So would Ysabella.
“Do ye still believe this is the right thing tae do, Richie?” he asked. “Killin’ an innocent lass?”
Richard turned to look at him, his eyes flickered in the dim light, a deadly glimmer. “She’s a bastard,” he said. “Much like the bastard the Haye beget my sister with, this lass should have never been born. One bastard for another, I’d say. There is no great loss.”
Tommy didn’t have an answer to that and neither did Mother Prioress. She, too, had known the plan all along so this was of no great shock. But these days, there was reluctance in her heart to follow that scheme. She knew Brighton and the thought of seeing the lass crucified… it simply didn’t sit well with her any longer.
Perhaps the years had mellowed her rabid sense of vengeance or perhaps her years as a nun, and in serving God, had taken their toll. All she knew was that once this plan was in action, she wasn’t eager to see it through. But she was terrified to tell her brother that, terrified he would take his vengeance out on her.
“Then I shall tell de Wolfe tae return the lass,” she said, averting her gaze from her furious brother because she was afraid he would see her cowardice. “She belongs back at Coldingham. The man canna go agin’ the church.”
Richard’s gaze lingered on his sister, who seemed weakened now that their plan had gone into action. She tried to hide it from him but he knew. He could see it.
“See that ye tell him,” he said. “When the lass is back wit’ ye, you will send me word. Then I will do what needs tae be done.”
Mother Prioress nodded, although she wasn’t looking at him. She found that she couldn’t. “I will,” she said quietly. “Ye must go now. I will send the missive tae de Wolfe before the day is out.”
Richard didn’t say anything right away but, after a moment, he reached out to grab her around the neck before Tommy could stop him. Mother Prioress gasped as his flushed faced appeared in her line of sight.
“See that ye do,” he snarled. “If ye’ve become a coward after all of these years, I’ll cut yer heart out.”
Tommy yanked him away at that point and she stumbled back, her hand on her neck, as Tommy practically pushed Richard from the church. She could hear them scuffling and hissing as they went.
Even after they were gone, Mother Prioress stood there and rubbed her neck, wondering if there was any way to salvage the situation. Certainly, she couldn’t go against her brother. He meant what he said; he would cut her heart out. Therefore, if she had any hope of helping Brighton, it would have to come from another source. De Wolfe – the man who wrested her from the Swinton – would be able to resist Richard and protect the girl, but de Wolfe had no real stake in the situation. There was no reason why he should risk himself to try.
But there was someone else who had a stake, indeed.
Along with the missive Mother Prioress sent to de Wolfe, another missive meant for Magnus of the Northmen was sent by way of a monk traveling with papal immunity. No one would dare rob or kill a man of God, and he was instructed to take a cog from Berwick, the biggest nearby port, across the sea to the land of the Danes and then find his way to Magnus to deliver his message. He was told to go with all due haste.
Although Mother Prioress wasn’t sure how long it would take to reach Magnus, if it ever would, she prayed daily that it would reach him sooner rather than later, for her missive contained twelve simple words…
Your daughter with Juliana is at Berwick Castle. She is in danger.
Perhaps Magnus’ paternal instinct would cause him to come. But it was equally as likely that he wouldn’t give a thought to a bastard child.
Mother Prioress could only pray it wasn’t the latter.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Castle Questing
Even from the stables, Patrick could hear the screaming and it made him grin, for he knew exactly what was going on. He’d been hearing it, daily, for the past week. Nine days, to be exact. He’d been watching Brighton play with the de Wolfe grandchildren, and in particular, with Penelope.
The youngest and insanely spoiled de Wolfe child had found a best friend in Brighton de Favereux, so much so that she’d taken to crawling out of her own bed at night and seeking out Brighton. She would then climb into Brighton’s bed and sleep soundly until morning. Then she would follow Brighton around most of the day. Brighton had shown an inordinate amount of patience and sweetness with Penelope, playing with the child but also reciting stories to her and generally entertaining her. As the days passed and the routine continued, something wonderful unfolded.
There was an innocence about Brighton that was apparent from her years of living at the priory. She hadn’t been tainted by fostering in other households, learning to gossip, perhaps learning to be petty or vain. She was the most beautiful woman Patrick had ever seen, both inside and out, and she wasn’t even aware of it. Her beauty was in her actions, every day. And every, day Patrick watched her, more and more enamored with her to the point where he actually held her hand in public once, in front of his family, who had been wide-eyed about it but said nothing. None of them could blame him, after all, if he’d fallen in love with the girl.
They’d fallen in love with her a little bit, too.
Therefore, Patrick grinned as he listened to the screaming and finished cleaning the hooves of his war horse, a duty he had to attend to personally because the horse wouldn’t let anyone else around him. Penelope and her nieces and nephews, many of them older than she was, were playing a game of chase in the kitchen yard with Brighton. One of them had a rock which, according to what he’d been hearing, was really a valuable ruby and must be kept safe. Hence, the chasing going on. Everyone wanted the ruby. He could hear giggling along with the screaming.
“There ye are.”
Patrick was distracted him from his thoughts as Jordan entered the stables, her hair wound upon her head and wrapped in that faded yellow shawl she always bound herself up in. It was an old shawl and something William teased her about, telling her they would probably bury her in it because she loved it so well, but Patrick saw the shawl as something innately his mother. It reminded him very much of her. He stood up from his task, smiling at her as she came in.
“Aye, here I am,” he said. “Were you looking for me?”
Jordan nodded, distracted by the screaming going on. She shook her head reproachfully. “God bless Bridey for keeping the children occupied as she has,” she said. “I dunna know what I did before she came. The lass has the patience of Job.”
Patrick’s grin broadened. “They are my kin and I do not even have such patience for them,” he said. “But she seems to love being with them and they love her in return, so I believe everyone is happy with the arrangement.”
Jordan nodded. “I suppose,” she said. “I will miss her when she is… well, I willna speak of it, not now. I came tae ask ye a favor.”
Patrick nodded. “Of course. What is it?”
Jordan pulled out a couple of spools of thread, one a faded white color and the other a deep blue. There wasn’t much left of the thread. She held the spools out to her son.
“I need ye tae go tae Wooler,” she said. “The town is south along the road, about ten miles away, but there is a merchant there who has all manner of fabric and threads. His stall is near the town’s well and there is a sign above it with a spinning wheel etched upon it. I need these spools. Will ye go for me?”
Patrick nodded, eyeing the spools just the same. “Since when do you purchase thread?” he asked. “I have seen you and Aunt Jemma spin for hours and hours.”
Jordan cocked a well-shaped brow. “’Tis true, but I canna seem tae dye me thread that exact shade of blue,” she replied. “And the other thread is a linen thread that is difficult tae come by. I canna make it. I need at least two spools of each. In fact, while ye’re there, ye can pick up other colors as well – brown, red, yellow. Make the trip worth it.”
Patrick shrugged and took the spools from her, tucking them into
the pocket of his tunic. “Is there anything else you need?”
Jordan cocked her head thoughtfully but more screaming caught her attention. “Aye,” she said, pointing to the kitchen yard. “Take Bridey with ye. That poor woman deserves some peace away from those screaming children. Take her with ye and buy her something pretty, Atty. Tell her it is a gift from all of us for tending the bairns as she has. I think she would like that.”
The thought of spending time alone with Brighton did not displease him. In fact, he liked the idea very much. The past several days had seen him spend very little time alone with a woman he was growing quite fond of and he tried not to sound too eager.
“I will,” he said. “Make sure you tell Da that I have gone so he knows.”
“I will.”
Jordan stood back as he reached onto the half-wall of the stall and collected his saddle blanket, shaking it out. There was something more on her mind other than spools of thread but she was careful how she approached it.
As he swung the blanket onto his horse’s back, Jordan’s thoughts turned to Brighton and Patrick as a whole. There was much swirling around them, much that the family could see, but nothing that anyone would mention. Patrick was clearly attracted to the woman and she to him, but no one would say anything for fear of breaking the spell.
They were all quite aware that Patrick was due to leave for London at the end of the coming week and there was still much unresolved about Brighton. As much as Jordan was hoping that Patrick would simply forget about London and return to Berwick with Brighton as his wife, she knew that was more than likely not going to happen. William had told her to remain silent about it but, being Patrick’s mother, she simply couldn’t.
She had to know.
“Have ye heard nothing from Coldingham, then?” she asked as her son settled his saddle on the horse’s back. “I’ve not heard if a message was received. Yer father hasna said anything.”
Patrick shook his head. “Nothing has come from them,” he said. “I find that strange, actually. I would have thought they would be very quick to respond considering Bridey was abducted from the priory. I would think, at the very least, they would send word of their joy at her safety.”
Jordan watched him strap on the saddle, a piece of equipment that more than likely weighed as much as she did. “As would I,” she said. She paused a moment before continuing. “Ye’re soon tae leave us for London, are ye not? Yer da said it ’twas at the end of the month.”
Patrick’s movements slowed somewhat, lethargy in his actions. Perhaps even some reluctance. “Aye,” he said. “I am to depart in six days. At least, that was the plan.”
“Has the plan changed?”
Patrick stopped completely, looking at his mother over the top of the saddle. “I do not know,” he said honestly. “I cannot leave with Bridey’s future in limbo. I cannot simply leave her here at Questing and allow you to assume her problems. That would not be fair.”
Jordan pulled the shawl more tightly around her shoulders. “Will Henry wait for ye, then?”
Patrick shrugged and resumed tightening the saddle. “I do not know,” he said. “That has never come up. There was no reason to ask him to wait for me until….”
He trailed off. Jordan helpfully supplied the end of the sentence. “Until Bridey came about?” she said softly.
“Aye.”
“I told ye that ye could marry the lass and take her with ye, but ye’d have tae get permission from Coldingham, I would imagine.”
Patrick put up a hand to stop his mother from saying anything further about marriage when Brighton suddenly dashed into the stable and pressed herself against the wall right next to the door. It was clear that she was hiding from someone.
As Jordan and Patrick looked at her with some surprise and amusement, Penelope came charging through the stable door. Brighton grabbed the girl from behind in a sneak attack. Penelope screamed in both delight and frustration as Brighton squeezed her hard and gave her a big kiss on the cheek.
“No kisses!” Penelope screamed. “No kisses! I don’t want any kisses!”
Jordan, grinning, came up to her trapped daughter and began kissing her little face. “Just for that, I will kiss every bit of ye” she said as Penelope howled. “How can ye not want kisses, lass? Ye’re a cruel and terrible child, ye are.”
Laughing softly, Brighton set Penelope to her feet. The girl ran off, back into the kitchen yard. Brighton moved to follow but Jordan stopped her.
“Wait,” she said. “I’ll tend tae the children. Ye’ve earned a few hours of peace from that mob. I need tae send ye and Patrick on an errand.”
Surprised, Brighton watched Jordan head out into the kitchen yard, herding the children together to take them back inside. Puzzled, she looked at Patrick.
“W-where are we going?” she asked.
With a smile, Patrick dug into his pocket and pulled out the two spools. “Shopping,” he said, holding the thread up for her to see. “There is a town a few miles south and a merchant there has what she needs.”
Brighton fought off a smile. “A-am I to escort you while you shop or is it the other way around?”
“I believe it may be the other way around. My mother wants thread and I know nothing about it.”
“I-I do.”
“I was hoping you did.”
“B-but I have never been to shop. Not once. Anything we needed at Coldingham, we made or purchased from travelers.”
He put the spools back into his pocket, his eyes glimmering at her. “Then let us not delay,” he said. “There is much to do and we are wasting daylight.”
Brighton was more than ready. Her day had taken an unexpected twist but she was thrilled with the turn of events. It was difficult to play with children and try to watch Patrick at the same time. She’d been doing it for nine days now, endearing herself to the youngsters at Questing simply to give herself something to do while all the time trying to keep track of Patrick and his comings and goings. She thought she’d been fairly clever about it but something told her that Patrick was well aware of what she’d been doing.
Staying close to him while pretending not to.
She watched him finish putting tack on his horse, thinking that the past nine days with him and his family had been the best days of her life. The love and affection she’d seen with the families the first time she’d been around them wasn’t a rarity; it was constant and delightful, as if they’d all known and loved one another in countless lives and in countless forms. There was something that went beyond normal camaraderie with this group, something inherent and deep. More than ever, she wanted to be part of it. It was a rarity she admired greatly.
But she admired none more greatly than Patrick himself. He was the biggest man in the room and with that size came innate intimidation. But Patrick had such an easy rapport with his family that the intimidation factor was nonexistent. He adored his parents, and his sisters and brother. One night, he and Alec and Hector had gotten in to a wrestling match that had seen men rolling all over the floor of the great hall, onto the tables, and back down again as their fathers shouted encouragement. The children, unable to contain themselves, eventually ran into the fray and jumped onto the men who were wrestling.
Once the children got involved, the match was over and Patrick had lain on the ground, laughing, as his nephews sat on top of him and were convinced they’d brought him down. At that moment, Brighton knew that she was in love with the man even though she’d never been in love before. Still, for what she was feeling towards him, it could only be love – something bright and clear and true, feelings that set her head to swimming and her heart to lurching. Surely only love came with such delightful giddiness like that. It was the most wonderful feeling in the world.
It was a giddiness she felt as she watched him lead his horse out of the stall, a scarred war horse he had muzzled for safety. The man was as big as a mountain. Instead of his size frightening her as it first had, now she found immense be
auty in the enormity of the man that was difficult to describe. All she knew was that she wanted to be close to him, all of the time, in every way.
“I must collect my weapons and armor,” he told her as he led the horse out into the stable yard. There was a gentle breeze, warm with summer air. “I would suggest you bring a cloak in case the weather turns cool upon our return. Did my sisters give you a cloak back at Berwick?”
“N-nay,” she said, shaking her head, “but your mother loaned me one the other evening when I was cold. I have since given it back to her.”
He tipped his head in the direction of the keep as he tied the horse to the post. “Go and ask to borrow it from her,” he said. “I will meet you back here. Be quick, now.”
Brighton nodded, dashing for the keep on the hunt for Jordan, who was last seen herding her gaggle of grandchildren back into the keep. Brighton went to the great hall first, thinking she might find them all there, but the hall was empty with the exception of a few servants.
She did, however, run into Jemma, When she told the woman what she needed, Jemma was more than happy to loan her a very nice blue cloak with rabbit lining. It was the loveliest thing Brighton had ever seen and she tried to give it back, twice, fearful that she would damage it, but Jemma insisted. Wrapped in the rabbit fur on a day too warm for such a thing, Brighton headed back out to the stables.
Patrick was waiting. He was bringing the horse out from the stable yard when Brighton emerged from the keep, bundled up in the heavy cloak. Right after her came Jemma, the little Scotswoman walking briskly. Patrick waited patiently as both Brighton and Jemma reached him. He pointed to Brighton when he noticed the furs.
“That cloak is made for freezing temperatures,” he said. “Are you sure you will not be too warm in it?”
Brighton wasn’t sure what to say to him. “Y-your aunt has been gracious enough to loan this to me,” she said, making it sound as if Patrick should be very grateful, too. “I think it will be just fine for the journey.”
Nunnery Brides: A Medieval Romance Collection Page 44
