by Julia Byrne
“I suppose you think me foolish,” she murmured. “But ’tis awkward, talking to people when I don’t remember who I am. And I would remember if I wasn’t such a coward that I feel ill every time I try.”
“Banish that thought immediately,” he ordered, deliberately stern. “Was it cowardice that made you stand your ground when that mob of boys saw you? You knew if you’d tried to run, some of them would have chased you down, especially given their mood at the time. You’d have been unmasked immediately.”
He didn’t even want to think about what might have happened then.
“Oh,” she said, brightening. “I’d forgotten about that.”
“Good,” he muttered. “I’m glad one of us has.”
“What did you say, my lord?”
“I said, you won’t have to converse with a lot of people in Worcester.”
“But what will you tell the Sheriff?”
“That you’ve been ill, which God knows is nothing short of the truth, and that you will need to retire as soon as we arrive. I wish you didn’t have to be confined,” he added, sending her an apologetic look, “But ’tis safer for the moment.”
“Aye,” she said with a small shiver. Then she tilted her head enquiringly. “Do you think they would mind if I have a bath while you visit the priory?”
Hugh felt a slow smile cross his face. He hoped the expression didn’t convey exactly what he was thinking. That could come later, once Annith discovered where an intent smile of male anticipation could take her.
“An excellent notion, my sweet. Especially after riding several miles. Then you can rest. When I return we’ll have a meal in our chamber and…talk.”
“Won’t the Sheriff and his wife think it strange if we don’t eat with them?”
“Believe me, my little innocent, when I tell them we were married only this morning, they would think it strange if we did.”
“Oh. Well, you know more about them than I do, my lord.”
“True. And ’tis good to see that already you are a dutiful wife who abides by her husband’s decisions.”
A delightful gurgle of laughter greeted that pronouncement. “Well, I shall try. I remember the nuns told us we must submit to our husbands in all things to do with marriage, but—”
“An excellent maxim,” he interrupted, before she could enter any qualifications. “I shall be sure to remind you of it daily.”
“But, my lord,” she said demurely, glancing up at him with the mischievous gleam that so disarmed him. “I am sure that only yesterday you ordered me to rid my mind of what the nuns said.”
Hugh burst out laughing, and in a sudden light-hearted impulse—something he was certain would dumbfound the entire escort behind them—set his horse prancing before urging both steeds into a canter.
* * *
They made good time and arrived at Worcester before noon. Annith felt quite dizzy at the sight of all the shops, the constantly shifting crush of people, the noise. Fortunately, they entered through the gate nearest the castle and were soon riding under the barbican and into the bailey. To their right the spire of Worcester Cathedral soared toward the sky.
“The bailey used to be twice this size,” Hugh told her. “But King Henry returned some of the land to the Church. ’Tis not worth much now, but will serve our purpose.”
Annith looked about her in some dismay. Worcester castle was clearly not used as a permanent residence. Indeed, it looked more like a prison. But the man hailing Hugh from the steps leading to the keep appeared friendly enough, even if his bellow could have been heard all the way back in Crofton. Presumably this was the Sheriff. She hoped his wife wasn’t prone to the same booming tones.
“Hugh! Bones of the saints! What the devil are you doing in Worcester?”
Hugh dismounted and lifted her down from the saddle before handing their reins to one of his men. He grinned at the man striding toward them and went to meet him. Annith watched, fascinated, as they clapped each other on the back in boisterous greeting.
“Will! I thought your father would be here. This is even better.”
“Why? What are you up to? And who’s the little beauty with the huge eyes, watching us as if she’s not sure ’tis safe to be here?”
Hugh laughed and turned to draw Annith forward. “Sweetheart, this graceless rogue is Lord William Beauchamp, the Sheriff’s son and a good friend of mine. Is Maud here, Will, because I’d like you both to meet my wife.”
“What!” Will roared, reeling back in mock surprise. Then, as Hugh narrowed his eyes at him, he laughed and gave her an elegant bow. “Lady de Verney, welcome to Worcester Castle. What’s left of it.”
The last words were so rueful, Annith had to smile. “My lord,” she said, inclining her head.
He gave her a swift encompassing glance before turning back to Hugh. “Maud’s at Elmley Castle with my parents. Why?” he asked as Hugh grimaced.
“Annith would have been glad of her company, but no matter. We’ll be here only a night or two, I think. I hope you’re not planning on going anywhere today, Will, because I need to leave my lady where she’s well-guarded while I’m away for an hour or so. And that includes denying she’s here if anyone comes asking for a girl of her description. In fact, you can detain any such person. I’ll want to question him.”
Will’s eyes widened. “Detain someone on no charge. That should be interesting. I sniff a mystery. Should we expect Edward to come riding in to set us all by the ears before you leave, with me none the wiser as usual.”
“Edward is probably attending the Parliament at Winchester,” Hugh told him, grinning. “This isn’t the King’s business. Yet,” he added, suddenly thoughtful.
Annith looked up at him in startled question, but she could see she was going to remain as much in the dark as Will Beauchamp.
“Even more mysterious,” that gentleman boomed. “Aye, of course your lady will be safe here. Come into the hall. I’ll have a couple of maidservants prepare a chamber and see to her comfort.”
“My thanks, Will.” Hugh clapped him on the shoulder. “You’re a good friend.”
Will waved that away and strode off toward the keep. “Send your men to the stables,” he shouted back at them. My steward will find them accommodation.”
The next half hour was a flurry of activity. When Hugh had left for the priory, Annith was shown into an upper story chamber of the keep. A maidservant was lighting a fire in the brazier while two other girls began hauling in hot water for her bath. A tray with bread and cheese, fruit and a flask of wine had been placed on the table beneath the window, and soap, fine linen drying cloths, and even a clean shift, were brought in for her use. The soap, she was told proudly, was from Lady Maud Beauchamp’s own store.
Annith thanked the girls, and assured them she needed no assistance in dressing since she intended to rest as soon as she had finished her bath. She shut the door firmly behind them as they descended the stairs, buckets clanging.
When the din had faded into the distance, she glanced around the small chamber. There were no tapestries to soften the stone walls, but thick sheepskin rugs lay on the floor and the bed looked comfortable. There was even a small alcove, which had probably once served as a wardrobe, where the bath awaited her. She told herself she should undress and bathe while the water was hot, but, instead, she walked over to the window to look down into the empty bailey. From this height she could see a curve of the Severn and part of the town. Nothing looked familiar.
She returned to the bed, sat down, and contemplated the bare walls. And tried not to feel very lost, alone, and frightened.
* * *
Hugh arrived at the priory as the nuns were filing out of their small wooden chapel after the midday office. He had left his horse in the nearby village and quartered the perimeter on foot, but there’d been no sign of anyone watching the place. Nor had any strangers been nosing around, according to the villagers he’d questioned.
An elderly sister opened the iron grill in the gate when he r
apped on the wooden panels. She peered at him suspiciously, but when he introduced himself, departed readily enough with his request for an interview with the Prioress.
Within a few minutes he was ushered into that lady’s private solar, a sparsely furnished apartment with the minimum of comfort. The Prioress was also sparse, but the lines on her face spoke of humor and she exuded an air of competence.
“Lord de Verney,” she said. “I am Edith, Prioress of this house. You honor us, although I cannot conceive of any reason why you should do so.”
“Madam,” he replied, bowing briefly over the hand she held out to him. “I will come straight to the point. Have you had living here a girl of about sixteen, small and delicate in build, with dark blue eyes and dark hair? There may have been others enquiring about her.”
All expression left Edith’s face. “We are not accustomed to barons, or their emissaries, enquiring about the girls in our care,” she said coolly. “Let alone two in one week.”
“Someone else has been here?”
“What is your interest in this girl?” she asked, ignoring the question.
“As of this morning, she’s my wife.”
The Prioress’s impassive mask vanished. “And you’ve mislaid her again?”
His brows lifted. “Nay, I have her safe. But she remembers little of her past. Not even her name.”
“Then what makes you think she came from here?” Edith asked.
Hugh had had enough. “Madam, let us put an end to this jousting. By your answers, I am sure she came from here. I think she was trying to return here, to seek safety. That safety may well depend on everything you can tell me about her.” He let that sink in, before adding in a milder tone, “But before you speak, let me tell you what I know.”
The Prioress studied him for a moment before gesturing for him to continue. By the time he had finished the tale, from the day he had first spoken to Annith, to their marriage that morning, Edith was pacing the small room, hands clasped at her waist. She halted when he fell silent and turned a stark face up to him.
“God be thanked that she found refuge with such good and kindly people,” she said fervently. “And you have her safe, indeed, my lord? She is as well as can be expected after her ordeal?”
“She is, and safe in Worcester at this moment.”
“Then I will delay you no longer.” Edith crossed the room to sit down behind her desk and waved him to the chair opposite. “My lord, you have described Annetta de Saye. She was brought to us ten years ago after her mother and older brother died of a fever. Her father, Sir Richard de Saye, was in the Holy Land at the time and died there a year later. There was no other family.”
Hugh nodded. “The King would have given wardship of her to one of his nobles.”
“Aye. Annetta inherited lands and a castle in Gloucestershire and wardship was granted to Baldwin de Beche. I knew nothing of him until he came to see the child, and then didn’t much like what I saw. He looked her over as though she was a commodity that may come in useful one day, and gave instructions that she was not to be allowed out of the convent, not even to go into the village.” The Prioress shook her head. “We are not in the habit of gadding about the world whenever we please, but we do visit the sick, and folk in need. I thought it odd, but mayhap he was over-protective of her health. The child did look delicate, but she was sturdy enough.”
“Did he visit her often?” Hugh asked.
“Nay, for which I was grateful, may God forgive me for the thought. His steward sent an endowment each year to cover Annetta’s keep and education, and his couriers took back reports of her, but de Beche never came to see her.” Edith spread her hands. “Why would he? She meant nothing to him.”
“Until she reached marriageable age,” Hugh said grimly.
The Prioress nodded. “I was surprised he had waited this long, but he arrived without warning three months ago and asked to see her from a short distance, without her knowledge. He said he wanted to be sure she had grown healthy and strong, but didn’t wish to submit her to a close examination. I thought it considerate of him and felt more in charity with the man.” She paused, before adding tartly, “Especially if Annetta was marrying a great noble, some of whom inspect candidates for the position of wife as if they were buying heifers at market.”
Hugh grinned.
“Aye, well…” Edith coughed discreetly. “A few weeks after his visit, de Beche sent a letter telling me Annetta’s marriage had been arranged and that he would send for her. The next thing we knew, men-at-arms arrived to take her home. With a woman to see to her needs on the journey,” she added grudgingly, as though honesty compelled her to give de Beche his due.
“You let her go thus escorted?”
The Prioress flushed. “What right did we have to keep her, my lord? I won’t deny I was concerned that Lord de Beche hadn’t come for her, but his men were polite enough. And they reached Gloucester safely. Annetta, herself, sent a message saying all was well.”
Hugh thought for a moment. “Was it one of these same men-at-arms who came searching for her?”
“Nay, ’twas de Beche’s courier. The same man who had come for the past three or four years. A nervous creature. You may imagine how closely I questioned him, but I doubt he knew more than to follow orders.”
“How did he explain Annith’s disappearance? ’Tis what she is called at present,” he explained when the Prioress raised her brows.
“A like enough name,” she agreed. “As for the courier, he said Annetta had decided to become a nun, and when it was pointed out that she was already betrothed, she ran away.”
Hugh frowned. “Could that be true?”
“Nay.” The prioress smiled. “Annetta, or Annith since that is more familiar to you, was interested in healing, and learned much from our Infirmaress, Sister Margaret, but she had no desire to enter the cloister. On the contrary, she was eager to see her home and the world beyond these walls. Nor,” she added, “would she have run away for the reason given. She wanted to marry, to have a family of her own again.”
“When did she leave here?” Hugh asked.
Edith tilted her head, considering. “’Twould have been about three weeks after the battle at Evesham, toward the end of August.”
“So, sometime in the two weeks between Annith leaving here, and when she was found near Crofton, something happened that drove her from her home.”
“Something so dreadful that God has sealed her mind against it,” Edith whispered, crossing herself.
“Seals can be broken,” Hugh said firmly, rising to take his leave. “But that will depend on my lady. It might be less of an ordeal if she remembers in her own time, even if I confront de Beche and demand an explanation. On the other hand, I think she has courage enough to face him, herself, with me by her side.”
“It may be so,” the Prioress said, rising also. “She was a gentle child, but every now and then she would surprise us if one of the girls was admonished unjustly, or she thought one had done ill to another. She would not be swayed from her course if she believed in it.”
“I know,” Hugh said wryly. “I’ve seen her in action. As for her courage, it terrifies me.” He smiled slightly at the admission.
Edith eyed him shrewdly. “From the way you speak of her, my lord, I think you care for Annetta.”
Hugh frowned. “She’s my wife. Of course I care for her.” He inclined his head briefly, turned, and started for the door.
“But do you love her?” Edith asked softly.
Hugh stopped dead, stunned by the question. He was a breath away from whipping around and fixing the Prioress with the glare he reserved for insubordinate squires, when understanding struck him. This woman also cared for Annith, had stood in place of a mother to her for the past ten years. She deserved more than a cutting answer.
He turned and met her gaze. “I would give my life for her,” he said quietly. And, in that moment, fully recognized the truth in his heart.
For a
fleeting second, Edith’s expression softened, then she drew herself up. “Well,” she said, once more business-like and brisk. “Let us hope it doesn’t come to that. Especially as it seems you will be of more use to Annetta in this world than the next.”
Despite feeling as if he’d just taken a blow to the head from a battering ram, Hugh found himself smiling. “In that case, Madam, I shall count on your prayers to keep me here,” he said, and bowed himself out of her presence.
* * *
Hugh let his horse choose its own pace back to Worcester while he grappled with the maelstrom of need, desire and yearning that was battering him. He had never suspected that acknowledging any feelings for a woman would result in such chaos. After all, it wasn’t as if he had shut all emotion out of his life. He just hadn’t considered that anything more than mild liking and a modicum of physical attraction was necessary when it came to a wife.
Now he knew that Annith was as necessary to him as life itself. And this need, this longing to be with her, this yearning to have her love him as he loved her, was so much more than desire it shook him to his soul.
And he was worried. For the first time in his life he was unsure of his next step. His talk with the Prioress had clarified much, but the reason for Annith’s flight still lay shrouded in darkness. He had skimmed over the reason with Martin earlier, but even then he’d known it must be dire. Nothing less would have driven her to such an extreme. How, then, could he do anything to jolt her memory, when there was a dreadful possibility that whatever had happened to her might prevent her from loving any man?
How could he not, when ignorance would condemn her to constant uncertainty?
He tried to remind himself that Herleve had found no evidence of assault. Merciless logic told him that something could have happened two weeks earlier, when she had left the priory. If she had refused to marry the man de Beche had chosen for her, if she had refused to bend to his will, would he have beaten her? Would he have turned a blind eye to marriage by force? Had he allowed her to be brutalized?
