by Shari Anton
“You mean the herb mixture to cure my headaches? I must say, I am surprised she would take an interest.”
“Did so from the first. Nicole endures the lessons and chores and what she views as endless prayer in return for the hours she is allowed in the infirmary. At times I think her smiles do more to ease our ailing Sisters than the poultices and potions.”
“Nicole has a bright smile, and it does me good to see it again. Gwendolyn and I were most concerned about her, and I am delighted to see we worried for naught.”
“Why the worry?”
Emma smiled, thinking their fears rather foolish now. “Her letters did not read as if written by Nicole. The girl’s spirit seemed dulled, and we feared she had become despondent.”
“Oh, dear,” the abbess said, chagrined. “I fear it my fault. While teaching her to be sparse with her words and mindful of the cost of parchment, I may have stifled her.”
Emma put a hand on the abbess’s arm. “Whatever the reason, I now know our concerns unwarranted. Nicole is content, and for that, I thank you. We did right to send her to you.”
The abbess gave an appreciative nod. “ ’Tis not all my doing. Nicole’s contentment comes from finding a purpose here, and she is welcome to pursue her interest in medicinal herbs for as long as she remains with us.”
Emma worried her bottom lip. “My petition to allow her to return to Camelen may have recently been presented to the king. After seeing how she flourishes, I wonder if remaining here for a time would not be best for her.”
“Nicole speaks of you and Gwendolyn often. She loves and misses you both. All three of you have suffered much these past months.”
Emma rubbed her palms on the woollen robe. “Times have not been the best. However, Gwendolyn is now happy with her role as wife and lady of Camelen, and Nicole has, as you say, found a purpose. Perhaps our lives are beginning to turn right again.”
“But not for you as yet. I can be a very good listener, if you care to talk.”
So Mother Abbess hadn’t come to the cloister merely to shoo Nicole off to lessons. While airing her burdens might make her feel better, Emma feared shocking the abbess.
“The tale is rather sordid.”
The abbess waved a dismissive hand. “I can spare you some of the tale. Lady Julia is at present visiting her uncle in Oxford, for Michaelmas. Several days ago, when the earl came to present us with gifts, Lady Julia and I spent some time on the bench under the pear tree. I swan, I heard more of court gossip than I wished to!”
Julia! Now she would be the one to tell a tale of woe! “Is Julia still in Oxford? I would dearly love to visit with her.”
“Likely. I can find out by day’s end, if you wish. So you see, I am aware of how you were treated at court, and what transpired in the king’s chamber.”
Then the abbess surely knew of Darian’s being accused of murder, of how Emma had stood witness, and of their marriage.
“I thank you for not telling Nicole.”
“ ’Twas not my tale to tell, but yours. Nor will anything you tell me leave this cloister, if you do not wish it.” She smiled. “Julia is not so circumspect.”
“That she is not, but I like her all the same.”
“So do I. I also happen to be impressed with your Darian, and I had not expected to be, given your tryst in the queen’s solar.”
There were some things Emma would never tell anyone, but she could give this woman of the cloth more of the truth than others.
“The tryst never happened. I... lied when I told the king that Darian had spent the night with me.”
The abbess’s eyes went wide. “You lied?”
“The bishop accused Darian of murdering Edward de Salis, and I believed Darian when he declared his innocence. No one else would come to his defense. When the king judged him guilty and ordered the guards to take him away and alert the hangman, I had to halt the injustice. So I lied.”
“My word! You were that sure of his innocence you committed a sin for his benefit?”
She’d committed worse sins with Darian, which she wasn’t about to confess.
“Darian proved me right, and ever since has been ferreting out the true murderer. Philip, the man who delivered my letter to Nicole, has been aiding that effort.”
“One lie has brought you much grief.”
The abbess didn’t know how much. “But the lie saved Darian from hanging, preventing a grave injustice. I would do it again.”
“What upset Julia most was the king’s forcing you to marry so far beneath you. A woman of your heritage should not be made to suffer such insult.”
The statement brought Emma up short. But then, the abbess, as were most of those who rose to authority in the Church, was likely of noble birth. Kindly or not, the nun considered the marriage between noble and commoner disgraceful.
As did Darian. She heard his wish for deliverance every time he called her “lady” or “princess.”
“We intend to have the marriage annulled when possible.”
“On what grounds?”
A very good question, one Emma sidestepped. “The problem is not grounds, but Bishop Henry. He is not inclined to favor Darian, nor is he pleased with me for standing witness, and if he ever finds out I lied—and he will when Darian exposes de Salis’s true murderer—well, I cannot see any hope of our petition arriving in Rome.”
“Quite a muddle.”
A muddle, indeed. Especially when one considered how badly Bishop Henry wanted to get his hands on Darian.
The abbess rose from the bench. “Your situation intrigues me. I am sure we possess some writings on the subject in our library, and I know an abbot and an archbishop who are well versed in procedural matters. I am not sure we can discover a solution before you leave us, but would you be averse to my making inquiries on your behalf? Without using your name, of course. Though by the way news travels, they may guess on whose behalf I seek answers.”
Emma took a long breath. Before her stood a woman who might be able to help end her marriage to Darian. He would certainly be pleased if someone could tell him how to do so.
Sorrow akin to grief clenched her heart. She’d known all along their marriage would be short-lived, that one day they would part and never again cross paths. That day had always seemed far off. No longer.
Though so many people had expressed disapproval of a woman of her rank marrying a commoner, she realized she wouldn’t mind being married to a commoner—if that man could be Darian.
Even as her heart cried out for more time, she told the abbess, “Darian and I would be grateful for your guidance.”
Chapter Seventeen
Darian stared down at the river from the wall walk of Crowmarsh, the timber fortress the king had ordered built across the Thames from Wallingford Castle. From here, one could see far up and down the river and observe any enemy troops attempting to either enter or leave Wallingford.
Crowmarsh wasn’t the only siege location, of course. Groups of tents surrounded Wallingford, sheltering hundreds of troops. At the moment many of them huddled around campfires. Some engaged in weapons practice. All of them were bored.
No one had gone into or come out of Wallingford Castle for months and many people believed Brian fitz Count had stocked enough supplies to last through winter and well into spring.
Darian thought it a waste to commit so many soldiers and so much coin to what seemed an unending venture, but he understood the king’s reasons. The rebel stronghold closest to London, Wallingford was a thorn in the royal paw and wanted plucking. If the castle fell, the blow to the empress’s cause would be near fatal. Except that blow wouldn’t happen anytime soon. The stalemate would continue, no progress made.
Just as he’d reached a stalemate in his own life. He’d not only made no progress, but might have made his situation worse.
Clearing his name of the murder had become an obsession, leading him to commit several errors—which Earl William had forcefully pointed out yester noon.
Disobeying the order to stay at Hadone had topped the earl’s litany of sins committed, and as Darian informed him of further transgressions—taking Emma and Rose to London with him, exposing his presence too openly in Southwark—William’s anger and disappointment resulted in a ruthless tongue-lashing.
Only from Earl William would Darian have withstood the severe reprimand without giving a defense, especially a reprimand so deserved. He’d put Emma’s life at risk and lost Rose—and ye gods, how he missed them both.
Who would have ever believed he would miss the hound’s nose nudging his elbow for a pat on the head, or a treat, or to toss a stick? How many times had he waved her off or ignored her? Now he’d give a pretty penny to have her back.
As much as he missed the hound, he missed Emma so very much more. They’d been apart for less than a full day and already he longed to peer into her doe-brown eyes, hear the lilt of her voice, bask in her calm patience, and revel in her uninhibited passion. A singular woman, Emma, and he couldn’t decide which of her many qualities and mannerisms delighted him the most.
He could do nothing for the wolfhound who’d served him so loyally, but he must untangle Emma from the coil of his problems.
To sever their marriage, they might be required to expose the lie she’d told in court. With her lie revealed, he damn well might hang because he had only Hubert’s word—not a trustworthy witness—that the bishop’s guards had murdered de Salis.
Hubert had gone to York, or so he’d said. Finding the informant again might not be easy, and even if he did find Hubert, hauling him before the king would do little good.
Knowing who had committed the deed and proving it were coils of a different sort.
Which meant he must return to Southwark.
So what did he do with Emma while he prowled Southwark? Leave her at Bledloe Abbey? Take her home to Camelen? He highly doubted she’d be willing to go back to either Westminster Palace or Hadone.
Or he could purchase a small manor, perhaps in Kent, where she might be content to reside until after all was settled. He could visit Emma from time to time to ensure the household supplied, speak to her of events and people having nothing to do with the war or murderers, and spend the nights snuggled together in a soft bed, their limbs entangled in sleep after a lusty, blissful coupling.
Yearning bloomed in his soul and burst through him, the attack so robust he couldn’t mount a defense to halt its advance.
To think that a few days ago, he’d shuddered when Thomas spoke wistfully of such an arrangement. A comfortable home; a waiting, willing wife. Why did it now sound wonderful and reasonable if the wife could be Emma?
He scoffed at the ridiculous notion. No noblewoman would settle for such a life. No princess should be asked to live in a humble abode, there to await infrequent visits from her mercenary husband.
So why couldn’t he banish the sight of Emma standing in a cottage’s doorway, smiling as she greeted him with a warm, inviting kiss?
Footsteps on the plank stairway preceded Earl William’s arrival on the wall walk, and even as he braced for another lecture, Darian thanked the Fates for timely intervention from his impossible longings.
The earl leaned against one of the pike-tipped logs of the palisade, his attention focused on the castle across the river.
“Armand said you were up here. Looking for a way to get into Wallingford?”
Darian heard the merest hint of William’s anger. Striving to keep the peace, he followed the earl’s lead.
“I can think of no way that has not already been tried. Fitz Count has repelled every effort.”
“Maud has no chance of winning without Brian fitz Count. His staunch support of her is of no benefit to him, and yet he remains loyal. Were that all the king’s supporters so steadfastly loyal.”
William’s admiration for a formidable, honorable enemy didn’t surprise Darian.
“If the king wins, what happens to fitz Count?”
“If he hopes to keep his lands, Brian had best consider again pledging his loyalty to the king. An intelligent man bends with the wind. What I need to know is which way you are bending.”
Darian knew William wasn’t worried about him defecting to Empress Maud.
“My loyalty is still to you, William.”
“Yet you disobeyed my orders. Nigh on a fortnight ago, I would have sworn to all and sundry you would be the last to do so, no matter the provocation. Yet here you stand, and I am proven wrong.”
Darian couldn’t deny the obvious. “I should not have, I know that now.”
William nodded an acknowledgement. “I have watched you grow from a frightened child into a man any father would be proud to call his son. Since Bishop Henry hauled de Salis’s body into the king’s chamber, you have changed yet again, and whether that change is good or bad, I cannot determine. Only you can say what is best for you.”
He knew what the earl wanted to hear, and truly, no matter the clarity and appeal of Darian’s useless yearnings and unwanted emotions, there was really no other answer.
“Best for me would be to expose de Salis’s murderer, obtain an annulment, and then resume my usual duties,” he stated. “William, after Philip left, I found Hubert. The bishop’s men seized him and Gib on the morn of de Salis’s murder.”
To the earl’s raised eyebrow, Darian went on to tell him of Gib’s death and Hubert’s incarceration in the Clink, of Philip’s inquiring at the Clink about not only the two informants but Perrin, and of his suspicion the guards had lied about holding all three men.
“Philip and I believe Perrin ran afoul of de Salis, perhaps over a wager at a cockfight and somehow got tossed in the Clink. He could still be in there, or gone the way of Gib.”
William shook his head in disgust. “If the bishop were holding Perrin, he should have notified me. But apparently Bishop Henry has decided to harass my band. Perrin was easy prey because of his gambling. You, he tried to hang for a murder he ordered his guards to commit. God’s blood, if he persists I will have to find a way to deal with him.”
The earl stood silent for a moment, then said, “Philip should return from Camelen in a few days. Before we accuse the king’s brother of ordering a murder, I want to hear exactly what the Clink’s guards told him.”
Darian had promised Emma to return to Bledloe Abbey on the day after Michaelmas. If he must wait for Philip, he would break that promise.
Truth to tell, he probably shouldn’t go back to the abbey at all. Emma would be safe there, whether pleased with her residence or not. She’d see his absence as abandonment, and perhaps that wasn’t so bad, either.
The less he must deal with Emma, the more distance and time between them, the easier for him to dismiss foolish notions about snug cottages, welcoming kisses, and blissful couplings.
Except he would go back, if only because he’d given Emma his word. He might be late, but he’d keep his word.
“I have naught better to do than await Philip.” “Splendid. Between times, you can resume your duties. There are two captains who seem to believe the villages hereabouts are open to looting. Go inform them they are mistaken.”
“What of Perrin?”
The earl took a long breath. “If he is still alive, we should get him out. Tell Marc and Armand what you have told me, then send them to Southwark to see what they can learn. They will likely be back before Philip gets here. Now I am off for an audience with the king.”
Darian could think of numerous reasons for the audience, but only one that interested him. “Has the king read Lady Emma’s petition?”
“I gave it to him the day I arrived and he has not yet made a decision.”
“One would think the disposition of a child a rather easy decision to make.”
“I will nudge him. You go nowhere near the king.” Vividly remembering what occurred the last time he’d entered the royal presence, Darian knew that was one order he would have no trouble obeying.
At midafternoon on the second day after Mi
chaelmas, Emma glanced out the window of Mother Abbess’s office and tried not to fret.
“Come sit,” Lady Julia de Vere commanded gently. “Darian will come when he comes.”
“I merely enjoy the sunshine,” Emma countered, doubting either Julia or Mother Abbess believed her.
“Lady Julia is correct, child. Waiting on a man is frustrating at least, fruitless at most,” the abbess stated, a view Emma wasn’t sure she shared, but decided not to comment.
“What have you found, Mother Abbess?”
From a stack of rolled parchments on her desk, testimony to the abbess’s pursuit of information on annulments, she chose a scroll to pick up and wave.
“The Church fathers are most insistent a man do his duty to his wife. If Darian abandons you, there is no sound reason for the marriage to continue.”
Emma sat down in the chair beside Julia’s. “Darian will be back. If not today, then tomorrow, or as soon as he is able.”
Mother Abbess sighed. “You are quite sure?”
To believe otherwise would toss her into despair. She had to believe Darian had been delayed for good reason—not because he planned to abandon her.
“Darian keeps his word.”
The abbess picked up yet another scroll. “Consanguinity seems the most often cited reason for the granting of an annulment. Might you and Darian be related within the proscribed seven degrees?”
Julia laughed. “Their relation to each other would be truly remarkable, Mother Abbess. For a Flemish peasant to be related to a Norman-Welsh noble, they would have to trace their heritage back nigh onto Adam and Eve.”
“So I feared,” the abbess said, then to Emma’s amusement, she blushed. “Might your Darian be impotent?”
The Church took a dim view of marriage in general, considering the creation of children the only reason why men and women might be permitted to have sexual intimacy. Heaven help a couple if they took pleasure in the marriage bed, the enjoyment of lusty tumbles considered a venial sin.
With as straight a face as she could manage, Emma answered, “I fear Darian has no physical impediment on that score.”
