Seducing His Lady: Novella (Norfolk Knights Book 2)

by Saskia Knight

  The Abbess’s face softened with understanding. “Your father was a hard man.” She sighed. “And the people with whom you have to make arrangements. Their secrecy can be vouched for?”

  Melisende nodded. “I’ve known Tom’s father for many years. He used to supply my father with wine. And more besides. He can be trusted. We’ll be safe there until the ship leaves.”

  “We?” The Abbess’s voice rose in concern. “Melisende, I expect you to return here as soon as you’ve shown Sir Galien the location of the cottage and landing place of the boat. You cannot stay with him. You must return immediately.”

  Melisende shook her head vehemently. The thought of what could happen to Galien ignited a passionate determination to make sure he was safe. Nothing else mattered. “I cannot do that. The captain knows me, the men know me. If Sir Galien turns up by himself, the boat might not even come ashore. I have to be there to vouch for him. They will believe no-one else.”

  The Abbess’s gaze seared Melisende’s skin, searching her eyes for the meaning beyond her words. She readied herself to receive the full blast of disapprobation. Instead, a miracle happened and the Abbess shook her head and huffed, a soft smile of resignation on her lips.

  “Melisende, your actions confirm my suspicions. You are too headstrong, too disobedient and too passionate to be a nun. But, despite, that there will always be a home for you here.”

  Contradictory emotions swept through Melisende. She was a failure and a disappointment to the woman she most loved in the world, but she was thankful that the Abbess had not cut her off completely. Melisende lowered her head. “Thank you, my lady.” But beyond those feelings she felt an underlying pulse of excitement filling her veins that would not be denied. She lifted her head with renewed spirit and looked at Galien. She would make him safe.

  “Now, go. Do what you must do, go where you need to go. You have my blessing.”

  “I’ll make sure Sir Galien gets on that boat, my lady.”

  The Abbess sat back and surveyed her levelly. “I know you will.” She looked at Galien. “Pray go and ready yourself, Sir Galien. I would have a few words with Melisende.”

  Galien bowed and left the room.

  Melisende watched him leave, her eyes lingering on the closed door, as she imagined how she would feel at his final departure. Suddenly she felt the Abbess’s hand on her shoulder and she turned to her.

  “Since you were a child, Melisende, you’ve learned to hide yourself away because it pleased your father not to see you and because you needed someone who believed in you and loved you. And I was that person. And I still am. But I also believe you’re doing the same thing now—hiding. And I don’t believe it pleases God for you to hide yourself away. You are clever, you have skills and talents that you could serve God outside these walls. My dear, there is no longer any reason to hide.”

  Melisende shook her head. “’Tis all I know.”

  “Then, maybe, Melisende, ’tis time to know more? You must gather your courage—of which you have plenty—and do your best for Sir Galien. His life depends on it. You have the courage of your father and the capacity to love like your mother.” The Abbess kissed her gently on the forehead and pulled away with a soft, sad smile. “Think on my words.”

  The Abbess opened the door to reveal Galien waiting, not gone to ready himself after all. “Look after her, Sir Galien.” She glanced from Galien to Melisende, and then back to Galien. “Whatever her decision.” Melisende frowned, confused as to the Abbess’s meaning. “Her courage knows no bounds. Safe journey. Now, you must hasten. And I must make ready the priory.”

  Galien and Melisende walked quickly away. Once out of sight of the Abbess, Galien stopped and took Melisende’s hands in his own. “Are you sure you wish to do this? 'Twill be risky.”

  Melisende couldn’t believe he could question her. Could he not see how much she cared for him? But there was no point telling him so. He would be leaving within days and she would be as she was before. For she would accept the Abbess’s offer of returning to the priory. She shook her head. “’Tis not so very much out of the ordinary for me. We bring goods to shore most months. But there is no time to speak. I must collect my things. I’ll meet you back here shortly.”

  Melisende raced through the cloisters, across the perfumed garden to her room where she dressed in her warmest clothes for, while the cottage they were going to was kept in good repair by the old man, it would be equipped only with the bare essentials, and the nights could be cool on the marshes.

  From there she ran to the kitchen, stowing as much bread, cheese and pies as she could within the large padded pockets—more used to holding smuggled goods—that lined her cloak and stashed the wine in a bag. But every moment of her preparation her thoughts were focused on the man whose vitality and strength could be snuffed out that evening. Any delay on her part could mean Galien would be caught and hanged. The thought sickened but also strengthened her. She would not let it be so. He needed to live, even if it were away from Blakesmere, away from her. Nothing else mattered.

  Then she stopped and looked around at the priory that had been her home for so many years and imagined returning there, without Galien. Desolation filled her. She suddenly realized she was more fearful of returning alone, than of running into danger with a wanted man. Was her desire to live at Blakesmere as misplaced as the Abbess suggested?

  She locked the kitchen door and stepped out into the deepening twilight. The cloisters and garden were empty, with everyone answering the Abbess’s summons.

  Despite her fur-lined cloak, Melisende shivered in the crisp night air. She drew in a long steadying breath and scanned cautiously around her as she made her way to the gatehouse. She’d always felt so safe here, a place of security and study, a place where she could be herself. But now she imagined danger lurked in every shadowy corner.

  She hastened over to the gate, searching the shadows for him. She couldn’t see him until his hand reached out for her. He melted into the darkness, only visible when he moved. Once more she wondered how she could have taken him for a priest. He was a warrior through and through. He knew how to take command over a situation, and he knew how to disappear into the shadows.

  He didn’t speak, nor did she. They didn’t know who might overhear them. Even now, as they stood there, the King’s men could be prowling the perimeter of the Abbey walls, searching for weakness.

  He touched her shoulder and she lifted her head in response. She reached up for his hand and tugged it, indicating he should follow her. They moved away from the gate, towards the church. But, instead of entering the church, she moved around, outside, to where an old anchorite chapel lay in ruins. She paused, looked around once more, listening for any sound out of place. If the Abbess’s informants were correct, the King’s men could be here within the hour. But for the moment there was no other sound save the rustling of the leaves in the beech trees in the forest beyond the wall.

  He bent down to her and whispered. “Which path do we take? My horse will carry us both.”

  “No. No horse. We will be detected soon enough crossing the flat land beyond the forest. There is only one way and that is beneath ground. A tunnel.”

  Chapter 8

  Melisende could sense his puzzlement as she pushed away the loose clumps of grass to reveal a ring of rusting iron set into a round piece of wood. She gripped the ring and yanked it back, revealing an old well. The smell of damp and rotting vegetation rose up to them. “Come, ’tis but two steps for us, but a very long way to the water. You must take care.”

  She stepped down inside the well, her feet shifting more securely onto shallow ledges that had been cleared of the slippery moss that covered the brick lining of the well. The ledges were barely visible in the daylight and completely invisible in the late summer twilight. He reached down and gripped her hand in warning. “Here?” he whispered.

  She nodded. “But be careful. ’Tis slippery. There are two ledges upon which I stand and then two more.
From there, enter the hole over which ivy grows. I’ll hold it back for you. After your first step, you must pull the cover back into place.”

  She let herself down a further step until she reached the hole in the side of the well, covered by ivy. She shifted it and stepped out into a full-height tunnel. She reached through the ivy and held it back, watching, her heart in her mouth, as his feet lowered tentatively, feeling for the ledges. She sensed his relief when he’d found the ledges and brought his other foot down onto it. Then the light disappeared as he replaced the wooden cover.

  He took one more step with both feet and she reached out to him, her hand finding his thigh and holding it firmly, so he would know which way to go.

  With a grunt and a quick movement he swung himself into the tunnel and landed with a soft thud on the packed damp earth.

  She lit a lanthorn and pressed her finger to her lips and they began to walk in silence down the passage. Occasionally they passed under openings that gave way to other entrances to the tunnel. They continued in silence until they’d gone beyond the last entrance.

  “Those entrances are rarely used, known only to a few but ’tis safer to make no sound until we’re beyond them.”

  “How much farther is it to the coast?”

  “Not far. Unlike the road, ’tis direct.”

  “And you take this tunnel regularly?”

  She smiled, as she tended the light that flared more brightly. “Yes. Tom’s father told me of it when he discovered my need. The first time was terrifying.”

  “Yet you continued.”

  She lifted the lanthorn as they walked so he could see the long tunnel, lined with wood from which shrouds of cobwebs hung. A rat scuttled away in front of them, disturbed by the light. “Yes, I continued. I had no choice.”

  “No choice? Why?”

  “Medicines. You were correct. The cost is too great for a small priory such as ours. I need what the merchants can smuggle into the country.”

  “So, while most men smuggle wine and brandy, you smuggle different treasure. No wonder your convent has such a reputation for hospital care. I can understand that the villagers should risk their lives. These are hard times. But you?” He shook his head. “You risk much. Why, I wonder?”

  She swallowed, feeling suddenly nervous, as he came close to the truth. “I told you. I have patients who need the medicines.”

  “But there are other ways, other means, that would not threaten your life.”

  “Those ways are not as effective. Besides, ’tis something I feel I must do.” How could she communicate to him the thrill of entering the world on her own terms, where no-one judged her for being less than a nun, for being the youngest daughter of a man who didn’t believe she was his own? The thrill of a freedom, of which she only had a taste in her nursing and learning. “Something I need to do.”

  Suddenly she felt the light touch of his hand on her arm, his finger on her lips as he hushed her. He pointed ahead to where a dim light could be seen ahead.

  She nodded and they continued in silence until they emerged cautiously onto a rocky promontory that overlooked the marshes. The moon had yet to rise but the starlight gave enough light and Galien extinguished the lanthorn.

  Melisende pointed down to where a distant silver line of water could be seen, snaking across the marshes. “Down there. ’Tis not far now.”

  They scrambled down the bank, careful not to leave traces of their path, and struck out along a rough path of flattened rushes that ran beside the river.

  It was a clear night and the only light came from the stars and the last vestiges of daylight that remained on the western skyline. There was no sign of habitation among the high reeds, undulating mud flats and winding creeks. The nearest village was miles away and the nearby castle was uninhabited. But Melisende knew the way. After all, she’d walked the same path many times before.

  At a point that appeared unmarked, Melisende stopped, put her hand on Galien’s arm, and drew him through the reeds toward an even smaller creek. She fumbled in the darkness and found a rope and drew towards her a coracle, old but well made and maintained. “The next leg is by boat,” she whispered.

  They settled inside and Galien pushed off, rowing out into the narrow channel where the high reeds, which grew on either side, almost touched above them. Despite there being no evidence of strangers, Melisende was on edge, acutely aware of the splash and creak of the oars.

  Suddenly a marsh hen squawked and they both froze. After a few seconds, Galien continued rowing again, but faster this time. The sound of the sea, beating upon the shingle, grew louder.

  “’Tis over there,” she whispered. “The cottage lies beyond those trees, on a small island.” She pointed to a slight rise in the land hidden by grasses and low-lying trees, twisted by the wind. The marshes stretched out all around them and the coast road was far to the south.

  “We’ll be safe here. No-one will think to come this far out. The creek is rarely used and fit only for coracles, as ’tis so shallow. In daylight this side of the island cannot be seen from inland.”

  Galien grabbed one of the overarching tree branches, pulled the coracle ashore and stepped onto the squelching mud. He put his hands around Melisende’s waist and lifted her easily out of the boat and set her onto the firmer ground above him. His hands lingered around her but she pulled away and picked up the lanthorn and bag Galien had thrown to drier ground, suddenly aware of quite how alone they were.

  Melisende led the way through the shoulder-high rushes to the middle of the small island where a wattle and daub cottage stood, built between two trees, so that it was almost a part of them, invisible until you were upon it. She pushed open a rickety door, crouched and stepped inside. The light from the newly risen moon that streamed in through the open door revealed nothing but a make-shift pallet bed and the remains of a fire.

  “We’ll be safe here until the boat comes.”

  “And that is?”

  “Tomorrow night.”

  “Twenty-four hours. ’Tis a long time.” He spoke the words slowly as if savouring them.

  Melisende blushed at what she guessed to be his thoughts. “If it’s food you’re concerned with, I brought provisions.” She nodded towards the circle of stones within which ashes lay. “’Tis safer if we don’t have a fire.” She smiled briefly at him and then turned away, suddenly nervous. “’Tis lucky the night is not cold. Besides”—she shrugged, still not facing him—“the food does not have to be cooked.”

  “’Twas not the food I was thinking about.”

  “We will not be found, if that’s what’s worrying you. This cottage looks part of the island. I doubt anyone but Tom’s family know of it. ’Tis a place of refuge. We will be safe.”

  “I’m sure we are safe.” He didn’t take his eyes from Melisende. “But safety, Melisende, is a relative thing. I am safe here, with you, of that I am sure.”

  “Then what concerns you?”

  “You, Melisende.” He walked up to her and pulled back her hood. His eyes ranged hungrily around her head as her blonde hair fell around her shoulders, the moon catching its brightness. “How safe are you?”

  He didn’t move, just let his gaze settle on hers, as if waiting for some reaction, some answer to his question. What did he expect? Retreat? For her to show fear? She did none of those things. Instead she lifted her face to his and held his level gaze with a determined one of her own. “Safety is not my concern.”

  Chapter 9

  Melisende’s breath caught in her throat as he continued to stare at her with eyes that seemed to devour her.

  “Then it should be.” His voice was gruff. He shook his head and turned away and walked to the open door.

  She inhaled a long breath to steady her nerves. “Are you hungry?”

  He stood in the open doorway, silhouetted against the moonlit sky, gripping the side of the door, as if needing its support. He turned to her, his face limned with silver, but his expression unreadable. “No. Bu
t we should eat. ’Twas an excellent idea to bring food with you. Come, it’s a nice night, let’s eat it outside. There looks to be a rough clearing and an abandoned cask for a table.

  She followed him outside. At the centre of the clearing in the low brush, under one of the trees, looking out to the marshes and to the invisible sea beyond the sandspit, was the charred remains of another fire, set within a circle of stone, just as it was inside the cottage for wet days.

  Galien unclasped his cloak and threw it across the low scrubby grass. “Come, you must be tired. Let’s rest, eat and then we’ll be ready for the morn.”

  She sat down and emptied the pockets that lined her cloak.

  Galien looked down at the items spread on top of the cask and grinned. “You are prepared, my lady.”

  “We have twenty-four hours.” She plucked a couple of cups from her bag and poured some wine. “Other than shell fish, and samphire, there is little to eat out here. But”— she said handing him a cup of wine—“I always bring food with me whatever. Delays happen. Sometimes they are of hours only, other times, I have to return to the priory and repeat the excursion the next night. Either way, the food I bring with me either helps me, or buys me favour with the men and women who wait for the boat alongside me.”

  “And now it buys favour with me.”

  She drew out the knife she kept in her belt and cut the slab of cheese and tore off some bread. She passed it to him. “’Tis good goat’s cheese. The Abbess makes it herself. She says ’tis from a recipe famous in the part of France she lived when she was young.”

  She cut some for herself and looked out towards the sea, trying to move her thoughts away from her proximity to him, away from the fact that she could feel the heat of his thigh so close to hers.

  He leaned back on his elbows, his hands brushing her arm as he did so and chewed appreciatively. “Aye, the cheese is from home all right.”