by Jody Hedlund
It could be a trick, I signed back to Wade.
He nodded, knowing better than I did the deceits involved in warfare. King Ethelwulf could have learned the secret gesture from one of the nuns he’d captured and tortured in his efforts to track down all his enemies—namely the lost princesses of the former king.
When King Ethelwulf of Warwick had attacked Mercia, he’d enlisted the aid of the fierce, seafaring Danes and the stealthy, lethal Saracens. With his army of mercenaries, he’d been unbeatable. He’d surrounded the royal coastal fortress at Delsworth, and within weeks he’d penetrated the walls.
During the battle, Queen Dierdal had died after giving birth to twin babies, and King Francis had succumbed to mortal wounds. Without the king to lead, the fortress had fallen within hours.
Tales abounded regarding what had become of not only the twin babies but also the crown princess, who’d been two or three years of age at the time. Some said King Ethelwulf had already found the heirs and had put them to death to eliminate any competition for Mercia’s throne. Others speculated the princesses had been smuggled to safety in lands far away. And still some believed the princesses were hidden here in Mercia.
Six months ago, when Wade had returned from his most recent trip into town, he’d brought back news of the oldest princess—how she was alive and safe in Norland, the kingdom to the north of Mercia. Apparently, rumors were circulating regarding the possibility she was forming an army of rebels over the border and was planning an attack on King Ethelwulf in the spring or summer.
I’d expected Wade to scoff at or dismiss the rumors. He was always so rational. But to my surprise, he’d exuded an excitement I’d seldom seen him display. I’d even begun to wonder if he might leave and attempt to find the so-called rebel army. Although he’d never admitted his desire for ousting King Ethelwulf, I knew it was one of his greatest wishes. So when he’d lingered at Highland Convent with no mention of departing, I’d been surprised again.
Wade cautiously peeked over the top of his hiding spot before ducking and signing. Watch my back. Then he slipped around the boulder and began the descent toward the lone figure.
I unsheathed my dagger. While I wasn’t nearly as skilled as Wade, I could still hit a target several dozen paces away. Wade had made sure of that. He’d drilled me until I could do it without thinking.
Surveying the barren land once again, I searched for anything unusual, any sign of movement, any spot of color out of place. From all appearances, the cloaked figure was alone.
With a sixth sense I’d honed over the years, I attempted to gauge the presence of any animals in the area other than Sheba, any I’d trained that I could call upon for help. In the cold depths of winter, most creatures still hibernated, although it wouldn’t be long before hunger drove them out of their warm dens.
If in a bind, I could call Barnabas. The young gray wolf was loyal to me since I’d trained him from birth, even more so since I’d rescued one of his pups from a ravine last autumn.
I remained tense and alert, my weapons at the ready. Wade approached the intruder cautiously, his sword in one hand and his mace in the other. When he was only six paces away, the person tossed off the hood of his cloak.
I shuffled back a step at the sight that met us. It wasn’t a man. Rather it was an old woman with a hunched back and deformed face. Her hair—at least what was left of it—was pure white and grew in strange patches on her scalp. The curves of her face were splotched with pink skin that stretched taut.
Wade didn’t lower his weapons but instead sniffed the air and seemed to test for the presence of other invaders.
The old woman spoke to him, but I couldn’t hear what she said. After a moment of conversation, Wade nodded and started back toward the convent, the woman following behind with slow, awkward steps as though walking presented the greatest of challenges.
Wade signed for me to stay on guard outside.
I nodded my reply, but couldn’t keep from wondering who the old woman was and why Wade was allowing her into our convent. After seventeen years without seeing anyone except the people here who’d become my family, I was unsettled by the prospect of a visitor, even if she was only an old woman.
When they disappeared into the tall stones leading to the caves, I released a puff of breath.
I didn’t want things to change. I preferred to go on living with Maribel the way we always had in the simplicity of our lives, without interference from the outside world. But I had the premonition our small corner of Mercia was about to be shaken and things would never be the same again.
Chapter
3
Maribel
I crushed the white willow bark and cat’s claw with the pestle and mortar. The tangy scent filled the apothecary around me.
“Maribel,” came Colette’s short-winded voice from the doorway. “I should have realized you’d be here.”
I didn’t have to see her face to know she was excited. She’d been fairly humming with anticipation from the moment word had reached us in the hidden caves that we could come out, that our visitor was Sister Katherine, a nun who had once served with Sister Agnes at St. Cuthbert’s in the Iron Hills.
Dear Sister Agnes had always spoken fondly of the nun but had indicated Sister Katherine died after being captured by King Ethelwulf. The king had imprisoned and tortured many sisters during those early days of his reign, as he’d heard rumors the nuns had helped the lost princesses escape from Mercia.
Apparently, Sister Katherine had indeed been within the king’s clutches and subjected to his brutal torture. Though I had yet to meet her, a few of the nuns who had already seen her were whispering about her battered condition.
Wade hadn’t wanted to allow Sister Katherine into the convent until he was certain she hadn’t been followed. But the abbess had taken one look at Sister Katherine, had broken down weeping, and had insisted her old friend be brought into the refuge of our cave home.
The abbess and Sister Katherine had been closeted away in the abbess’s room for the past hour, and no one else had been allowed in.
“All of the hustle and hiding has exacerbated Sister Margaret’s back pain.” I ground the two herbs into small particles that I could brew into tea for the older nun.
“You will have to finish later,” Colette responded. “The Reverend Mother has asked for you specifically to come to her room.”
My hands stilled, and my attention snapped to Colette. The light from the wall sconces reflected off her delicate features, outlining her luminous eyes and her anticipation. “Did she say why?”
“No. I was hoping you might have a clue why you’ve been summoned.”
“Perhaps to assess Sister Katherine’s physical well-being and administer any treatments that might help her?”
Colette’s shoulders fell just slightly. Clearly, my practical answer disappointed her. I suspected my summoning had more to do with being the first to spot Sister Katherine. Even though my recklessness hadn’t caused disaster, I was sure to be chastised, if not punished, for giving away the location of our convent.
I pushed aside the pestle and mortar on my worktable and straightened, careful to avoid bumping the bunches of herbs strung on twine similar to a laundry line. The combination of sage, mint, anise, and chamomile gave the room a homey, comforting appeal.
The apothecary was the closest space to a home I’d ever known since it was where I spent most of my time. Wade had built shelves, which lined one wall of the cave. They were filled with meticulously labeled clay canisters and vials of remedies Sister Agnes had created as well as some of my own medicinal experiments.
On the opposite wall, Wade had fashioned a stove for heating and distilling various concoctions, syrups, and tinctures. The rear of the room contained a raised pallet and a small shelf lined with surgical tools, bowls for bleeding, leeches in a jar, and an assortment of other equipment I used when performing surgeries or medical procedures.
I stepped to the stove and with a towel moved the boilin
g water off the heat. “Will you finish making Sister Margaret a cup of tea? I promised I would deliver it—”
“Maribel,” Colette said sharply. “There are more important things to do right now than make tea for Sister Margaret.”
Our daily routine of prayer interspersed with work rarely varied. To have potential intruders and be sent into hiding would have been excitement enough. But now, with Sister Katherine as a visitor, we didn’t know what to expect or do next. Why had she come? What news did she bear? Were we in danger? The questions had rolled through my mind as I mulled over her appearance.
“Stop stalling, Maribel,” Colette said. “And go at once, or you will get us both in trouble.”
As trouble was something I seemed to have a knack for even though I didn’t like it, I hastened across the room and followed Colette into the main tunnel. Quiet had descended once again upon the convent, and we walked with slow, muted steps as we’d been taught to do.
We passed the refectory with its trestle tables and benches, which Wade had hewn many years ago when we’d first arrived. The scent of boiled hare came from the kitchen, Sheba’s recent gift to us. Though the meat would likely be tough, Sister Ingrid was an excellent cook and would use the onion, parsnip, and carrots that remained from our autumn harvest to give the meal some flavor. Even if it was simple fare, we’d eat it gratefully, for there were many times in recent years when our low rations had left our stomachs grumbling from want.
The chapel, too, was vacant, although our afternoon prayer hour of None approached, and we would all soon file into our places.
Beyond the chapel, we turned the corner into a dark passageway that led to several workshops, including the forge, the laundry, and the looms where Colette worked with two other nuns weaving the cloth used to make all our garments, towels, and bedding.
After another bend in the tunnel, we stopped outside the closed door of the abbess’s office, and Colette knocked lightly. Without a word, the door opened. The sconces on the walls and a candle on the abbess’s writing table illuminated the abbess as she stood at the door. She had clearly been waiting for my arrival.
The abbess was a kindly but plain woman. Like all the other nuns at Highland Convent, she wore the traditional gray habit, tied around the waist with a leather belt. Over the tunic she’d donned a scapula and a chain with a rugged wooden cross upon it. Her head was covered with a tight-fitting veil and a wimple that surrounded all but the circle of her face.
I bowed and moved to kiss her hand as was our custom, but before I could do so, she instead bowed to me.
Colette’s startled intake of breath from the passageway echoed my own surprise at the strange reception.
The abbess finally lifted her head and studied my face as if seeing me for the first time. Behind her, Sister Katherine sat upon a bench, her hunched back to us. “The Princess Maribel?” she murmured.
I took a quick step backward and bumped into Colette. Princess Maribel? What was she talking about?
“Yes,” replied the abbess, still looking at me with a strange awe that unsettled me. “This is she.”
Sister Katherine didn’t move. “Please forgive me for not standing, Your Highness. I fear my legs have given out for the day.”
Your Highness? I exchanged a glance with Colette, one that silently pleaded with her to explain what was going on. She shook her head, her wide eyes revealing a confusion that matched my own.
“You must forgive me as well, Sister Katherine,” I said. “But I am not a princess. I am a simple physician’s assistant.”
“If you are the infant Sister Agnes cared for and raised, then you are indeed a princess of Mercia, the daughter of King Francis and Queen Dierdal.” Sister Katherine’s voice was soft and somewhat raspy, but her words came across all too clear.
“Sister Agnes never made mention of any such identity. You must have me confused with another child.”
“It will be easy enough to prove,” Sister Katherine said, still unmoved from where she sat on the bench. “Reverend Mother, send for Sister Agnes’s personal possessions and have them brought to me.”
The abbess gave orders for Colette to go to the chapel and to retrieve a small locked chest there. After Colette was gone, Sister Katherine spoke again. “May I see you, Your Highness?”
I looked to the abbess for permission. She nodded and motioned me toward the old nun.
As I stepped around Sister Katherine and stood in front of her, she lifted her head and removed the hood of her cloak. At the sight that met me, compassion surged within my chest. The whispered rumors were true. The nun had been sorely abused. Her scalp and face were torn and burned. She was missing one eye and many teeth. She’d lost fingers, and the few remaining stubs were uneven. I didn’t need to see beneath her robes to know the rest of her body was probably in the same condition, if not worse.
This woman had indeed endured much, had likely been pushed to the brink of death many times, but never killed. Why? What had she done to suffer this way?
As she stared at me with her one eye, it filled with tears that spilled over and began to streak her cheek. “It is you,” she whispered through trembling lips. “God be praised.”
How could Sister Katherine know who I was simply by looking at me?
“The resemblance to your mother and sister is very strong,” she said, answering my unspoken question. “You have their pale hair and blue eyes and beautiful features.”
“My sister?” I could hardly get the words past the constriction in my throat. But now that Sister Katherine had spoken, I had to know everything.
“Queen Constance,” she replied. “She’s also taken the name Adelaide, given to her by the Langley family who took her in and raised her. Thus, most are calling her Queen Adelaide Constance. She’s in Norland with her new husband. She’s made an alliance with King Draybane of Norland, and they are amassing an army and preparing to invade Mercia.”
My heart gave a tiny shiver of anticipation. So the rumors Wade had brought back from the outside world were true. The rightful queen of Mercia had come forward and was making plans to take the throne away from King Ethelwulf.
“However, the queen won’t be able to defeat the forces of evil without the help of an ancient treasure.”
I’d heard of the treasure during history lessons. Sister Agnes hadn’t just taught me everything she knew about being a physician and surgeon. She’d also made sure I was educated in many other subjects, including history, geography, languages, physical science, and mathematics. Although I’d never harbored a fondness for those other areas of study, she’d been adamant I be as learned as possible.
Now I knew why.
“Sister Agnes told me tales about an ancient treasure, King Solomon’s treasure, that it is buried somewhere on the Great Isle. She said it was brought here during ancient times for safekeeping against the invading barbarians.”
“Yes, the treasure is greater than we can fathom.”
Sister Agnes’s stories had always fascinated me and piqued my curiosity. Many times during our childhood, I’d convinced Edmund and Colette to join me on pretend treasure hunts, exploring the caves for the fabled wealth.
“And now the queen has need of the treasure,” Sister Katherine continued in an earnest but raspy voice. “But she won’t be able to find it and defeat evil without the help of you and your twin sister, Emmeline.”
I had a twin sister? And her name was Emmeline? I reached behind me for the abbess’s writing table and grasped it to keep from sinking to the ground.
Sister Katherine’s words shouldn’t have surprised me. If I truly was one of the lost princesses, then it stood to reason I had a twin. After all, everyone knew Queen Dierdal had given birth to twin babes the night Delsworth had fallen to King Ethelwulf. No one knew for certain what had become of the girls.
At least no one but Sister Katherine.
“Emmeline,” I tested the name. “Were our names changed like the queen’s?”
“
We had considered it, but since we were hiding you both away from society in seclusion, we decided there was no need as your names were never formally announced and known.”
My mind reeled from the revelations. Part of me couldn’t believe I was a royal princess of the house of Mercia. But another part suspected Sister Katherine was not only telling me the truth, but that she’d risked her life over and over to keep my identity a secret.
I lowered myself to the bench next to the nun and reached for her deformed hand. At first, she attempted to pull away, but I grasped her stubby fingers within mine and squeezed them tenderly, hoping to convey that nothing about her body or appearance repelled me.
“Will you tell me everything, Sister Katherine? From the very beginning?”
For a long moment, she stared at my long, strong fingers against the jagged red stumps on her puckered hands. She stroked my fingers, and once again tears ran down her cheek. “I held you for the first time when you were less than a week old.”
Sister Katherine invited the abbess to join us as she shared my story. A young noblewoman, Lady Felicia, with the help of one of the king’s elite guards, had smuggled the newborn twins out of Delsworth castle. The guard, Lance, had led the way through a secret tunnel that ran deep under the moat. In the dead of night, they’d managed to outrun the Saracens who chased them. Eventually, they’d escaped by boat to the iron city of Everly, where they also rescued Princess Constance, who’d been evacuated to the royal residence there along with her nursemaid.
Only by the grace of God and Lance’s superior training did they manage to stay one step ahead of King Ethelwulf. He sent vicious wolves, trained by Fera Agmen, to track down the royal princesses. But Lance was a fierce warrior and managed to hold the wolves off, even after he was injured.
“They brought you to St. Cuthbert’s for hiding,” Sister Katherine said. “But once again King Ethelwulf discovered your whereabouts and sent soldiers to get you. We could see them coming from a far distance. So we made the difficult decision to split all of you up and take you to separate places for safekeeping until the time was right.”
