’ll have to let her think I’m still upset over John. Oh, Adam! I really believed in you.
Love and hate warred within her, along with anger that they’d treated the kid so badly. So what if he didn’t want to marry Alys? Get over it! she chided him mentally. He must know Alys adored him – there was no mistaking it. He should have been straight with me. At least he could have warned me Alys was here.
She hadn’t considered she was doing any harm, hadn’t thought they were hurting anyone. And now, I’m as bad as Sienna – mind, I suppose I wasn’t engaged to Jackson. I’m not as bad as her – I’m worse! Did Adam really love me? If he did, he’d have prepared me. She threshed about some more, and Hildegarde’s breathing paused briefly as though disturbed by her movements.
When she finally drifted off, muddled images and confused snatches of the day chased each other through her mind: Alys pointing proudly to her betrothed, her face bright with joy; mice nibbling Shannon’s toes as she lay there in the dark; bizarrely, Jackson kissing Sienna, leaning against the battlements on the wall walk. What were they doing here?
The dreams grew darker. Adam was laughing as he told Alys he was going to wed Rohese. Alys, a tragic expression on her face, was crying, saying she thought Rohese was her friend, ripping off her veil and running away from them. Hildegarde comforting Marion when Shannon told her she wasn’t coming home. John pawing at her. Shannon herself runnin
g blindly through a maze of stone corridors, always with footsteps chasing after her. In her dream, she threw herself desperately from the castle walls trying to escape John and woke to find she was lying on the floor, morning light filtering through the small window arch, the pallet upturned beside her, and Hildegarde watching her with concern.
“Child, did you hurt yourself?”
She moved her arms and legs gingerly. “No, I don’t think so. I moved too much and turned the stupid thing over.”
“Did your dreams trouble you?”
“I dreamt of John. I was running and running, and he was always there.” She gave a reluctant grin. “I dreamt I’d thrown myself off the wall. Looks like I nearly did.”
“Poor Shannon.”
She got up, set the pallet to rights and sat on it as Hildegarde got out of bed and poured water from the ewer into a basin.
“Aunt, will we be here long? I mean, some of it was fun, but,” she stifled a retch, “I don’t think…” Putting a hand to her mouth, she rushed to the tiny privy set in a corner of the wall. Not again; she’d been sick enough yesterday.
Hildegarde watched her, an amused smile on her face. “Feel better now, Shannon?”
“I don’t think I can face any more wine today. Is there some water anywhere? As for dinner!” She put her hand to her mouth again. “I certainly don’t want that. I don’t want to face John again, either, if I can help it.” She pulled a face. “He’s vile.”
“I’m sorry, Shannon. Your introduction to court hasn’t been what I’d hoped for. I’m afraid life amongst the nobles is not as courtly as one might wish; there are always undercurrents. Isabella has not had pleasant experiences either, which is why she was so reluctant to come. I expect she told you.
“If I could have kept you from it, I would have. However, I suppose it’s been an experience for you, at the very least, and as for vomiting over John,” she paused, chuckling. “I shall amuse myself for long imagining that. It must have been a very effective rebuttal.”
A Promise to Keep (Out of Time Book 2) Page 14