Nunnery Brides: A Medieval Romance Collection

by Kathryn Le Veque

  Maxton knew what Kress was talking about, although it really wasn’t something he’d ever acknowledged. But here, at this moment, he found it necessary to speak on such things.

  “Nay,” he agreed. “I am a killer with an awareness, which makes me even more dangerous. Do you want to know why I spoke with holy men and apothecaries and physics? Because I want to understand more than I have ever understood before. There is more to this life than what we have lived – there is joy and happiness and innocence, something that is very rare in our world. And mayhap, that is why Andressa fascinates me so much – she has that innocence, but the joy and happiness has been taken from her. It would be so easy to bring it back. I have the power of death; I prove that every day. But the power of peace and joy? That, so far, has been something that has eluded me.”

  “And you see a chance for that with Andressa?” Kress pressed gently.

  Maxton shook his head, emitting a heavy sigh. “I do not know,” he admitted. “I have been asking myself that over the course of the day. I have literally only known the woman for a day, but something about her has gotten under my skin. I cannot explain it any better than that.”

  Kress looked at Achilles and Alexander, who had much the same expression as he did on their faces. It was genuine surprise. Achilles, the most introspective of the four of them, spoke softly.

  “God works in mysterious ways, Max,” he said. “But remember that the woman is a pledge, meaning her guardian has consigned her to God. If you want to change that, then you must speak to her guardian.”

  Maxton held up a hand. “I did not say I wanted to change her status,” he said. “I do not even know if I want to change mine. But I am… curious. I am in the grip of something I do not understand, but it is not something I can explore at the moment. My oath to my profession is above all and, at the moment, we have a task on our hands. I must finish it before I can and will consider anything else.”

  That was the Maxton they knew and they were pleased to hear that his devotion to his knighthood was still intact no matter the confusion over a woman that he may have been feeling. Kress patted him on the shoulder.

  “That is good to hear,” he said. “Because, certainly, we have a task on our hands and I believe you have a pledge to return to St. Blitha now. We shall leave you to that task.”

  Maxton simply nodded, watching the three of them file out of the solar, leaving it cold and still in their wake. The sun was completely down now and there were a few tapers lit in the chamber, but the hearth was dark. It was only when a servant entered the room, thinking it was empty of the knights, that Maxton went to seek Andressa.

  In truth, he was dreading it.

  He didn’t want to let her return to that horrific place, but he had little choice. Deep down, he understood why William wanted her back at St. Blitha and it made sense to him. The trick would be asking Andressa to do the unthinkable when she returned.

  To spy.

  The door to the retainer’s chamber loomed before him. Gathering his courage, he would do what needed to be done.

  The garment was the color of wine.

  Andressa couldn’t take her eyes off it as an older serving woman brought it in and laid it upon the chair next to the hearth. The woman smiled kindly at Andressa and told her that Sir Maxton had ordered clean clothes and a bath for her, something that greatly confused Andressa. Why should she need clean clothing and a bath? She had to return to St. Blitha, and she certainly couldn’t do it in clothing that did not belong to her.

  But then, she started to think about it… a bath. Something clean to wear. God only knew how long it had been since she’d had either. While at Okehampton, Lady de Courtney had insisted on cleanliness, so her charges bathed regularly and their clothing was always clean.

  In fact, Andressa had never even experienced vermin during that time – no vermin on the body or in the hair, no vermin in the beds or linens, but at St. Blitha, vermin were the norm. It was in the clothing, in the bedding, but Andressa had spent a great deal of time boiling her own bedding and clothing, trying to stay away from the other nuns who suspiciously itched. Vermin traveled, but she kept things that touched her body as clean as she could and, although she’d seen other nuns and pledges with the red rash that foretold of vermin, Andressa had been careful enough to avoid it for the most part.

  But it had been a struggle.

  Therefore, when the old serving woman came into the chamber with clean clothing and talk of a bath, Andressa didn’t hesitate for long. She almost wanted the bath more than the food. She wasn’t dedicated to the cloister enough to refuse the clean comfort of the material world, so she stood in the corner as several servants entered the chamber with a big copper basin. She didn’t utter a word of protest when they filled it, sending steam into the chamber. She was ready, willing, and able to wash herself when the servants left.

  “I’ll take your clothing and have it washed, m’lady.” The old serving woman was the only one left, holding out her arms to Andressa. “Let me take your garments and while they are being cleaned, you can wear the clothing I brought you.”

  The lure of worldly comforts was almost too much for Andressa to take. Her gaze was on the steaming water. “There is no time to clean my clothing properly,” she said. “It will take time to dry out and I do not have such time.”

  The servant didn’t give up. “Then let me take it and clean what I can,” she said. “Clean the spots off of it, as it were.”

  Andressa looked down at herself. She wore what was essentially a long tunic, all the way to the ground, tied about her waist with a loose leather belt. Beneath that, she wore a shift, but it was made from rough material and that, too, had been given to her. Cast downs from other nuns who had moved on to finer habits. On her feet were leather shoes, with a hole in the sole of the right one, and that was all she wore. No hose, nothing to protect her skin.

  Gone were the days of the fine garments she used to wear, the lovely dresses made from silks. Her hair, which had been a source of pride for her, had always been elaborately dressed. She looked like an heiress, which she was, but all of that finery had ended the day she entered St. Blitha. The lovely dress she wore had been taken from her and in its place she’d been given the monstrosity she currently wore. She had a second shift, for sleeping or the rare bathing, but she was basically wearing everything she owned, and she knew it was a sight.

  Not a good sight, either.

  Her resistance to the call of comfort wasn’t very strong. She hadn’t much willpower where that was concerned. Therefore, with a sharp nod, she began to untie her belt, removing it and pulling the heavy woolen garment over her head to hand to the servant. As the woman moved to the door, presumably to go clean the wool, Andressa removed her shoes and made her way over to the basin to peer at the clean, warm water.

  Heavenly!

  But she jumped away from the basin, startled, when the old servant opened the door and was met by another servant outside. The old woman handed off the woolen garment to the servant and took something from her in return, something she carried with her as she closed the door, bolted it, and headed over to the table near the hearth, where she sat everything down. She then picked up a three-legged stool from a corner and headed for the big, steaming basin on the ground.

  “Remove your shift, m’lady,” she said as she placed the stool inside the basin. “Get in, sit down, and I shall wash you down.”

  It was almost too good to be true, but Andressa refused to remove the thin linen shift. She simply wasn’t comfortable doing so. The serving woman encouraged her to get into the basin, anyway, easing her down onto the stool. The water was several inches deep, deep enough so that when she sat down, her bottom was right at the water level. Once she settled down, the old servant went to work.

  Such a simple comfort as a washing had never felt so good. It wasn’t a full bath, as Andressa wasn’t immersed, but the serving woman used a large pitcher to pour water over her, drenching her, before scr
ubbing what skin she could get to, from her head to her toes, with a bristly brush and a cake of hard soap that had seeds in it, and smelled of honey and pine.

  It was a glorious smell, and Andressa reveled in the pleasure of being scrubbed down. Her ankles, filthy above the edges of her shoe, were scrubbed clean, as where her elbows, knees, hands, and any other piece of flesh the serving woman could get to.

  More water rinsed over her and the serving woman took her hair out of its thick braid, the one that went all the way to her knees, and began pouring water through it. Andressa wasn’t exactly sure how she was going to explain wet hair when she returned to St. Blitha but, at the moment, she didn’t much care. It was a heavenly bath and she was savoring the moment.

  She’d worry about the consequences later.

  “I have soap meant for your hair, m’lady,” the serving woman said. “It’s meant to kill any vermin and make your hair very fresh.”

  With the warm water and the scrubbing, Andressa was quite relaxed at that point. She was game for anything the woman wanted to do to her. “How is it that you have so many things for a bath?” she asked. “Is there a lady of the house?”

  The old woman began to pour something over Andressa’s hair, something that smelled strongly of vinegar. “Lord William has five daughters,” the servant told her. “When they visit London, this is where they stay.”

  Andressa looked to the dress hanging over the chair. “Then the gown belongs to his daughters?”

  “Aye, m’lady.”

  That made sense to Andressa. She said a silent prayer of thanks to the daughters of William Marshal, loaning her their bathing things and something to wear. Perhaps a bath and clean clothes was the simplest thing in the world to them, but to her, it was everything. It reminded her of the outside world she was coming to miss, so very much.

  God, she wanted to live in a fine house like this, with all of the food and comfort she could tolerate, and it deeply saddened her that it simply wasn’t meant to be. Therefore, she was determined to enjoy the moment, as short as it would be, because God only knew when she’d ever know such comforts again.

  The old woman washed her hair once with bar soap that smelled strongly of sulfur, and then rinsed it clear with vinegar again. Seated on the stool, Andressa’s hair was so long that it went all the way to the floor and then some, and the old servant spent a good deal of time combing out her tresses while Andressa sat in the cooling water. Cooling or not, it was still as blissful as she could imagine and she would stretch it out as long as she could.

  Bless Maxton and his requests for her comfort.

  When the water became too cold, the old woman urged her out of the basin by holding up a large piece of drying cloth. Andressa did as she was told, stepping onto the cold floor while the woman vigorously dried her and her sopping shift. As the old woman came around to the front of her and began drying her arms and torso, as least as much as she could, she suddenly came to a halt.

  Andressa had been enjoying the attention until that moment, but when it abruptly stopped, she peered at the old servant only to see that the woman was looking at her midsection with some alarm.

  “What is it?” Andressa asked curiously.

  The old woman opened her mouth to speak, then quickly shut it. She shook her head, swiftly, and returned to her drying duties.

  “I… I do not believe that dress shall fit you, m’lady,” she said hesitantly. “I will go and see if I can find something else that is suitable.”

  Andressa wasn’t able to reply before the woman was hastily bundling her up in the drying cloth and pushing her towards the hearth.

  “Stay here,” she told her firmly. “The heat from the fire will dry you and your hair, but careful you don’t get too close. We wouldn’t want to see your hair go up in flame.”

  Andressa nodded, thinking the woman was acting rather strangely all of a suddenly. As she watched, the woman grabbed the wine-colored garment and fled the chamber, shutting the door behind her.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Maxton was in no mood for a nervous servant.

  He’d met the woman rushing out of the chamber where he’d left Andressa, nearly running into her because she was moving so fast. When she saw him, she gasped, and Maxton received the distinct impression that she wasn’t happy to see him. She looked frightened. His brow furrowed as he peered at her.

  “What is wrong?” he demanded. “Is Lady Andressa still in that room?”

  He was pointing to the closed door and the old woman nodded vigorously. “Aye, m’lord,” she said. “You asked for clean clothing and a bath and food for her, and she has just finished her bath. But… but the clothing I brought for her will not fit her.”

  “Why not?”

  The old woman seemed to pale. “Because…” she started, swallowed, and tried again. “M’lord, is the lass a nun? She wears the clothing of someone meant for the cloister.”

  Maxton nodded. “She is a pledge,” he said. “What about her clothing? What is this about?”

  The old woman struggled past her nervousness; she had to. She didn’t know of the knight’s relationship to the young woman, so she wasn’t sure how to answer him. She didn’t even really know the knight, only that he was one of William Marshal’s men. But he was looking at her, expecting an answer, so she proceeded as discreetly as she could.

  “I brought her a dress belonging to one of the lord’s daughters,” she said quietly. “It will not fit her because of her belly, m’lord. I must find her a bigger garment.”

  “What do you mean ‘because of her belly’?”

  “She is with child, m’lord.”

  Maxton stared at her for a moment. He wasn’t sure he’d heard correctly. He simply stared at her as her words flitted about in his muddled mind, trying to find some sense in them.

  “She’s what?” he finally said. “That is impossible. You are mistaken.”

  The old woman could see a flash of something in his eyes, of untold madness that could rip her limb from limb should he be displeased enough. But she knew what she saw.

  “M’lord,” she said quietly, firmly. “I have had seven children myself. I know what a woman looks like who is with child, and the lass in that room you had me bring clothing and a bath for is clearly with child. I would not have known it, either, for the shapeless clothing she wears, but believe me when I tell you – she is with child.”

  Maxton couldn’t help his jaw from hanging open. He wasn’t sure what he felt at the moment, but astonishment was certainly among the possibilities. Shock, dismay, even sadness… was she really carrying a child?

  What horrible secret had she been hiding from him?

  Stunned, he struggled to think clearly.

  “Then find her something suitable to wear,” he said. “Is she still in the room where I left her?”

  “Aye, m’lord.”

  Sending the woman on her way, Maxton headed straight for the chamber. The door was closed and, in hindsight, he should have knocked, but he was so determined to get to the truth of the situation that he barged in without thinking.

  The chamber was lit by firelight and a few fat tapers, and almost cloyingly warm from the steam of the bath. He heard a gasp and caught sight of Andressa sitting next to the fire on a small stool, a comb in her hand and an expression of surprise upon her face. She had a drying towel wrapped around her, a big one, so he couldn’t see anything other than her bare feet and hands, and her head.

  “My lord?” Andressa said, fear in her voice. “What is it? Has something happened?”

  He looked at her. Has something happened? Clearly, something had, but not to him. Looking at the woman, all of the shock and dismay he’d felt had turned into something else, and now all he could manage to feel was sorrow. Pure, black sorrow, as black as a moonless night.

  Hurt…

  Bleeding Christ, why was he feeling hurt?

  Because he was feeling something for her.

  The thought struck him like a ham
mer to an anvil. He hadn’t been sure what he was feeling for her until this moment but, now, he knew. He’d known the woman all of one day and somehow, someway, they had connected on a level he’d never known before. Perhaps it was her dire circumstances, or perhaps it was simply the way she looked at him – with utter, complete trust. She knew of his background, but she didn’t care. He’d said it best when he told her that he wanted her to think he was, indeed, noble and generous. He wanted her to think well of him.

  But why did he feel hurt? Because as much as she assured him that she trusted him, she hadn’t trusted him enough to tell him of her condition.

  Perhaps there wasn’t complete trust, after all.

  “Are you with child?” he asked bluntly.

  He was a man with no tact, and that was evident when Andressa’s eyes widened at his question. Even in the dim light, he could see the color drain from her face.

  “My lord,” she breathed. “Why would you ask such a…?”

  He cut her off. “Answer me,” he said. “Do you carry a child?”

  Her breathing grew quicker. He could see her nostrils flaring as she looked at him with such horror that it was spilling out all over the place. The comb fell from her hand and she suddenly stood up, clutching the drying cloth tightly around her.

  “I do not have to answer you,” she whispered tightly, verging on tears. “Tell the woman to bring my clothing.”

  “You are not going anywhere until you answer me.”

  “Let me out of here or I shall scream!”

  She was quickly growing panicked. But Maxton backed up, standing by the door as if to block it. He wasn’t going to let her leave.

  He wanted the truth.

  “Nay,” he said, his head wagging back and forth slowly. “You are not leaving. You are going to tell me the truth, Andressa. You said you trusted me. You came here because you trusted me. Did you lie to me?”

  “Nay.” She shook her head quickly, unable to look at him. “I did not lie.”