Nunnery Brides

by Le Veque, Kathryn

  She had to get to Maxton.

  Farringdon House was over by the western city walls, near Newgate. Its towering structure overlooked the walls and gave those on the upper floors a clear view in all directions. It was like a beacon for all to see, four stories of gray stone in a city that was littered with wattle and daub homes, looming over the cityscape in all its glory. The manor was on a smaller lane, all to itself, and Andressa was coming to think of it as a safe place. She’d already been there once today; by the second time, she was growing familiar with it.

  More and more, she was thinking on Maxton and his offer to take care of her. And after her most recent encounter with Sister Petronilla, she was thinking that, perhaps, it wouldn’t be such a terrible thing to accept Maxton’s offer. She couldn’t imagine he had meant marriage – for who would want to marry a woman carrying another man’s child? But perhaps he meant for her to take care of his house, or to somehow be of service to him.

  That was all she was good for these days – hard work and laundry. Her years at St. Blitha had stripped her of the dignity she’d once had as a lovely young woman. Now, she was subject to the Mother Abbess’ wicked schemes.

  God, she hated what her life had become.

  She hated what she had become.

  As Andressa slipped down an alley and on to a larger avenue that would take her to Farringdon House, she found her thoughts turning towards Maxton. Her heart swelled with joy at the thought of him, the only person since the death of her parents who had shown any concern for her and her welfare. But it was more than that… even if she’d been a normal woman, on any normal day, she would still think he was fine and brave and strong. He seemed to think he had sinned so terribly in the past that no woman would have him.

  He was wrong.

  She would.

  Thoughts of the man were warm on her mind and a smile played on her lips as she neared the junction where the alley intersected with the main avenue. She was distracted, so much so that when a man suddenly appeared right at the corner of the two roads, she didn’t even look at him. She simply tried to go around him. But he blocked her path.

  “Andressa, is it?” he said in a heavy Scots accent.

  Andressa came to a halt, startled. She stared at him, eyes wide with shock. “What… who are you?”

  The man was bushy and hairy, and smelled heavily of alcohol. “A friend,” he said as his eyes raked her body from head to toe. “Ye serve Seaxburga.”

  Andressa was starting to feel the slightest bit of fear. At first, she thought he might be a comrade of Maxton’s since they were so close to Farringdon House, but it was clear in that statement that he was no friend of Maxton’s.

  He knew the Mother Abbess.

  “I do,” she said, taking a step back from him. “And since you know that, you also know that I am meant for the veil. Touch me and the Mother Abbess will punish you.”

  A smile flickered on his lips. “I dinna intend tae touch ye,” he said. “I’ve no use for women, and especially lasses with no meat on their bones.”

  “Then move aside.”

  “Not until ye tell me where ye’re going.”

  More fear clutched at her as it began to occur to her that she’d seen the man before, yesterday when he’d come to St. Blitha and demanded she identify the Mother Abbess. Aye, she remembered that snarling face well.

  “I am on business for the abbey,” she said, trying to move around him. “Get out of my way.”

  He reached out and grabbed her by the arm. “Tell me where ye’re going, lass. I’ll not ask again.”

  She slapped his hand away, backing away from him so she was out of arm’s length. “And I’ll not tell you, so you may as well stop asking,” she said. “I told you I was on business for the abbey. Beyond that, it is none of your affair.”

  She continued to back away and managed to trip, stumbling. He was on her in an instant, grabbing her by the arms and dragging her back over to the shadows of the building they happened to be standing by. As Andressa twisted, trying to force him to release her, he dug his fingers into her soft flesh.

  “Ye’re going tae tell John’s men what ye know, are ye not?” he snarled. “’Tis ye who have told them of our Holy Father’s command tae be rid of the Sassenach king, isna it? Admit it!”

  Astonished, Andressa stopped fighting for a split second, staring at him in horror, before resuming her fighting with a vengeance. She knew exactly what he meant and terror flooded her veins.

  Dear God… how did he know?

  “Let go of me!” she beat on him. “Let me go or I shall scream!”

  But the smelly Scotsman wouldn’t let her go. He had her by both arms now, trying to shake her so that she would stop fighting him.

  “Someone has told the king’s men of our Holy Father’s plan,” he seethed. “Seaxburga told me tae follow ye when she saw ye leave the abbey tonight. She knows of yer guilt. Well? Confess yer sins, lass, and I’ll go easy. Resist me and I’ll kill ye where ye stand.”

  In a panic, Andressa tried to pull away from him again and he stumbled, grunting when he took a bad step on his swollen ankle. Andressa seized on his bad ankle. She could see that he was favoring the leg so she kicked out, striking him in the swollen shin. Howling, the man released her.

  The chase was on.

  Because of the mud and wet, the avenue was slippery, and given that Andressa’s shoes were in a horrible state, she immediately slipped as she tried to gain traction to outrun him. She went down to one knee, screaming when he reached out and grabbed her woolens. Throwing out a hand, she managed to strike him on the face, scratching his right cheek and immediately drawing blood.

  The shock of the blow was enough to cause him to release her and she managed to get away from him, but not for long. His shoes were better, and he had longer strides, and he caught her after only a few steps.

  Andressa began to scream her lungs out.

  Infuriated, the Scotsman grabbed her by the throat, squeezing the breath from her. “I’ll kill ye,” he breathed, watching her cheeks darken in the moonlight, knowing her face was turning red. “Ye treacherous bitch, I’ll kill ye!”

  Andressa was beginning to see stars. She couldn’t breathe and her face felt hot and swollen, like it was about to pop. Her knees began to weaken and she tried to lash out and fight back, but the world was growing darker by the second. Just as she began to sink to the muddy road, thinking that the Scotsman’s angry face would be the last thing she ever saw, a strange thing happened.

  Suddenly, there were men all around them and someone was pulling her away from the Scotsman, who was swarmed by several men. She could hear the Scotsman cry out as someone told him that he should have killed him a long time ago. Then there were sounds of grunting and groaning, and sounds of blades being used. It sounded like metal slicing through a side of beef, a dull and deep sound.

  And then, it was silent.

  Andressa had no idea what had happened. Her heart was thumping and her head was swimming, and the next she realized, Maxton was standing in front of her. His hands reached out to steady her.

  “Andressa?” he asked, sounding worried. “Are you well? Did he hurt you?”

  She opened her mouth to answer but no sound would come forth. That blackness that had been threatening since the Scotsman had wrapped his hands around her throat finally claimed her and she pitched forward, right onto Maxton.

  In the darkness, there was finally peace.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  The night was deep and still outside of Farringdon House. But inside, it was full of men who were concerned with the turn of events. The latest drama had been the escaped spy trying to strangle the pledge within shouting distance of Farringdon House, and once the unconscious woman had been brought back to the house and put to bed, Christopher had summoned the remaining men in their tight little circle. Much had happened, and much needed to be discussed, and they had little time in which to do it.

  Events were happening too quick
ly.

  Gathered in William’s great solar, it was the same group who had been there at daybreak – Gart, the de Lohr brothers, both de Lara brothers, Cullen, Kress, Achilles, Alexander, and Maxton. Bric MacRohan and Dashiell du Reims, who had still been in London, arrived within an hour of the attempted strangling to round out the group.

  There was a sense of expectation now, knowing that the situation was quite fluid. Christopher filled Bric and Dashiell in on the information from Andressa’s first visit to tell Maxton of the nuns’ intentions, which was shocking in and of itself. That made her second appearance at Farringdon House rather worrisome for all concerned. The first time she’d come, it had been with a great revelation to aid their cause, so this second visit had them somewhat anxious.

  Why had she been traveling the streets in darkness?

  Was there more evil on the horizon?

  It was the exact questions lingering in Maxton’s mind as he stood by the hearth, gazing into the yellow flames. He was reliving Douglas’ death over and over, feeling great satisfaction in the man’s ghastly demise. In truth, there had never been any possibility of a different outcome once Maxton saw the man with his hands wrapped around Andressa’s throat. Although Maxton had been killing men in unsavory ways for a very long time, this specific death had been particularly brutal.

  There had been something more behind it than simple duty or simple anger.

  As Maxton stood there and stewed, the last person to enter the solar made an appearance. William had just come from an unrelated discussion with his advisors, the retinue of men that formed his inner circle. Oddly enough, they were not involved in these proceedings, mostly because William only wanted to deal with a hand-selected group of men and not a gang of followers. He needed knights for this task, not politicians, which most of his inner circle was.

  For this, he needed killers.

  “Maxton,” he said as he entered the chamber. “I am informed that our guest has returned again.”

  “Aye, my lord.”

  “Where is she now?”

  “In bed. After we saved her life, she fainted.”

  “And she said nothing to you before she collapsed? No hint of why she has come again?”

  Maxton shook his head. “She said nothing,” he said. “By the time we got to her, Douglas had thrashed her fairly well. She was quite shaken.”

  “Did you have my physic look at her?”

  “He said she is only sleeping now,” Maxton said. “She suffered no lasting damage in the attack.”

  William seemed to look at him rather strangely. Then, he chuckled, though it was an ironic sound. “If she did not, the Scotsman certainly did,” he said. “I saw your handiwork, Maxton. Very brutal. You sliced the man from his throat to his groin, then you dismembered him out on the street for all to see. For the first time, I am starting to see why you are called the Executioner Knight. That was an impressive execution.”

  Maxton wasn’t thinking of it in those terms. He simply did what he had to do. In truth, he was still angry, still filled with rage at what he’d seen. What he did to Douglas wasn’t half of what he wanted to do, and he’d only stopped because Alexander had prevented him from doing anything more. Alexander had merely slit the man’s throat; Maxton had chopped him into mincemeat, and quite happily so.

  He was unapologetic.

  “I sent the pieces back to St. Blitha,” he growled. “Kress and Achilles dumped them right on the street outside of the abbey. Mayhap they will think again before they send spies out into the world.”

  “You mean after the girl.”

  “Take it as you will.”

  William could hear the unrepentant tone. “I would be willing to agree with that,” he said. “But the truth is that until we talk to the pledge, we do not even know if they sent him after her in the first place.”

  “Of course they sent him after her,” Maxton said, irritated. “There is little doubt that when Douglas escaped from Farringdon House, he went straight to the sisters at St. Blitha and told them that we are aware of their plans. Where else would the man go?”

  “So why was he following your pledge?”

  Maxton threw his hands up. “Because he probably saw her leave the abbey,” he said as if it were obvious. “The man was a spy, my lord. He thinks like a spy, meaning he believes everyone in the world is spying, too. You know this; you have been in the politics of England a very long time. You know how men of that vocation think. I am certain he saw Andressa leave and he followed her, thinking that, mayhap, she was the one who told us of the Holy Father’s plans and St. Blitha’s involvement.”

  William nodded faintly; it wasn’t as if he disagreed with Maxton. In fact, Douglas’ grisly death showed William what Maxton was truly capable of and that action, strangely enough, erased much of the doubt William was feeling about the man. Maxton was a man without hesitation when it came to killing, up to and including making a statement from how badly the body was desecrated, and that impressed William. It was beginning to lend credence to what Gart had been telling him all along – that Maxton of Loxbeare was born to kill.

  And he was born to prevent the death of a king from assassins who, more than likely, thought just like he did.

  “I will agree with you on that point,” he finally said, turning to glance at the roomful of men who were standing around, listening to the conversation. “But I am further concerned that leaving Douglas’ body at St. Blitha will cause the nuns to suspect he was killed on the pledge’s behalf. I am concerned they will know we will do anything to protect our spy and she is not finished there, Maxton. Not until the feast is over and the king is safe. You could very well have jeopardized her by killing Douglas and returning the body to St. Blitha.”

  Maxton knew that. “There are a thousand murderers running about on the streets of London,” he said, though he didn’t want to admit that William might have a point – the death, and dumping, of Douglas had been made in anger. “Anyone could have killed the man.”

  “And put the body on the doorstep of St. Blitha?”

  Maxton’s jaw ticked faintly. “There is still no way of knowing who did it, or why.”

  William wasn’t going to argue with him because he suspected, deep down, Maxton knew what he’d done. He’d taken a risk. So, he let the subject drop because there was no going back now.

  What was done, was done.

  “I shall not debate it with you,” he said, “for I have stated my concern. In any case, we should discuss what is to happen the day of the feast so that each man knows his role. Have you given thought to such things, Maxton?”

  In fact, Maxton had, though very little. Much like the first time William asked him of his plan where it came to the king’s protection, which had only been that morning, Maxton began to concoct a plan as he went. Shifting his focus away from the dismembered spy, he looked to Sean, the king’s shadow, standing over with his brother by the windows.

  “Sean, does the king still plan to hunt tomorrow?” he asked.

  Sean nodded. “He does,” he said. “But now that we know it is the nuns of St. Blitha that we should beware of, do you still intend to shadow the king through the forests?”

  Maxton looked at William, who lifted his shoulders. “Let us decide that depending on what your pledge says,” he said. “I cannot imagine that the nuns would venture into the woods to kill the king, but we cannot be certain. Make your determination after you speak with her.”

  Maxton nodded. “Agreed,” he said, but he returned his attention to Sean. “Then let us speak of the day of the feast. Do you know when the king intends to arrive at St. Blitha?”

  Sean stepped forward, closer to Maxton and William. “The feast is to take place at the nooning hour, the traditional time of a hunt,” he said. “John still plans to arrive at that time.”

  Maxton thought on that. “How many in the king’s personal guard?”

  “Twelve, including me.”

  “And these are guards of the body?”


  “Aye.”

  “What of regular men-at-arms?”

  “He will take a small contingent. At least fifty men because they will block off the streets and surround the abbey, most likely. But that is usual with him. The king is cautious, if nothing else. Something I suppose he learned from a father and brothers who were constantly trying to kill one another.”

  Maxton lifted his eyebrows in utter agreement with that statement. “Then it would be a simple matter to add extra men to the contingent of men-at-arms,” he said. “A few more men would not matter. But we also need to place men inside the abbey; that is the most important factor. But we do not know the layout of the place.”

  “I do.”

  Everyone turned to see Andressa standing in the door to the solar. She looked a bit ashen, but alert. She was looking straight at Maxton and, after the surprise of seeing her washed over him, he couldn’t help but feel his heart lighten at the sight of her. It was an odd sensation, something he’d never experienced before, but a wholly welcome sensation. Something about it brought him contentment like he’d never experienced, this woman he couldn’t seem to stop thinking about. She was well, and she was whole, and that was all he cared about at the moment. Leaving his position by the hearth, he made his way over to her.

  “How are you feeling, my lady?” he asked.

  She smiled timidly at him as he came near. “A bit tired but, thanks to you, I am unharmed,” she said. “You have my deepest gratitude for coming to my aid.”

  Maxton smiled in return, his eyes glimmering warmly at her. “It was my honor,” he said quietly. “Are you sure you feel well enough?”

  “I do.”

  “Then I am glad we could be of assistance,” he said. Taking her by the arm, he pulled her into the chamber and indicating the men who were now looking at her quite openly as the mysterious pledge came into full view. “Some of these men helped save you as well. May I introduce you?”

  Andressa had been around knights and men of rank most of her life, from her many years at Okehampton, and she was not intimidated by them. She nodded politely as Maxton introduced every man… the Earl of Hereford, the Earl of Canterbury, Viscount Winterton, Bric MacRohan, Sean de Lara, Kevin de Lara, Cullen de Nerra, Kress de Rhydian, Achilles de Dere, Alexander de Sherrington, and Gart Forbes.