Loving the Knight: Book 2: Eryndal & Andrew (The Hansen Series: Rydar & Grier and Eryndal & Andrew)

by Kris Tualla

  Or had they? She didn’t bleed when he first took her. He knew that was possible; some women had their membranes torn from physical activity, and Lady Eryn was as physical as a man at times.

  But she was no’ pregnant when I bedded her. That much he was certain of—her course came the next day. And the constable’s fury proved that he had never frolicked in that garden.

  Now he must chase the stubborn wench all across England, and find her when she didn’t want to be found. Confront her about the babe. Make her understand that his meddling in her affairs was for her benefit. And force her to marry him if she continued to be too pig-headed to agree willingly.

  That promised to be a rocky path at best.

  To make the situation worse, he was already two days behind her. Kennan had arrived in Castleton late that afternoon. Both of their horses needed at the least one more day of rest before heading hard toward London yet again.

  If all went well, he could leave on February twelfth at the soonest.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  February 15, 1355

  Elstow Abbey, England

  It took Eryn seven days to reach Elstow. By the time she knocked on the Abbey door, she was hungry, filthy and exhausted.

  On three particularly icy nights she dared to sleep at an inn along the way, though she didn’t feel safe doing so. She had no confidence that her manly disguise was convincing in close quarters, and she startled at each suspicious noise. So the other three nights she slept rough, wrapped in her fur-lined cloak, in the shelter of brush or hollowed-out trees. Rory was tethered nearby; she trusted him to alert her to danger. Besides, she needed to save her coins for London.

  “May I help you?” a middle-aged nun asked through the tiny window in the massive door.

  “Sanctuary, sister. I’ve come a long way, and I bided here as a child,” Eryn answered.

  The nun lifted herself up to examine the oddly dressed visitor through the square opening. “Only girls ever abided here…”

  “As I am,” she said. “Allow me in and I will acquaint myself with you. And I’ll explain my unusual appearance.”

  The little window closed.

  Eryn waited, keenly aware of her fallen condition and embarrassed by it. But then, the rich did not go knocking on abbey doors and asking for asylum, did they?

  An adolescent boy came around the corner of the somber building. He reached out a hand. “I’ve been sent to stable your horse.”

  “Who sent you?” Eryn asked, sorry to have to be so wary.

  “Mother Helena,” he answered without hesitation. The familiar name sent tingles up Eryn’s spine.

  “Don’t worry, my dear.” The nun’s soft voice came through the reopened view-window. “Your beast will be well cared for, as will you. Please come in.”

  The lock clanked and the door eased open.

  Eryn stepped into her childhood.

  The rush of memory crashed over her like a violent thunderstorm. Images flashed like lightning. Her blood roared in her ears. Her skin prickled with sweat. Her breathing came hard. And then everything went dark.

    

  She struggled to sit up, panicked by her unfamiliar surroundings.

  “There, there, child. Ease yourself. You are safe in Elstow Abbey,” a nun soothed.

  “What happened?” Eryn rasped.

  She smiled under her hood. “You fainted. I suspect you are overly tired and have missed a few meals in your journey.”

  Eryn lay back on the narrow pallet. “Yes…”

  “We have warm water for you to wash. Have you clean clothes in your bag?”

  “Yes, sister.”

  She nodded her approval. “I’ll help you wash and change, and one of the sisters will launder your traveling clothes. Then we’ll see you fed.”

  “Thank you.” Eryn’s throat tightened and her eyes stung with tears she refused to let loose.

  So many years had passed since anyone had taken care of her. Memories of the love given by her religious mothers and sisters swaddled her now. No matter how bad her situation was—and this was the very worst situation she could imagine—for one night, she was safe.

  An hour later, once washed, clothed and fed a simple meal of bread and cheese, Eryn was taken to see Mother Helena.

  “Eryndal? Can it be truly be you?” Mother Helena stood and crossed her chamber. She enveloped Eryn in her substantial arms and held her close for longer than Eryn would have expected. She relaxed into the older woman’s embrace—the only ‘mother’ Eryn had ever known.

  “Yes, Mother. It’s me,” she murmured.

  “Sit down, child. Tell me about your life,” the nun urged.

  Eryn settled into a chair near the fire and began her halting narration. She talked about Henry and Elspeth Bell and her position with them. She recounted the horrors of the Black Death. About Liam and the troubles he caused. About her assumed management of the estate.

  After she finished, Mother Helena rang for hot cider. When it arrived, she dismissed the young novitiate who brought it and pinned Eryn with a stern eye.

  “And the knight who came to inquire about your past?”

  Eryn was struck dumb. Her heart tripped over itself. Her mouth opened, but her tongue failed her. What was this about?

  “He was very tall as I recall.” Mother Helena serenely sipped her cider. “And very handsome, if I were asked to judge.”

  Eryn shook her head. “He wanted to prove that I had no right to the position I ascended to—after the plague and everyone died.”

  “Is that all?” Mother Helena asked. Her wrinkled face brightened with an emotion Eryn couldn’t name.

  “He told the king of Scotland about me!” Eryn declared. “He could have seen me hung for treason!”

  Mother Helena cocked one brow, her expression still enigmatic. “That was not how I judged him. Nor his interest in you.”

  Eryn gasped. “Mother!”

  The older woman wagged a finger at her. “There is something you are not telling me, Eryndal Smythe. Are you back to your youthful tricks?”

  Eryn felt her face heat with embarrassment. “No.”

  “Hmm.” Mother Helena took another sip of her cider. “Why are you here, my child? What are you planning to do?”

  Relief cooled her cheeks. She could talk about this. “I am going to London to search for the woman who is my mother—if she still lives.”

  “And if she does not,” the nun prodded.

  Eryn looked down at her hands “I shall find a way to sail to Arendal, Norway. To my father’s people.”

  Mother Helena smiled softly. “Ah, so the knight was successful?”

  Eryn frowned. Reminders of Drew’s machinations were not welcome. “I know my father’s name was Rolf Hansen. My mother’s embroidered design contained the family name.”

  “She was a clever woman, and quite skilled in her industry.” The nun set her mug on the table. “When will you continue your journey?”

  “On the morrow,” Eryn said, ignoring her overtired state.

  “Is that wise?” Mother Helena leaned forward. “Will you not rest with us a day or two?”

  Eryn shook her head; something compelled her to keep moving, though she couldn’t put a name to it. “Thank you, Mother. But I feel too much time has been wasted already.”

  The nun took her hand. Her skin was warm and thin, but her grip was strong. “And what shall I tell the knight should he come after you?”

  Eryn pulled a deep breath and held it. Her first inclination was not a suggestion appropriate for the Mother Superior to repeat.

  “Tell him…” Eryn faltered. The truth was not possible. Her situation—a damned imitation of her mother’s—was unacceptable on all accounts. “Tell him to go home.”

  February 18, 1355

  London, England

  Eryn crossed the bridge over the stagnant moat—along with the morning crowd of vendors, nobles and peasants—and passed through the guarded portcullis into the Towe
r of London.

  Hoping that it might help her cause, Eryn dressed in the best gown she had brought from the Bell estate. Her cloak protected her from the occasionally increasing drizzle, but her boots were caking with mud and manure. She was forced to stable her mount outside the Tower’s stone walls, and prayed the animal would not be stolen. Without Rory she was truly helpless.

  Once inside, she asked anyone who looked knowledgeable, or even friendly, about the court’s weavers: where would she find them working? Could they give her directions?

  Did anyone know Annais Smythe?

  After an hour of questions and wrong destinations, Eryn was finally led to one of many workshops built against the Tower’s thick outer wall. Inside, a dozen women worked at spinning and weaving. Relieved, she sank onto a stool.

  “What are you wantin’ missy?” one woman snapped. “This aren’t no place for lazing.”

  “I’ve come in search of someone,” Eryn said quickly. “Her name is Annais Smythe.”

  Glances, frowns and blank stares passed from woman to woman.

  “She would be near fifty by now…” Eryn pictured the woman in her infant’s blanket. “Dark hair… not as tall as I.”

  “Are you sure she worked here?” one young woman asked.

  “Yes,” Eryn said confidently.

  “When?” another questioned.

  Eryn thought a bit. “She was here in 1326, for certain. She left but returned in 1328… I don’t know how long she stayed after that. I was hoping she was still here.”

  The first woman who spoke shook her head. “That’s a long time past. Too many died, you’ll understand. All of us what survived moved around. We had to.”

  Eryn nodded, determined not to give up so quickly. “So she isn’t here, and none of you know who she is?”

  “That seems the way of it,” she shrugged.

  Eryn reached into her skirt’s hidden pocket and retrieved a coin from her pouch. She held it up for the women to see. All looked, some more obviously than others. “I can pay for information, should anyone remember.”

  A buxom woman with gray streaks through her hair jumped up, spilling skeins of wool onto the dusty wood floor. She grabbed the coin out of Eryn’s grasp. “I can help you.”

  “Ah, Bess. What do you know?” the first woman groused.

  Bess pointed a misshapen finger at Eryn while she answered the other’s challenge. “When I first came to work, old Martha was still here. I’ll bet she knew this Annais Smythe!”

  “But she’s crazy as a lunatic!” another woman spoke up.

  “True. But this one’s paying for information—and that’s information!”

  Eryn’s heart thumped at the thread of hope. “Can you take me to see old Martha?”

  “Sure. I’ll take you now.” Bess grabbed a cloak from the pegs by the door. “But I have to tell you—some days she’s as clear as glass; others, she doesn’t know her head from her arse.”

  “Let’s hope her head is firmly in place today,” Eryn muttered. “I’m not paying to talk to an arse.”

  Bess snorted a chuckle and stepped into the crowded street.

    

  Old Martha smiled serenely at Eryn. “Hello, dear,” she cooed. “I’m so glad you’ve come to visit me.”

  Eryn sat on a footstool in front of the old woman. Her thin white hair was tied at the nape of her neck and a wool cap warmed her head. She fidgeted at knitting, achieving a stitch now and then, but mostly just knotting the yarn.

  “Thank you for allowing me to see her,” Eryn said to old Martha’s middle-aged daughter-in-law.

  That woman pocketed the coin she was given, and shut the door behind a retreating Bess. “I cannot promise she’ll make any sense; you understand that, don’t you?”

  Eryn nodded. “I do. But I thank you just the same.”

  “I’ll be about my work. Call out if you need me.” The woman disappeared up a wooden staircase.

  The narrow town house was outside the Tower walls and had two upper floors. Eryn paid close attention as Bess led her through the winding streets, hoping she could find the stable where she left Rory from their destination. If not, she could always go back to the Tower and trace her steps from there. She heard the woman’s footfalls creaking the boards above her.

  “Martha?” Eryn began. “Do you remember Annais Smythe?”

  Martha’s face brightened. “Are you Annais Smythe?”

  “No, she was my mother.”

  “I had a mother… She taught me to knit.” Martha held up her tangled yarn work.

  “My mother made tapestries,” Eryn prodded. “She worked for the court.”

  “I worked for the court!” Martha exclaimed.

  “Yes. Yes, you did.” Eryn decided to drop the reference to her mother, since it pulled Martha’s thoughts the wrong way. “You worked with Annais Smythe.”

  “Such a beautiful young woman,” Martha sighed.

  She remembers. Eryn scooted closer. “Where is she now?”

  “She was so sad.” Martha stared at the window. Raindrops gathered and rolled down the glass. “So very, very sad.”

  “Why was she sad?” Eryn pressed, dreading the answer.

  “There was a man. A soldier. So tall and big. He had hair the color of straw. And eyes…” Martha blinked hers to Eryn. “You have eyes…”

  One gnarled finger touched Eryn’s cheek. “You have eyes…”

  “Green?” Eryn posited.

  “So pale… They frightened me.”

  “Do I frighten you?” Eryn held her breath, hoping this would not be the end of the conversation.

  Martha chuckled. “Heavens no, child.”

  Eryn released her breath. “Annais was sad because of the soldier?”

  Martha beckoned Eryn closer and whispered, “She birthed his bastard. I’m the only one who knows.”

  Eryn swallowed the tears that threatened. “Then what happened?” she whispered back.

  Martha leaned back and gave a righteous shrug. “She lost her mind.”

  “What? Why?” Eryn demanded.

  Martha waggled her crooked finger. “She spread her thighs, and then he left, and he never came back. Simple as that.”

  “Is she—is she still alive?”

  The old woman made a face. “Oh, no, dear.”

  Eryn bit her lips to keep them from trembling. The idea that her mother might still live was a distant shot, but one she hoped might be possible. She would have to grieve later. Now, though Eryn feared she would regret it, she could not keep herself from asking, “How did she die?”

  Martha made the sign of the cross. “She cut herself and bled to death.” She crossed herself again.

  Eryn sat back. This time the tears were unstoppable. “How long ago?” she rasped.

  “This very morning. I found her myself.”

  My mother killed herself? Eryn buried her face in her hands.

  Martha was gone. Obviously Annais had been dead for years; none of the weavers knew of her.

  “Such a mess…” Martha mused, staring at the fire. “I had to clean the floor myself. After the man took her body. So much blood, you know.”

  “Are you certain she wasn’t murdered?” Eryn asked, knowing well it might be futile.

  “I would know!” Martha cried. “She still held the knife!”

  Martha’s daughter-in-law tumbled into the room. She shot Eryn an angry look. “Mother Martha, would you care for some cider?”

  “What?” The old woman’s head swung toward the sound. Her demeanor changed in an instant. “Yes! That would be lovely. Thank you dear.”

  “You should go now,” she said to Eryn. She crossed to the door and held it open.

  Eryn stood on shaky legs and donned her cloak. “Th—thank you for your time, Martha.”

  “Please come see me again, Annais,” Martha cooed, restored completely to the sweet and vacant persona.

  “Don’t,” the daughter-in-law warned Eryn.

  Unnerve
d, Eryn managed a ragged “Good day” as she stepped to the door.

  “Annais!” Martha called after her.

  Eryn gripped the door frame. She looked over one shoulder at the frail body in the chair.

  “That soldier loves you so very much, you know.”

  Eryn nodded. Tears streamed down her cheeks.

  Martha sighed and began to worry her knitting needles and yarn. “I’ve never seen a man so deeply in love.”

  Eryn let go of the door jamb to wipe her eyes.

  The door slammed shut on her heels. And was securely latched.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  February 19, 1355

  The first thing Eryn did the next morning was try to secure ship’s passage to Arendal, Norway. Certainly her father’s family would welcome her—and her child. She could easily fabricate the child’s father, a dead husband… who was killed in a hunting accident… gored by a boar.

  Or maybe he became ill? Too bad the plague was long gone—God forgive me. She crossed herself. Consumption? No, he would have been too weak to bed her. Apoplexy? That could work. Maybe I would say he died during the act itself.

  Could she really do this? Sail to another country, with a language she didn’t know, and throw herself and her babe on the mercy of strangers? And then lie to them for the rest of her life?

  She had never even set eyes on the sea, much less a ship before today. But what else could she do?

  Go crawling back to Drew and ask his forgiveness for tossing him out.

  “His forgiveness?” she said aloud. “He so smoothly promised the sheath would keep this very thing from happening! He should be asking me! For that and for every other offense he’s committed against me!”

  But he can’t if I keep running from him.

  Eryn stuffed that unhelpful thought deep inside, and walked into the ship’s agent’s office.

  She walked out again half an hour later.