Straightening up, she went to the other bodies. Although Giles’ men had claimed they were dead, she needed to know for herself.
They had spoken the truth. One had his chest crushed – Blaze had done that. Of the other two, one had his throat cut, the other had dashed his head against a rock, spilling his brains. Giles came over to her, taking her arm. “Abbess, I’ll send a man to notify the sheriff. These were outlaws, you can see that.”
Hildegarde opted to ride alongside the wain, with Isabella on the other side, and she watched Shannon with concern. The mantle had been well wrapped around her, and over that, Isabella had tucked her own cloak, lined with coney fur. She was still very pale and trying not to cry, if Hildegarde was any judge.
“Rohese, what were you doing? Why did you go with Adam?” Isabella asked what Hildegarde had been about to. What had she been thinking? Or hadn’t she? In Shannon’s world, it would not have been strange.
Shannon’s eyes flashed indignantly. “I didn’t go off with him! I wouldn’t! He kidnapped me,” she hissed vehemently. Then, as the cart jolted again, and Adam moaned, she studied him worriedly before leaning back against the cart, gritting her teeth. “He said he wanted to marry me. I told him I wouldn’t marry him if he was the last man on earth.” She gulped. “I don’t know what he was going to do, but then we saw the outlaws. They’d blocked the trail. They hurt us. He killed them, and now, he’s hurt and I can’t hate him like I want to.” She gave another gulp and buried her head in her shaking hands.
Hildegarde felt it was time to intervene. “Enough, Rohese. We can discuss this later. Rest now, please.” The girl had gone through enough for one day. For certѐs, she didn’t know whether it was better they had been stopped by outlaws than Shannon being abducted or worse. It was almost certain Giles would have apprehended them before harm had come to Shannon, and the outlaws had probably saved Adam’s life, for had he not already been injured when Giles had come upon him, Hildegarde was not sure he would be alive now.
On the other side of the cart, Isabella still appeared shocked. With a click of her tongue, she urged Merlin forward to join Giles, saying in low tones, “I do not think it was any fault of Rohese, but Giles, how could Adam have done this?”
His face set in hard lines, he said, “The fool! I imagine he had fancies of flying high in the service of her father. More likely, he would not have lived long enough to do so. I had thought him to have more sense if not more honour.” He snapped his mouth shut and said no more.
It was a subdued party which clattered through the gatehouse some hours later.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
When they arrived at the abbey, the outer courtyard was empty save for Berthe at the gatehouse who stared askance at the sorry group. Isabella organised a litter for Adam, carried by Fulke and Miles. He was swiftly despatched to the infirmary where he was left in Ursel’s care, his injuries being deemed far too severe for the ministrations of Brother Anselm, the infirmerer for lay brothers and male guests. In more serious cases, Anselm always deferred to Sister Ursel’s superior knowledge and skills.
Giles took care of Shannon himself, gently carrying her to her chamber where Amice leapt to her feet, wringing her hands when she saw her mistress being laid tenderly on the bed.
Hildegarde sent her rushing for a cup of hot water. “And mind you put a little milk and honey in it. Add this, and bring it straight back here.” She handed over a scoop of her precious tea-leaves. “In fact, bring back two cups. This is a special herb from Bolohovenia,” she added, as the maid viewed it doubtfully. A cup of tea – just what this doctor ordered. The sweet tea would help revive Shannon, and she rather felt the need for a good, strong cup herself. Oh, bless Marion, if only she knew how much Hildegarde looked forward to her yearly supply. She gave Amice another scoop of leaves.
As she sat by Shannon’s bed, the girl gave a sudden wail and hid her face in her hands, weeping. Hildegarde held her until the storm had passed, and Shannon drew away still gulping and shuddering as Amice came back with the cups.
“I never smelled anything like that,” she exclaimed as she put them down on the small table beside the Abbess. “They have strange herbs over there.”
Hildegarde smiled vaguely and motioned her to leave. Her stint as a maid would likely be over soon unless she wished to work here. That could be dealt with later.
Although Shannon had stopped crying, she was still woebegone. Hildegarde took a napkin and bathed her swollen eyes with cool water, then passed her the tea. Sniffing, she sipped at it before asking, “How about Adam? Will he survive? Can’t we take him–?”
The Abbess interrupted before she could finish. “No, child, I do not think it would be wise to take Adam into your time.”
“I suppose not, but oh, I don’t want him to die. I know I hated him for what he did, but I don’t want that.”
Hildegarde took Shannon’s face in her hands. “Child, he is not dead yet. Nor will he be if I and my nuns can prevent it.”
“You haven’t got antibiotics or anything here. You can’t even give him a transfusion.”
“True, child; however, many others have faced more grievous injuries and survived. Sister Ursel has great skill. Also, we have treatments here that, although they would be laughed at in your time, are, nevertheless, quite effective. And bones will knit straight if set right. You may always pray for him. I and the sisters will certainly do that also. And whatever you may believe, I am convinced that prayer does sometimes change things.
“And now, child, do you think you might be able to rest awhile? I have things which need my attention.”
Shannon summoned up a small smile. “I think so. Um, Auntie, I think, when my ankle is better, I’d quite like to go home. I think I’ve had enough of the twelfth century, and I’ve definitely had enough of men.” She swiped a hand across her eyes, then said wearily, “I don’t think I’ll ever trust another man as long as I live.”
Hildegarde, who had just got up, sat down on the bed and gave her a level look.
“Now, that would indeed be foolish, Shannon. Don’t you see? You have had two bad experiences–”
“Three! Don’t forget John! He was so…so…urgh! So vile!”
Hildegarde took her hand. “Child, you cannot judge all men by those experiences.”
Shannon’s mouth tightened. “Three of them, all toads! Never again.”
“And what of your father? Is he a toad?”
“What? No, of course he isn’t?”
“And do you think your mother never met any bad apples?” By the expression on her face, she clearly hadn’t thought of that. Good. “And what of Giles?”
“I suppose.”
“Well – and you may trust me on this – he is not, for if he were, your mother would not have been able to return to you; he would have delivered her to John.”
Shannon still seemed dubious, though Hildegarde hoped her words were having some effect. “And trust me on this, too; you cannot judge one man by another’s sins.” She smiled. “If we were to do that, the whole human race would likely die out. I promise you, there are good as well as bad men out there, just as there are good and bad women.”
The eyes that gazed back at Hildegarde were shadowed with more than just physical pain, and the Abbess began to feel there may have been more between them than she had suspected. The thought was confirmed when Shannon spoke again.
“I did love him.”
“No, you did not.” Hildegarde was brisk. Shannon opened her mouth to protest, but Hildegarde continued. “You thought you loved him, but you cannot truly love in such a short time. You fell in love with what you thought you knew, with the image he projected. Of the real man, you knew nothing.”
Shannon opened her mouth again, then closed it. Hildegarde continued inexorably. “I repeat myself, I know, but listen well. You were in love with being in love, for you cannot love a man fully until you know him. And do not look at me thus; I have not always been a nun, and even if I had, allo
w me some knowledge of the human heart.”
Shannon appeared abashed for a moment, then gave a sniff and swiped again at her eyes with her sleeve. Hildegarde pressed a scrap of linen into her free hand. “Use this, and Shannon, when next you start to fall in love–”
Shannon shook her head. Unruffled, Hildegarde ignored her. “You will, Shannon, I assure you. When next you start to fall in love, give yourself time to get to know the man before you give your heart.”
“There won’t be a next time.”
“Yes, there will; once you’ve recovered, I promise you, there will be.”
“There wasn’t for you. If you never fell in love, neither will I, not ever again.”
Hildegarde’s mouth quirked. “You think not?” She paused; she had said enough for the nonce, the girl was white to the lips again. Patting the hand that lay in hers, she said, “Rest now, dear, and don’t trouble yourself with the future. Remember my words though, and next time you meet someone you like, you might do something for me?”
Shannon nodded, but her eyes were cloudy.
“Will you try prayer? Pray for guidance. Learn to lean on God.”
“I’ll try.”
The voice was little more than a whisper, but Hildegarde was content. She had been able to plant a small seed of faith, and this was like to be her only opportunity; the rest was up to God. She smiled. And He has never failed me yet.
“Rest now, Shannon. I’ll deal with what needs to be done.” She released Shannon’s hand to drop a kiss on her brow before nodding to Ursel who had just come in, then watched as Shannon’s eyes closed. She could safely be left in Ursel’s care.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Having sent for Sir Giles, Hildegarde waited in her chamber, dreading the interview to come. Would he be wroth she hadn’t told him about Shannon earlier? Mayhap she had erred.
A tap on the door heralded his arrival. “Abbess?” He strode into the room, cast one look at her face and sat in the chair opposite, studying her. “Is aught amiss? Well, aught else? The lass hasn’t taken a turn for the worse, has she?” His face darkened. “In truth, had Adam not been in the condition he is, I should have beaten him senseless myself. Isabella warned me of his nature, but I had not realised the depth of it.”
“Sir Giles, he has done a grievous wrong; however, beating him senseless would answer for nothing.”
“In your other world, perhaps not; in this world, it is the way of things, as you well know. And I cannot let it go unpunished. Surely, even in your own world, his action would have consequences.”
“Yes, but they would not involve rendering him senseless. Although I agree, my other world is inclined to be too lax with discipline. I do, though, have concerns other than Adam at present. I need to get my niece home to her family.”
“You wish me to arrange a guard for her? Is she able to travel? Surely, she should wait until she has recovered. And anyway, how far away is this Bolohovenia?”
Hildegarde steeled herself. “About eight hundred years, Sir Giles.” His head jerked upwards. “She’s Marion’s daughter.”
“Marion?” The chair scraped along the floor as he leapt to his feet. “Marion?” he said again, incredulously. “And she’s your niece? But I… Abbess, you never said! You are Marion’s kin?”
Hildegarde watched him. How much should she divulge? No good had come thus far of hiding the facts; still, maybe he should not know he was also her own ancestor. She took a deep breath. “She is not my niece, yet once she had told you that, what was I to say? Indeed, it took me completely aback when you arrived with her, for I have no niece.” That, at least, was true; no need to mention the degree of kinship. She continued, “Until I could spend time alone with her, I did not know who she was. However,” she paused, “Sir Giles, you may wish to be seated.”
He eyed her narrowly. “I thank you, Abbess, I would rather stand.”
Ah yes, he paces when troubled. She inclined her head. “As you wish, my lord. Now, how to begin?”
He gave a short bark of laughter. “I fancy I’ve heard those words from you before, and the last time you said them, you proceeded to, er, blow my mind, as Marion would have said.”
She gave a quirk of her lips. “Then, Sir Giles, I should prepare for your mind to be blown again, if I were you, for Rohese, or Shannon as we would call her in her own time, is your descendant – as is Marion.” There, she’d said it.
Giles stopped his pacing and collapsed into the chair again as though his legs would not hold him up. “My what?”
“Your descendant. You are her ancestor.”
“And you know this, how?”
“I have known it, or rather suspected it, for some time. You may have observed that Rohese wears a ring?” He nodded. “It’s a significantly unusual ring which her mother gave her. But have you not noticed its similarity to the ring you wore when first we met? The ring your wife now wears.”
He looked dumbstruck.
“I see you have not.” Men! And they never did change, this much Hildegarde knew to be true; most of them did not see that which was beneath their noses. “I can assure you, those two rings are identical.”
“Impossible! My father commissioned mine for me when I gained my knighthood.”
“My point precisely.”
He ran his hands through his hair until it stood on end. Any moment now, she thought, and he will leap from that chair again.
She was right. Getting to his feet, he strode around the chamber like a caged beast, still tugging at his hair until it was in complete disorder.
“My descendant? How is that possible? No, Abbess, you’re making assumptions. There is no way we can be sure.”
“Mayhap not entirely, although I do know Marion had a grandsire whose surname was Suttoner.”
“Well, then!”
“And names did change through the years. De Soutenay would have become more anglicised over time.” She could see he was affronted. “I also imagine you have not observed the resemblance Rohese bears to Isabella. They have the same colouring and the same shaped face, although Rohese is more sturdy. And Marion, too, bears more than a passing resemblance. All that differs slightly is their build and eye colour.”
“That is not proof.”
“No, it is not. Sir Giles, there are some things you will have to trust me on. I know almost for a certainty that Marion is your descendant. Please, do sit. You are in danger of wearing a groove in my floor, and besides, you are making me feel quite dizzy.”
Giles sat, looking mulish.
“And, I have noticed that Rohese, when thwarted, has exactly the same expression you now wear.”
He glared at her.
“Sir Giles, think on this. How many men have been privileged thus? Not just to know your line will continue for nigh on a thousand years, but to be permitted to know your own descendants? What a wondrous gift our Lord has given to you.”
His stunned expression was slowly fading as her words sunk in, only to be replaced by one of fury.
“Sir Giles?”
“And that churl of mine has dared to abscond with my own blood?”
“Sir Giles!” Hildegarde held his gaze. “Pay no mind to that.”
“Pay no mind? Are you mad?”
“Sir Giles, the boy has already paid for it, and do not forget, he did save her from the outlaws they encountered.”
“Aye, and if it were not for him, she would have met no outlaws!”
“Well, yes, that is true, but swallow your ire, for he is not our immediate concern. That matter may be dealt with later.” When you have calmed down, she thought. “And only consider the wonder of this. Your own descendant saved your life and lands, and you have had the miracle – for miracle it is, is it not? – of meeting not just her, but her daughter.”
Hildegarde watched while his face softened and lit as the full truth hit him. And how could he not be delighted? In a world where ancestry and descendants meant so much, to know his line would still be unbroken s
o many centuries on, how could that not bring to him a sense of awe?
“Eight hundred years!” He breathed in deeply. “Yes, Abbess, a miracle indeed. If I did not believe in them before, and I confess, I have had my doubts, how could I not believe now?” A beatific smile spread across his face. “What man could hope to know that? And I? Not only have I seen the future, but…”
Hildegarde gave him a sharp glance. Was there something she did not know?
“Er, yes, Abbess.” He looked like a boy caught stealing pies. “I did try; Marion saw me and pushed me back. However, in that brief glimpse, I saw wonders!”
She was glad she hadn’t known at the time; it would have been a source of concern for her. However, it might make things easier now.
“Well, Sir Giles, now your descendants need your help, as you needed theirs. Rohese it was who delivered the devices, for Marion has been desperately ill.” She was not going to explain a cholecystectomy. It may be routine in her own time; to him, it would sound deathly.
“She’s ill? Will she recover?”
“She will, though she was unable to travel, and so Rohese came. Girls from her time are considerably more independent, and, despite being told not to, she came through and stayed.”
He considered for a moment, then said, “Marion must be out of her mind with worry!”
“The child spun her a tale. In their time, young women travel more widely and alone. Marion believes she is elsewhere, and I wish it could remain that way. Though, now, Rohese wishes to return home but cannot walk. Assuredly, we can help her to reach the tree, but we cannot leave her there. Which brings me to my point. Sir Giles, if she has not recovered sufficiently to walk without pain in a day or so, will you help me take her through?”
“Through?” His hands played with the hilt of his dagger. In the confusion, he had forgotten to disarm. “You mean, enter her world?”
A Promise to Keep (Out of Time Book 2) Page 17