The
mother abbess bade the ladies to sit. "Sister Repentia will be with you
shortly," she said, watching as the young women silently took their seats.
"This is where we eat and pray, and sometimes it is used to house weary travelers
who seek refuge for the night," she indicated a slumped bundle against the
far wall, hidden in the depths of the shadows. "Alas, that man came to us
recovering from a great injury. As we commonly do not accept men into our
sanctuary, he was quite weak and we could not refuse him aid."
Arissa
and Emma turned to stare at the swathed figure. "Do you tend a lot of
sickness?" Arissa asked softly. "I am aware that some abbeys dedicate
themselves to healing, but I did not believe Whitby to be such an
establishment."
"It
is not," Mary Deus replied. "We prefer the isolated life, paying
reverence to God and doing penitence for man's evil nature. In fact, I harbor
five recluse nuns within my abbey, women intent on maintaining the purest life
possible."
Arissa
nodded in understanding, folding her hands and trying not to appear overly
unnerved. Although her body was safely guarded within the confines of the
gallery, her mind wandered outside the walls of the abbey, seeking Richmond as
he waged battle in the moors beyond. She was horribly worried.
Tears
sprang to her eyes and she lowered her head, desperately attempting to fend of
the tide of emotions. The mother abbess excused herself without a word, leaving
Arissa and Emma alone in the midst of their fear and disorientation.
Alone
in a mysterious realm of holy penitence and literal scripture; alone without
those they loved for the first time in their young lives.
Alone
at Whitby.
***
Mary
Deus moved into the lightless depths of the abbey's kitchen, a large room
filled with the sharp smells of smoke. Her intense eyes searched for the
familiar figure that inhabited this chamber most of the time, a woman who took
delight in preparing God's bountiful harvest. But the room was vacant and the
mother abbess sighed slowly, wondering if the nun who had been sent to inform
Sister Repentia of the newly arrived pledge had only succeeded in chasing the
woman into hiding.
Her
gaze lingered on the room a moment longer, attempting to ascertain where Sister
Repentia might have disappeared to. Just as she turned to quit the chamber, a
slight figure dressed in yards of gray wool entered the room from the cellar,
one arm laden with a basket of autumn fruits and the other holding her skirts
so that she would not trip over their length.
"Sister,"
the abbess hissed. "You are expected."
Sister
Repentia looked up from her basket as she came into the light. Pale green eyes
gazed back at the mother abbess.
"I
have been made aware, Mother," she said softly. "I was preparing
refreshments."
The
abbess stared at her a moment. It was obvious by her calm expression that she
had not been informed of the arrival's identity and the older woman sighed
again, her manner softening. Unaware of the impending news, Sister Repentia
moved to the stone counter and began to prepare the food.
Behind
her, the older nun's hesitant gaze lingered on the woolen-swathed head. There
was simply no easy way to soften the blow.
"She’s
here."
Sister
Repentia placed an apple into a wooden bowl before turning her confused
expression to the mother abbess. "I.... I do not understand.
Who
is
here?"
The
abbess moved toward her, slowly. Her manner gentled dramatically. "Arissa,
my child. She’s come early."
Sister
Repentia stared at the woman a moment, emotionlessly. After an eternal span of
time in which she allowed the abbess' words to settle, her only reaction was to
lick the lips that had suddenly begun to quiver.
"My....
Arissa has arrived from Lambourn?"
The
abbess nodded, unwilling to be party to the emotions Sister Repentia was
feeling. She would council, assist, and pray with her charges, but she was
disinclined to experience the depths of the emotions that so often plagued
them. For a woman whose natural sympathies were endless and deep, she had found
it painful and exhausting.
Even
though she had allowed herself to become far more involved with Sister Repentia
than was her usual practice due to the woman's unusual circumstances, she
realized she had to halt the progression at some point in time. With the
addition of the dark-haired woman in the gallery, she was aware that the time
for separation had come. Truthfully, there was nothing more she could do. Sister
Repentia would have to face her daughter alone.
"She’s
waiting for her refreshments," the abbess said quietly, turning for the
door and away from the emotional turmoil that threatened to snare her.
"You will greet her immediately, sister. Do you understand?"
Sister
Repentia stared at the bowl of food before her, nodding after a moment. Even as
she repeated the abbess’ words in her mind, over and over as if somehow afraid
she had dreamt them, their meaning was still difficult to believe.
With
shaking hands and a heart that screamed with joy, she fumbled with the apples
before her. Although she had known this moment would eventually be upon her,
still, she found herself emotionally unprepared for the reality of it.
Her
baby had arrived.
CHAPTER
SEVENTEEN
Arissa
was glad when the mother abbess left them alone; she had no desire to explain
her tears to the old woman, for it would only serve to open the gateway for
more explanations that would hardly be pleasant to a woman of the cloth. While
Emma sat in brooding, perplexed silence over Gavan's unexpected display of
chivalry, Arissa struggled with a complete unwant to have come Whitby at all.
She hated the place already.
But
she was distracted from her ponderings by softly approaching footfalls. A small
wooden bowl of apples and bread was placed upon the table and Arissa quickly
wiped at her eyes, preparing to thank the provider of the sustenance; even if
she did not want to be at the old abbey, she would not be rude.
Lifting
her gaze, she found herself staring into eyes of the most amazing nature and
the words of gratitude died in her throat.
Pale
green eyes stared back.
"My
name is Sister Repentia," the nun's voice was strangely tight, as faint as
baby's breath. Arissa didn’t even notice the tremble to the woman’s hands.
"Welcome to Whitby."
Arissa
forgot all about her tears as she continued to stare at the woman, a feeling an
odd curiosity. The longer she gazed at the woman, the stronger the feeling
became.
"Thank
you," she whispered.
The
nun’s response was a forced smile. But Arissa did not particularly notice; she
was still staring into the woman's strangely familiar eyes.
"I
hope your journey was uneventful, my lady," Sister Repentia sounded as if
she was breathless. "'Tis a long trip from Lambourn."
Arissa
listened to the woman's soft, beautiful voice. It occurred to her that the nun
was vaguely familiar, as if an acquaintance of long past. But try as she might,
Arissa could not remember where she had ever met the woman.
"Have....
have we met, sister?" Arissa asked, studying the woman closely as if to
recollect what refused to come to mind. "You seem very familiar to
me."
Look
in the mirror, my darling Arissa, and see me within your lovely features
. The former Lady Ellyn Glendower
de Worth gazed into an exact likeness of herself in days past, joy and sorrow
such as she had never known threatening to destroy her composure
Her
mind wandered back to those dark days when she had first been separated from
her only child. Only the knowledge that someday her beloved daughter would join
her at Whitby had provided Sister Reptentia the strength to go on during those
desolate years. Before she had been smuggled north to the abbey, Henry had made
a promise; since it had been necessary to separate mother and child at birth,
he had vowed that the two of them would spend the rest of their lives together
when Arissa became of age, sequestered in an abbey far from the realities of
England's politics. Even if Sister Repentia had missed the first eighteen years
of Arissa's life, she would spend the rest of her years coming to know the
young woman she had birthed. It had been Henry's vow.
"Sister?"
Arissa's voice was faint, inquisitive. Torn from her thoughts, Sister Repentia
struggled to focus on her daughter's question.
"I
apologize, my lady," she labored to recover a measure of her composure,
hoping her voice did not reflect her emotions. "You put forth a question
to me?"
Arissa
nodded, noting the woman's cheeks had pinkened slightly in the past few moments.
"I asked if we have met before. You appear most familiar."
Sister
Repentia shook her head, slowly. "Nay, my lady, you do not know me."
Arissa
frowned, attempting to sort her memories. The odd, warm emotions that had
swarmed her the moment Sister Repentia had introduced herself seemed to be
fading and she shrugged. "Then I apologize if I am staring at you,” she
said. “I thought we might have been introduced once before and that I knew
you."
Sister
Repentia smiled weakly, tears stinging her eyes as she held back the confession
she so desperately wanted to release. She had shared this conversation with
Arissa a thousand times in her mind, imagining her daughter's reaction when she
revealed her true identity.
But
now was not the time for such admissions. Certainly, with time, the opportunity
would present itself and Sister Repentia looked forward to that moment. Until
then, however, she had every intention of remaining by Arissa's side as she
became accustom to life in the abbey. The mother abbess had entrusted her with
Arissa's introduction to Whitby, and she would gladly accept the duty.
With
a deep breath for courage and strength, she turned from the young ladies to
retrieve a cooling pitcher of wine and two wooden cups. As Arissa and Emma
gingerly helped themselves to the bread and fruit, Sister Repentia poured the
tangy liquid and listened to their insignificant chatter with more contentment
than she ever thought possible. Hearing her daughter's voice for the very first
time.
She
was so involved listening to the sweet sounds of her only child that she failed
to notice the wounded man in the corner as he shifted from the floor, rising
unsteadily to a sitting position. Swathed in yards of dirty, stinking wool, he
resembled a badly-wrapped corpse until some of the bindings fell away to reveal
glistening pieces of mail beneath.
More
bindings fell away as Sister Repentia remained focused on her two young
charges, gradually becoming acquainted with her daughter and listening to the
young woman's tale of their trip north. By the time Arissa's story reached the
boundaries of Coventry, nearly half of the rotted wool had fallen away from the
armored man in the corner.
Rising
from the floor, the tall man retrieved his helm from the dilapidated satchel at
his side and placed it on his head, leaving the visor raised. His eyes,
glittering in the dim light, were full of malevolence as he silently
congratulated himself on a plan well executed. There was a God, after all. His
victim had finally arrived.
Turning
toward the table occupied by two young women and a nun, his sinister smile
flickered in the darkness.
"It's
about time you made an appearance, you little bitch!"
Arissa
and Emma shrieked at the sound of the voice, turning their attention to the
armored man emerging from the shadows. Immediately, they instinctively bolted
from their wooden chairs and stumbled away as the phantom stormed his way into
the heart of the dimly-lit room.
Crashing
into tables and stools in their haste to escape the advance, the two young
women watched in horror as his sinister features met with the soft illumination
of the gallery.
Tad
de Rydal jabbed a gloved finger at Arissa. "I have come all the way to
Yorkshire for you, wench,” he announced. “You are coming with me!"
Sister
Repentia had been frozen with shock until the moment the evil knight made his
target known. Seized with a fierce sense of protectiveness, she grabbed the
pitcher containing the wine and hurled herself forward, smacking Tad on the
side of his armored head. Caught off guard by the avenging nun, he lashed out
and caught her in the chest, sending her crashing to the floor.
Horrified,
Arissa and Emma screamed as Sister Repentia lay in an unconscious heap upon the
cold stone. But Tad continued to move for Arissa, knocking aside tables and
stools as he progressed. As Emma separated herself from Arissa and fled into
the kitchens in search of help, Arissa made a mad dash for the entrance of the
abbey.
She
could scarcely believe Tad de Rydal had come for her. The last news of his
well-being had not been favorable, wounded in an ambush, and she had assumed
that he had met his death. But the man following her with determination was
anything but dead; his face was pale and his movements slowed, but he remained powerful
nonetheless.