Janna gave a snort of laughter, but her mirth quickly died as she brushed aside the curtain and approached Hugh’s bed. He was lying quietly, seemingly asleep, but looking so pale it seemed more like the sleep of death to Janna. With a cry of alarm, she bounded forward and laid her ear on his bare chest to listen for the reassuring thump of his heartbeat.
“Johanna,” he murmured, and she felt his fingers, light as a bird’s feather, stroke her cheek. She drew breath in an audible gasp and hastily straightened, meeting Sister Anne’s frown of censure.
“I was just checking to make sure he still lived.” She looked down at her patient. His smiling eyes showed that he was relishing the scene in spite of his discomfort.
“As you see, I live,” he said helpfully, adding, “but the pain is such that death almost seems desirable.”
“I can give you something for the pain that will also help you to sleep,” Janna said, automatically repeating what her mother might have said. Recollecting where she was, she turned to the nun. “I beg your pardon, Sister Anne. I forgot myself.”
“What, then, would you give him?” In spite of her misgivings over the situation, the infirmarian was more interested in an exchange of knowledge.
“I can brew up a decoction of primrose, wild lettuce and valerian, or hemp.”
The infirmarian nodded thoughtfully. “I have a syrup of white poppies already prepared. You may give our patient just a few drops to help ease his pain. Meanwhile I have another patient awaiting my attention, but I need to make up a healing paste before I see her.” She looked from Janna to Hugh. “I trust there will be no disruption or unseemly behavior while the lord is here under our roof,” she said, her warning clear to both of them.
“On my honor,” said Hugh. Janna nodded in agreement, although her lively imagination immediately provided a tantalizing range of possibilities. She hardly dared look at Hugh once they were alone.
“Don’t look so miserable.” Hugh’s voice was determinedly bright. “The thought of a dalliance with me isn’t so utterly dreadful, is it?”
Janna swallowed hard as she remembered their shared kiss. “Our infirmarian is right. It’s not seemly even to think of it,” she murmured.
“What with you being almost a nun and all?”
“With me being who I am, and you a lord,” Janna returned swiftly.
Hugh was silent for a moment. “I must say, you look far more appealing in your habit than you did in those dreadful garments that you—” He hesitated. “That I stole from your aunt’s barn before setting fire to it.” Janna knew she was safe to admit it, for Hugh already suspected as much.
She measured some poppy syrup into a spoon and held it out to him. He swallowed it in one gulp and licked his lips, relishing the lingering sweetness. “Don’t worry about the barn,” he said then. “I haven’t told my aunt who was responsible.”
“Thank you, my lord.” Janna was truly grateful. If Dame Alice had a mind to it, Janna could be severely punished for her crime.
“Now that Mus is locked up, and my aunt and uncle have returned to their own home, it’s safe for you to come back to my manor, if you wish it?”
Unable to find an excuse that might convince him, Janna kept silent.
“Does your life in the abbey really suit your needs?” Hugh’s disbelief was written plain on his face.
Janna nodded.
“I thought you so wild, so free; your spirit so fierce and unbroken.”
“And so it is.”
“How, then, can you stand to be shut in like this? Is it fear of Robert? I assure you, my aunt has his measure in full, and watches him closely now. He will not have another chance to harm you.”
Hugh waited for an answer, but none came. “Robert is no threat to you, I promise you,” he said at last. “You may safely leave the abbey at any time of your choosing. You know I am willing to offer you a home on my manor, indeed I greatly desire it, but of course you may first travel on to Winchestre, if you so choose. I think you said you wanted to go there?”
“Yes, but not yet,” Janna said. “I will stay to see Mus brought to justice.” She remembered the message Hugh had written to the abbess on her behalf, and her hand reached for the purse secreted beneath her habit. It would be so simple, it would save so much time if she asked Hugh to read aloud her father’s letter to her mother. Tempted, she was about to speak, but the memory of her mother’s pride and the lengths to which she had gone to keep her lover’s identity a secret, stopped her. If her mother had been a nun and her father a priest, the sin was great indeed. She was already far below Hugh in station. Let him continue to respect her and her mother for what he knew of them, rather than revealing shameful secrets from the past.
Hugh shrugged. “If you change your mind, Johanna, my offer still stands. But now we have more serious matters to discuss. I called you to my bedside for I know you to be quick-witted and observant, and I am hoping that, together, we may be able to make some sense of this attack—for it was a deliberate attack, I’m quite sure of that now.”
“I believe the dagger may have been meant for me, my lord. It could have happened by mischance, like this.” Janna showed him how she’d stumbled, and how a dagger aimed at her back might well have pierced his side instead.
“But you are safe now,” Hugh insisted. “The dagger was meant to harm me, and I think I know why, although I have scratched my brains to ribbons trying to find some other answer. Tell me, did you notice a young man wearing a red cloak amid the throng following the musicians? Dark hair, slightly taller than me?”
Janna wrinkled her nose as she visualized the colorful scene, the piping music, the shouting children and barking dogs. “I can’t say, my lord,” she admitted. “The fairground was crowded with so many people, villein and highborn alike, I would be hard put to single out anyone in particular.” She looked down at him. “Who is the young man in the red cloak, and why would you think he’d attack you?” she asked, giving way to the impulse that always wanted to know more, even though she knew it was not her place to be so inquisitive.
“His name is Anselm, and he has a sister. A beautiful sister.” Hugh looked somewhat discomfited.
“Ah.” Janna was beginning to understand, but she couldn’t prevent a pang of jealousy as Hugh’s implication became clear.
“My aunt owes knight service to the king in return for her lands,” Hugh explained. “I am one of those knights, as is Robert of Babestoche.” His mouth pulled down in distaste at the reminder of their link by marriage.
“And Anselm?” Janna prompted, determined to hear the rest of the story if he was prepared to tell it.
“Is squire to another knight in the king’s service on an estate some distance away.”
“And he has a pretty sister?”
“Indeed.” Hugh was thoughtful for a moment. “We grew up together on my aunt’s manor, and it was always assumed that when Emma and I were old enough, we would wed.”
Beautiful, and having almost the same status as Hugh. Janna was prepared to thoroughly dislike this Emma. “You are more than old enough to wed now, sire.” It almost choked her to say the words.
Hugh nodded. “But Emma has only a very small dowry, while I have my way to make in the world.”
“Do you love her? And does she love you?” Janna asked in a small voice.
He smiled. “No, and no. All this I tried to tell Anselm when he accosted me at the fair and demanded to know my intentions toward his sister. But he would not listen, and instead berated me for what he called my cold heart, my avaricious nature and, most especially, my faithlessness. I suggested he talk to Emma herself if he wanted the truth of the matter, but he was too angry to listen. He stamped off, muttering about the honor of the family being at stake. And I am sorry, for he was a good friend, and his sister too.”
“And you think he might have worried his anger to such a pitch that he came back and attacked you?”
Hugh gave a reluctant nod. “I admit I did not notice h
im among the throng, nor can I believe he would ever do such a thing. But I can’t think of anyone else who might wish me dead.”
“Begging your pardon, my lord, but that doesn’t make sense! If you were dead, you couldn’t marry Emma. She wouldn’t get what she wants, and nor would her brother, if his intention is to make you marry her.”
Hugh shrugged. “But honor would have been satisfied, if that is his thinking.”
Emma. The name stuck in Janna’s mind like a small, scratchy burr. If she was the young woman in the marketplace, she was indeed a beauty. If Hugh would not marry Emma, who was not only beautiful but highborn and with a dowry, albeit a small one, he would certainly never contemplate marrying anyone so far beneath him as herself. She caught his glance, and looked quickly away. Could he know that she was thinking how sweet it would be to love him, that if he only asked she could be tempted to throw caution to the winds but for the fact she was determined never to be caught in shame, and abandoned and disgraced like her mother. Not even for Hugh would she risk that.
Hugh had said he didn’t love Emma, and nor did she love him. Was that what stopped them from plighting their troth, rather than Emma’s too-small dowry? Involuntarily, her eyes strayed back to his face. The laughter had been replaced by a straightforward regard, a warmth and recognition that had not been there before. “You look so different,” he murmured.
“And so do you, my lord.” She strove for a light tone.
“Ah, yes.” He glanced down at his bandages and at the bed he lay on. “I can hardly act like a heroic warrior while I’m lying here at your mercy, can I?”
“Is that how you see yourself, sire?” Janna asked demurely, and turned with relief to Sister Anne, who had entered the cubicle.
Chapter 8
Janna passed a restless night on her pallet in the infirmary. She had moved her bed as far from Hugh’s cubicle as was possible, but even so she was acutely conscious of how close he was, and how vulnerable. She still worried that she might be responsible for his injury. She worried that the wound might be deeper than she’d thought, and that some vital organ might have been penetrated. She worried about the possibility of infection, the sort of infection that could lead to his death. She worried, too, about Emma, and Gytha, and Cecily, and any other pretty woman who might catch his eye. Her thoughts, her feelings for him, were in total confusion. He was handsome and kind, noble in every sense of the word. He had status and power, more so than any other man she’d ever met. Was that what had turned her head, or was she falling in love with him? She wondered if he was attracted to her, felt sure she hadn’t misread the admiration in his eyes even while she heeded the warning implicit in his words about Emma. If he spoke true about Emma’s lack of a substantial dowry, then he wouldn’t look twice at Gytha, or Cecily either. Nor would he look at her, other than as a bedmate to pass the time.
Janna squeezed her eyes tight shut, trying to block out all thoughts of herself as Hugh’s bedmate. Her hand touched her breast, felt its new weight, felt her nipple spring to life under her fingers. She groaned, and rolled over onto her stomach, and prayed for the dawn to come, even though it was not the dawn but Hugh she wanted. Truly she was of an age to wed, and to bear children. But first must come the pleasures of the bedchamber, and oh, she wanted them so badly.
She wrenched her thoughts away from Hugh, and instead soberly contemplated the mischief she had caused between Will and Agnes. She wished she could see Agnes, talk to her, and apologize for her stupid remark. She was concerned that what had happened in the marketplace might prejudice her friend against the bailiff’s pledge, and she deeply regretted her part in it. She spent her last waking moments rehearsing what she might say to Agnes on Will’s behalf, and how she might put her friend in the best frame of mind to hear her argument.
On rising, she found Sister Anne already in the infirmary, tending to Hugh’s needs. He gave her a quick wink. Janna prayed that the infirmarian hadn’t seen it, and that she would not notice the rising tide of red that heated her face.
“Go on,” the sister shooed her away. “Go to Prime and break your fast. You may stay on to say the Mass and attend chapter afterward, where you will give a report on our patients. Then come back to the infirmary, for I need you to stay here while I go out to the fair.”
Mindful that the nun was placing great trust in her, Janna nodded and slipped away. Her mind was so full of questions she hardly paid attention to what she was eating or what was happening during the celebration of the Mass. She looked for Agnes when the lay sisters filed into chapter, but knew she would have no chance to speak to her until it was over.
There was a collective gasp when the nuns learned that there was a man in the infirmary, but Janna gave a conscientious and clear report of his progress as well as the progress of their other patients, and her recital passed without comment other than a quick, “See to it that the lord is well cared for,” from the abbess. Janna knew what motivated her instruction and bent her head to hide her amusement.
But there was more to come. “I saw Sister Johanna enter the convent yesterday. She was running, and her head was bare. She wasn’t wearing her wimple or a veil.” Janna didn’t have to look up to recognize the whine.
“May I answer the charge, Mother?” she asked. The abbess nodded wearily. Janna wondered why she didn’t reprimand Sister Martha for the Sin of Always Complaining. She launched into an explanation of Hugh’s injury and her makeshift bandage to staunch the flow of blood, and was rewarded with everyone’s undivided attention. Janna was willing to wager that nothing so exciting had happened at the abbey since the Danes had burned it down. She waited with bowed head for the abbess to deliver her punishment.
“I see you are correctly attired this morning,” the abbess observed. “Make sure that the bloodied linen is properly laundered and made fit for wear once more. Attend to it personally. That is your penance.”
“Yes, Mother. Thank you, Mother.” It felt strange to address someone other than Eadgyth as “mother,” and yet Janna recognized the role played by the abbess in the convent. Abbess Hawise might not fill the role to perfection but anyone else in her position might indeed make a kind, loving and wise substitute for a parent.
“M-may I…may I s-say s-something, M-Mother Abbess?”
So the missing pages were not yet found. Janna felt desperately sorry for Sister Ursel as she stammered her way through her confession of the Sin of Carelessness.
“How do you account for the pages going missing?” the abbess asked.
“I-I was w-working in a c-carrel off the…the c-c-cloisters. I w-wondered if…if the w-wind might have b-blown them away?”
“Was it windy while you were working there?”
“N-no, Mother.”
“Do you leave your work unattended at any time?”
“Yes, s-sometimes. But at…at the end of…of the day I-I t-take it b-back to the s-sc-sc—”
“Scriptorium.” The abbess faced the convent with a stern countenance. “Does anyone know anything of these missing pages? If so, I want to hear about it now!” When no reply seemed forthcoming, she added on a softer note, “Our good sister labors long and diligently over this illuminated life of our beloved saint, and any lost page is a betrayal not only of our own St Edith, but also our Lord, for this toil for His greater glory will have been in vain unless the pages are found.”
This was worse than Janna had imagined. She waited for lightning to strike the hapless Sister Ursel, or Christ and His avenging angels to mark her for her sin. Everyone waited for the abbess’s verdict. Sister Ursel had gone so pale, Janna wondered if she might swoon.
“I know how careful, how meticulous you are about scribing and illuminating this manuscript, Sister Ursel, and how much the life of St Edith means to you.” Abbess Hawise sounded genuinely sorry for the nun. “To lose so many hours of your work is penance enough, for I feel sure that you have already searched diligently.” Her gaze hardened as she surveyed the assembled convent. “I
want you all to search for the missing pages. If you find them, you must bring them to me. And if any one of you knows something of this matter, do not let it sit on your conscience. Come and see me at once.” She looked about the room, fixing everyone with a fierce stare, before bowing her head to utter a closing prayer and benediction.
After chapter, although anxious to get back to the infirmary, Janna waited for the lay sisters to file out. She wasted no time in finding Agnes among them, and drew her aside. “I was so sorry you didn’t stay to enjoy the fair yesterday. Were you really not feeling well?” she whispered anxiously.
“I did feel sick—with fright.” Agnes pressed her lips together in a rueful expression. “I lost my nerve and I am sorry for it, especially when you went to so much trouble to arrange for me to come with you.”
Janna hesitated, wondering if she was going to regret what she said next. “Master Will was sorry too,” she said at last. “He told me he looked for you, but—”
“I don’t like people looking at me!”
“He wasn’t looking at you, he was looking for you.”
“Why?” Agnes pulled at her wimple in an unconscious effort to hide her scars.
“Because he cares for you, Agnes. He asked me to speak on his behalf. He—”
“No!” Still hiding her scarred cheek, Agnes backed away from Janna. “My place is here, in the abbey. I have work to do here, the Lord’s work.”
“Surely all our work is for the Lord, no matter where we may be, or what we do, or even how we go about it?” Janna protested.
“I am here because I love the Lord!” Agnes’s voice rang out in sudden, strident affirmation. “As soon as I was old enough, I took a vow to be obedient, to live chastely and in poverty. I cannot break my vow.”
“Is that your answer to Master Will, then?”
Unholy Murder: The Janna Chronicles 3 Page 12
