Redemption (The Montbryce Legacy Anniversary Edition Book 3)

by Anna Markland

  “Agneta, we all know. We all sense why you’re unhappy. None of us can understand why you didn’t leave with him.”

  Agneta was stunned by the wail that rose from her own throat. “I sometimes can’t understand it myself,” she choked.

  Her friend embraced her as she wept. “We must pray for him, Agneta.”

  “I do pray for him, but I don’t know what I’ll do if he comes.”

  They stood for long minutes, buffeted by the cold wind, then walked back, arm in arm to the abbey.

  As if the mercenary’s words were prophetic, there were indeed newcomers seeking sanctuary at the fledgling abbey when they arrived. Mayda squeezed Agneta’s hand in reassurance as they entered the infirmary. “Trust in God, Agneta.”

  There were ten refugees, all cold, hungry and dirty. Caedmon wasn’t among them. The nuns offered food and shelter for the night. The group intended to move on the next day, bound for Sussex.

  “You’ve a long journey ahead of you,” she said to one of the older women, determined not to ask about Caedmon.

  “Do you have any news of a knight named Caedmon Woolgar?” Mayda asked.

  Agneta looked daggers at her friend.

  The woman nodded. “Yes, I know his mother, Lady Ascha. My daughter knows Sir Caedmon. In fact she never stops talking about him. He’s a handsome devil, a hero returned from the dead, so to speak. All the young women have set their cap at him. The Woolgars were still there when we left, but they intend to flee.”

  Mayda smiled at Agneta, but it did nothing to calm the conflicting feelings racing through her. Caedmon probably had a thousand women falling at his feet. Why should she care? “So, he’s not married, this Sir Caedmon?” She wanted to kick herself.

  “No, unless he married someone in the last few days. Many of those fleeing did that, for the sake of propriety. Sweethearts didn’t want to be left behind. It’s been a terrible time. Reminds me of when we fled the Conqueror, all those years ago.”

  Agneta could see the woman had reached the limit of her endurance, and didn’t envy her the long journey to Sussex. “Sleep now. You need your rest.”

  The group left after Prime the following day.

  Agneta watched the horizon, willing more refugees to appear, but none came, until the day after.

  “How far are we from the abbey at Alnwick now, Caedmon?” his mother asked wearily.

  “We’ll be there in about two hours,” he replied curtly.

  Ascha bit her lip. “What’s your plan?”

  He grimaced. “I’ll beg.”

  “I have a better plan.”

  He reined his horse and rode back to where she’d stopped. He could see she was worn out. She’d shown a moment of tearful elation and gasped when he’d told her they’d crossed into England an hour earlier. The whole group had come to a halt, dismounted and gathered for a moment of prayer. But now the strain of long hours in the saddle showed in the weary faces and slumped bodies.

  They’d been on the road from Scotland for ten days, longer than anticipated, problems with the wagon slowing them down. Then, Coventina’s mother fell ill and the Brightmores were forced to stay behind at a monastery until she recovered. Leofric volunteered to remain with them, prompting Caedmon to wonder again about his friend’s relationship with the girl. Leofric’s distorted face gave nothing away when Caedmon smiled at him and arched his eyebrows.

  Now, he stood in the stirrups, taking advantage of the pause in their journey to rub his sore saddle muscles. “Plan? What are you talking about?”

  “We have money.” She patted her belly, where the money belt made her look rounder than she was. An older woman had been deemed the best hiding place for the proceeds of the sale of the house to Edgar.

  He looked at her blankly. “I don’t understand.”

  “Didn’t you tell me Alnwick is an unfinished abbey?”

  “Aye—but—”

  She wagged her finger at him. “I’d wager there isn’t an abbey, monastery, convent, priory or church in the whole of England that has sufficient money for its needs. All those mouths to feed, buildings to keep up, good works to be undertaken.”

  Caedmon now understood.

  She smiled and continued. “In addition to all those expenses, the abbey near Alnwick must find funds for building a great edifice.”

  He smiled. “You’re right. I remember talk when I was here of how difficult it was to keep the construction going. When money ran out, the work stopped.”

  She raised one foot, and appeared to be studying the toe of her boot. “How long do you estimate it will take to finish, if they go on at the present rate?”

  He rubbed his chin. “Fifty years, at least.”

  “This abbey has something you want, does it not?”

  “Aye—but if she ever found out—”

  “Who will tell her? You said yourself she doesn’t want to become a nun. You can offer her a better life, at Ruyton.”

  He looked his mother in the eye. “You would give me your money for this?”

  Ascha smiled. “Money means nothing to me compared with your happiness. It’s obvious you’re smitten with this woman. I’m selfish. I can’t be happy if you’re unhappy.”

  Though he longed to see Agneta again, Caedmon had been feeling pessimistic about the reunion, but now his heart sang with renewed hope. He dismounted and went to kiss his mother’s trembling hand. “My gracious Lady Ascha Woolgar, whatever did I do to deserve a mother like you? I thank you from the bottom of my heart.”

  She shifted nervously in the side saddle. “It would be better if I speak with the Superior. Woman to woman.”

  “I agree. I might make a detour, to a nearby lodging house, when we get closer. I’ll catch up.”

  As she entered Vespers, Agneta heard the Almoner welcoming new refugees. Her feet itched to run out, to see if Caedmon was among them. Throughout the Divine Office, she fidgeted, alternating between hope and dread. Instead of the Magnificat, she recited her familiar exhortation regarding Caedmon’s health. Mother Superior looked down her nose at her more than once.

  Be still.

  As they filed out of the chapel, the Almoner gave Mother Superior a message. The woman went off in the direction of her office and didn’t join them for supper. Agneta cast a glance at the newcomers who were nodding their grateful thanks to the nuns serving them. No Caedmon. Her heart plummeted. She could barely get the food past her lips.

  She noticed one of the older refugees, in the garb of a maidservant, examining the faces of all the nuns with great interest, as if looking for someone. When her eyes caught Agneta’s, the woman smiled. She managed to return the smile. After all, this poor woman had undergone a long, difficult journey. No-one in this group was in need of attention in the infirmary and Agneta had no opportunity to speak to them before entering the chapel for Compline. She thought she heard the Almoner welcoming someone again, but it seemed late for that.

  As she left the torment of Compline, the Sacrist whispered a message. “Mother wants to see you. In her office.”

  “Now?”

  “Immediately.”

  Wedding Night

  “I don’t understand, Reverend Mother. Why am I being denied final vows? You wanted me to become a nun.” Agneta was at a loss to comprehend why the stern woman had told her bluntly she wouldn’t be making her final vows. Inwardly, it was an immense relief. The idea of living out her life in the remote abbey filled her with dread, though she enjoyed tending the sick and injured in the infirmary. But where would she go? How would she survive? She had no family to turn to.

  The woman’s mouth was stern. “I did, my child, I did. But to be a good nun, a woman needs to be detached from worldly things. You’ve had difficulty with that. You become too involved with people.”

  “But I—”

  The Superior raised her hand. “The decision has been made, my child. Gather your things together, if you wish, and make plans for yourself. You can stay here as long as you need refuge. We
won’t turn you out to be destitute, but you’ll not be joining the community.”

  Agneta was thunderstruck. She felt the same lonely desolation she had on the day of the raid on her home, and cried herself to sleep that night, desperately trying not to let the other novices hear her sobs.

  Mayda appeared at her side. “What’s wrong, Agneta?”

  “The nuns have rejected me. I’m not to be allowed to make my vows.”

  Her friend put her arm around Agneta’s trembling shoulders. “Oh, Agneta. Why?”

  She rested her head on her friend’s shoulder. “I don’t know. I’ve tried hard to be a good nun, haven’t I?”

  Mayda rocked her and she must have fallen asleep, exhausted. She woke before two in the morning and started to dress for Lauds, then remembered and fell back on her pallet, sobbing. At dawn, an elderly nun came for her habit and gave her an outfit of lay clothing. It felt strange to put on the simple chemise and dress. There was no wimple, only a hooded woolen cloak. She suddenly missed the hated coif and hoped her ugly hair would grow quickly.

  “Perhaps Mother is right. I care too much about worldly things. She must have noticed how unhappy I’ve been since Caedmon left. I can’t understand why my thoughts keep drifting to a man I should hate.”

  She decided to go to the garden. Her knight had found some answers there, perhaps she would too. She sat shivering on the cold stone bench, beneath a leafless willow tree, staring at her hands clasped in her lap. She didn’t know how long he’d been there before she felt his presence beside her. She sensed who it was before she looked up. Her heart thudded in her ears. He was even bigger than she remembered.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked, struggling to make her frozen legs work as she stood, fretting over her clothing and her hair. She drew the hood tighter.

  “I came for you, Agneta.”

  He moved towards her, but she backed away. “I told you I wouldn’t go with you. There’s too much hatred between us. I could never love you.”

  He moved quickly to place his hands on her shoulders, and drew her to his body. “I don’t ask for your love. Only that you agree to spend your life with me. I need you. Please say you’ll fill my need. I want no other—only you. Say you’ll become my wife. You need me.”

  What to do or say in reply? Her head throbbed as much as her heart. She was cold, and his body radiated heat. He alone had managed to break through the icy numbness in which she’d been encased for too long. The nuns had cast her out. She’d nowhere to go, no one to turn to. Suddenly, here was a man she’d been unable to forget proposing marriage in the husky voice that beguiled her. She’d lain awake at nights trying to recall the sound of it. But what did he mean about knowing she needed him?

  How could he know about the abbey?

  “How do you know my needs, Caedmon?” she asked suspiciously.

  He cupped her face in his warm hands. “I know you long for my touch, as I long for yours.”

  Oh God.

  “You long for my lips, as I long for yours.” He brushed his thumbs along her quivering lower lip. “You long for my body, as I long for yours.” He put his hands back on her shoulders and bent to kiss her, gently at first and then his tongue coaxed her lips. His mouth was warm in the chill air. She’d tried not to dream of his kiss. She couldn’t kiss him, wouldn’t kiss him, and didn’t know how to kiss. He licked the corners of her mouth, nibbled her bottom lip and kissed her again. “Open for me, Agneta,” he breathed.

  His words washed over her like a warm summer breeze and she was lost. Sighing, she opened to him and shyly put her arms around his neck, arching her body to his, tears streaming down her face. The hood slipped from her head.

  He licked the tears from her cheeks, and again put his hands on either side of her face, then ran his fingers lovingly through her hair. The sensation echoed in her toes.

  “I knew it. Your hair is brown—and short. It’s the most beautiful hair I’ve ever seen.” He sighed and leaned his forehead against hers. “Agneta, please say aye.”

  She was relieved he’d uttered no words of love. It could never be a marriage of love. But he was right. They were attracted to each other. Perhaps that could take the place of love. “But where would we dwell? I won’t live in Scotland.”

  “We’re bound for my manor in England. My mother tells me it’s a beautiful estate with five hides of good land and its own church. It earns a dependable income. It’s in Ruyton, in the Welsh Marches. We can ask the abbot to wed us before we leave. When we get there, I’ll make myself known to my mother’s protector, the Earl of Ellesmere. Then he can be assured I’ve returned to take care of the manor myself.”

  Agneta was in the grip of mysterious illness, one that had dulled her brain. She was overwhelmed by many conflicting feelings. “I remember you told me a Norman earl is your mother’s protector.”

  “Aye. It seems strange, I know.”

  Suddenly, something he’d said a few moments ago penetrated the fog. “You said we?”

  “Aye. My mother is with me, and her maidservant, Enid. My friend, Leofric, isn’t far behind us with another family, the Brightmores. And we’ve travelled part of the way with two other families bound for Kent.”

  She was held fast in the embrace of a man who was the embodiment of masculine beauty, a man who was what women dreamed a knight should be. He was begging her to marry him, but she understood, from what her mother had told her of men, that they were driven by needs different from a woman’s. Ragna Kirkthwaite had often boasted her husband still loved her and was faithful, even after the years and the birth of three children had taken their toll. But she’d cautioned Agneta it was wise to be prepared for a man’s eye to wander, once he tired of his wife.

  She’d seen only the kind, gentle side of Caedmon, but he had the heart of a warrior. Look what he’d done at Bolton. Warriors were hardened men. Caedmon burned with hatred for Normans, as her desire for vengeance made her loath the Scots. Would hatred bind them together? She had to make a decision. She had no trust in men, but—

  “I will marry you,” she whispered, relieved to be rescued, but resenting she had no choice.

  He picked her up, laughing and whooping, and twirled her around until they were both dizzy.

  “Caedmon, this is a nunnery.”

  “It’s of no import to me!”

  She managed a smile, her heart lifting to see him exhilarated. Perhaps he did care for her.

  “I love to see you smile,” he said with a grin. “Come, I want to introduce you to my mother.”

  “But my clothes, my hair.”

  “That won’t matter. She’s anxious to meet you.”

  He strode off and returned a few minutes later, with an older woman. Her hand rested on his arm. Her bearing bespoke nobility.

  “Mother, may I present my betrothed, Lady Agneta Kirkthwaite. Agneta, my mother, Lady Ascha Woolgar.”

  She heard the pride in his voice. Her first impression of his mother wasn’t what she’d expected. The still-beautiful woman greeted her with great warmth, though there was something about her grey eyes—loneliness. Lady Ascha had been a widow since before her son’s birth. She shuddered at the thought. She saw the love and respect that Caedmon shared with his mother and admired the courage of this woman who had fled to Scotland and raised a child alone.

  At least I won’t be alone when I marry Caedmon.

  “We’ve spoken with the abbot, Agneta,” Lady Ascha explained. “He has agreed to marry you after banns have been read out three times, but has suggested he’ll do it in one day at the Morrow Mass, High Mass and Vespers.”

  Agneta nodded.

  “Now, Caedmon,” his mother suggested, “Why don’t you take Agneta and introduce her to the others in our party?”

  All her new acquaintances attended the ceremony. Agneta had to smile when she recognized Enid as the maidservant who’d been searching the group for her.

  Mother Superior refused to give permission for the novices to attend.
She acted as Agneta’s sponsor, and Leofric, who’d arrived in time with the Brightmores, stood with Caedmon. Agneta greeted Leofric coolly. She recognized him instantly, despite his disfigurement. This was the man who’d been at Caedmon’s side, looking up at the barn.

  The ceremony seemed to be over quickly and Agneta didn’t recall much of what was said or done. Everything was happening too fast. She felt breathless. The one image she would remember was her new husband’s smiling face, and his chaste kiss after the abbot gave permission.

  Their meager belongings had been readied for departure, and as she and Caedmon were preparing to leave the abbey, Agneta was summoned by Mother Superior. “Come with me, child. I’ve something to give you.”

  Once they reached the private office, the woman held out an object wrapped in sacking. Agneta’s heart raced. She didn’t need to unwrap it. She stepped away. “I prefer not to take it.”

  “You must take it, Agneta. It can’t remain here. It belonged to your grandmother, and your mother. It represents pain and sorrow for you, but sometimes it’s good to have a reminder of those things. It’s part of your heritage. Something to pass on to your children.”

  And what will I tell them? My mother took her life with this dagger.

  Reluctantly, she took the bundle, but didn’t unwrap it. The religious smiled weakly and gave Agneta a perfunctory kiss on each cheek. “Go with God, child.”

  As she walked back through the cloisters, Agneta remembered how pleased her Superior looked. Caedmon had never questioned why she was no longer wearing a habit when he returned, never asked about her hair being uncovered, or about her vows. “He knew,” she whispered. “He knew I’d been shunned. How could he? How could Reverend Mother have known he would come?”

  When she reached the courtyard, Caedmon’s voice interrupted her musings. “I’ve only the one horse, my love. We’ll have to share Wyvern. Will you ride before me?”

  “Put this in the saddle bags, please, Caedmon.”

  He took the bundle she thrust at him, tucked it away, and eased back in the saddle, to make room for her.