Nunnery Brides

by Le Veque, Kathryn

  Eolande shook her head. She didn’t think any of this was a good idea. Not only was Davies obsessed with Grier, he was also thinking on raiding Shrewsbury because the vassals of Godor were starving. It was adding up to a very bad situation.

  “Davies,” she said quietly. “I can see that you will not listen to me when I tell you to stay away from Shrewsbury, so all I will say is be cautious. Whatever you do, take great care. I should not wish to lose you.”

  “You will not,” he said, kissing her on the forehead. “I will come to see you again, very soon. But before I go… tell me one thing, Landy.”

  “What?”

  “Did Grier ever speak fondly of me? Was I on her mind as much as she was on mine?”

  Eolande didn’t want to hurt him, but she thought that if she told him the truth, he might stop obsessing over Grier. Perhaps, it would be enough to discourage him and even keep him away from Shrewsbury. Somehow, she didn’t think so, but she had to try.

  “Nay,” she said after a moment. “She never gave you a thought.”

  Davies face fell and the glimmer in his eyes dimmed. It had been a difficult truth for him to hear.

  “I see,” he said, turning away from her. “Thank you for telling me.”

  Eolande watched him walk away. “That would make going to Shrewsbury to see her a waste of your time, Davies,” she called after him. “She would not care.”

  Davies kept walking, but he lifted a hand to acknowledge that he heard her. But still, he kept walking, disappearing around the side of the chapel.

  When he was out of sight, Eolande turned for the lay gate that led back into the cloister. Truly, she hated to hurt his feelings, but it was for the best. He needed to know that whatever he felt for Grier was unrequited. She’d thought he’d already understood that, but evidently not. Davies was prideful and stubborn; perhaps, he still believed there was a chance. No man liked to face a rejection of the heart.

  Opening the old iron gate and listening to it creak on its hinges, all Eolande could think about was her foolish brother and her dearest friend, wondering if Davies would truly be foolish enough to go to Shrewsbury. If it was for a raid, or if it was to see Grier, either reason was dangerous.

  She only had one brother.

  She didn’t want to lose him.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Shrewsbury

  Shrewsbury was a very big city.

  The noise, the smell, the people… everything about it was overwhelming. As the Duke of Shrewsbury’s escort entered from the south side of town, Grier was struck by all of the sights and smells of the bustling burgh. At first, she was curious about the city and the people, but as the situation overtook her, that curiosity faded into fear and distress.

  Memories she’d long forgotten began to seep back into her mind.

  Crossing a bridge that spanned over the murky, green waterway of the River Severn, the party ended up on a sloped street called St. John’s Hill. It was a busy avenue, full of people moving in both directions, and Grier clung to her palfrey as the little animal scooted after the bigger war horses. She was surrounded by soldiers and knights, and Dane was slightly ahead of her, so there were men everywhere who were there to protect her. She was the center of a sea of armored men.

  But she’d never felt so alone in her entire life.

  It was odd to think that this was her town, where she was born. Memories of her mother and father, things she’d long pushed aside, returned at the sight of the familiar red city walls. She remembered her mother’s warmth, her father’s detachment, and a carefree life of a happy child until her mother died.

  After that, her life had changed so quickly. Her mother had been pregnant with a son. A brother, they’d told her. Then the child had died alongside her mother and both were swiftly put in the cold ground. Grier had hardly come to grips with her mother’s death when her father had sent her off to Wales. Surrounded by people she didn’t know, and a nun who liked to take a switch to their backs when they disobeyed, she remembered how much she’d cried during her first years at St. Idloes.

  And how much she’d hated her father for it.

  Odd, she’d forgotten about the weeping and sorrow of those early years until now. Perhaps, she’d simply blocked it all out. But, God, there was a terrible hatred for her father, something deep-rooted into the recesses of her mind that she’d never completely let go of. She thought she had, but feeling it bubble up again, she realized she hadn’t. It was those red walls of Shrewsbury reminding her, with every step the escort took, how much she’d hated him. Even when she’d been told of her father’s death, she hadn’t remembered the hatred. But those red walls had been the trigger.

  It was ugly, black sludge that filled her heart.

  Along the sides of the road, people were stopping to watch the duke’s procession move through with the big blue, gold, and red bird of prey standards that announced Shrewsbury. People were looking at the soldiers, and at her. Grier put aside the hatred roiling in her gut because she realized that she was increasingly uncomfortable with the attention of the crowds. All of those eyes, staring. Because of her nerves, the grip she had on her palfrey turned her knuckles white. As if holding on to that little horse gave her some measure of safety, something to hang on to in an unfamiliar world that was swallowing her up.

  Proceeding up the road, buildings rose on either side, the wattle and daub construction, with wooden beams and whitewashed walls. Windows opened and people began hanging out of them, looking at the procession from overhead, and Grier found herself looking up into what she thought were unfriendly faces. The new Duke and Duchess of Shrewsbury were a curiosity, and all the world seemed to be turning out for them. Grier finally gave up looking around and simply focused straight ahead; seeing all of those people made her feel nauseous.

  In truth, this wasn’t the city she remembered. It was an unsavory, dirty place. She could hear people calling to her, shouting and then laughing, but she didn’t look at them. She kept her eyes ahead, noticing when Dane turned around, casually, to see how she was handling the noise and the excitement. When their eyes met, he smiled encouragingly, but she couldn’t smile in return. It would have been a lie because there was nothing around her that she felt like smiling about. Therefore, seeing his kindness in this sea of chaos made her want to cry.

  Mercifully, the shouting and crowds and buildings faded away and a massive wall built of the same red sandstone that comprised the city walls rose up in their place. Grier dared to look at it now that she was away from the people. The wall towered over them and, ahead, she could see a gatehouse with a great yawning mouth. There were two portcullises, both of them raised, and Grier found her curiosity returning as she inspected the big walls and the ceiling of the gatehouse as they passed through it.

  The gatehouse opened up into a vast outer bailey that sloped to the northeast, with many outbuildings, including a two-storied great hall. It was the biggest building in the outer bailey, surrounding by housing for the men and the stables tucked back against the north wall. The escort finally came to a halt and men began dismounting, including Dane, who headed directly for her.

  “Welcome home, Lady Shrewsbury,” he said. “I cannot imagine you would remember much of this place, but from what I am told, you were born here.”

  Reaching up, he lifted her off of the palfrey and for the first time since they’d met, Grier felt his arms around her. He had big muscles and big hands, lifting her as if she weighed no more than a child. It was enough to cause her heart to skip a beat, and she was embarrassed for it. But once he set her to her feet, she found herself sorry that he’d let her go.

  “I was,” she said, looking around the bailey. She remembered it, but not very clearly, and the dark hatred for her father threatened again. This place had his stench all over it. “But you are correct; I do not remember very much of it. Only impressions, really.”

  Dane held out an elbow to her, to politely escort her, but she looked at his elbow as if she had no id
ea what to do with it. His smile broadened as he took her left hand and tucked it into the crook of his elbow.

  “When a man gives you his arm, you are meant to take it,” he said softly. “To refuse is to insult him. Would you insult me?”

  She looked mortified. “Nay,” she said. “I would not knowingly, I swear it.”

  He chuckled. “I believe you,” he said. “Now that you are holding my arm, hold tight. I intend to show you this place that you and I are to rule over.”

  That was an immense thought in a day that had already been full of them, and Grier was reluctant to go with him but she had little choice. She looked around as they began to head towards the gate that led to the inner bailey and the red-stoned keep that she could see rising in the middle of it. The day was a little cloudy, perhaps a little murky, and the towering keep was impressive against the gray sky.

  The keep, she thought. The last place I saw my mother alive.

  Oh, but the memories were difficult now that she was here. Her stomach was in knots because of it but she didn’t want to let on to Dane. She hardly knew the man, and their beginning had been rough enough without her lamenting her hatred for her father and the terrible memories coming back to Shrewsbury had brought her. It wasn’t his fault, after all. Perhaps, it was best to keep her feelings to herself.

  Hopefully, she would learn to forget them again.

  “I will admit that this is all rather frightening,” she said, trying to distract herself. “I am returning to a place I thought I would never see again, and I’m now expected to do something I never thought I would do.”

  “I know.”

  “I hope you will teach me how to rule alongside you.”

  Dane nodded, his pale eyes glimmering. “Of course I will,” he said. “You shall be the best chatelaine Shrewsbury has ever seen. In fact…”

  He never got to finish, as suddenly, a lady thundered across the bridge that spanned a small moat surrounding the inner bailey. Her skirts were held up as she ran, squealing all the way as she blew past Dane and Grier, rushing into the bailey and then throwing herself at Dastan, who barely had time to brace himself.

  Grier watched the woman with surprise. She had come to a halt, watching the excited reunion with some fascination.

  “Who is that?” she asked.

  Dane shook his head at the overenthusiastic wife who didn’t even stop to greet her liege. “That is Lady Charlisa du Reims,” he said. “Clearly, she is mad about her husband, so do not take the fact that she ignored us as an insult. She simply has eyes only for him.”

  Grier didn’t take it as an insult at all but, as she watched, Dastan grabbed his wife by the arm and began dragging her in their direction. He was obviously peeved at her behavior and as he came near Dane and Grier, he grunted, a sound of great annoyance.

  “My wife did not mean to be rude, my lord, when she ran past you,” he said. Then, his gazed moved to Grier. “My lady, this is my wife, Charlisa. She has been very eager to make your acquaintance.”

  Grier thought that was a rather absurd statement considering that that woman nearly mowed her down in her haste to reach her husband. She couldn’t help but chuckle.

  “I could see that by the way she darted past me,” she said, her gaze moving to Charlisa, who was looking genuinely mortified. “Lady du Reims, it is an honor to meet you.”

  Charlisa dropped into a practiced curtsy. She was quite lovely, with pretty blond hair and big blue eyes. Even as she curtsied, she looked up at Grier, a smile playing on her lips.

  “I was overeager to see my husband, Lady de Russe,” she said. “I am sure you can understand that, having a handsome husband of your own, but please forgive my bad manners. It shall not happen again.”

  Grier didn’t believe that for a moment. “At least not until the next time he returns home from a long journey.”

  It was lightly said and Charlisa giggled, giving a bit of a nod. At least she was honest when confronted. Already, there was some warmth between the ladies as Grier and Charlisa took a good look at each other. Truly, Grier wasn’t offended and Charlisa seemed to have the charm of a kitten, so there was no anger. Only open curiosity at that point. Dastan merely rolled his eyes at his silly wife, but a smile played on his lips as well.

  “May we accompany you on your tour of Shrewsbury, Lady de Russe?” he asked. “I may be able to answer any questions you may have since I have been here for several years. I knew your father well, and I know Shrewsbury well. I may be of service.”

  Grier nodded, looking to Dane. “I do not mind if you do not.”

  Dane shook his head. “He and his frenzied wife are most welcome,” he said as he began to walk. “I was just about to show Lady de Russe around the outer bailey. Dastan, you may take charge of the tour if you wish.”

  Dastan stepped forward. “Thank you, my lord,” he said, his twinkling gaze on Grier. “You were born here, my lady, in that very keep, and you lived here until you were six years of age. Do you recall your life here?”

  There was that question. Do you recall your life here? Words of bitterness immediately came to her lips, but she swallowed them. What she felt, the intense feelings she’d shelved, belonged to her and her alone. She thought Dastan’s question was a rather personal one, and one that she really had no intention of answering. Dastan and Dane were trying very hard to be kind to her, to introduce her back into life at Shrewsbury, and she didn’t want to talk about her feelings.

  After a moment, she simply shook her head.

  “Not very much,” she said. “My lord and I were just only speaking of it. I remember mostly impressions. Of my mother, who had a sweet voice and was very beautiful, and of my father, who did not spend much time with me.”

  Dane was listening to her as she spoke, watching her manner. The ride to Shrewsbury on this day had been uneventful for the most part, and he’d been able to ride with Grier for some of the way. But the moment they drew near the city, he’d gone to the front of the escort, leaving her buried in the men behind him.

  And something in her manner had changed.

  The moment they’d entered the city, something about her changed entirely. He wasn’t sure what it was, but even now, there was something in her eyes – perhaps even the lack of eye contact – that told him she was, perhaps, feeling more than she was letting on. He wondered if she remembered more than she’d told him – and simply didn’t wish to speak of it.

  Dane wasn’t going to push her into anything, of course, but over the past couple of days, he’d found himself increasingly interested in the woman he’d married. He was hoping that, someday, she might put enough trust in him to speak of the thoughts on her mind. His parents, Gaston and Remington, had shared a wonderful and loving marriage over the past thirty years, and there was some part of Dane that envied what they had. Perhaps he wished for it, also.

  But perhaps, that was a fool’s wish.

  In any case, Grier’s answer to Dastan’s question brought about a conversation he’d had with Dastan when he’d learned how starved and neglected Grier had been. It made Dane think yet again that Garreth had intentionally ignored his daughter in all ways and, given that thought, he couldn’t imagine that this homecoming was all that pleasant for her.

  Perhaps that was the change in her demeanor he’d seen.

  “Your father and mother are buried in Shrewsbury’s chapel over there,” he said after a moment, pointing to the building over near the hall. It was long and slender, with a rounded wall at the end that had lancet windows cut into it. “One of your father’s de Lara ancestors built it next to the hall and you will see carvings on the door that show men going straight from the hall with cups of wine in their hands and then into the chapel to pray. I am assuming it was a hint to the degenerates in the hall who drank or cursed too much.”

  Grier grinned as she shielded her eyes from the sun as she looked over at the red-stoned chapel. It was the same color as the keep and walls. “I do remember it, a little,” she said. �
�I remember my mother being buried there. It was shortly thereafter that I was sent to St. Idloes. Would… would you mind if I visited the graves of my mother and father? Now that I am here, I feel as if it should be the very first thing I do.”

  Dane nodded. “Of course,” he said. “I will take you there.”

  With a pause in their tour, Dane and Grier left Dastan and Charlisa standing near the gate to the inner bailey as Dane took her down the slope to the chapel. His pace was slower because Grier was having trouble with the overlong gown. She kept stepping on the hem. Finally, they reached the chapel, but before he could accompany her inside, she turned to him.

  “I would like to go in alone,” she said. “If you do not mind.”

  He shook his head. “Not at all,” he said. “I shall wait for you here.”

  With a forced smile, Grier headed into the chapel, but not before looking at the elaborately carved doors with scenes of drunks spilling out of the hall and heading straight into the chapel to pray for their drunken habits. It was a lesson in woodcarving, and she timidly pushed the enormous doors open, emerging into the dank innards of the chapel.

  The smell…

  Like damp, moldy earth. She remembered that smell and, in a rush, all of the memories of the last time she was here came tumbling back on her. She could hear the priests praying the funeral mass as her father wept over the bodies of her mother and infant brother. It had all been scary and overwhelming, and she had stood with her father as the bodies were put in the ground in a stone-lined grave and covered with a massive stone that a stonemason had hastily carved. Her mother had been covered with a funeral pall of expensive blue silk, and that was the last memory Grier had of her.

  A corpse in blue.

  Slowly, she began to head towards the front of the chapel where she knew her parents were buried. The light from the lancet windows was streaming in, so the visibility towards the front of the chapel was much better than it was to the rear. Immediately, she saw her mother’s grave right in front of the altar and the freshly-turned earth right next to it showed her where her father was buried.