Rhys stared at the stable floor grimly. “I dare not think about it.” His aunt had taken the veil when widowed for the third time. She had survived not only those three husbands, but the bearing of eleven children and a civil war. Miriam had always been kind to him, but she had never had to choose between her own objectives and his own.
Rhys did not doubt that she would gladly trade his desires, if she knew that Caerwyn was in the balance, for her own ambitions.
“I would suggest that you do think about the matter, and do so quickly, or your bride may be traded for a fingerbone!” Thomas chided, then flung out his hands. “Why did you even bring the woman here? You should have ridden onward!”
But Madeline had been frightened and her palfrey had been wounded. Rhys had known that she had needed solace and the chance to recover from her ordeal — and he had thought no further than that.
It was unlike him to underestimate a threat, like the one the sanctuary of an abbey offered to a woman who did not desire to wed. Rhys exhaled and paced the length of the stable, admitting only to himself how Madeline’s needs have overwhelmed all other details in his thoughts.
In truth, she had not been the sole one in need of a moment to recover after Kerr’s assault.
“Your aunt will twist the lady to her will,” Thomas insisted. “If you truly wish to wed her, then no good can come of your arrival here.”
Rhys knew that well enough. “Perhaps I too should greet the abbess,” he said, his tone revealing his lack of enthusiasm.
“If she lets you into her chambers.”
Rhys looked up, angered at the prospect. “She will not stop me, not this day.”
“There is the spirit you need!” Thomas grinned and brushed off Rhys’ jerkin, like a squire preparing his knight for a battle. Rhys could not help but note that Thomas showed an over-abundance of cheer, as if he anticipated that Rhys might lose this particular battle. “You should have a squire, Rhys, to ensure that you do not look like a ruffian,” he chided.
“Squires talk overmuch. I would have my secrets be my own.”
“Perhaps so, but I would advise you not to keep any desire you have for this bride a secret any longer. Women like sweet confessions, Rhys. One such might serve you well in this case.”
Rhys frowned and glanced away from his friend. “And I am to take counsel in courting a woman from a monk.”
Thomas laughed. “I was not tonsured from the cradle. You, of all men, should know as much.”
“Aye, you took your vows to avoid the claims of all your bastard children.”
Thomas laughed again, though Rhys’ comment was not that far from the truth. “You can show a certain rough charm when you so desire, Rhys,” the monk insisted. “If wedding this woman is of import to you, then you might summon a bit of that charm. You will need the lady’s endorsement if you mean to thwart the ambitions of our abbess.”
That, Rhys knew, was true enough.
“Tell her a tale of love redeemed, or one thwarted and reclaimed. You are better with a tale than a compliment.”
That was also true.
But Rhys knew that there was no love betwixt himself and Madeline. He had bought her hand, no more than that, and if he confessed to having tender feelings for her, the lady would not believe him. Madeline was no fool.
Regrettably, his aunt Miriam’s eye was cursedly sharp, and she too would note the lack of affection between them. He scowled at the floor, uncertain what he could say in his own defense.
“Tell her of Caerwyn,” Thomas suggested, ever helpful. “Women like to know a man’s intent for them.”
Caerwyn! If Miriam guessed the truth of it, if Madeline truly was his cousin’s daughter and thus the potential heir of Caerwyn in her own right, there was far more than a fingerbone at stake.
Miriam could demand Caerwyn as a donation, and that castle would be lost to Rhys forevermore. Rhys’ blood ran cold. He cursed, shoved a hand through his hair, and strode to the abbess’ chamber with new purpose.
For Caerwyn, he would utter whatever words were necessary to make Madeline his bride. He would find them, somehow.
He dared do no less.
Chapter Seven
The silence of the abbey closed around Madeline like a shroud.
Everything within the abbey was wrought in hues of white: the walls were white-washed and the nuns wore identical garb of undyed linen. Veils covered their hair and wimples covered their throats, only their hands and faces—which were all pale—were revealed even to each other. A faint melodic chant from the chapel carried through the tranquil corridors, the sound muted and bleak instead of celebratory. Even the sunlight that slanted through the high windows seemed as pale as milk.
The bells at the gate would seem to be out of character. Madeline wondered whether Thomas was responsible for their very presence.
As she followed a nun to a small chamber where she could refresh herself, Madeline had the eerie sense that she walked among the dead. And truly, these women were dead to their families and to the mortal world beyond these walls. They had entered divine service to become closer to God and were thus cloistered from the many distractions of the mortal world.
When first Madeline had left the courtyard, the tranquility of this place had soothed her annoyance with Rhys. But by the time she had washed the filth from her skin and trimmed her nails, combed and braided her hair, the silence had begun to annoy her.
Madeline was accustomed to the barely contained chaos of Kinfairlie and the volume of seven boisterous siblings. Silence was not to be trusted, for it made her suspect that someone plotted a jest against her. So it had always been at Kinfairlie: silence warned a soul to be wary.
At any moment, Malcolm might leap from some unanticipated hiding place to make her yelp in surprise. Or Ross would sneak up behind her while she donned this kirtle and drop some slithering creature down her chemise. Madeline pulled the undyed kirtle hastily over her head then glanced over her shoulder, but Ross was not there.
The meek nun who was evidently her custodian stared into space, with no curiosity about Madeline or her manner at all. She might have been a corpse, stood at the portal. Madeline turned her back upon the girl.
Alexander had always planned more elaborate jests, like the time he had fanned smoke into the chamber that his sisters shared, then shouted “FIRE!”. Madeline smiled at the sight they must have made, all five of them screaming as they fled into the bailey in no more than their chemises. The entire prank had delighted the squires and stableboys of Kinfairlie, while Alexander had been too convulsed with laughter to fully appreciate what he had wrought.
At least until their father had heard tell of his deeds. Alexander had sat gingerly for a week.
Madeline laced the sides of the plain kirtle, her smile fading. Those had been happy days indeed, but now her parents were dead. Malcolm and Ross had been dispatched to train as knights, her beloved James was lost, and Alexander had played the cruelest jest upon her of all.
Madeline was alone as she had never been alone in all her days and nights, and she did not care a whit for it.
The wooden comb clattered as Madeline put it down. No, Madeline decided, she did not merely distrust silence. She loathed it. It was unnatural for people to live in such quietude. She decided not to don the wimple and veil left for her, for she was not a member of this community. As a maiden, she had the right to wear her hair uncovered.
Madeline recalled suddenly the weight upon her neck and realized that she was not utterly alone. She still had the token left to her by her mother, the Tear of the Virgin.
She lifted the velvet sack out of the front of her chemise. She picked the bit of dried mud from it, and unknotted the cord with some trepidation. She did not know what to expect of it, not after it had been so dark the night before.
But its prediction was less clear to her now than it had been last evening. Had the Tear of the Virgin anticipated her flight, and predicted only the woe she had endured at Kerr’s
hand? Or had its warning been a prediction for her match with Rhys?
There was but one way to know. Madeline let the stone slip into her palm, though she quickly closed her fingers over it. She kissed her clenched fist, whispered a prayer, then opened her hand.
At first she thought the gem was as dark as before, but then she spied a gleam of light deep within it. Madeline lifted her hand so that she could see the stone better. A small golden star seemed trapped within the stone, much as she was trapped by the few choices before her. She turned the gem this way and that: though the star remained, it neither grew larger nor smaller.
The fact that it was present meant that there was hope.
Or at least, that there was more hope for Madeline than there had been last evening.
She put the gem back into the velvet sack with a frown and supposed she would have to content herself with that.
The young nun who accompanied Madeline to the abbess seemed to be at peace with her choice to enter the cloister. Indeed, she exuded a tranquility that Madeline knew she would never feel herself. The nun halted at the portal to the chamber occupied by the abbess, then stood silently, waiting for the abbess to note their presence.
The abbess was an older woman, in the midst of writing. The only sound was the scratch of her nib against the vellum. She seemed blissfully unaware of the two women awaiting her attention.
Madeline looked between the pair of them and realized that the young nun would wait quite contentedly forever, if it took that long for the abbess to become aware of them. Madeline was not so submissive as her companion. She cleared her throat, and stepped forward when the abbess glanced up in surprise.
She felt the shock of the girl beside her and did not care.
“Good day. I greet you and thank you for your hospitality this day,” she said, advancing into the chamber. “I am Madeline Lammergeier of Kinfairlie. Doubtless you have already heard of my arrival here.”
The abbess’ smile was not immediate. In fact, the older woman seemed to take the measure of Madeline at her leisure before she spoke.
“I have indeed heard the tale,” she said finally, then rose to her feet with the grace of a duchess. She flicked the barest glance at the young nun behind Madeline. “That will suffice, Sister Theresa. I bid return to your prayers.”
There was a whisper of leather slippers against the stone floor as the young nun slipped away, then that cursed silence assailed Madeline’s ears once more.
The abbess surveyed Madeline, her gaze so shrewd that Madeline doubted there was much news this woman did not hear. The slender angles of her figure were evident despite the full cut of her gown and the wimple and veil that framed her face. Her eyes were a faded blue, though her avid gaze undoubtedly missed no detail, however trivial.
Madeline would not like to be a foe of this woman.
“You are far from Kinfairlie, child,” the abbess said, crossing the room with the leisure of a cat stalking its prey. She halted before Madeline, that incisive gaze all the more forceful at such close proximity.
“Indeed I am.” Madeline fought the urge to blink.
She started when the abbess abruptly flicked the cloth of her kirtle away from her throat. “Did Rhys FitzHenry do this to you?” The abbess flicked a finger across Madeline’s throat, the tingle telling her that there was a bruise upon her flesh.
“Quite the opposite. I was attacked by a bandit.” Madeline was certain that it was better to say less to this woman than more. “I survived the villain’s assault because Rhys FitzHenry killed him.”
The abbess was clearly unsurprised by this detail, though she arched a silver brow. “And the price of Rhys’ invention is marriage?”
Madeline felt herself flush. “We were betrothed afore.”
“How curious that I did not know of it.”
“We were betrothed but yesterday.”
A faint smile of triumph touched the abbess’ lips before she pivoted to stroll across the chamber. “Yet this very morn, you were far from Kinfairlie and either alone or so poorly defended that a bandit could threaten your life.” She glanced over her shoulder, eyes glinting. “The Rhys I know takes better care of what he holds to be of value.”
Madeline’s face heated yet more, for she was a poor liar. “The details of my woes are surely not of import.”
The abbess considered her for a moment, then gestured that Madeline should take a seat. She trailed her fingertips across the top of the table, then spoke so idly that Madeline knew her question would be of import. “Do you know Rhys well?”
“Not at all.” Madeline smiled politely. “Though that is hardly uncommon for a betrothed maiden.”
The abbess inclined her head in agreement. “Of course not. Though I do know Rhys rather well, as he is my nephew. It is curious to me that Rhys would choose to wed with such... impatience. He is, in my experience, a man who considers his every deed with great care.”
“Nonetheless, I tell no falsehood about our agreement.”
The abbess studied Madeline, who resolutely said no more. “There were rumors of a strange auction at Ravensmuir yesterday. Are those at Ravensmuir not the kin of your family at Kinfairlie?”
“My uncle is the Laird of Ravensmuir.”
The abbess nodded. “The same laird who permitted the auction of one of his nieces as a bride, the same laird whose niece sits afore me, telling me that she does not know the man she is abruptly pledged to wed.”
Madeline said nothing, for she could not guess the older woman’s intent. She knew solely that she did not trust her.
The abbess seemed to find her response—or lack of it—amusing. “You may keep your secrets, child, but I shall make you a wager.” She braced her hands on the table, her eyes bright. “You surely know that you have come to the one place that might offer you sanctuary. You cannot wish to wed a stranger, no less one charged with treason by the king himself.”
The abbess’ eyes shone as she leaned closer. “Pledge to join this abbey and you need not exchange vows with Rhys FitzHenry. Become a bride of Christ, Madeline, instead of the wife of a warrior, and save your immortal soul.”
Madeline was not tempted by the prospect of coming beneath this woman’s authority, but she could not quickly think of a way to diplomatically decline. She marveled instead that she was more afraid of this abbess than she was of Rhys.
“Aunt Miriam, is it not impolite for you to try to dissuade my betrothed from wedding me?”
Madeline spun to find Rhys leaning against the portal. Her heart leapt with a strange joy at the very sight of him. His eyes were darker than they had been and his mood seemed foul. He looked larger in this sanctuary, darker and more dangerous amidst the white walls and undyed cloth. His hands were propped upon his hips, his demeanor formidable, and Madeline had a sudden urge to taste his demanding kiss once more.
It was more than the hue of his garb, or even his gender, that made him look out of place. Rhys’ very presence shattered the tranquility here. He brought a whiff of the outside world, of war and death and passion, that enlivened the chamber more than the serene music and rays of sunlight could.
Madeline knew that this was why his presence was so very welcome. She thought of his demand for sons and knew that he would not be sated with one or two. Rhys’ home would be filled with the noise to which she was accustomed.
Madeline knew in that moment what her choice would be. She could not imagine a worse fate than being sealed within these walls for all of her remaining days and nights. She would rather live each moment to the fullest, even if that meant accepting uncertainty, than pass her days in such tranquil seclusion.
If she put her hand in that of Rhys FitzHenry, Madeline wagered that she would have adventure and passion aplenty, as well as the protection of a formidable man. Perhaps Vivienne’s notion had not been such folly; perhaps Madeline might clear the stain from her husband’s name. From what she had seen of Rhys, she could not imagine that he had betrayed his liege lord, for faithl
essness seemed a crime beyond all to him.
The abbess smiled briefly. “You should not feel so welcome as to come to my chamber, nephew. I have indulged you overmuch in this place.”
“I would have come in this moment with your indulgence or nay. My betrothed and her welfare is of greater import to me than any condemnation you might utter.” Rhys smiled at Madeline, the very sight making her pulse race. “How do you fare, my lady fair? Have you sufficiently recovered from events of this morn?”
He was suddenly so courteous and charismatic that Madeline did not know what to say.
“Are you well?” she whispered.
Rhys chuckled, claimed her hand and laid a kiss upon her knuckles. “Better now that I see you again.”
Who was this man? Had Rhys been struck in the head? He watched her over her knuckles, and she frowned at him. Why did he not simply tell her what was amiss?
He tightened his grip upon her fingers and his lips tightened with what might have been displeasure. “Is it so difficult to believe that I have yearned for the sight of your smile in your absence?”
Madeline parted her lips to confess that it was, then realized that the abbess watched their exchange with keen interest. She put her hand over Rhys’ and smiled. “I am but surprised that you make such sweet confessions in the presence of another.”
Rhys straightened and pulled Madeline closer to him. She fairly stood within the circle of his arms, though he continued to merely hold her hands. “It is charming that you are so shy, though our affection cannot always remain a private matter between us.” Rhys caressed her hand with his fingertips. “Once we are wed, all will expect to witness our joy in each other’s company.”
He bent and inexplicably brushed his lips across her brow. Madeline did not know what to say or do, she was so astonished by his courtly manner.
The abbess spoke firmly to Madeline, though her gaze did not waver from Rhys. “Do not let Rhys force you into a match you do not desire, child. You have fled him once and come to a haven. I do not deny that he is a forceful man and I do not deny that men have their allure.”
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