The court went into deep mourning when word was brought two days later of a survivor who reported seeing Prince William drown, along with his half-sister and half-brother. The king was said to be inconsolable.
Ragna fell to her knees sobbing when Aidan shared the terrible news. “But if one man survived, there’s hope for our parents,” he tried, unwilling to face the possibility they were dead.
“Papa almost drowned twice before,” Edwin rasped.
Aidan bristled. “Well, that doesn’t mean they went down in the wreck.”
The temptation to give in to despair and sob like a child was overwhelming, but he wasn’t ready for the responsibilities of the family’s two estates, Shelfhoc and Kirkthwaite. Tears would mean he’d given up hope, which he refused to do.
After another sennight without news of survivors, guilt crept into his heart. He was the one who’d suggested his parents sail on the prince’s ship.
Feeling isolated amid the atmosphere of gloom and doom at Winchester, he decided he and his siblings should travel north to Shelfhoc Hall. They’d be near their uncle at Ellesmere Castle. Baudoin would know how to proceed.
Brood Mare
Kolbrand’s Path, Scottish Lowlands, Hogmanay 1120AD
Nolana Kyncade and her young half-brother retreated to a corner of the hall as the Hogmanay celebrations deteriorated into a drunken revel. She was appalled the fifteen-year-old was being exposed to the excesses of his father’s decadent cronies. “I hope we can soon slip away,” she whispered.
“Ye’d think my father would show more respect,” Ingram muttered. “Ma isna yet cold in her grave.”
It didn’t come as a surprise Neyll Maknab wasn’t grieving his wife’s death. “I ken he’s yer father, but ’twas his beatings finished her off.”
Ingram shook his head, his eyes brimming tears. “He’s no father to me. I doot he even remembers my name.”
His words brought home a terrible truth to Nolana. She and Ingram shared a mother, a woman who’d protected them from Neyll Maknab. Now she was gone…
“I never understood what Ma saw in him,” Ingram confessed.
“Nor I,” Nolana replied. “I hated him from the moment he burned down our home in the Highlands. My mother stood by and allowed it.”
“He crows about it to this day. Claims he saved coin not having to pay expenses for a house he had nay intention of living in.”
Disgust constricted Nolana’s throat. “Just as he’s crowing now about the White Ship disaster. What kind of man celebrates when people drown?”
Ingram shrugged. “He’s mightily pleased the English king has lost his heir. He thinks ’twill be easier to attack Northumbria now his enemy has been stricken.”
The staggering loss of hundreds of lives in the disaster sickened Nolana. “So many families devastated,” she murmured, startled when Ingram rose abruptly.
“Shyte,” he exclaimed. “He’s seen us.”
He hurried away before she could scold him for his offensive language. She scrambled to her feet, but her odious stepfather reached her side, a fat, balding and clearly inebriated Norman in tow. She recognized the man as one of his guests, though why he’d invite an Englishmon to his Hogmanay celebrations…
“Here’s the lass, Baron,” he declared, grasping her arm.
She didn’t expect the courtesy of an introduction, but the Sassenach’s ogling perusal unnerved her. She tried unsuccessfully to free her arm from Neyll’s grasp.
“A spitfire, I see,” the Norman gurgled, a menacing glint in his eye. “I enjoy taming a woman.”
“What’s the meaning of this?” she asked indignantly, determined not to wince as Neyll’s fingernails dug into her flesh.
“I’ve betrothed ye,” Neyll replied calmly. “Baron Grouchet lost his only son and heir in the White Ship disaster. We’ve agreed ye’ll provide him with another.”
Grouchet took her hand and slobbered a kiss across her knuckles. “You’ll do nicely.”
Neyll turned to his guest. “We’re agreed then?”
Grouchet grinned, his eyes fixed on her breasts. “Indeed. I’ll arrange for the coin.”
Stunned into silence, Nolana watched them swagger away. She’d expected Neyll to relegate her to the kitchens, but she never considered he might sell her.
When the blood stopped pounding in her ears, she filled her lungs and hastened to the stables, Ingram’s favorite place of refuge. As she crossed the courtyard, the biting wind from the North Sea made her tear-filled eyes water even more.
She heaved the big door closed after entering, grateful for the cocooning warmth of the horses—a larger number than usual on this night of feasting.
Relying on the light from a lone torch in a stanchion by the door, she crept from one stall to another, whispering Ingram’s name.
Finally—“Over here.”
Following the sound of his voice, she found him brushing a horse she didn’t recognize. “Ye must take me to my aunt in Berwick,” she blurted out breathlessly.
He kept on brushing. “When?”
“Now.”
Still tending the horse, he snorted. “Are ye daft? ’Tis pitch black and freezing out there.”
She fisted her hands. Somehow she had to convince him. “I have to get away.”
Finally, he paused, plucking horsehair from the brush. “I ken ’tis hard to live with Neyll. I’ve often thought of…”
“He has sold me to Baron Grouchet,” she interrupted. “As a brood mare.”
Her half-brother stared for long minutes, causing her to wonder if a young lad his age would even understand what she’d said. Then, he clenched his jaw. “We’ll leave at first light. They’ll be sleeping off the night’s revelry. Gather what ye need and come back.”
She threw her arms around him. “Thank ye, brother. ’Tis a lot to ask. I ken ye risk Neyll’s wrath by helping me.”
“Naught new in that,” he replied.
* * *
Aidan, Ragna and Edwin spent Yuletide at Ellesmere Castle. Their uncle refused to allow them to stay alone at Shelfhoc Hall. Equally grief-stricken by the unknown fate of his half-brother, Baudoin canceled the usual entertainments. There were no mummers, no Morris Dancers, no jugglers or troubadours—only weeping, red-rimmed eyes and distraught faces. The unbearable silence threatened to overwhelm Aidan.
Still, he refused to give in to despair, struggling to keep hope alive. He and his siblings spent hours on their knees in the church built by their late grandfather, begging Ram de Montbryce to intercede and reveal where Caedmon and Agneta FitzRam had managed to swim to shore.
“I don’t think Mother knew how to swim,” Edwin kept murmuring.
“Father would have saved her,” Aidan insisted. “Perhaps a villager has given them shelter,” he suggested more than once.
“Then why have we heard nothing?” Ragna asked.
“The shock may have caused them to lose their memories. They don’t remember who they are,” he countered, not surprised when his sister rolled her eyes at the ludicrous suggestion and burst into tears again.
By early January, Aidan had accepted the reality that his parents had drowned. Guilt replaced hope. If he hadn’t suggested they sail on the White Ship, Caedmon and Agneta FitzRam would still be alive.
It was his duty to atone. He would abandon the life of luxury that was his birthright as a wealthy nobleman.
He took the opportunity to reveal his decision at the traditional burning of the Yuletide Wreath on Twelfth Night.
After his uncle’s family had tossed their cedar fronds into the fire blazing in the hearth of the Great Hall and prayed tearfully for the souls of their lost kin, Aidan came to his feet. “I pray for strength,” he began, afraid to look at Ragna and Edwin. “I have decided it is my duty to renounce the world and become a monk.”
Only the crackle of the flames broke the silence that followed. He twirled the frond in his fingers, inhaled deeply and tossed it into the fire.
Ragna sto
od, hands on hips, fury contorting her beautiful face. “This is no time for jests, brother. Have you lost your wits?”
Aidan fisted his hands. “I am not jesting. I will join the community at Lindisfarne Abbey. At least I’ll be close to Kirkthwaite Hall.”
“So, I’m to lose a brother as well as my parents,” Ragna shrieked, hurling her frond at him before fleeing the hall.
Edwin glared at him then followed his sister.
Baudoin’s wife and children left quietly, leaving Aidan alone with his uncle.
“Have you considered the ramifications of such a decision?” Baudoin asked.
Aidan floundered, his emotions all at sea. He’d thought announcing his intention would bring him peace, but he was more conflicted than ever. “I must make amends.”
“For what?” his uncle demanded, clearly unable to keep the anger out of his voice. “What happened wasn’t your fault.”
But somebody had to shoulder the blame. “Nevertheless…”
Baudoin stood. “I cannot sanction this, Aidan. My brother wouldn’t have wanted you to shut yourself away.”
As Aidan stared into the flames, his father’s beloved face rose up to torment him. He fled the hall, hurried to his chamber and fell to his knees, praying for the courage to do the right thing.
* * *
It was still dark when Ingram and Nolana set off from Kolbrand’s Path. The going on the frost-rutted track was slow until a grey dawn lit the way. Nolana clung to Ingram’s back. If she fell, her frozen body would shatter into a thousand pieces.
The sun was well up by the time they joined the queue of people—mostly tradesmen—waiting to pass through Berwick’s gate.
“We stick out like a sore thumb,” she murmured.
“Dinna fash,” Ingram replied. “Just smile when our turn comes.”
Teeth chattering, she forced her frozen features into what she feared might be more of a grimace than a smile. However, to her surprise, the young sentry returned the smile.
Ingram didn’t wait to be challenged. “My sister and I have traveled miles to visit our cousin, Maudie Kyncade.”
“Maudie? From the inn by the river?”
Despite the chill, a wave of heat rolled over Nolana. She’d worried about locating her cousin, but it seemed the woman was well known.
“Aye,” Ingram replied. “Can ye direct us?”
Ten minutes later, they found themselves in front of a ramshackle building that looked like a gust of wind might carry it away. On the banks of the Tweed, the inn resembled an anthill. Loud men exiting jostled in the doorway with even louder men trying to get in.
“I dinna like the look of this place,” Ingram said.
Her aunt’s establishment filled Nolana with trepidation, but they knew no one else in Berwick. She hadn’t seen her father’s sister since she was a bairn; Ingram had never met her. She plucked up her courage. “’Twill be all right once we find Maudie.”
Looking worried, Ingram dismounted without replying and helped her down. “Ye’ll have to keep me steady for a minute or two,” she told him. “My feet are like ice.”
The multitude of patrons seemed not to notice them until they approached the door. “Hold on to me,” Ingram rasped as they pushed their way through.
Young as he was, she was glad of his presence as winking men grunted bawdy comments. They were buffeted and jostled, and her bottom was pinched more than once.
The crowded interior was strangely calm after the storm at the entryway. She’d worried about finding Maudie, but there was only one woman in the place—a tall, black-haired Amazon who was the spitting image of Nolana’s father.
Despite the crush, she spotted Nolana and Ingram immediately and brandished a fist at them. The crowd parted like the waters of the Red Sea as she made her way across the room. “Are ye daft?” she asked Ingram. “Ye canna bring a lass in here.”
“Greetings to ye, Aunty Maudie,” he retorted.
“Ye’re nay kin to me,” she replied, hands fisted on hips as she eyed him up and down.
“But I am,” Nolana said. “I’m Ian Kyncade’s daughter.”
Maudie narrowed her eyes. “Nolana?”
“Aye.”
Tears of relief flowed when Maudie enfolded her in a crushing embrace and nigh on squeezed the life out of her.
“I thought ne’er to see ye again,” she bellowed, drawing the attention of everyone in the inn. “This ’ere’s my brother’s lass,” she announced. “Woe betide anyone who lays a finger on her.”
Apparently chastened, the men went back to guzzling their ale.
“Are ye sure ye want me to leave ye here?” Ingram whispered as Maudie whisked them across the room to the biggest and busiest kitchen Nolana had ever seen.
She was apprehensive, but anything was preferable to marrying Grouchet. “I’ll be fine,” she replied.
* * *
Throughout the six-day journey from Ellesmere north to Kirkthwaite, Aidan’s siblings rarely spoke to him.
He welcomed the isolation as befitting his determination to enter the religious life. It became clear to him the decision was the right one. Detachment eased the pain of his loss.
Ragna and Edwin suffered the inclement January weather without complaint as they crossed the bleak Pennines. Neither would admit it, but Aidan sensed they were just as anxious to return to Kirkthwaite Hall.
Shelfhoc was their beloved winter refuge in the Marches, a legacy from their paternal grandmother, Ascha. The sea had not given up their parents’ bodies. If Caedmon and Agneta FitzRam’s spirits were to be found anywhere, it would be at Kirkthwaite, Agneta’s ancestral home in Northumbria.
After several blazing rows about his decision while they were still at Ellesmere, Aidan had forbidden further argument. He intended to seek admission to Lindisfarne Abbey and that was that.
Uncle Baudoin made it clear he did not support Aidan’s determination to atone by shutting himself off from the world. However, he provided a well-armed escort of twenty men and elicited a promise Aidan would call on him if he found himself in need of assistance. Since he intended to deed Shelfhoc to Edwin, and Kirkthwaite to Ragna, he foresaw his siblings might someday need the assistance of a powerful earl. Tucked away on Holy Island, he’d be safe from the dangers of the world.
New Realities
For two months, Nolana tried to convince herself all was well. She had a place to live, though her spartan, windowless room above the inn could never be described as comfortable. The thin mattress was blessedly vermin-free, but the odor of unwashed bodies clung to it. The threadbare linens provided no warmth.
To ward off the winter chill, she usually slept fully clothed and bundled up in her playd. She got used to chipping the ice off the water in the ewer every morning.
The kitchens produced a mountain of tasty food every day and she never went hungry.
Of course, Maudie expected something in return, kinship notwithstanding, and Nolana spent long hours working in the kitchens and toting water from the well.
Fortunately, she didn’t have to work among the patrons. Having been apprised of the reasons for her flight from Kolbrand’s Path, Maudie deemed it wiser she stay out of sight, since her flame-red hair tended to draw the eye.
She should be content with her lot, but she’d been born into a high-ranking family. The actions of cruel, greedy men had resulted in her current predicament. The possibility she might have to spend a lifetime working for Maudie filled her with quiet dread.
They would be lonely years, with no hope of finding a loving husband and starting a family. The men who frequented the inn weren’t suitable as husbands. Or they were already married, with a brood of bairns they preferred to escape.
Indecision plagued her. An innate longing to return to the Highlands meant a journey across lowland territories controlled by Neyll. Northumbria to the south was a foreign land where she knew no one.
In the event, she was left with no choice when Ingram arrived unexpectedly to w
arn her his father’s men were combing through every nook and cranny in Berwick. “I can make sure they see me,” he proposed. “Then lead them round in circles.”
“But where will I go?” she asked, her heart beating too rapidly.
“Follow the Tweed as far as Horncliffe, then turn south,” Maudie commanded, shoving a sack of provisions into her hands.
“I might ne’er see ye again,” she murmured when Ingram gripped her shoulders.
He looked her in the eye. “Aye, ye will, I ken it. Now, go. I’ll delay them. I doot they’ll venture into Northumbria.”
Heartbroken, she watched him mount and ride off.
“He’ll be a braw warrior when he grows to be a mon,” Maudie said.
“He’s already more of a mon than his father,” Nolana replied. “And I thank ye for yer protection these last months.”
Maudie hugged her. “My brother would have expected it, but I fear for ye, a lass alone out there.”
“’Tis better to risk the unknown than to be a slave to Grouchet’s appetites.”
Wishing she felt as brave as she sounded, Nolana draped her playd over her head and set off to follow the river. She glanced over her shoulder only once, reluctant to leave the place where she’d been unhappy.
* * *
Aidan traveled to Lindisfarne in order to make application to enter the order. His first glimpse of the abbey’s bleak prospect atop a storm-swept crag in the North Sea was nigh on enough to make him turn back. Waiting for the tide to go out so he might cross the causeway, he closed his eyes and prayed for the courage to continue.
He wasn’t sure what to expect. Perhaps a hearty welcome into the fold, or mayhap a rigorous interview about his motives for embarking on a religious life. In the event, the grim-faced abbot’s eyes lit up upon learning Aidan was the lord of Kirkthwaite. He seemed more interested in knowing how much of the estate’s wealth Aidan intended to bring with him. The cleric’s whining about the abbey’s empty coffers got on his nerves, and he didn’t care for the man’s angry reaction when he explained he intended to deed Kirkthwaite and all it entailed to his siblings.
Love’s Sweet Sting Page 2