The Abbot spluttered his apology, but his eyes betrayed his annoyance. “A thousand pardons, Jennet. Here is your pot.”
Jennet paid the Abbot, linked her arm in Nolana’s and escorted her niece away from the stall. “We’ll walk slowly, so’s not to arouse interest.”
Nolana did not recall much of the long walk back to the cottage and only took a deep breath once she was safely inside its walls.
***
From the shadow of the market cross Aidan watched the two women walk away, desperately trying to control his breathing. He’d looked into the depths of green eyes and seen fear. An overwhelming desire to protect this unknown young woman had swept over him, but the pompous Abbot had shoved him out of the way. The man was lucky Aidan hadn’t slain him with his sword—but he no longer had a sword, was no longer a man of action.
He sank to the ground, his back sliding down the cool stone of the obelisk. Was this another test of his resolve? How many temptations would be thrust before him? His shaft still throbbed mercilessly, and there was no hope of relief here in the crowded market. He’d never believed in love at first sight, though his father had often boasted of being smitten the moment he set eyes on Agneta. Aidan recalled how disdainful he’d been of Blythe and Dieter and their instant attraction to one another. What had transpired here? Why did he want to pursue the women, throw his arms around the green-eyed beauty and make her his?
He raked his hands through his hair. What was he thinking? It was obvious she’d been disgusted by the odour of his body—who wouldn’t be—it disgusted him. The way he’d stammered—she likely considered him an imbecile, cast off by his family and hidden away in a monastery.
The Abbot’s voice roused him from his stupor. They were loading the cart. Wearily he came to his feet and trudged back to help. No doubt he would receive a stern lecture once they regained the Abbey.
***
Nolana fretted for two sennights. Safety lay in the Fells. Her father’s people would take her in, protect her. But such a journey would be impossible alone, and there was no home to return to.
Jennet told her to stay as long as she wished, but what future was there in such a life? She would live in fear of discovery. Her stepfather was too close.
It seemed the Abbey was her only hope, but the elderly monk had put the fear of God in her in the wrong way. Then there was the young postulant. She couldn’t get him out of her thoughts. What was the attraction? He was woefully in need of a bath and a shave, though she sensed he was aware and ashamed of it. Why had she wanted to reach up and run her hand over the stubble of his beard? She daydreamed of shaving him, something she’d never done for any man. The notion filled her thoughts, resulting in a puzzling pool of moisture between her legs and an embarrassing new habit of drooling.
She was a stranger to him, but he’d risked the displeasure of his Abbot to assist her, quickly sensing the danger.
Despite his unkempt appearance, she’d been struck immediately by his masculine beauty. And those eyes—why would he shut himself up in a monastery? His bearing bespoke a man made to sire children—virile, strong, capable—a man who’d spent many an hour in training fields, practising swordplay. He’d spoken only four words to her, but his manner of speech indicated he was of noble blood. What was he doing on the Holy Island of Lindisfarne?
Her preoccupation annoyed her. What did it matter to her if a handsome young man closed himself off from the world? What was he atoning for? She resolved to stop obsessing about him and decide what action to take to resolve her own problems.
But at night she dreamed of him, of long muscular legs entwined with hers, of strong arms wrapped around her. She felt stirrings of longing she’d never felt before in unmentionable places and awoke each morning with her hand where it should not be.
Nolana was confused and ashamed.
CHAPTER SIX
“I grow weary of the wait, Maknab. I’m not a young man. Time is of the essence.”
Neyll Maknab resisted the urge to take Baron Grouchet by the scruff of his scrawny neck and point out he was the one who was weary—weary of the auld man’s constant harping and weary of chasing his wilful stepdaughter. When he caught her—and he had no doubt he would—he would make her rue the day she’d led him on this merry dance.
He straightened the cuffs of his doublet. “She is in Northumbria, I am sure of it. We will find her and you shall have your bride.”
Grouchet spat. “Bah! Northumbria is vast. She might be anywhere. You haven’t had any success. Perhaps I should look elsewhere. I want an obedient woman.”
It was a threat the fool had made before, and Neyll determined not to rise to the bait. Though he desperately needed the coin, he must not let Grouchet know it. “She will obey you, Baron, if I have to thrash it into her.”
Grouchet spluttered. “Sir, I am capable of disciplining my own wife. Would not be the first time.”
Neyll bowed his head. “Of course. I didn’t mean to imply—”
The baron waved his hand in dismissal and slumped into a chair. “Think on it no further. I am anxious to have her wedded and bedded. I must have an heir.”
“And you shall. Nolana has few options open to her. She might think to flee north, but who will accompany her there? No lowland Scot will risk my wrath by aiding her. She has only the Church to fall back on. I have instructed my men to watch the villages near the Holy Island of Lindisfarne. My gut tells me that’s where she’ll be found.”
The baron did not reply. To Neyll’s disgust the auld fool had fallen asleep.
***
Aidan feared he was going mad. Perhaps the grief of his parents’ death had been too much? No matter what he was doing—praying, reading, chanting, eating, collecting honey, washing clay vessels—no matter where he was—indoors, outdoors—whether on his feet, his knees, his backside or his bed—the memory of those auburn curls wouldn’t leave him. If perchance he thought of aught else, it was the green eyes.
Why did she fear those men? Who was she? She was a Scot, for God’s sake. His family had a long standing mistrust of lowland Scots. His Kirkthwaite grandparents had died at the hands of marauding Scots, along with Aidan’s namesake.
It was a test—a supreme test he must not fail. He would be rid of his preoccupation with this woman, whom he would likely never see again. He was sure the Abbot would not permit him to go into Beal for the next market after the dressing down he’d received, admonishing him not to fall prey to the temptations of the flesh.
The desire that spiralled through Aidan whenever he conjured an image of the young woman was more torture than temptation. He prayed for guidance. It did no good. She filled his thoughts.
He wished Ragna and Edwin would come to visit. He would charge one of them with finding the woman, seeing to her safety. But the Abbot had probably forbidden it, and the perceptive Ragna would know instantly there was something wrong.
How were they managing the estate without him? His uncle, Baudoin de Montbryce, the Earl of Ellesmere, would take care of any problems at Shelfhoc Hall, situated as it was not far from his own castle at Ellesmere in the Welsh Marches. Kirkthwaite Hall, close to the Scottish borderlands, needed a strong hand, and Edwin—well—
And what of the Sussex manors their grandfather had left to his illegitimate son, Aidan’s father?
God would provide. Aidan had been called to serve Him. But it was hard not to be concerned.
***
Nolana fidgeted with her playd. “Nay, Jennet, I cannot accompany you to the market again.”
Jennet drew heavily on her pipe and blew out the smoke slowly. “Ye must. The Church is yer only choice now, lass. Ye must speak with the Abbot of Lindisfarne. I’ll put in a good word for ye.”
Nolana paced, fingers clenched in her hair. “But my stepfather’s men. They may still be there.”
Jennet blew smoke rings. “Nay, they be long gone. ‘Tis safe now. It saddens me, but the church is yer only chance, lass.”
Nolana c
hewed her lip. “But there is no convent at Lindisfarne.”
Jennet nodded. “No, but the Abbey is a cell of Durham Cathedral. The Abbot will get you there safely.”
Nolana hugged her arms tightly around her breasts. If she had to be a nun, at least there would have been some solace in being close to the young postulant. God would surely punish her for these impure thoughts. This was no time to be dreaming about a man, especially one impossible to attain. Perhaps that was the attraction. He was no threat. She hoped he would not be at the market, though at the same time she longed to see him again.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Aidan was pleased the Abbot had grudgingly allowed him to come to the market a second time. At least he was in the fresh air, among people, and his headaches had eased of late. He’d striven to suppress the persistent desire to see the green eyed girl again, convinced the chances of her being at the market were nonexistent. She was fleeing someone and would be long gone by now. He prayed she’d evaded the men who pursued her. He shuddered, hefting the last of the mead from under the canvas in the back of the wagon. The Abbot had instructed him to leave it there until they needed it, to keep it cool.
He hoisted the cask to his shoulder and turned. Suddenly, the girl who filled his thoughts was there in front of him, breathless, frantic, looking over her shoulder. His mouth fell open. Their eyes met. She stopped dead. Without a second thought, he lowered the mead and gestured to her to climb under the canvas. She didn’t hesitate, lifting her skirts. He glimpsed bare ankles. Blood rushed to his groin. She struggled into the cart and he put his hand to her elbow. A tingling jolt ran up his fingers and into his arm. She turned to him, wild-eyed.
She felt it too!
“Quickly,” he rasped, “under the canvas. I’ll distract them.”
She crawled into the hiding place and he straightened the edges, ensuring she was covered. His heartbeat thundered in his ears. He picked up the cask, poised to hoist it onto his shoulder, when the men appeared. They were breathing heavily. One of them, sweat pouring from his brow, strode to Aidan’s side. “Good brother, hast seen a young lass, red hair?”
This man was definitely a Scot, a borderer. Aidan assumed the pose of an imbecilic monk. “A lass? Nay, I’ve seen no lass.”
One of the other men snickered. “Yon mon probably wouldn’t know a lass if he saw one. Let’s go. She can’t have gone far.”
They hastened off. The canvas moved slightly. “Stay where you are. They may come back. I’ll deliver this mead to the Abbot then return. Don’t move.”
He walked away slowly, then turned back. He had to know, in case she decided to flee. “What is your name?”
“Nolana,” she whispered. “Nolana Kyncade.”
He mouthed her name. Nolana. It was the most beautiful name he’d ever heard. He hurried off back to the stall, berating himself for his weakness, and frantically plotting how to get her to safety.
***
Despite the heat of the day and the stuffy confines of the canvas cover, Nolana could not stop shivering. She’d gaped in disbelief after stumbling upon the monk, the same man she hadn’t stopped dreaming about from the moment she’d first seen him. Was the hand of Fate at work here? She’d been careless, believing the Maknab men would have given up the chase. As soon as she’d espied them across the field, dread had filled her. She would be caught. There was no hope.
Now she lay hidden, fear thudding in her throat, but feeling strangely safe. The monk had not hesitated to aid her. His commanding voice instructing her to hide had been a lifeline rescuing her from drowning. This was no mewling monk without a brain. Here was a decisive man of action. Her body warmed and she felt her face flush at the recollection of the things she’d dreamed of doing with him. What a sinner she was.
Sounds came to her from the market, but no sign of her trackers. Perhaps she should flee? But her monk had told her to stay where she was. How would he get her to safety? Strange she somehow trusted he would. But he was a monk—not even a monk, a postulant, without authority. One against many if the men reappeared. She did not believe the Abbot would be on her side if they were challenged.
Her breathing slowed. Her eyelids grew heavy. She curled up under the canvas and dozed.
“Nolana.”
She opened her eyes and squinted when a shaft of late afternoon sunlight crept under the edge of the canvas. Her monk peered at her, his face full of concern. “Are you all right?”
She yawned and stretched. “I fell asleep.” She remembered where she was and why. “I must go. It should be safe now.”
He lowered the canvas, then raised it again. “No, they are still about, idling by the market cross, flirting with women from the village. They seem to know them by name. They’ve been here a while, waiting for you.”
“And I walked right into their trap. I’ll never be safe.”
He looked into her eyes. “I’ll make sure you’re safe from them, Nolana.”
She frowned. “But I’m a stranger to you. I don’t know your name.”
Her monk hesitated. “I am Brother Christian.”
She was strangely disappointed. “Brother Christian,” she whispered.
“But my real name is Aidan.”
His name was Aidan. At last she could call him by name. “I planned to seek sanctuary today, Aidan. I have no choice but to enter a nunnery.”
A wave of revulsion hit him. He knew what it was to be shut away and could not abide the vision of this beauty enduring the same fate. It had been his choice to leave the world. She would be forced. “No. I won’t permit it.”
Her mouth fell open and he instantly regretted his outburst. “I mean, no, believe me you don’t want to spend your life locked away in a convent. You’re too beautiful.”
Suddenly he heard the Abbot’s voice nearby. He lowered the canvas. “Hush. Be still. We will be loading the empty vessels soon for the return to the abbey. Stay hidden. Don’t make a sound.”
Nolana protested. “But I can’t go there.”
“It’s your only chance.”
He turned to face the Abbot, his heart beating wildly. What was he doing? How was he to smuggle a maiden into the monastery, and what was he planning to do with her once he got her there?
He had no answer to these questions. He had to help her get away from those men. Great evil would befall her if they caught her. It came to him that if he got her to the abbey, the Abbot would be unable to force her return once the tide came in.
The Abbot’s face was sour as he eyed the cart. “What took you so long, Brother Christian?”
Aidan took the empty container from his Superior. “I apologise, Father Abbot, I was dallying, enjoying the pleasant afternoon sunshine. Let me help you.”
He carefully placed the cask up against the bundle of canvas, then reached to take a second one from another brother. Gradually he built a protective wall separating Nolana from the men once they climbed into the cart.
As they pulled away from the market he caught site of the old woman who had accompanied Nolana. She was obviously searching for her. Their eyes met. He hoped she understood his silent signal.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Beautiful. Her monk had said she was beautiful, though she didn’t feel like a thing of beauty, curled up under the heavy canvas in a smelly oxcart. The calm that had lulled her to sleep had fled, to be replaced by dread and uncertainty. This was madness. What was Aidan thinking? What would the Abbot do when she was discovered?
Again she cursed a world where men made the rules and women were forced into impossible situations. Once more she was at the mercy of men, and on Holy Island she would be surrounded by them. The odour of unwashed male bodies swept over her, mingling with the smell of mead. Bile rose in her throat. No doubt she didn’t smell too fresh either after the afternoon she’d endured. She hoped none of the men in the cart had a good sense of smell. Would monks know the scent of a female? It was at once humorous and terrifying to ponder.
There was no conve
rsation among the men. Perhaps they weren’t allowed to speak to each other. If she had to endure a vow of silence she would die. She prayed she would not be sent to a convent with such a rule.
A voice startled her. “We’ve almost left it too late thanks to your dawdling, Brother Christian. The tide is coming in already. We’ll barely make it to the island.”
“Mea culpa, Father Abbot. Again I apologise.”
Aidan’s voice! How safe it made her feel, despite the note of sarcasm in his words.
A short while later the cart rumbled to a halt. She held her breath. The cart lurched as the men descended. Now she would be discovered.
His voice was strong, full of authority. “A word, Father Abbot.”
“What is it, Brother Christian? I’m tired and have yet to see to—”
“There is a woman in the oxcart.”
Nolana pressed the back of her hand to her mouth to stifle a giggle, imagining the look of confusion and consternation on the old cleric’s face.
“A woman?” The Abbot was choking. Was Aidan biting back the impulse to laugh? Aidan. How right his name sounded. It was as if she’d known him forever, like a brother. Nay, the feelings that assailed her in Aidan’s presence had naught to do with brotherly love.
Her monk cleared his throat. He was trying not to laugh! “Yes. She requested sanctuary. I granted it.”
Silence. Had the Abbot died of an apoplexy brought on by shock?
“You—you granted sanctuary?”
“I did. You may castigate me later, Father, but she is no doubt suffocating under the canvas while we stand here.”
Suddenly the canvas covering was whipped away. Nolana blinked and struggled slowly to her feet, legs cramped and stiff. Three monks gaped. In the rapidly waning light the Abbot’s contorted face glowed red. Aidan had a trace of a smile on his face. He offered his hand. She walked to the edge of the cart. He reached up, put his hands at her waist and lifted her down. She took hold of his shoulders. It was the first time she’d put her hands on him. She remembered the jolt that had travelled up her arm when he’d helped her into the cart in those desperate moments in the field. The warmth of his hands seeped into her ribs and pooled in her breasts. His robe felt rough, but his shoulders were broad and muscular. They belonged to a knight, a warrior. How did he bear the rough robe against his skin? He grinned, reassuring her, and desire spiralled in her most intimate place.
Sweet Taste of Love (The FitzRam Family Medieval Romance Series) Page 3
