by Shari Anton
“Well, if you are so certain, then we may assume the marriage consummated?”
Emma’s amusement fled as her own cheeks grew warm. “We may.”
The abbess tossed the scroll aside. “Then we are left with only the matter of consent. I assume the king asked you both for your consent.”
Emma remembered the moment vividly. “He did, and we both gave our consent. Grudgingly, but we gave consent.”
The abbess’s eyes narrowed. “How grudgingly?”
“If I remember correctly, I said, ‘Only because you order me to’ and Darian said, ‘If you insist.’ ”
The abbess huffed. “That is hardly freely given consent!”
“They were about to hang Darian. We had no choice.” “What woman is truly given a choice?” Julia grumbled. “I swan, few women would dare defy whatever marriage is arranged for her, especially when ordered by the king. The quality of consent is not a consideration.”
“Perhaps,” the abbess said, “but the Church frowns upon forced marriages.”
“Bishop Henry was present when Darian and I exchanged vows, such as they were, and did not question the quality of our consent.”
“I cannot say why the bishop did not, but no matter. I would say the very nature of your marriage to Darian gives you grounds for annulment.”
So simple an answer. Maybe.
“To whom must we apply?”
The abbess smiled slyly. “Truly, you could petition any bishop, but were I you, I would go to Theobald of Bec, archbishop of Canterbury.”
“Why Canterbury?”
The abbess’s smile widened. “For many a year, Bishop Henry held the position of papal legate, which placed Winchester over Canterbury, which has always been the traditional head of the Church here in England. When Pope Innocent II died, Henry lost the position. Archbishop Theobald went to Rome to ask Pope Celestine II for the appointment to legate and was refused. Both bishops now await a decision from Pope Eugene III as to which man, if either, will be granted the honor and power. Believe me, Theobald would be most happy to tweak Henry’s nose in any fashion, even if it is simply nullifying a marriage Henry blessed.”
Julia clapped her hands. “Oh, how perfect! Only think, Emma, you can have your annulment and have a bit of revenge on Bishop Henry at the same time.”
Perfect, Emma thought dully. Her marriage had begun because of Bishop Henry and might end because of him, too. She wished she’d never heard of Henry, bishop of Winchester!
Julia bounced out of her chair. “Now that all is settled, I must go. My uncle expects me to return to my duties as the king’s hostage, so I shall be leaving on the morrow.”
Mother Abbess received the first farewell hug. “Have a care, Julia, and tell your uncle I expect him to behave so naught will discomfit you.”
Julia giggled. “I shall certainly tell him of your expectation. Oh, Emma. I am sorry we did not have more time to visit. Perhaps the next time we see each other, nothing of import will hinder us from a longer talk. Pray remember, I wish to help in any way I can.”
Emma gratefully accepted Julia’s embrace. They’d spent most of the afternoon together and Julia still hadn’t said all she wanted to, even though she’d spent nigh on an hour exclaiming her delight over the possibility of the annulment. Though thoroughly spoiled and ever mindful of her rank, Julia de Vere’s friendship was warm, and her desire to help sincere.
“I will remember. Pleasant journey.”
With Julia gone and Mother Abbess off to return all those scrolls of parchment to the library, Emma wandered into the cloister, very aware of why Nicole loved it so.
Scented by the plants and open to the sky, dotted by benches and statues, the cloister was designed to help a troubled soul forget the woes of the kingdom beyond the abbey’s high curtain walls.
Except Emma couldn’t forget. Darian was out there. Still at Wallingford? On the road to the abbey? Or had something happened to delay him? And she couldn’t help but worry over what Bishop Henry might do if someone presented him with his slain soldiers.
Sweet mercy, she believed Darian would keep his word. But the longer apart, the more she missed him— and worried.
She reached up and picked an apple, realized she hadn’t wandered to this corner of the cloister before, and spotted the reason why.
The fountain.
A saint she couldn’t name, carved of white marble, presided over the small pool at his feet. Water gently trickled down the rocks behind him, the sound soothing. Enticing.
The pool might show her answers to her questions. Oh, no. She would not resort to such measures. For all she knew, the pool would show her a room she’d not yet been in, or a person she’d not yet met.
But she’d never truly attempted to control what she saw, had always accepted that the water would show her what it would. If she concentrated on a place, or a person, or a question, might the water reveal true answers?
What folly! But how intriguing. Dare she try? Was she willing to accept a horrific vision for no better reason than to satisfy her curiosity? She hadn’t been willing at Hadone. If she hadn’t turned coward, Rose might still be alive.
And her last vision, that of Gwendolyn and her babe, hadn’t been frightening. And perhaps Darian was right when he’d said that by denying the visions, she denied a part of herself.
Terrified, chiding herself for cowardice, Emma put the apple on a bench, filled her head with Darian’s beloved face, and stepped up to the pool.
The trickling water sent gentle ripples over the surface, but she saw her reflection clearly, and soon the beloved face she yearned to see appeared.
Darian sat cross-legged in the dirt, one of five men in a circle. She recognized Thomas and Armand, members of his mercenary band. All were laughing, except Darian, who wore a furtive smile. Then he tossed a pair of dice into the middle of the circle and his smile widened into a glorious grin.
Heart pounding, captivated by Darian’s grin, Emma knelt down to have a better look. Darian looked so happy, an emotion she’d never seen in him before. Smiles, certes, but not like this. Not glorious.
What she wouldn’t give to be with him at this moment, to reach out, to touch his mouth—the water rippled and Darian disappeared.
Emma blinked, realizing she’d put a single finger into the pool to touch Darian’s lips, halting the vision. She closed her eyes, waiting for the pain to pierce the back of her skull and burst through her head.
Other than slight dizziness, nothing happened.
She stood up, opened her eyes, and stared at the statue. The dizziness abated. She felt no pain, no hurt of any kind.
Sweet mercy, she’d invited a vision and saw what she wished to see! Darian.
Playing dice. Grinning at his fellow mercenaries. Happy with them as he’d never been with her. And obviously in no hurry to leave their company.
Apparently Darian didn’t miss her as much as she missed him. He experienced no longings, no sadness, no sense of obligation to return to her as quickly as she wanted him to return.
Emma plopped down on the bench, grabbed the apple and took a full, satisfying bite, taking her rising ire out on a hapless piece of fruit. Here she’d been miserable and he—the wretch—was happily playing at dice, enjoying himself, and from the grin on his face he was winning.
Emma groaned, becoming aware she couldn’t take Darian to task for dallying at Wallingford or he would know she’d seen him in a vision—had spied on him.
She swallowed, the apple hitting her stomach with a thud.
Well, she hadn’t intended to spy, only test whether or not she could control a vision, and now she wasn’t proud of her accomplishment. ’Twas devious and ignoble to observe others when they weren’t aware of being watched. Just because she missed Darian wasn’t an acceptable excuse for her behavior.
If she told Darian of what she saw, he might be angry, and God’s truth, she didn’t wish to argue with him anymore. All she wanted was for him to come fetch her because she missed him so
much because she ...loved him.
Denial flared and died all within a heartbeat. Joy flamed, and she basked in the sensation of a glowing heart and jubilant soul. She loved Darian, and the elation was almost too much to bear.
Too quickly, the elation also faded.
Loving Darian might be considered greater folly than testing her visions.
She loved a husband who wanted quit of their marriage. She loved a mercenary who’d admitted to assassinations. She loved a man who didn’t miss her enough to leave his dice game—if, indeed, he were tossing dice.
Had the vision shown her what Darian was doing now, or an event to take place in the future? Perhaps he didn’t dally at Wallingford. Maybe Darian was even now on his way.
The brief flash of hope died when she acknowledged she knew that wasn’t true. Just as she’d known the bloody water in the washbasin at Hadone had been a foretelling of the battle with the bishop’s soldiers, she knew the fountain’s pool showed her what Darian did this very moment.
How very odd to realize she might be learning about how her visions worked, too.
Still, she shouldn’t have given in to temptation, should have walked past the fountain without peering into the water. Then she wouldn’t now feel so forsaken and miserable.
Except if not for Darian, she might never have found the courage to purposely gaze into the water. She might never have known the bliss of loving a man with her whole heart and soul.
No matter what the future held, she’d taken risks and felt hardier for the experiences. Still, if Darian didn’t come to fetch her—soon—she might not be quick to recover.
“The damn guard lied to me!” Philip tossed his hand in the air. “On my oath, I will boil that guard’s balls!”
“So long as you allow me to cut them off first.” Furious, Darian glanced around at the three other men in Earl William’s sumptuous tent, gathered to discuss what action to take against Bishop Henry. “My lord, we shall need your kind permission.”
William shook his head. “ ’Tis not the guard’s balls that deserve boiling. He followed orders, likely given by Bishop Henry, and if you disturb Henry’s balls, the king might take offense.”
Marc huffed. “Well, the guards lied to Armand and me, too. They audaciously claimed they knew neither Hubert nor Gib. If they lied about the informants, then their claim that no one named Perrin resided in the Clink might also be a lie.”
“It well might,” William allowed. “However, where the bishop is concerned, we must use caution. He can be dangerous.” The earl rubbed at his chin. “Oh, he dislikes mercenaries with a passion and would delight in having every one of you sent back to Flanders, but he knows the king would not stand for it. Stephen needs us. The more I think about it, the more I believe you men are not his true targets. I am. But Henry cannot attack me directly because I enjoy Stephen’s patronage, so he attempts to discredit me through all of you.”
Marc whistled low; Philip groaned.
Darian thought the earl’s reasoning both sensible and somehow sad.
“He resents you so much?”
William nodded. “Bishop Henry is unreasonably jealous of all who have influence with King Stephen. Of late, Henry’s hold on Stephen has slipped and Henry seeks to raise himself in his brother’s esteem. He will do what he believes he must to once again be Stephen’s most trusted advisor.”
Powerful men abhorred a loss of power, and struck harshly at all whom they perceived as enemies.
“So when Perrin fell into Henry’s hands, likely over a gambling debt, the bishop held him to make it appear he deserted. Edward de Salis also fell into his hands, likely on the same evening, and the bishop devised a plan to blame me for his murder—to discredit you for lack of control over your band.”
“So it seems to me.”
“But that means Henry, or one of his minions, convinced one of us to steal my dagger and hand it over to him as evidence against me.”
“Convinced, or coerced. Right now, I am more concerned with what Henry has planned for the future.”
“William, we need to know who took the dagger.” “And we will find out. Did any of you learn why de Salis was in Southwark? I find it strange he was there at so convenient a time for Henry.”
Marc raised his hands, palms up. “To visit the stews? Wager on the cockfights? Why else does a knight prowl about Southwark?”
William crossed his arms. “De Salis hails from near York. I should think he could find those entertainments closer to home.”
“Bishop Henry excommunicated de Salis,” Philip stated. “Perhaps de Salis came to ask the bishop to rescind the order.”
“Not likely. From what we know of de Salis, he would not care about Henry’s ruling to begin with.”
Though Darian listened, he paced, his instincts screaming that he knew of another connection between the two men. “A whore told me de Salis had spent his last night on earth with her, but I had the feeling she knew more about de Salis she was afraid to tell. Philip, when we first met up, you mentioned noting that people were frightened to talk about de Salis. Could he have been in Southwark longer than one night?”
“Possible.”
Darian ran a hand through his hair. “William, when we stood in the king’s antechamber, we spoke of Henry’s opposition to doing away with de Salis. I voiced the opinion Henry would not be so complacent if his villages were being burned. Could de Salis have gone to Southwark to treat with Bishop Henry for just such an agreement?”
Philip’s eyes went wide. “Henry in league with de Salis? The king would toss a fit!”
“Just so,” William agreed. “Henry could have treated for an agreement to protect his holdings, or de Salis offered to leave the bishop’s holdings in peace in exchange for payment.”
One thing still confused Darian. “Then why did Henry argue so hard against doing away with the man?”
William had a ready answer. “So he could use de Salis as a means to hang you, discredit me, and still appear to all and sundry as a righteous man of the cloth.”
Darian clenched his fists. “Not to all. Whoever took my dagger must have known how it might be used.”
“Not necessarily. I have some thoughts on the matter, but prefer to confirm my conjecture first. Philip, Marc, you will tell no one of what we discussed here. No one. Understood? Darian, stay a moment yet.”
Philip and Marc recognized the earl’s dismissal and left the tent, leaving Darian alone with the earl.
“Are you going to tell me of your conjecture?” Darian asked.
“I believe if you think on it, you will come to the same conclusion as I, but that is not why I wanted to speak with you. The king has decided to refuse Lady Emma’s petition. Pray tell her ladyship I am sorry I cannot send her better news.”
Darian’s heart fell. “Did the king give a reason?”
All the while William explained the king’s plan for Nicole, Darian’s anger rose to near overflowing, the unfairness to the girl, and possibly Emma, appalling. And there was naught he could do but warn them.
Chapter Eighteen
Emma knew if she ran the length of the passageway, she would set a bad example for Nicole, scandalize
Mother Abbess, and allow Darian to see how glad she was to see him.
His standing in the passageway answered every prayer she’d murmured since looking into the fountain two days ago. Since realizing she’d fallen in love with her husband.
That revelation had hurled her emotions into a whirlwind, tossing them up and pitching them down, rocking her so violently she felt she’d lost all sense of balance.
Her pace quickened, leaving Mother Abbess and Nicole to follow in her wake. She couldn’t fling herself into his arms, but she did have to touch him to gain an anchor. So as she approached him, she smiled and held out her hands.
His answering smile warmed her clear through, and with palms pressed to palms, Emma’s inner calm returned. Maybe Darian had missed her, too, despite his lingering overl
ong at Wallingford.
“You are late by two days.”
“Unavoidable. You look rested.”
“There is little else to do here. How went your talk with Earl William?”
He glanced down the passageway, where she could hear Mother Abbess and Nicole coming closer. His smile went sad.
So softly she strained to hear, he said, “I will tell you all later, but I fear I bring more bad news than good.” He squeezed her hands. “Emma, the king denied your petition.”
She wasn’t surprised, but the news wasn’t easy to accept. Emma bit down on her bottom lip to hold back the tears, her failure to secure Nicole’s freedom squeezing her heart.
“Do you know why?”
He nodded, then looked past her again. “Mother Abbess, might we beg the use of your office for a private moment?”
“Certes.”
Nicole came to stand at Emma’s side.
“Is aught amiss?” the girl asked.
Emma let go of Darian’s hands, and pulled Nicole to her side. “I fear there is, dearest, and since it concerns both you and Mother Abbess, we might as well all hear it at the same time.”
Once seated in the abbess’s office, Emma pulled Nicole onto her lap. “You will remember the day we both left home, I gave you my oath to petition the king for your release from Bledloe Abbey, so you could return home to Camelen.”
Nicole nodded, and Emma wished to the heavens above she need not dash the glimmer of hope in the girl’s eyes.
“I fear the king has denied us, dearest.”
Hope faded into resignation. “He fears I will try to kill Alberic, does he not?”
“Nay,” Darian said. “ ’Tis your lineage and the king’s remorse that keep you here. When your father was killed and King Stephen gave your father’s lands to Alberic of Chester, he ordered Alberic to marry one of you. He chose Gwendolyn. Emma was sent to court, and the king is now regretting his hasty decision to marry her off to me. I fear, Nicole, you are the only de Leon sister over whom he still retains control.”
Emma grew wary. “What does the king want of Nicole?”
“He told Earl William that once this dispute with Maud is over, he fears trouble in Wales. A bargain of marriage to a female in the line of Pendragon might persuade a Welsh prince from rebellion, even sway a prince to the king’s side. He has allowed you and Gwendolyn to slip from his grasp and intends to hold fast to Nicole.”
