by Amy Tolnitch
She was so tired she could only nod as he turned and left, pulling the door shut behind him. Though Giselle only wanted to crawl under the soft covers, close her eyes, and pretend her life hadn’t just been turned inside out, habit took her to her knees.
She said her prayers by rote, the familiar pattern soothing. After she finished, she remained kneeling. “Dear Lord, show me the path back to your service. I pray to you, aid me.” She swiped a tear from her eye. “Please take me back.”
Stifling a sob, she rose and slid under the covers. Though her stomach grumbled and ached with hunger, she couldn’t keep her eyes open and slowly succumbed to exhaustion.
Piers stomped into Cain’s solar and found him with his very pregnant wife, Amice, who was perched on his lap. The two of them were locked in a passionate kiss. “Cease,” Piers said as he entered the room. “I’ve need of you.”
Far too slowly for Piers’s comfort, his brother ended the kiss, and stared at his wife with a besotted expression which, on any other day, would have Piers cheering in thanks.
“Cain,” he barked.
His brother shifted Amice on his lap and looked at Piers. “Has someone attacked the castle?”
“No, of course not.”
“Then why the great urgency?”
Piers scowled. “ ‘Tis a disaster.”
“What is wrong, Piers?” Amice asked.
“Unbelievable,” Piers said as he paced across the room. “A … girl just arrived.”
“Normally, that would be glad tidings to you,” Cain observed.
Piers gritted his teeth. “Not just a girl, but one who is apparently my betrothed.”
Both Cain and Amice gazed back at him with expressions of astonishment. Cain started laughing and shook his head. “You jest, surely. You are not betrothed.”
Piers shoved the documents at him. “Close enough. To a nun, no less,” he finished on a roar.
Amice stared at him as if he’d lost his mind, which about summed up how he felt at the moment.
“This cannot be true,” Cain said as he smoothed out the parchment. “The Bishop of Ravenswood? What has he to do with the girl?”
“She comes from Kerwick Abbey,” Piers answered. “He would be their overlord.”
Unable to remain still, Piers paced back and forth while Cain read.
The door to the solar flew open and Gifford blew in, followed closely by Cain’s adopted daughter Olive. Both had an excited light in their eyes.
Piers groaned. “Give me that jug, old man.”
For once, Gifford handed it over, and Piers gratefully took a slug of ale.
“I knew nothing of a betrothal,” Cain finally said. “Gifford?”
“William never mentioned it. And Ismena,” Gifford shrugged, “mayhap didn’t know.”
Olive danced over to Cain and Amice and squeezed onto Cain’s knee. She looked at Piers. “It is about time you stopped wenching and found a nice woman to marry.”
Piers tossed back another drink. “You are not supposed to know anything about that.”
Olive grinned. “I am eight years old now, not a baby. Besides, everyone knows.”
Gifford chuckled and Piers shot him a disgusted look, which, typically, passed right over his uncle.
Piers stopped pacing as a thought occurred to him. “Mayhap the document is a ruse for the Bishop to get rid of the girl.”
“I do not know, Piers,” Cain said. “The signature looks to be Father’s.”
“But why? Why agree to this? Who is this Annora? I have never heard the name. And why not tell anyone about it? Why do I find out now?”
Cain shook his head. “ ‘Tis a mystery.”
Amice whispered something to him, and he nodded.
Piers emptied the jug and handed it back to Gifford. “What in Hades am I going to do?” He stared at his brother and saw a flash of humor in Cain’s gaze.
“Marry her, I suppose,” Cain said.
“The girl is a pretty piece,” Gifford offered.
“Are you both mad? Did you not hear what I said? She is a nun, or nearly so. What would I do with a woman like that?”
Cain grinned. “What you usually do, I imagine.”
“You are not helping,” Piers snapped. Inside him, something stirred to life before he could stamp it down. The dark being that had invaded him during his and Gifford’s adventure on the magical island of Parraba. With what was becoming habit, Piers shoved the whoreson’s essence back into the recesses of his mind. The fact that it was becoming more difficult to control did not escape him.
“Talk to the girl,” Amice said. “She must know the answers to your questions.”
Gifford patted Piers on the back. “The girl is resting from her journey. Poor thing was done in.”
Piers clenched his jaw. How could this be happening? Of all the women in the world, how could fate send him a timid girl who’d spent her life undoubtedly listening to admonitions against anything remotely enjoyable? He recalled the disapproving expression on her face, and blew out a breath. “I shall be out riding while the girl sleeps.” Ignoring the sympathy in Amice’s eyes, he strode out of the solar.
Giselle woke slowly, instinctively clinging to the warmth and comfort of her bed. No, I want to sleep, she thought. I do not want to face whatever lies ahead. But she was not used to excessive sleep or idleness and opened her eyes.
Only to shriek in terror at what she saw.
A huge animal gazed back at her. Thick brown fur covered its body and head. When it yawned, it displayed big, sharp teeth.
And it was resting its head on the mattress.
Giselle slowly slid her body up to the head of the bed and curled into a protective ball. “Go away,” she said, her voice shaking. “Praise God, please deliver me,” she prayed. She eyed the partially open door, but knew she’d never make it in time.
Instead, the beast launched itself onto the bed with a heavy thump and sat back on its haunches looking at her.
At the same time Giselle screamed, the door swung open and a young woman ran in.
“Save me,” Giselle implored.
The woman laughed and grabbed hold of the beast’s fur. “Go on now, Guinevere. You are scaring our guest.”
“Guinevere?”
“Aye. Olive named her. The child has a fascination with the old legends.”
Rather than exit the chamber, as Giselle prayed it would, the dog merely retreated to the center of the floor and plopped down with a satisfied snort.
“Guinevere,” the woman suddenly exclaimed. “You bad dog, you’ve eaten all of the lady’s food.”
Giselle followed her gaze to a scattering of crumbs on the floor.
The dog gave out a clearly unrepentant snort.
“Can you … can you get rid of it?” Giselle asked.
“Surely you are not frightened by Guinevere. She is far too lazy to threaten anyone.”
“I am not accustomed to dogs.”
“Well,” the woman tilted her head, “as you can see, this one is naught but a nuisance.”
From the floor, a snore sounded and Giselle found she could take an even breath.
“I am Nona,” the woman announced. “Lady Amice bid me attend you.”
Giselle blinked. “Attend me?”
“Aye.” Nona moved closer and clucked. “Poor thing, you are nearly in rags. We shall have to remedy that at once.”
Giselle glanced down at her bliaut. Nona was right, the bliaut was poor and worn, but Giselle knew of nothing else. She squared her shoulders. “It serves. Vanity is the mark of a loose woman.”
Nona burst out laughing. “Oh, my lady, the things you say. And look at your hair. ‘Tis filthy.”
On that, Giselle had to agree. While true baths were, of course, forbidden at Kerwick, she’d always done her best to clean herself each day. Now she was so dirty she itched.
“A bath. I shall return anon, my lady.”
Giselle opened her mouth to refuse, but before she could utter
a word, Nona was gone.
Leaving her with the hound of the unlikely name Guinevere.
The dog awoke and with what Giselle thought looked like a gleeful look, jumped back on the bed.
Giselle went back to praying. She shut her eyes, wishing she had the courage to retrieve her rosary. At least she could die with the comfort of smooth agate beads in her hands.
When nothing happened, Giselle cracked one eye open. The dog gazed at her unblinkingly. “Go away,” she tried again.
The dog whined.
Giselle scooted tight up against the headboard and took up fistfuls of the sheets. “I do not have any food. You ate it already.”
The dog tilted its head as if it were actually considering her words.
Giselle’s legs were beginning to cramp from her curled position, and she slowly stretched out, praying the dog would remain still. Giselle swung her legs over the side of the bed, but before she could escape, the dog moved until it sat down close to her and put its head on her shoulder.
Hesitantly, Giselle reached out a hand and patted the dog. Guinevere gave out a long sigh, and Giselle released a shaky breath.
You are no longer at Kerwick, Giselle told herself. You must adjust to new things. The thought sent a deep sense of unease surging through her belly.
A soft knock at the door preceded another woman’s appearance. Giselle stared at her. She was strikingly beautiful, with dark hair and big dark eyes. She was also very pregnant, the fine, blue wool of her bliaut stretched over her rounded stomach.
Giselle felt like a bedraggled orphan next to her. It struck her that she was exactly that.
“Welcome to Falcon’s Craig,” the woman said. “I am Lady Amice.”
“I … thank you, my lady. I am Giselle.”
“Guinevere seems to have taken a liking to you.” Lady Amice laughed when the dog licked Giselle’s cheek. She sat on a stool before the fire. “Are you feeling refreshed? Gifford said you were most fatigued from your journey.”
Memories of her travel from Kerwick blended in Giselle’s mind to a harrowing blur. She looked down and pulled a loose thread from her bliaut. “ ’Twas a difficult trip, my lady. I am not practiced in travel.”
“You were sequestered at Kerwick Abbey,” Lady Amice guessed.
“Aye, my lady.” Safe, she added to herself.
“How long did you live at Kerwick?”
“Most of my life. I was but seven years of age when I came to the abbey.”
“What of your family?”
“I had only my mother, who died.” And a father who would never acknowledge her or the fact that he once bedded a woman, she thought.
“Did you enjoy life at the abbey?” Lady Amice’s voice clearly evinced her doubt.
“It is … was my home.” Giselle smiled. “It is my greatest desire to be a nun.”
For a moment, Lady Amice appeared discomfited. “But, I understand you are promised to marry.”
“I—” Giselle cut off when the door opened once more. Nona sailed in carrying a stack of cloths. Behind her streamed a line of servants, some carrying a wooden tub and others buckets of water. Like a swarm of industrious bees, they descended upon the chamber and within a few minutes set up a steaming bath and departed, but for Nona.
“Come on now, afore the water cools,” Nona said with a bright smile.
Lady Amice stood and arched her back, rubbing her belly. “Would you like aid, Lady Giselle?”
Giselle opened her eyes wide in horror. “No, no,” she stuttered. She thought to correct Lady Amice’s address to her, but couldn’t find the words. Giselle knew little of her background, but no one had ever suggested she was of the nobility.
“Very well. Nona can see to you then. Please join us in the hall later. We can all become better acquainted.” She turned and left.
“I can take care of my own needs,” Giselle told Nona.
“Oh, my lady, ’tis kind of you to offer but that is why I am here. Let’s get you out of those dirty clothes.” Nona took Giselle’s arm and pulled her up.
Giselle was so startled she did not have a chance to protest before Nona began unlacing her gown.
“Tsk, tsk,” Nona said. “I do not think we can salvage this one, my lady. ’Tis good you and Lady Amice are of a similar size.”
Giselle pulled away. “Nona, I appreciate your willingness to assist me, but I assure you I am well-used to taking care of myself.”
Nona ignored her and continued her unlacing. “ ’Tis no wonder with you being trapped in that nunnery.” She shook her head. “You will find things at Falcon’s Craig are much different.”
When Nona stripped off her bliaut, Giselle crossed her arms. There was no way she could bare herself to another.
“My, your chemise is little better,” Nona said. “Best give that to me to burn as well.”
The maid began pulling up the hem and Giselle pushed it down.
“Is something wrong, my lady?” Nona asked, peering up at her.
“ ’Tis a sin to display my body.”
Nona giggled. “You are not displaying anything, my lady. You are simply taking a bath. Asides,” she added with a wink, “sometimes ‘tis a pleasurable thing indeed to show the beauty of your body, particularly when the one eyeing it is a braw man.”
Giselle flushed. “I could never do such.”
“Oh, methinks you could if it was the right man. Mayhap like the young lord.” Nona sighed, then shook herself. “Now, come, we mustn’t waste this fine bath.”
Realizing the maid was not going to give up, Giselle walked over to the barrel, faced away from Nona and quickly removed her chemise, splashing into the water as quickly as she could.
Nona poured water over Giselle’s head and began massaging in soap. “You have lovely hair, my lady. Such an unusual color.”
“My mother’s was the same.”
“Ah, she must have been a beautiful woman as well.”
Giselle felt a lurch in her chest. Some days, she could barely remember her mother, just a vague picture of pale hair and a warm, loving smile. She knew she should not allow herself to enjoy the bath or the kneading of Nona’s fingers against her scalp, but it was impossible.
Nona handed her a cake of soap and a small cloth.
Giselle sniffed and smelled the scent of lavender.
“Lavender is Lady Amice’s favorite scent. The earl brings in that fine soap for her.”
I must be dreaming, Giselle thought. A dream filled with luxury she had never envisioned. The soap was soft in her hand, the water warm and soothing, and her hair felt cleaner than it had ever been.
The dream ended when Nona said, “Stand up so I can rinse your hair.”
Giselle swallowed, realizing she had no choice. Heat stung her face as she slowly stood in the tub. As water cascaded over her head, she heard Nona saying, “You have a lovely body, my lady. You should be proud of it.”
Giselle pretended not to hear her.
Nona giggled again. “I am sure the young lord will favor it. He is a man known to have a great … appreciation for women.” She dumped another pail of water over Giselle’s head, saving her from answering. The very thought of any man even seeing her naked body was terrifying enough. Her mind would not dare think of what Nona was suggesting.
“There, all done.”
Giselle opened her eyes as Nona handed her a drying cloth.
Within a few minutes, Giselle was gowned in fabric softer and more colorful than anything she had seen in her life. Nona combed her hair out to dry in front of the fire and gave a satisfied nod. “Much better, my lady.”
“Thank you, Nona.”
“Can I do aught else for you, my lady?”
Giselle’s stomach rumbled, and she made a face. “Could you perhaps bring me a piece of bread?” She glanced at Guinevere, happily sleeping on the floor, her belly full with Giselle’s food.
“Of course, my lady. And I will send some men to remove the tub.” With a burst of energy, No
na breezed out of the chamber.
Giselle fingered the soft wool of her blue bliaut. Guilt assailed her. Such finery was not for her. A woman needed no fine possessions to belong to God. She put her face in her hands. Dear Lord, I feel so adrift, she thought. I do not wish to marry anyone but You. Particularly, not a man who clearly doesn’t want me, and apparently spends a great deal of time indulging his pleasures. She groaned aloud.
And felt a furry nose press against her lap. Guinevere gazed up at her with liquid eyes, as if she sensed Giselle’s distress. She rubbed the dog’s head. “I must find a way back to where I belong,” she told her. “Not Kerwick.”
Giselle caught back a sob, thinking of Sister Gertrude. “There is no place for me there anymore. But perhaps another nunnery. Surely there is a refuge somewhere.”
Without coin? her inner voice asked. She had been fortunate to be permitted to stay at Kerwick, thanks to the Bishop. He would not aid her now, she realized with a pinch of hurt.
Her shoulders slumped in defeat. “I must find a way back into God’s service,” she whispered. “Surely He will help me find a way.”
Though she said the words, her faith in them had been shaken and no number of prayers would ease her soul.
The Bishop’s men had told her she was betrothed. If it was true, even she knew the weight such an agreement carried.
It was no less than a sentence to matrimony.
Her chest hitched and a sob escaped. Have faith, she told herself. God’s will is far more powerful than any betrothal.
But a heavy sense of foreboding settled firmly into her heart, and no amount of faith could dislodge it.
Chapter
II
Piers galloped across the countryside outside the castle walls, wishing he could just keep going. “Betrothed,” he snarled in disgust. He was so angry with his “father” he could scarcely think. Would that the old man were still alive so I could swear at him, Piers thought.
“Damn you, Father,” he yelled into the wind instead. And damn his faithless mother for not telling anyone of the agreement if she knew of it.
The girl’s face popped into his mind. With her pale hair and skin, her turquoise eyes had stood out sharply, eyes that clearly evinced her disapproval of him. No doubt the wench was probably immersed in prayers to God for deliverance from the punishment of having to marry him.