Nunnery Brides: A Medieval Romance Collection

by Kathryn Le Veque

  Patrick refused to look at either parent. “I have only known her for a couple of days,” he pointed out. “How could I be fond of her in so short a time?”

  Jordan put a hand on his arms. “Stranger things have happened,” she said softly. “Sometimes there is no timeframe for feeling something for someone. It happens when it happens. She is a lovely lass and I like her.”

  Patrick sighed heavily, looking vastly uncomfortable when he was trying hard not to. “I have only known her a short time,” he said again. “But… well, if you must know, I feel a strong sense of protection for her. She is as vulnerable as a babe outside of the walls of Coldingham. She knows nothing of the outside world. Aye, I feel very protective over her for many reasons, not the least of which is the fact that she has a legacy that could very well destroy her.”

  “Being the bastard of Magnus?”

  “Aye.”

  “Magnus?” Jordan repeated, confused. “Who is Magnus?”

  William shook his head at his wife. “I will tell you later,” he told her. Then, he returned his focus to Patrick. “Patrick, be honest with me, please. Do you feel something for this girl? Because I cannot understand why you would feel so strong a sense of protection over her if you do not.”

  Patrick thought back over the course of the past two days, the contact he had with Brighton, the conversations, the laughter. The kiss. Did he feel something for her? He did. He forced himself to admit it now that he’d been asked. But there was vast confusion beyond that. Confusion and embarrassment.

  “I… I am not sure,” he finally muttered. “All I know is that I feel very protective over her.”

  That wasn’t much of an answer. They’d heard those things before. Jordan lowered her head, trying to look her embarrassed son in the eye. “Protective like a sister?” she asked.

  Patrick didn’t respond for a moment. He didn’t move, then, slowly, he shook his head. “Nay,” he whispered. “Not like a sister.”

  He didn’t say any more than that and both William and Jordan could see how torn he was. There was confusion there. Their great son, a man who was born and bred to fight, was feeling something human towards another person. A lady. He was feeling something and he either couldn’t admit it or had no idea what to say.

  William remembered those days of his youth, when he was in love with a certain young Scotswoman, so it was easy to relate to Patrick in that sense. He felt pity for him. He still didn’t want a match between his great son and a former postulate, a bastard daughter of a Norse king. But if Patrick felt something for the woman… well, William could understand that. It had happened to him once, too.

  “Patrick,” he said quietly. “You asked me to send a missive to the prioress at Coldingham to see if the woman knew anything about Lady Brighton’s heritage, as did Lady Brighton. If you still want me to do that, I would be willing.”

  Patrick’s head snapped up, his eyes fixed on his father. “Would you, Da?” he said, relief and gratitude in his tone. “That would be greatly appreciated. It was a request that the lady made to me, for her own clarification about her parentage, and I am grateful to you for your effort.”

  William could see the gratitude in his son’s expression and that alone told him that Patrick was feeling more for the lady than he would admit. “And when she learns of it, what then?” he asked. “What will you do with her?”

  Patrick was back to feeling confused. “I do not know,” he said truthfully. “But she cannot return to Coldingham in any case. I told her that we could mayhap find her a position in a great house as a lady’s companion or a nurse to children. There are useful things she could do.”

  “What about marriage?” Jordan said as her husband cringed. “Ye could marry her and take her tae London with ye. If ye’re so concerned with protecting her, then why not marry the lass?”

  Patrick turned a little pale; both parents could see it. But he came back strong. “I cannot,” he said flatly. “The position with Henry will take all of my time. It would be unfair to her to marry her and take her to London where she would spend most of her time alone.”

  “But not all of her time,” Jordan said softly. “She would be with ye and ye would see her when ye werena with the king.”

  Patrick was shaking his head. “It is impossible.”

  Jordan went for the jugular of her stubborn son. “If ye dunna marry her, then someone eventually will,” she said. “Is that what ye want? For someone else tae have her?”

  Patrick stopped shaking his head, now looking at his mother. He was clearly stressed. “I cannot think of something as serious as marriage right now, Mother,” he said. “I have been waiting all of my life for this royal appointment and nothing is going to interfere – not you, not Father, not a young woman who fell into my lap two days ago. I cannot change my life so suddenly on nothing more than a whim. I will not marry her before I go.”

  Jordan’s eyes flashed; she couldn’t abide by stubborn men and her son had inherited a wealth of stubbornness from her. “Then take her back tae the priory and be done with her,” she said. “Stop wasting her time and yers, for it seems tae me that everything ye’re trying to do for her is a waste of time if ye have no intentions beyond simply protecting the lass. She needs a husband or she needs tae go back tae the priory.”

  Patrick could see that this was about to turn into an argument with his mother, something he had no desire to enter into. Few people entered into arguments with his mother and won. She may have been right in all things, but he wasn’t going to let her push him around. He turned his attention to his father.

  “If you could write that missive, I’ll arrange for a messenger to take it,” he said. “I will inform Lady Brighton of your change of heart. I am sure she will be very grateful.”

  With that, he turned and left the chamber, leaving his parents looking after him, each to their own thoughts. Jordan wondered why he was being so stubborn while William was thinking that his wife had been right all along; Patrick felt something for Lady Brighton. But rather than push his son into admitting it, William’s strategy was a little different.

  So it wasn’t the great match that William had hoped for his greatest son; there wasn’t a thing he could do about it. But perhaps if he helped his son and the lady, whatever Patrick was feeling for the woman might burn itself out. William suspected that if he continued to fight Patrick on the lady, it could very well have the opposite effect and drive him into the woman’s arms.

  Therefore, he was willing to help, to see if what Patrick was feeling was just an infatuation. Although he hoped it was, something told him that it wasn’t.

  It was just a feeling he had.

  The next morning at dawn, a messenger was heading for Coldingham Priory with a missive from William de Wolfe, Baron Kilham, to the mother prioress.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  One week later

  Coldingham Priory

  It was a bright day in summer with puffy white clouds overhead being pushed around by the sea breeze. Days like this were rare on the coast and the residents of Coldingham were out in force, repairing the damage from the raid nearly two weeks before. Walls had been toppled, gardens trampled, and two rooms burned out entirely. Still, the determined clean-up effort went on. As both nuns and peasants busied themselves in the cloister, the mother prioress stood near the altar in the chapel.

  The chapel was dim, even in the bright day, because the small windows allowed for little light and ventilation. It was a massive stone building, built for strength, and the center of a rather large and complex religious center.

  In years past, Coldingham had been run by monks, headed by a prior, and there had been a good deal of commerce that brought wealth into the church. For decades, the priors had been financial geniuses with Coldingham’s production of crops and ale, but back at the turn of the century, King John – Henry’s father – had raided the priory and damaged it heavily. It was the beginning of the priory’s decline.

  Now, local clans
were heavily invested in a priory that was struggling to stay solvent. Clan chiefs were taking the “buy your way into heaven” approach and tithing heavily to the church in exchange for the absolution of their sins against each other, even though there was never any attempt at actually paying reparation for those sins.

  Moreover, Clans Douglas, Home, and Gordon had been vying for control of the priory, which now included women and had for the past forty years. There was a cloister for nuns headed by a mother prioress while the monks, kept separately, continued to manage the dwindling finances and production of the declining priory.

  Twenty years ago, Lady Ysabella Gordon’s father had purchased a position for his daughter in the priory. Young as she was, she took the veil quickly and worked her way up to Mother Prioress within a few years. The more her father would donate, the more she was promoted. The lure of money to the failing priory was great and, in truth, it was all her father could do for her, considering she had been sullied by one of the Clan Haye sons, a man who had raped her and beget her with child. The child had died, fortunately, but most knew of Ysabella’s misfortune, so the church was her only option. She became Mother Prioress and the secret of the rape was buried.

  But not to her.

  Mother Prioress kept her hatred buried in her heart even as she sang God’s praises and administered her sisters and postulates. Nineteen years ago, when Juliana de la Haye came to the abbey with an infant in her arms, an infant that needed protection, the mother prioress was more than happy to take the infant along with a sizable donation for her keep. But even as little Brighton grew up in the church, emotionally abused by most of the sisters except for Sister Acha, who was protective over her charge, Mother Prioress kept watch of the girl.

  A Haye bastard.

  And she brought her family into this hatred, so the offense against her had been an offense against them all. For many years, the mother prioress plotted with her family about what to do with the girl once she became of age. There was much need for revenge in the hearts of the Gordon, and when Brighton saw her nineteenth birthday come and go, the plan that had been formulating most of her life was put into action.

  The raid.

  But it was a plan that had ultimately not been successful. The English had involved themselves in it and Lady Brighton was now missing, definitely not where she was supposed to be. Mother Prioress was fairly certain she knew where the girl was, as the massive garrison at Berwick had more than likely been the English who had confronted the reivers because of its close proximity. That suspicion was confirmed when the woman had received a missive from none other than William de Wolfe two days prior.

  With that missive came serious problems and Mother Prioress had sent word to her brother, head of Clan Gordon, to come to her. He was to meet her on this day and peasants working the fields for the priory had spread word of his impending arrival. They’d seen him and his men upon the road and word had traveled fast.

  The Gordon had finally come.

  “What’s this I hear?” Richard Gordon said as he charged into the church where his sister waited. “Those bastards failed, did they?”

  Mother Prioress put up her hands. “Silence,” she hissed. “Ye must be quiet!”

  Richard was a big man with a head of brown, messy hair and small brown eyes. He had a few of his men with him, men who knew what he knew, including his distant cousin and best friend, a flame-haired man named Tommy Orry. Tommy and Ysabella had been childhood sweethearts, years ago, but that was long ended. Still, Tommy had come with him to ensure that Richard didn’t do anything foolish to a sister he controlled as his father had controlled. Given Richard’s rage at the moment, that wasn’t going to be easy.

  “The Swinton bastards failed?” Richard demanded, ignoring the request to keep the volume of his voice down. “Where is the lass?”

  Mother Prioress sighed heavily. “Anger will not help the issue, Richard,” she said. “Ye must be calm and I will tell ye what I know. Certainly, there has been an added… complication.”

  Richard threw up his hands. “What complication?” he asked, exasperated. He pointed a finger in his sister’s face. “We agreed on this, we did. The girl was tae be taken by the Swinton and brought tae me. I’ve paid them well for this!”

  Mother Prioress nodded quickly, waving her hands at him to keep his voice down. “I know,” she whispered loudly. “But the English intercepted the Swinton Clan before they could take her tae ye. They have her now.”

  That seemed to make Richard even angrier. “Who has her?”

  Mother Prioress didn’t want to tell him. “I…I….”

  Richard lifted a hand to slap the answer from her but Tommy stopped him. “Nay, Richie,” he muttered, looking at Ysabella and still seeing that girl he loved from long ago. “Strikin’ yer sister willna help the situation. Ysabella, who has the Haye lass? Do ye know?”

  It had been years since Ysabella had been called by her birth name. God bless Tommy for being rational. She still adored him; she always had. “Aye,” she replied. “I received a missive from the Wolfe of the Border himself, William de Wolfe. He has the lass. He has asked me what I know of her parentage and if it ’tis true that she’s the daughter of Magnus, King of the Northmen. Richard, as far as I knew, the lass had never been told this. Sister Acha must have told her the truth.”

  At the mention of William de Wolfe, Richard seemed to calm drastically, but it was in sheer disbelief. “She is with William de Wolfe?” he gasped. “Saints preserve us… the man himself has her now?”

  Mother Prioress nodded. “Aye,” she said. “I suspect ’tis the English from Berwick who intercepted the Swinton. ’Tis the closest garrison.”

  “Then the lass is at Berwick?”

  “I think so,” she said. Then, she sighed with great emotion. “I told Sister Acha never tae tell the girl of her parentage, for there was no need for her tae know. She is the daughter of Magnus, King of the Norse, but even knowin’ such a thing wouldna mattered. ’Tis not as if the man knows or cares about her. But somethin’ must have happened that Sister Acha felt the need tae tell her.”

  “Did the Swinton take Sister Acha also?”

  Mother Prioress nodded. “I… I told them to,” she said, hoping her brother wouldn’t lash out and try to strike her again. “I didna want the Swinton tae compromise the lass before they delivered her to ye. I thought a chaperone would deter their hot blood.”

  Richard wasn’t thinking about striking his sister again but he was thinking about the mess that had been made out of their plans. “Compromise her?” he repeated, aghast. “Ye take no issue with what is tae become of the lass, but ye dunna want men tae sully her first?”

  Mother Prioress nodded hesitantly, embarrassed at her twisted sense of protection towards her charge. “Aye.”

  Richard’s eyes narrowed. “So ye send an old nun with the lass who told her about her true self,” he said with disgust. “And the lass has now told de Wolfe. The man has what is rightfully mine. I paid for her. Ye write tae him and tell him that he must return her tae ye. She is a ward of the church and she must be returned immediately.”

  Mother Prioress nodded quickly, eager to do her brother’s bidding and keep a lid on his temper. “I will tell him,” she said. “That was my intention all along. But if he knows about the girl and her parentage now… ye canna send the Swinton after her again. I know ye didna want tae have a direct connection between the abduction and ye, and ye hired the Swinton tae make her abduction look like a raid, but if ye do that again and de Wolfe hears of it… it may not go so well in our favor. He speaks kindly of the lass in his missive which leads me tae believe he may be friendly with her.”

  Richard looked at her, stricken. “Friendly with her?” he said in outrage. “That Sassenach bastard has what belongs tae me! I want her back and I dunna care how ye do it, but do it. That lass means our revenge agin’ Clan Haye. Are we tae go back on those plans after all of these years?”

  Mother Prioress shook
her head, her features pale with strain, glancing at Tommy as she spoke, hating that he was hearing of her complicity in the plan. As if he would think less of her. He already thought her a damaged creature for the Haye rape those years ago, the very thing that prevented their marriage. But now with her complicity in the murder of an innocent girl… she’d fallen very low, indeed.

  “Nay,” she finally said. “This is my revenge more than it ’tis yers.”

  Richard’s eyes narrowed. “They shamed our clan when a son of Haye touched ye. It isna only yer revenge, Ysabella. It belongs tae us all. Ye canna take it away from us.”

  Mother Prioress could see the bloodlust in her brother’s eyes and the sorrow in Tommy’s. The problem was that these days, she wasn’t completely cold-hearted towards Brighton, a lovely young woman she had seen grow up right before her eyes. But old hatreds die hard and there was still a good deal of hatred in her heart for Clan Haye.

  Still, the plans her brother had for Brighton were shocking, even to those seeking revenge for a horrible wrong. She cleared her throat softly.

  “Do ye still plan tae crucify her, then?” she asked softly.

  Richard lifted an eyebrow. “Nothin’ has changed,” he said coldly. “I hired the Swinton tae bring her tae me. I plan tae take the girl to the lands of her mother, to the family who shamed us, and put her up on a cross for all tae see. That lass has been raised by the cross; she shall die by it. And we will have evened the score with Clan Haye.”

  This time, Tommy spoke up. He couldn’t help it. Like the others, he’d known of this plan for years but hearing it spoken of with such venom was giving him fits of conscience. Now that the time for their plan was actually upon them, he wasn’t so sure it was a good idea to punish an innocent for crimes of her kin. Unlike the others, Tommy simply wasn’t that cruel. But he was a bit of flotsam in the crashing waves of Richard Gordon’s world. If he went against the man entirely, he would be crushed and he knew it.