Nunnery Brides: A Medieval Romance Collection

by Kathryn Le Veque

  Andressa was no cowering flower; she never had been, and she didn’t like being threatened by this woman, no matter how wicked she was. She feared her, aye, but not enough to shrink from her.

  “I have been trustworthy since my arrival to St. Blitha,” she said, taking a stand against the woman. “I do my work and I am obedient. You slander me to insinuate otherwise.”

  Something flashed in Sister Petronilla’s eyes, perhaps even a flash of rage, but she quickly banked it. She wouldn’t lash out at the girl like Sister Blanche had, although it was clear that Andressa had a defiant streak in her.

  But no matter.

  She’d been warned.

  Sister Petronilla released her without a word and Andressa went to her laundry area, still carrying the dried leaves. She didn’t want to take them inside because she shared a cell with two other pledges and she didn’t want the women questioning the purpose of the dried leaves. Therefore, she put them very carefully into a cloth and tucked them into a cubby that contained the soap she used. She pretended to busy herself, all the while thinking about the encounter with Sister Petronilla and the clear threat that had been made to her.

  The eyes of the Mother Abbess are upon you.

  Andressa knew that. Even now, she could feel them, whether or not the woman was actually viewing her from the windows of her fine solar. All Andressa knew was that she had to get the most recent information to Maxton. Time was growing short and she had no idea if she would be able to get to him tomorrow, so she would take the chance to return to Farringdon House one last time tonight.

  She might not have another opportunity.

  She had made a fine excuse by mentioning Lady Hinkley again, but she didn’t want to be overlong. Now that she knew they were watching, she didn’t want to give them any cause for suspicion, and that meant actually stopping at Lady Hinkley’s home to see if there was any laundry to collect. If the Mother Abbess actually had any reason to speak to Lady Hinkley, Andressa wanted to make sure that Lady Hinkley mentioned her presence there.

  She had to cover her tracks.

  With the half-moon overhead in a clear night sky, Andressa departed through the postern gate, heading towards Bishopsgate along the muddy road as her thoughts focused on what lay ahead.

  Maxton.

  He had to know.

  But what she didn’t know that the moment she left St. Blitha, she was followed.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Fortunately, St. Blitha wasn’t too far from Farringdon House.

  Alasdair had been running perhaps ten minutes, fifteen at most on his bad ankle, when he came to Bishopsgate, which remained open because of the two churches and the hospital on the road beyond. It was nighttime, with an icy chill to the air, as there had been snowfall in London the week before. But that snow had quickly turned to water, leaving the roads swimming in mud puddles.

  In fact, the entire north side of the city seemed swampy and cold to the bone, with little warmth in sight. At Bishopsgate, the usual guards were nearby, sentries appointed by the Lord Mayor of London, and really no more than older men who had bells and horns to sound in times of trouble. The weapons they carried were clubs.

  They didn’t even look at Alasdair as he came near. In fact, they continued standing around their blazing fire as Alasdair passed beneath the big stone archway and headed straight for St. Blitha. The bright half-moon low in the sky gave little light to travel by, but Alasdair could see St. Blitha in the distance. Some of the windows had glowing light from within, signifying the life within.

  He moved faster.

  As Alasdair neared the front entrance, a figure in pale robes caught his attention, moving further down the road that paralleled the old walls of the church. As he watched, the figure went off the road, headed through the trees, and entered the abbey through the postern gate. A nun was returning, evidently, slipping in through the rear of the abbey. She’d moved quickly, a wraith that was soon gone from his sight.

  But Alasdair didn’t give the figure entering St. Blitha’s yard much thought; he was in too much pain from his ankle, and there was too much to tell the Mother Abbess. In fact, by the time he banged on the front entry to the church, he’d forgotten all about the wandering nun. Now, he was becoming angry because they didn’t open the door fast enough.

  It was an old, warped door that finally creaked open on its rusted hinges. In truth, the response was very quick but, for Alasdair, it wasn’t quick enough. He pushed his way into the shadowed, cavernous reception area just as a nun with bushy eyebrows approached him.

  “What do you want?” she demanded in a heavy Italian accent. “We take no men for the night. You will have to sleep outside if it is lodgings you are looking for.”

  Alasdair’s temper was short. “I’m not here tae sleep,” he said. “Where is Seaxburga?”

  The nun stood her ground. “Get out,” she said. “You’ll not violate the sanctity of this place.”

  “I’ll not get out,” Alasdair snarled. “I came to see Seaxburga and if ye’ll not tell me where she is, I’ll go find her myself.”

  Before the nun could reply, a woman’s voice could be heard from the chamber off the entry. “Sister Petronilla, be on your way,” the Mother Abbess said as she came into the light. “Douglas… why have you have returned?”

  Alasdair pushed past the bushy-eyebrow nun and headed straight for the Mother Abbess. He marched into the chamber where she was standing, motioning the woman to follow him as he went. The Mother Abbess obeyed, curiously, shutting the door softly behind her.

  “Well?” she said. “What is it? Why are you here?”

  Alasdair turned to the woman. “They know,” he said flatly. “They know of the plot tae kill John. Ye have a traitor in yer midst, woman.”

  The Mother Abbess looked at him as if rather confused by his statement. “Who knows?” she asked. “What are you talking about?”

  Douglas was agitated. He waved his arms around as he found the nearest chair and planted himself. “I was followed when I returned tae England from our Holy Father,” he said as he gingerly touched his swollen ankle. “For almost a year, I was followed. The assassin who was paid tae follow me, sent by someone in the Lateran Palace no less, caught up tae me today. He told me that the plot against John is known and he told me that the information came from St. Blitha. Had I not escaped the man, I’d still be taking insults from him.”

  The Mother Abbess listened to him carefully, surprisingly calm at the shocking news as Alasdair grunted and raged. When he was finished spewing forth his information, she turned away from him, making her way over to a sideboard table that contained expensive wine in a fine pewter pitcher. It was the very best wine, purchased with money she’d accumulated while everyone in her charge starved. She poured one cup, only for her, and took a sip as if it would help her think.

  “He told you that the information came from St. Blitha?” she asked. “And he was sure of this?”

  Alasdair groaned as he lifted up his muddy boot and put it on one of Mother Abbess’ fine chairs. “He was gloating,” he said, rather sarcastically. “Of course the man was sure. He had no reason tae lie. Which of yer nuns did ye tell, Seaxburga?”

  The Mother Abbess knew who she had told, but who could have betrayed her? Sister Dymphna had been fearful when she’d first been told of the plan, vocal in her concern. She was in charge of the postulates, and she’d been known to gossip to them in the past, so it was possible she’d told one of her charges and word had spread. But that was unlikely, as Sister Dymphna had been known to smother charges that displeased her. The women under her were terrified of that particular inclination.

  Then, there was Sister Agnes, who did the dirty work down in The Chaos. She was the one who took the bodies of the dead from the vault and boiled them down to bones that were then ground up and mixed with oats and other rubbish to be fed to the pigs. However, before she boiled them down, she removed what fat she could from the bodies and mixed it with animal suet to mak
e the tallow candles that they used at the abbey. Their candles had an odd smell because of it, and they were quite yellow in color, but it was simply the way they did things at St. Blitha. Fat, from any breathing creature, was too valuable to be wasted.

  Lastly, there was Sister Petronilla, the master of the garden who could poison a man so cleanly that there would be no trace of it. The entire garden that the Mother Abbess was so proud of was peppered with poisonous plants amongst the roses, but no one ever commented on that. They were simply awed by Sister Petronilla’s green thumb, but it was a green thumb with a purpose – every one of those poisonous plants had served the means to an end from time to time.

  Each sister with her particular gifts.

  All three of the nuns had been with the Mother Abbess for such a long time that trust wasn’t much of an issue. She did trust them, for the most part, but it wasn’t a blind trust. There was always some suspicion to it. Complete trust was a foolish thing so, in truth, Alasdair’s revelation didn’t shock her much.

  But she did want to know where the news had originated from.

  “I have three women that I have known for years,” she finally said. “We have worked together on many occasions.”

  “And ye’re sure they’ve not told anyone else?”

  The Mother Abbess shrugged. “I cannot be sure of that,” she said, turning towards Alasdair. “Clearly, someone has spoken about this. Or mayhap, the knight who captured you only told you such things so that you would betray your purpose. Mayhap, he manipulated you into confessing. Did you think of that?”

  Alasdair shook his head. “He knew everything,” he said flatly. “I told him nothing, but he told me a great deal. He even spoke of Richard’s bastard son, something no one is supposed tae know of. But someone at St. Blitha did know – and they’ve told John’s men.”

  The Mother Abbess sipped at her wine. “That may be,” she said casually. “But the king has not cancelled his visit to St. Blitha. I would have been informed by now. Until he does, we do not deviate from our plans.”

  Alasdair threw up his hands. “It is possible that the king simply willna come. Do ye think he’ll tell ye if he finds out that ye plan tae kill him? Ye should be worrying about bolting yer doors and fighting off men who will be coming tae arrest ye!”

  The Mother Abbess smiled, but it was without humor. “The allegations would have to be proven,” she said, “and nothing can be proven unless you yourself confirm these rumors. You would do well to stay out of sight, Douglas. If they happen to catch you again and you talk, know that we can reach you anywhere. We can kill you as easily as we can kill a king.”

  Alasdair’s eyes widened. “Ye’d be a fool tae try, witch,” he said. “I’ll not make an easy target. Better men than ye have tried.”

  “Then stay out of sight and we’ll not have any issues.”

  Alasdair eyed the woman; she was so calm and collected as she threatened a man’s life, which was a particularly eerie talent.

  And he believed every word.

  “Dinna worry about me,” he said. “Worry about yerself. If the king comes tae the feast day, then ye’d better mind yerself. They’ll be looking for ye tae move against him.”

  The Mother Abbess took another drink of wine before answering. “We have nothing to fear,” she said. “God is on our side. He shall see that the Holy Father’s plans are accomplished.”

  Alasdair sighed heavily; the woman didn’t seem upset by the news in the least. She remained confident that all would work out as it should. As he looked back to his ankle, rubbing at it, there was a soft knock on the door. The Mother Abbess bade the caller to enter, and the door opened to produce Sister Petronilla.

  “I am sorry, Gracious Mother,” she said, pausing when she saw Alasdair. “I did not realize you still had your guest.”

  She started to close the door, but the Mother Abbess waved her in. “Come in, Sister Petronilla,” she said. “Come in and meet Alasdair Baird Douglas, a man who is close to our Holy Father. He is so close, in fact, that he is the one who delivered the Holy Father’s instructions to us regarding the king.”

  Sister Petronilla entered the chamber, her dark gaze on Alasdair. “Welcome to St. Blitha, Brother,” she said, looking him up and down. “I did not know who you were when you entered earlier. If I was rude, my apologies.”

  Alasdair barely glanced at the woman; he was more focused on his injured ankle. The Mother Abbess could see that he was working over the joint and she turned to Sister Petronilla.

  “He seems to have injured himself,” she said. “Mayhap there is something in the garden that can help his swelling.”

  Sister Petronilla peered at the ankle, but from a distance. “I was just in the garden with Andressa,” she said. “I can return and gather a few things that may help the pain.”

  The Mother Abbess looked at her. “Andressa?” she said. “What was she doing outside in the darkness? Surely she wasn’t washing clothing at this hour.”

  Sister Petronilla shook her head. “Nay,” she said. “We were discussing the plants in the garden and their particular properties for our task with the king. She had just returned from Lady Hinkley’s and she said that she must go to her again.”

  The Mother Abbess’ brow furrowed. “Tonight?”

  “Aye, Gracious Mother.”

  “But why?”

  “Because she said Lady Hinkley was not ready with her washing the first time. She told Andressa to return, and that is what she is doing because you said it was important to keep Lady Hinkley happy.”

  It was true; Mother Abbess had said that. But as she realized that, she also realized that Andressa knew of the plot against John, too, and in the course of her duties as the laundress, she traveled in and out of St. Blitha quite freely. It was true that she was an obedient girl, and had proven herself, but trust on this level was not something the Mother Abbess had experienced with her. Though she’d never known the girl to gossip or even talk, there was always the possibility that, in this case, she had.

  In truth, anything was possible.

  Going to the big windows that overlooked the garden and the kitchens beyond, the Mother Abbess could see a figure in pale robes moving around in the moonlight over near the laundry area.

  “Sister,” she said to Sister Petronilla. “Is Andressa still in the yard?”

  Sister Petronilla wandered over to the window, watching the ghostly figure across the yard as it moved around. “Aye,” she said. “I gave her foxglove leaves and instructions on how to crush them. I believe she is putting the leaves away until she can accomplish this.”

  The Mother Abbess’ gaze lingered on Andressa as the woman continued to move around in the dark. Finally, she turned to Douglas, sitting over on one of her fine chairs with his dirty boot on another.

  “Douglas,” she said. “Come here.”

  Unhappily, Alasdair did as he was told. He limped his way over to the window, watching the Mother Abbess. His eyes moved to something in the yard beyond. In the moonlight, he could barely see it.

  “See the woman over towards the postern gate?” the Mother Abbess asked.

  Alasdair nodded. “Aye.”

  “Follow her,” she said. “I cannot be sure that she is not our traitor. She will be leaving shortly; make sure you discover where she is going.”

  Alasdair lifted a dark eyebrow. “Does she know of the plot, too?”

  “She will be the one putting the plan into action.”

  “And if she’s the traitor?”

  “Kill her.”

  It was a simple, unemotional command, one that peeled back the bones and revealed the true darkness of the Mother Abbess’ soul. Violated trust was a killing offense.

  “But my leg,” he complained. “Can’t someone else follow the lass?”

  “You are the only one capable of killing her with force should it come to that.”

  There was no arguing with her; Alasdair could see that. With a growl, he limped from the room, headi
ng out of the front door to hide in the shadows until the woman in question emerged from the yard.

  It didn’t take long. In little time, a tall, slender woman in pale robes rushed along the road, looking over her shoulder constantly as she made her way to Bishopsgate and beyond. In fact, Alasdair realized that this was the same woman he’d seen come back to the abbey about the time he’d arrived himself. He could tell by the shape of her. Therefore, he waited until she was through before following her, like a hunter tracking prey.

  If she was the traitor, he would discover it for himself.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  The King’s Gout Tavern

  Kress, Achilles, Gart, Alexander, and Cullen were seated around a leaning, warped table at the tavern that was favored by most fighting men on the north side of London. It was the biggest one and had the best wenches. They had invited Sean and Kevin, and the de Lohr brothers to join them but, so far, they had yet to make an appearance.

  It was well after the supper at Farringdon House, the one that had been so tense because of the friction between William and Maxton. It had been obvious when Maxton had joined their table later in the meal, informing them of his extended conversation with the St. Blitha pledge.

  It had been rough from the start because William had asked, straight away, if Maxton had sent the girl back to St. Blitha yet. The entire conversation prior to Maxton’s arrival had been about the pledge and what a valuable spy she would make inside of St. Blitha and when Maxton appeared, William went for the throat. When Maxton had explained that not only had he not sent the girl back, but that she was pregnant, it seemed to throw the entire situation into question.

  To everyone but William Marshal, that was.

  He saw no difference in the girl being pregnant. It wasn’t his concern that a pledge had conceived a child. His only concern was in keeping the nuns from accomplishing their task of killing the king, a hard attitude that seemed to turn Maxton into stone. He sat silently for the most part while William discussed their loyalty to the king and listed the reasons as to why that was all they should be concerned with.