by Anna Burke
Tuck’s priory was only an hour’s walk, but in the darkness the trip seemed to take years. An owl swooped low over their heads and hooted. They both squeaked in alarm. Alanna shot her an embarrassed smile in the moonlight.
“I guess I’ll have to get used to that,” she said.
Marian swallowed past her dry throat. “Is that something you can get used to?”
“I’ll let you know.”
Talking calmed her heart. “Are you sure about this, Alanna?”
“Of course not. But I can’t let Willa do this alone, and she can’t stay at Maunnesfeld.”
“There are other places you could go, though.”
“Like where?”
“Maybe a place with houses and walls and fewer owls.”
“But here we’ll be close to you. We can always leave later on.”
“You could also be killed out here, or worse,” Marian pointed out.
“I could be killed anywhere. Here, though, I can be with Willa.”
The way she said it made it sound so simple, as if being with another woman were natural, easy even, once obstacles like propriety and impending marriages were out of the way. Marian was grateful the moonlight hid her flush. I am not like them, she told herself, but she remembered the feel of Robyn’s wrist beneath her fingers.
“What’s it like?” she asked.
“What is what like?”
“Being . . . being with a woman.”
Alanna slowed her pace but didn’t turn to stare at Marian, for which she was grateful.
“Have you ever been with a man?” Alanna said.
“Of course not. Have you?”
“Yes. It’s different. Not better or worse really. That depends on the lover, not their sex.”
Marian felt her face might light the forest. Alanna rarely spoke of the personal life she’d led before coming to Harcourt, but she’d been apprenticed to a minstrel of a grander estate, and her stories were full of bright clothing and brighter personalities sparking against one another like flint and steel. “Oh,” she managed to say.
“With Will, though,” Alanna said, shortening Willa’s name affectionately, “it’s something else entirely.”
“And?” Marian prodded when Alanna trailed off.
“I could sing you a thousand songs about love, Marian, but until you’ve been in love you won’t believe me. Willa isn’t perfect. I know that even better than you, but she’s mine and I am hers, and the rest of the Earth could burn so long as we have that.”
“You don’t worry about what other people will say, though?”
“I’m a minstrel. I make my living off spinning rumors into song. They can say what they want.”
Brave words, now that she was leaving all those people behind, Marian didn’t point out. “But you knew Willa was going to get married eventually.”
“And had it been to a nicer lord, I would have begged Emmeline to let me leave her service and gone with Willa.”
“You make it sound so easy.”
“Love isn’t easy. You just eventually figure out that some things can’t be fought. Once I accepted that, I just did what had to be done. If that means leaving my place at court, abandoning my career, and running away to live like an animal in the forest, then that’s what I’ll do.”
The lights of the priory flickered through the trees ahead of them on the path, sparing Marian the need to come up with a response.
Instead of the usual novice, Tuck met them at the gate and pulled Marian into her ample bosom. “The roads aren’t safe,” she said, shaking Marian gently. “Especially for you, you silly girl. Sheriff’s daughter,” she added under her breath as she shook her head.
“Is Willa here?” asked Alanna.
“Yes, which is how I knew to expect you. Does my sister know you’re here?”
Marian stared at her feet as she shook her head.
“I thought as much. Now get inside before somebody sees you. As my church has apparently turned into an inn without anyone telling me, I may as well see that you’re comfortable.”
“We don’t want to obtrude on the hospitality of the convent,” Marian began, but Tuck waved her into silence.
“Willa has already invoked the right of sanctuary. For the next forty days, I am bound to protect her.”
“How can she invoke sanctuary if she hasn’t committed a crime?” Marian asked.
“Has she committed a crime?” Alanna asked a second later.
“There are those who might hold that disobeying one’s father is crime enough. Treason, it is called. The rest you’ll have to ask her yourself.”
They crossed the moonlit courtyard with its kitchen garden, the smell of herbs strong in the night air, and followed Tuck into the priory public dormitory. It was a small stone room with several pallets arranged around the walls. A woman and child occupied the pallet farthest from them, and a tall youth jumped to his feet when Tuck opened the door.
Marian’s jaw dropped. Willa stood before them, but she looked so much like her brother that Marian had to blink several times to convince herself it wasn’t William. Willa had given herself a rather brutal haircut, which she’d covered with a cap to hide the worst of, and she wore a pair of breeches that looked like they’d been pilfered from the stable, judging by the stains around the knees. A sword belt hung around her waist and the pommel gleamed in the low light of the fire. That, Marian was sure, had not been stolen from a stable boy. William’s squire, however, might have some explaining to do when one of his lord’s blades turned up missing.
“Willa?” Marian said.
“Could you really not tell?” Willa asked with a grin.
Alanna reached up to touch Willa’s shorn hair and shook her head in disbelief. “Who knew hair made such a difference? Although really, Will, what did you use to cut it—your sword?”
“I was in a hurry.”
“I’ll fix it for you later.”
“Now,” Tuck said, interrupting their reunion, “would one of you be so kind as to explain to me what is going on?”
Marian glanced at the woman in the corner, unwilling to speak in front of strangers.
“Gwyneth will be joining our order soon enough. She pledged herself this morning, but with the baby I thought it best to house her here for now. I was not expecting additional visitors.”
The woman raised her head at the sound of her name, and Marian started. She recognized her: she was the widow Robyn had offered the purse to after the archery contest. Her blond hair was covered by a scarf and her eyes were shadowed, but beauty like that would have shone even on a corpse. Gwyneth met Marian’s eyes impassively, then turned her gaze back to the face of her sleeping son.
“That’s wonderful,” said Marian, unsure of the truth of her words.
“I can’t go home, Tuck,” Willa said. “I asked my father to let me pledge to the priory, but he refused.”
“Shall I quote what the Bible has to say about obeying fathers?”
“Only if you believe it.”
“Fair enough. But at the end of your time here you will have to go somewhere.”
“Marian knows someone. He’s supposed to meet us.”
“And this man—is he trustworthy?”
“Yes,” said Marian before Willa could speak. “He saved my life once.”
Tuck raised her eyebrows. “You still have not yet explained why Willa arrived on my doorstep with a sword in her hands.”
“It was in my scabbard.”
“Technicalities do not interest me right now, Willa of Maunnesfeld.”
“Even Marian had trouble recognizing me. My father will be looking for a woman, not a boy, and I’ve made sure he’ll never find me.”
“I see.” Tuck adjusted her wimple as she considered Willa. “And I suppose Alanna is going with you, judging by the sack she’s carrying?”
“Yes,” said Alanna. “But I assure you, I will take more care with my hair, should I choose to cut it.”
“And I also
suppose that you have informed my sister of all of this, have you not?”
Silence met her words, which seemed to confirm her suspicions.
“They will question Emmeline,” Marian said at length. “I thought it was better if she didn’t know right away, for her sake.”
Gwyneth made a scoffing noise in the back of her throat. They all turned toward her, and she met their eyes defiantly. “Trust me when I tell you that your Emmeline will not agree.”
“And why should we take your word for it?” said Marian. I have no reason to dislike this woman, she told herself, but God help me, I do.
“Marian,” Tuck said in warning. “If you will not speak with courtesy to my guest, how do you expect me to extend the same courtesy to you?”
“I am sorry,” she said.
“Very well,” said Tuck. “I will not lie for you. Neither will I go out of my way to tell the truth. That will have to suffice.”
“Thank you.” Willa offered Tuck a bow. Marian covered her mouth with her hand to hide her amusement at the sight.
“Well, make yourselves comfortable,” Tuck said, gesturing at the other pallets. “The fewer people who see you, the better.”
“Good night, Reverend Mother,” said Alanna. Her voice seemed to soothe Tuck, for the nun’s face softened as she motioned for Marian to follow her out the door.
“I had thought to stay,” said Marian.
“And worry my sister? I think not. I will take you home myself.”
“But—”
“This is not negotiable.”
Marian hugged Alanna tightly. “Be careful,” she said, letting go. “Promise me.”
“I promise.”
Willa chewed on her lip as she stared at Marian. “Take care of Emmeline,” she said at length.
“I will.”
“And Mare—”
“What?”
“Thank you.”
• • •
When Marian joined her, Tuck already had her walking stick in hand, which was suspiciously near the same height and thickness as a quarterstaff.
“This is not well done,” the nun said as she led Marian out of the priory and into the night. “Emmeline will worry, and what of Willa’s family?”
“Do you know Lord Barrick, Tuck?”
“By reputation. I would not wish him on Willa, but what about her mother?”
“What about Willa?”
“Outlawry could be worse than a bad marriage.”
“It could also be better. You don’t understand. You’re free here.”
Tuck turned at the heat in Marian’s voice. “I serve the Lord.”
“Yes, but you don’t have to worry about dying in childbirth or your husband beating you. You do as you please. I know you do, Tuck. Willa and I—”
“Do you wish to join my order? I would have you.”
“My father won’t hear of it.” She kicked at a rock and sent it flying into the undergrowth. The outburst and ensuing throb in her toe felt good.
“I shall pray that he changes his mind.”
Marian listened to the sounds of the forest. She wished she could believe her father might be persuaded to let her live out her days behind the priory walls, but she knew better. Another owl hooted.
Disappointment cloyed her throat. She had not seen Robyn. That should not have felt like a spear thrust to the gut, and yet she hated Tuck in this moment for dragging her back home. Knowing Tuck was right didn’t make it any easier to swallow.
“Who is this man to you?”
“What?”
“This man you’ve entrusted Willa’s life to.”
Midnight wrapped her in velvet darkness. “He’s . . . not a man.”
“Is he a goat?” Tuck’s voice dripped with tartness.
“No. He’s a woman. Dressed as a man. For safety, I think. I don’t rightly know.”
“If she’s in the woods, that would be safest, yes.”
“She won the archery contest at the fair and rescued me when I fell off my horse, and she gave Gwyneth her winnings.” The words tumbled out of her mouth.
“Ah.” Tuck sucked her teeth. “Yes, I wondered where she had gotten the money for admission.”
“She gave you the ten pounds?”
“Normally we expect more, and we rarely accept commoners, but I took pity on her and the child.”
Marian wondered if Robyn knew where the money had gone, or if that had been her plan all along. Now she wouldn’t get to ask.
She wanted to scream.
“Here you are,” said Tuck when they finally arrived. “I expect I’ll be seeing you and my sister quite soon.”
“Good night, Reverend Mother.”
Tuck touched her shoulder and Marian lifted her eyes to the nun’s.
“You’re a brave woman, Marian. Go with God.”
Chapter Nineteen
“I have no idea what this is about, as I have told you countless times already,” Robyn said as they walked down the track toward Edwinstowe. She felt naked without her bow, which she had stowed in a hollow tree nearby, but with their staffs and increasingly ragged clothing they looked less like outlaws and more like beggars, which served their purpose.
“I do not see why you have to do this woman’s bidding.”
“I am not doing her bidding. I am . . .” Robyn trailed off. She didn’t have a good reason for helping Marian—or at least not one that John would accept.
“And this boy. Will. What are we supposed to do with him? Is he wanted for stealing?”
“I don’t know, John.”
“She has a fair face,” John said, stopping to face Robyn in the road, “but I do not like the hold she seems to have over you. We do not know who she is, Robyn.”
“She has no hold over me, and we do know who she is. She’s a lady’s handmaid. Her fair face has nothing to do with it, and I would be much obliged if you dropped the goddamned subject.”
“Why would a lady’s handmaid collect your arrows after the shooting match? Have you thought of that?”
“She recognized me. That is all.”
“Handmaids stay with their ladies. They don’t play at judge.”
“She was not playing at anything.”
“She approached you in front of all of Nottingham. Have you thought about the questions that will raise? The consequences it could have for Midge or Gwyneth?”
“All I do is think about consequences.” Robyn’s shout startled a few birds out of a nearby tree.
John held up a hand to sue for peace. “I have said my part.”
“You have said more than your part.” Then, guilt squeezing her stomach, she tapped him with her staff. “And I value your advice, John. You do not have to come with me if it troubles you.”
“Yes, it is a mark of value to be ignored,” he said, but he grinned at her as the trees parted and they entered the clearing that held the small fields, handful of cottages, and the nunnery at Edwinstowe.
A few sheep bleated at them as they walked along the lane, and Robyn’s mouth watered at the prospect of cheese. Meat was all well and good and had been hard enough to come by in her old life, but now she missed cheese and bread and ale. She eyed a gaggle of geese longingly. She needed feathers for fletching, too. Pheasants didn’t have the long, thick feathers she was used to working with.
The villagers they passed shot wary looks in their direction as they came into view. “Not much used to strangers, here, are they?” said Robyn.
“Not strangers like ourselves at least. The Royal hunt passes through here, but they bring coin. We just look like we bring fleas.”
Robyn scratched her head as surreptitiously as possible as they approached the convent. The low wall around it crawled with ivy, and the arches looked as if the stonemasons had done their best with what they had to work with, which was, put bluntly, not enough stone. Sheep clustered outside the gate, and the convent’s fields hummed with bees and the voices of the novices working in them, sleeves rolled up over t
heir arms and their habits bleached from the sun.
“Doesn’t seem like such a bad lot,” Robyn said as she studied the women in the fields. “At least they don’t have to worry about childbirth.”
“Christ is a gentle bridegroom. They say you can hardly feel it.” John held up his fingers to indicate the size of their savior’s heavenly parts.
“There is a special place reserved in hell for you,” said Robyn. “Do we just knock?” They both eyed the priory door, aware they were under the scrutiny of a few watchful peasants and a particularly curious goat.
“Looks like.”
Robyn raised the knocker, which looked as if it too had suffered from the neglect of an errant mason, and let it fall. A few long minutes later, during which time the goat nibbled on the tattered hem of John’s tunic and Robyn had to fend off a lamb from making a similar attempt on her pants, the door jerked open to reveal the strangest woman Robyn had ever seen. Round red cheeks beamed at them from a wide face enclosed in a wimple, and the nun’s belly, equally broad, protruded a few inches ahead of her feet beneath a massive bosom. The arm that held the door was nearly as muscular as John’s, and the woman exuded a terminal kind of health and good cheer that made Robyn want to take several steps back, lest it be catching.
“Good afternoon,” said the nun. Robyn felt the vibrations from the woman’s deep voice through the soles of her boots. “What brings you here?”
“We’re looking for a boy.”
“Then you’ve come to the wrong place,” said the nun, winking at Robyn.
“His name is Will?” She couldn’t help the question that crept into her voice. God help the man who tried to force his way into this nunnery, she thought, wondering if the woman had ever wielded a staff, and if so, how much faster Robyn could run than the powerful thighs concealed by that woolen habit.
“Oh, you mean Will.” Her face brightened further, which didn’t seem possible, and she cracked a jovial smile that revealed a row of gleaming white teeth. “Come on in. You’ll find Will in the sanctuary, but first, let me offer you something to drink. Mead, perhaps? Our bees are most productive. Or some of last year’s cider, although that is getting down to the dregs.”
