by Jill Barnett
Merrick gave one sharp laugh. “As much as that?”
She pinched his skin.
“Ouch! Stop pinching me, woman. You and Sofia are not so much alike. Besides, Sofia is not cooking up ale that makes men lose their wits.”
“Nay. I believe Sofia cooks up other schemes. But still they will keep Tobin busy.”
“Not if Edward keeps sending him off to the wilds on some fool’s mission. Tobin was ready to wed her soon. She is certainly old enough. He was firmly ready to take his vows. We spoke of it just this morn. Then he goes to speak to Edward and the next thing you know he is riding off to the north borders again.”
“What is Edward going to do about Sofia?”
“He is speaking with her now. I do not know what he will do, but rest assured he has some plan in mind, otherwise de Clare would still be here.” Merrick frowned as he stared outside for a few more moments, then he turned around and linked his arms around Clio. “So tell me, woman, what you did the rest of this day. Lie around and munch on sweets?”
“Aye. I had nothing better to do,” she said lightly. “What with a new babe, another barely two and the eldest into every nook of this castle. Maude and Tildie were so amused by the children, Merrick. It was such a joy to watch.”
“What do think of those little girls?”
“They are delightful and very bright. They spent the afternoon teaching Edward how to turn a somersault. Even Roger was trying, but he could not seem to get his bottom over his head. You would never know what those sweet little girls have just been through to see them with our sons. ’Tis a terrible thing that happened.”
“Aye.”
“I am always amazed at the resiliency of children. Thud and Thwack were like that. They were wonderful from the first moment I took them in.”
“So you told me before,” Merrick’s voice trailed off as if he had more to say.
“What is it?”
“I was thinking today.”
“There is more troubling you. What is it?”
“I thought perhaps we should keep Maude and Tildie here. They have no family left. No place to live. It looks as if Tobin and Sofia will not be together anytime soon. We would be the perfect choice to take care of them.”
Clio stepped back and gaped up at him. “Truly? You would like Maude and Tildie to live here? With us?”
“Aye. ’Twould keep you from nagging at me about being the lone woman in a castle of men. I told de Clare we would take them. If you gave your consent.”
“My consent! Oh, Merrick! You know how badly I have wanted a little girl. Now we shall have two!” She raised up and kissed him, but missed his mouth and hit his scratchy chin instead. “You need to shave, love.”
“Aye. But we could still have daughters, Clio. I do not believe Old Gladdys and her dire predictions. She is a crazed old bat.”
“I do not care if she was wrong when she told me I would never give birth to a daughter. I do not care if all our future children are girls. I would still want to make a home for Maude and Tildie here.”
He smiled. “I thought you might. We do have one problem.”
“What?”
“The bear. Satan. What in God’s name are we going to do with that bear?”
Clio stood there and thought about it for a moment, then she grinned. “I shall send a message to Teleri.”
Merrick winced, then he began to laugh. “I swear Roger will challenge me. That charming little wife of his will have him here in less than a week.” He was still laughing under his breath. “Poor Roger. A bear along with all those other animals she keeps.” He shook his head.
Clio shrugged. “It could be worse.”
“How?”
Clio grinned. “We could send the bear to Teleri with her grandmother, Old Gladdys, as an escort.”
Merrick laughed loud and hard. “I do believe that things have been too quiet for Roger of late. I told him at the christening that since he married he has become old and dull. I would love to see his face. A dancing bear and Old Gladdys. That old Druid woman made his life a living hell . . . until he wed her granddaughter.”
Clio exchanged a devious look with her husband. “You tell me, husband. Shall I send the message?”
Merrick was rubbing his chin thoughtfully. Then he looked at her, nodded and grinned. “Aye.”
Then Merrick was laughing along with Clio. A moment later he swung her up into his arms, lifted her to his mouth and kissed her the same way he had so long ago. He crossed the room with her, never breaking that kiss and fell back on their bed, pulling her on top of him and holding her head with his hand so her mouth was where he wanted it.
Kissing Merrick was still the most wonderful thing Clio could ever imagine, just as she had in that stable yard those years ago, even though they had now been wed for close to six years, even though he kissed her every single day. She still felt that thrill, that excitement, that sense of wonder whenever his mouth touched hers. He was still her Earl of Lips.
King Edward was sitting in a huge, ornately carved chair near a trestle table where there were maps and parchments spread all over the table top. He looked up when Sofia entered the room. His face was unreadable, but his eyes pinned her. She moved forward with a defiant shake of her head. She would not cower before him.
“Sire,” she said as she curtsied. Then she straightened and met his hard gaze.
He was resting his chin in one hand, which was propped on the arm of his chair. His eyes narrowed dangerously and he did not look away. Without saying a word, he turned and rolled up one of the maps, then took his sweet time retying it. He set it aside and did the same to the next map. And the next. Never speaking. Never saying a word to her.
She knew he liked to make tense moments to watch her squirm. The trouble was, it was working. It seemed like a lifetime before he finally stood up, staring down at her from his lanky height.
He locked his hands behind his back and began to pace the room, his long strides eating up the short distance, his eyes staring at the floor.
He turned and looked up. “Sofia.” His voice was quiet and even, as if he were just barely acknowledging her. But to those who knew Edward, like Sofia did, he was his most lethal when his voice was calm.
’Twould have been better for her if he were shouting at her. He moved back to the table, stopped, and looked at her. His hard gaze fixed on her scalp and not her eyes.
She felt the abrupt urge to hide her head from him and she hated that abrupt weakness in her. Her fists tightened at her sides, but she took even, easy breaths.
He turned away and moved to the chair and table, then he sat down and leaned back, resting an elbow on the chair arm as he rubbed his chin thoughtfully and watched her.
She wondered what he was thinking, what he would say.
He looked away for a long time and there was nothing but angry and taut silence between them.
When he turned back to her his expression was no longer controlled. “God’s eyes, Sofia!” He slammed his fist down on the chair arm.
She jumped.
“I should lock you up in the tower and swallow the bloody key!”
She said nothing.
“You are my ward. You are betrothed to a powerful family. You are most fortunate that the de Clares have not used this act of stupid defiance to break the betrothal.”
“I am most fortunate or you are most fortunate, sire?”
“Ah . . . you speak, with your usual bitterness, I see. Apparently seeing men and women cut to shreds has done nothing to curb your defiance.”
She looked down, then, staring at her clasped hands and trying not to shake.
“You seem to believe that your bond to the de Clares is not to your fortune.” He gave a sharp bark of laughter. “I had not thought you were stupid, cousin. Foolish, but not stupid. We have no need to bind you to them. Do you truly not see? I already have Gilbert de Clare. He is my vassal and he will not break his vows to me. His son is young and strong. You should be pra
ying to heaven that you are not wed to someone like Alfred de Bain.”
She flinched at that name.
Edward paused, then said, “I see your skin pale at that suggestion. It should, for we both know what kind of man he is. Did you not know that he wants you? He made a most generous offer for you when you were but three and ten. I dismissed it, even though he continued to make offers. He has buried another wife since then, I believe.”
She could feel her lips thin. Her hands were still clenched at her sides.
“But that matters not. However this does. Hear me, well, Sofia. I swear to you now, that should you do something to destroy your betrothal with de Clare, I will give you to de Bain, and then I will turn my back and let him do with you as he wishes.”
Sofia stood there, fighting to keep from showing him that she cared, but she knew she could not hide from that threat. It was terrifying.
“Do you have any understanding of what you have done?”
“Aye.”
“I want to hear you tell me what you did. I want to hear it from your lips. I want to know what in the name of God you were thinking.”
She stood straighter then. “I ran away. Alone.”
“We are aware of that.”
“As I am aware, sire, that I am a female. Females have no freedom. We have no choice. Men make the choices for us. So I chose to live as a man. I chose freedom, and even if it had only been for a day, for an hour, ’twas my freedom. If you lock me up and swallow the key, even if you throw the key into the Thames, at least I shall always know that, for a fortnight, I had no man who controlled me.” She poked her finger into her chest. “I controlled my life for those days. And no one else.”
“And from what I hear you almost got yourself killed.”
“I was not with them.”
“I swear to you, cousin, this is the last time you shall have an opportunity for such folly.” He stood. “The very last time.” He clasped his hands behind his back and he stood with his long legs slightly apart, staring at her, waiting or watching, she did not know which.
She refused to ask what he would do. She just stood there as he was, staring and waiting.
He shook his head finally and said, “You will go to the convent of Grace Dieu, in Leicestershire. There you will spend your days praying for humility, meekness, obedience, and sense. And you will stay there until de Clare returns.”
“Returns? Where is he going?”
“He has already gone.”
Sofia felt something inside of her die, just wither away as she stood there. He was gone. Gone again.
“He has duties elsewhere,” Edward continued. “You will stay at Grace Dieu until he returns to wed you.”
He had left her. He did not even say farewell. Nothing. She was feeling as confused and as hurt as she had before she escaped.
“I sincerely hope that you have learned a vital lesson from your scampering all over the countryside.”
“Aye, Your Grace,” Sofia said.
“Then tell me. I want to hear the words from your mouth.”
Sofia took a deep breath, then exhaled and cocked her head when she looked back at him. “I have learned that freedom is truly a wonderful thing.”
BOOK TWO
Sofia closed Eleanor’s journal and stared down at it for the longest time, resting her hand on the heavy silver cover. The entries and her memories were fresher and clearer than she’d have ever thought they could be, when so much time had passed.
And people said time made you forget. She did not forget, even though that part of her past seemed now like another lifetime ago. She laughed to herself. Perhaps it was.
Now, when so many years had passed, she no longer had Eleanor, the mother she had but never truly realized until she was much older and much wiser. Sofia missed Eleanor terribly. It had been too many years since the Queen had died. The country had mourned, but no one had mourned her more than Edward. The King brought her body through the countryside, marking the path of her majestic funeral with white crosses, symbols of his love and respect for his wife and queen. The crosses were still there and whenever Sofia saw one, she remembered and she cried.
She glanced at the clock again. There was time before she had to go belowstairs, before all began and she had no more time to sit up in her room and reminisce like some old woman.
Sofia set Eleanor’s ornate book aside and picked up the other one, the one with the plain wooden covers and the simple leather ties.
Like the other book, these pages had illumination, but not as much, and there was no colored pigment to the ink, just a few scrolling lines that made a square design in black on creamy but thinner parchment pages. Here were the words of the other woman who had so influenced her life, a mother too in her own way, for she taught things Eleanor could not. But Judith was no queen, though there was no doubt in Sofia’s mind she could have been.
Sofia flipped back the cover and began to read.
She came to me on a dismal and rainy day, the young woman who would brighten my life, and bring joy and no little furor to what I had foolishly thought would be my quieter years, for one does not think there would be anything but
peacefulness and passive quiet within the ivy-covered, fieldstone walls of a nunnery in Leicestershire, particularly a convent such as Grace Dieu.
But the sky was black and churning that day, spitting rain angrily down upon the earth, where it pocked the ground and drenched all who traveled, as if the Lord Himself was trying to flood the land clean, as He had once done, in those days long ago when He told Noah to build his ark. I have oft times thought that my Lord God does work in mysterious and amusing ways. Surely He must have a wicked sense of humor to be able to look down upon mankind day after day and not laugh at what we do to ourselves? What other explanation could there possibly be as to why Lady Sofia Howard would come into her exile at Grace Dieu in the middle of the worst storm in two decades?
Nay, God has a sense of humor, and fortunately, so do I.
Chapter 21
Sister Judith skimmed through the newest entries of the convent’s books, where Sister Katherine of Shrewsbury had meticulously entered not only each birth of the keeping cattle and swine but also their ages.
5 boars, i.e.—two ages three years, two ages two, and one, born on the Fifteenth day of April, and now aged one; ten sows, i.e.—nine at three years, and one aged one; ten porcelli lactantes sub matribus (suckling pigs) . . .
Sister Judith looked up from the precisely recorded pages and pinched the bridge of her nose, her fingertip rubbing the puckered skin of an old and ugly scar that cut down the side of her face and neck and even slashed downward over one shoulder.
My eyes are getting old and weak. Must be from too many years in that hot desert sun.
She cast a quick glance up at Sister Katherine, who was standing before the small desk, her hands clasped in front of her and her look expectant.
Judith dropped her hand to the books, stared at them for a moment, then closed them before she faced the other nun. “Well, sister. Should the bishop need to check the books you so finely documented, there would be no doubt that pork is the chief food consumed at Grace Dieu—youthful pork, middle-aged pork, and/or elderly pork.”
“Aye, sister,” Katherine said with vast pride and absolutely no awareness of Judith’s cynicism. ’Twas like a wind went whistling right past Katherine’s ear. Her kind and innocent mind never understood the nuances of Judith’s acerbic wit, not that sweet and pious Sister Katherine of Shrewsbury would have understood such had she heard it. She had a purity of spirit, a sweet kind of simpleness and a dedication to God’s work like no other of the fifteen Augustinian nuns who lived at Grace Dieu.
The bell outside the walls of Grace Dieu rang loud and long and frantically. Judith placed her large hands on the table edge and pushed up on her good leg. She leaned down, picked up her crutch and tucked it under one arm. “Come.” She hobbled toward the door. “We must meet this visitor.”
&n
bsp; “Are we expecting someone?” Sister Katherine raced after her, for Judith could hobble on her crutch and one good leg faster than any of the other nuns could run.
“Aye. Were I to venture a guess, I’d say that is the King’s escort, with his young cousin, the Lady Sofia Howard, who is to reside here until the King or her betrothed sends for the girl.”
“But, sister, we do not take in highborn children any longer. Not since Sir Thomas Hunt’s young sons set fire to the altar, then buried the reliquary containing our sacred piece of the True Shroud in the vegetable garden.”
From the corner of her eye, Judith saw Sister Katherine churn her arms to keep up, so she slowed her step a tad.
“Beside the turnips, they buried it! Turnips! I still cannot fathom it,” Katherine muttered.
“Aye, ’twas a sacrilege to be sure, but Lady Sofia is no child. No cruel lad. She is seven and ten, betrothed to Gloucester’s eldest son, second cousin to the King, who paid enough gold that we could rebuild seven altars, travel to Jerusalem and purchase the rest of the True Shroud were she to take it into her head to destroy Grace Dieu’s treasures, which I doubt, since she is not a lad of seven or of nine and spoilt silly, as Hunt’s brats were.”
Judith opened the door that led to the courtyard and moved under the cloistered walkway toward the front gates.
Two of the other sisters were already there. Sister Alice of Avon said, “’Tis a royal guard, sister.”
“Aye, I figured that would be them.” Judith balanced on her good leg and pointed her crutch at the iron bar that secured the wooden gates. “Open them, now. Swiftly, sisters, before the poor souls drown out there waiting in this devil of a rain.”
The bolt slid open and a troop of armed men, wearing royal colors of scarlet and gold emblazoned with a lion passant, rode into the courtyard of the convent, the horses’ hooves clopping a dull sound on the flooded stones.
Within a few moments all had taken refuge inside and Judith watched the men part as a tall young woman walked from the center of the troop toward where Judith was standing. The girl’s face was partially hidden by the wide hood of her blue cloak, but she walked tall and straight and with the manner of a queen, something Judith could respect and came as a bit of a surprise, since she expected a mealy-mouthed, simpering young girl.
