Distressed, Maxton watched Andressa roll herself up into a ball and sob. She had her hands over her head in a protective gesture, as if hiding from something quite horrible. With a sigh, one of great concern, Maxton made his way over to her.
“My lady,” he said gently. “What has happened? All you need to do is speak the word and I will do all in my power to help you. Please tell me what has happened.”
It took Andressa a moment to respond. In fact, her only response was to lift her head and wipe off her face with her dirty sleeves. It was all she had. She was a quivering, weeping mess and Maxton sat carefully in the chair nearest her, not wanting to startle her.
“My lady?” Maxton said again. “Please tell me – what has happened?”
She wiped at her face, furiously, before daring to look at him. When she did, he could see the tears starting all over again.
“I do not know what to do,” she murmured, her lower lip quivering. “I do not know who to ask for help. You have been kind to me and I thought mayhap…”
“Mayhap… what?”
“Mayhap you could tell me what to do.”
“About what?”
Her face threatened to crumple again but she fought it. She had little time to speak and didn’t want to spend the entire time weeping like a fool, but God, she needed to cry, just a little. It had been building up since her meeting with the Mother Abbess, an explosion waiting to happen. But the explosion was over now.
She needed to tell someone.
She took a deep breath.
“You must swear to me that you will not repeat what I tell you,” she said.
He nodded. “Of course,” he said. “What is it?”
Andressa took another deep breath. “I need your help.”
“Tell me what I can do to help you.”
“I am so frightened. I have never been so frightened in my entire life.”
“Why? Won’t you please tell me why?”
Her gaze grew intense. “You must tell the king not to go to St. Blitha for the feast day.”
Maxton never knew that one little statement could electrify him so much. His entire body began to tingle, tensing up as if he’d been wound up as tightly as he could go.
“Why is that?”
Andressa wiped at her eyes that continued to leak. “Because if he goes to St. Blitha, he will be murdered. They will murder him!”
“Who will murder him, Andressa?”
“The Mother Abbess and her attendants.”
Maxton couldn’t help his reaction; he slid out of the chair and onto the floor beside her, reaching out to pull her towards him. His big hands trapped her as his dark eyes drilled into her with white-hot intensity.
“You will tell me everything,” he said as calmly as he could manage. “From the beginning, please. How do you know this?”
Andressa felt as if she wanted to vomit as he asked that question. She’d been wanting to vomit since the moment the Mother Abbess clued her in on a plot as dark and deadly as anything she was capable of comprehending.
She’d come to Maxton because she didn’t know where else to turn and as Andressa looked at the man, she realized one thing – there was something immensely comforting about him. He was so close to her that she could feel the heat from his body, and the hands gripping her arms were the size of a man’s head. He was big, and he was powerful, and it occurred to her that never in her life had she known such safety or comfort.
Amidst all of the terror she was experiencing, the man made her feel as if nothing in the world could touch her, not even the darkness of the Mother Abbess. It was something she’d never experienced before and, in that realization, some of her terror fled. She could think more clearly now.
She had come this far. He needed to know everything.
“After you left today, I was brought before the Mother Abbess,” she said.
He grunted. “I thought so,” he said, sighing with regret. “I heard the fight. I am very sorry to have caused you trouble, Andressa. That was never my intent.”
She shook her head, calmer now. “I thought you had caused me trouble, too,” she said, a weak glimmer of mirth in her eye. “But in truth, you did not. When I was brought before the Mother Abbess, I was certain she was going to punish me for speaking to you but, instead, she said some very strange things.”
“Like what?”
Andressa thought back to the conversation, organizing her thoughts against the fear that the very subject provoked. “She told me that she had been watching me,” she said. “She told me that she wanted me to take the veil and become her personal attendant. She spoke of things I did not understand at first; she said that she and her attendants, nuns she has known since childhood, have been called upon to do the bidding of our Holy Father. She said that he had entrusted them with missions, many times. I did not know what she meant until she started speaking of men who were dead. One man, in particular, was the Bishop of Leeds. He died at St. Blitha following a feast the year after I came to the order. The Mother Abbess said that our Holy Father asked her to kill him and she did. Now, she says that our Holy Father has asked her to do the same thing with King John and she wants me to participate in it so that I can learn her ways.”
Now, it was Maxton’s turn to feel sick to his stomach. He had experienced many things in life. He’d seen more than his share of sorrow, and death, and betrayal, but never in his life had he heard about nuns who killed on command. Even though he and the others had been speculating about a deadly Mother Abbess only minutes earlier, he wasn’t sure he really believed that. His money had been on Douglas, the double agent. But at the moment, a baby could have knocked him over, so stunned was he. One good push and down he’d go.
He was still trying to drink it all in.
“You are sure of this?” he managed to ask. “She told you that the Holy Father wishes for her to assassinate the king?”
Andressa nodded. “That is what she said,” she assured him. “A messenger from the Holy Father came to tell her of this command. In fact, I saw the messenger. He was at St. Blitha two days ago. I remember because he bellowed to me, wanting to know if the woman he was speaking to was, indeed, the Mother Abbess. I was afraid to answer because I could hardly understand him. I did not wish to give him the wrong answer.”
“Why was it difficult to understand him?”
“Because he was Scottish.”
Another revelation. Now, he knew what Alasdair Baird Douglas had been doing at St. Blitha – he hadn’t been praying about an assassination or asking the Mother Abbess’ advice on it. He’d been there to tell the woman it was her duty to kill the King of England, straight from the mouth of the Holy Father.
Maxton was deeply astonished with what he was hearing. It was confirmation and clarification of the great mystery they’d all been dealing with. The Holy Father had, indeed, sent more assassins to fulfill the mission that he and his Unholy brethren had refused, only the assassins were something Maxton would have never considered –
Nuns.
He never saw that coming.
As he became increasingly lost to his own thoughts, he could see Andressa looking at him anxiously. He loosened his grip on her arms and began to caress her slender limbs, comfortingly. He could see how utterly terrified she was.
In truth, he didn’t blame her in the least.
“She wants you to assist her, does she?” he asked calmly. “What did you tell her?”
Andressa drew in a long breath. She was calming a great deal, but the mere mention of the Mother Abbess made her tense up again.
“I agreed,” she said. “I did not know what else to do. She told me if I spoke to anyone about this, then I would end up in The Chaos.”
Now, it was all coming together and Maxton was starting to understand why she was so terrified. She’d been burdened with a huge weight, knowledge that would create stress and havoc with even the most seasoned man, and then her life was threatened if she spoke about it. This poor woman
had been forced to endure hell over the past four years, cast off by a greedy aunt and left to the mercy of the soulless sisters of St. Blitha.
“You will not end up in The Chaos,” he said quietly, rubbing her arms in a soothing gesture without really realizing he was doing it. “I would not let them do that to you.”
Andressa was looking at his face as he spoke. In fact, the moment he started caressing her arms, discreetly but unmistakably, she found herself looking at him with increasing interest. The way he made her feel – safe and warm and comforted – was pushing aside the abject terror she’d been suffering since leaving St. Blitha, taking her back to the days at Okehampton when she was safe and warm and comfortable, living the life of a respected ward for Lady de Courtney.
Her mind drifted back to the days of feasts and knights and chivalry, days that were only distant memories to her now. Thoughts of Rhyne popped into her head again, but as she looked at Maxton, she could see that Rhyne had been a foolish boy compared to the man who now held her in his grip. She remembered seeing knights of Maxton’s caliber at Okehampton, great men with great legacies, but they were unattainable to her. At least, that’s what she believed. As she continued to gaze at Maxton, she wished with all her heart that he could see her as something other than what she was – a dirty, poor pledge.
She wished it could be otherwise.
“Will you please tell the king not to come to St. Blitha?” she asked again. “He must know of the danger should he go there. I do not know how they are planning to kill him, but they promised to teach me.”
Maxton’s dark eyes lingered on her for a moment. “They gave no indication?”
She shook her head. “Nay,” she said. “Except… except I am to assume new duties in the garden tomorrow with Sister Petronilla.”
“Who is that?”
“One of the Mother Abbess’ personal attendants,” she said. “The Mother Abbess said that Sister Petronilla would teach me what I needed to know.”
“She is one of the assassins?”
“Aye.”
Maxton considered that for a few moments, but not for long. He was still lingering on what he’d been told as a whole. He needed to speak with William, desperately, but he wanted to make sure Andressa was calm before he left her. He had much to do and more than likely little time to do it, and the pale pledge in his hands had been the key to everything. Without her, he’d still be hunting phantoms.
That poor, sweet, frightened, little rabbit.
“Surely you must be hungry,” he said to her. “I would like you to remain in this chamber and rest, and I shall have food brought up to you.”
She started to get that panicked look again. “Where are you going?”
He smiled at her, giving her arms a squeeze before rising to his feet and pulling her along with him. “I must speak to The Marshal about preventing John from going to St. Blitha.”
“Nay!” she cried, grabbing him with her bony fingers. “You must not tell him what I have told you! You swore that you would not!”
Maxton understood her panic. Carefully, he sat her down in the nearest chair, taking a knee in front of her and holding both of her cold hands in his big, warm mitts. He looked her directly in the eyes as he spoke to her.
“What you have told me will not go any further, I assure you,” he said. “But it is also a task that cannot be handled by one man. We are speaking of the king, Andressa, and if I am to tell him he cannot go to St. Blitha, he will want to know why. Do you understand that? There are others I must trust to help me.”
Her eyes were filling with tears again. “But… but if the Mother Abbess discovers I have told you…”
He shook his head and squeezed her hands. “She will not know,” he said. “She will never know. In fact, now that we know of her plan, we will remove her from St. Blitha so that she can never harm anyone ever again, including you.”
The tears stopped and her eyes widened. “Remove her?” she gasped. “How… why…?”
Maxton lifted her hands to his lips, kissing her fingers sweetly. “Trust me,” he murmured. “Please, Andressa. You have asked for my help and I am so glad you did. I swear to you that I will protect you with my life. You have come to me with trust and now I ask you for the same as I help you solve your problem. Will you do this?”
She was still lingering on the kiss. It had been so sweet, so subtle, that her heart was racing because of it. It was a struggle to focus on his question.
“I… have been without anyone close to me for such a long time,” she said, her voice trembling. “I had friends at Okehampton, and my parents and I were also close. But since I have been at St. Blitha, I have learned that every day is a fight for survival and that there is no one I can trust because each and every woman at St. Blitha is also fighting for her survival. I do not even know you, yet your kindness this morning was endearing. It has been so long since I have known any kindness.”
It was a confession of sorts, a glimpse into the protected, confused, and frightened world of Andressa. Maxton could see how vulnerable she was and it touched him; he was fortunate. He had close friends he could trust. But when it came to an emotional and personal level, much like her, he had no one at all. He had seen forty years and three; he was an old man to some but, to others, he was seasoned and wise and strong. But there was one thing in all of those years that had escaped him –
Someone to love.
Did he see that in Andressa? All he knew was that in the short time he’d known her, he had feelings towards her that he’d never had for anyone, at least not that strongly. The woman was terrified and cold and hungry, and all he wanted to do was shield and protect and feed her. He wanted to take care of her. He didn’t know why, other than his gut told him that he should.
His instincts had never been wrong.
“I am coming to think that our unexpected meeting this morning was not a mistake,” he said quietly. “Although I have never given much stock in God because, surely, I destroyed my chances of ascending to heaven long ago, I think that He brought you to me.”
She had wiped her tears away, listening to him intently. “Why?”
He forced a smile. “Because you need someone to trust. Clearly, you need me.”
Andressa wasn’t sure if he was joking; something in his eyes told her that he was for the most part. But not entirely. There was a glimmer there, something warm and kind that made her racing heart flutter yet again.
“I will admit it looks that way,” she said. “I suppose I could have gone straight to the king with this and try to tell him, but I thought you might be of more assistance.”
He shook his head. “I did not mean that, entirely,” he said. “I mean with everything. You needed food this morning and I was happy to provide it. You need help now, and I am also happy to provide it. You see? God knew you needed me, although I am not entirely sure why He would send you to someone who has one foot in hell. That has me puzzled.”
Andressa cocked her head, thinking of the conversation they’d had earlier while by the stream. You cannot possibly imagine how unkind and ungenerous I am, he had said. She was deeply curious about that statement, as she was about the rest of him.
“In the short while we have been acquainted, you have alluded to things you have done in this life,” she said. “Although I cannot imagine you being anything other than what you are to me – a strong, honorable knight – tell me why you think you have one foot in hell.”
“Think?” he snorted. “I know.”
“What have you done?”
He let go of her hands, rocking back on his heels and averting his gaze. “That is a question with many answers.”
“Don’t you trust me?”
He cast her a long look suggesting he was displeased with the fact that she’d ably trapped him. She’d shown such trust in him and now she was expecting the same. Clever girl. When she smiled timidly, he simply shook his head with feigned frustration.
“Of course I trust you,�
�� he said. “But why do you wish to know about an old knight like me? I am nothing in the grand scheme of things except that I have sinned more than most.”
“What have you done?”
He grumbled softly, with displeasure, but answered. “I have always been a man of great talent and little remorse,” he said. “Lords and kings have used that combination for, shall we say, unsavory tasks.”
“Like what?”
“You truly wish for an example?”
She nodded, firmly, and he frowned at her. Still, he dutifully continued. “Very well,” he said. “You have asked for it. While in The Levant, my cohorts and I were tasked with the abduction of a Muslim general. You met the men I speak of outside, though you probably cannot recall their faces – Kress de Rhydian and Achilles de Dere. The Christian armies called us the Executioner Knights and the Unholy Trinity, among other things. But if there was an impossible task to accomplish, it was given to us. Like the abduction of this general; the Christian commanders believed he was responsible for an ambush of Christian knights outside of the city of Nahala, so my colleagues and I were charged with abducting him and bringing him back alive. You do not want to hear more than that, my lady. Trust me when I tell you it was an unpleasant task.”
But Andressa was listening closely, very interested, indeed. “But I do want to hear more,” she insisted. “At this moment, I still see you as a great and noble knight. I do not think there is anything you could do that is so terrible to shatter that opinion.”
He looked at her, then. “What if I want you to continue believing that?” he asked, his tone suddenly hoarse with emotion. As if he were pleading. “No one has thought such things about me before.”
Andressa felt silent a moment, but it was a thoughtful silence. “No man is perfect unless his name is Christ,” she said. “There are only degrees of mortal perfection and, to many, that is in the eye of the beholder. Did you kill this Muslim general, then?”
“I did, but only when he tried to ambush me. He knew we were coming.”
Nunnery Brides: A Medieval Romance Collection Page 82