The
abbess' jaw ticked, a strong indication of her displeasure. After a moment's indecision,
she broke the seal and unrolled the vellum. Arissa and Emma, Hotspur and his
knights, watched with anticipation as the educated woman read the missive
carefully.
After
several long, tensely-silent minutes, the abbess seemed to sigh with regret.
"I
was unaware of Henry's poor health," she said, raising her gaze to meet
Hotspur. "How long has he been suffering?"
"For
some time now," Henry replied, wondering how much time he was going to spend
in Hell for lying to a woman of the cloth. "Unfortunately, his physicians
do not believe he has much time left on this earth and Henry has requested to
see Arissa before he dies. I am ordered to bring her to London as soon as
possible."
The
abbess sighed again, pondering the news and the consequences thereof. Certainly
there was no time to send a missive to London confirming the request if King
Henry was on his death bed. The man was understandable eager to make amends
with the wrongs he had done in this life, Arissa included, and the abbess could
not fault him the desire to reconcile with his bastard.
Carefully,
thoughtfully, the abbess re-rolled the missive. "Why did Sir Richmond not
come for her?"
Hotspur
did not falter. "Because he’s busy with the situation on the Welsh
border," he replied steadily. "Henry asked that I accomplish the duty
since Sir Richmond was else occupied."
"Richmond
is on the Welsh border?" Arissa asked before she could stop herself,
filled with concern and confusion. He was supposed to be in London, demanding
her hand. Why was he in Wales?
Henry's
soft eyes found her. "Sir Richmond is a master of negotiation and Henry
asked that he assist the crisis on the border to see if a bloodless conclusion
cannot be sought against the Welsh," seeing the sorrowful expression on
Arissa's face, a measure of guilt swept him; God help him, Richmond was his
friend. What he was about to do was not only treacherous, but blatant cruelty.
Yet, it was necessary.
Tearing
his gaze from the magnificent face, he refocused on the abbess. "Time
grows short, Your Grace. Every moment we delay is a moment away from Henry's
life. Surely you cannot deny a father the right to see his child before he
passes on?"
The
abbess drew in another long sigh, staring at the mighty knight before her; she
was well aware of Henry Percy, soon to be the second earl of Northumberland.
Hotspur was a fierce fighter, the most powerful knight in England next to
Richmond le Bec, and she knew he was a man of honor. Truthfully, she had no
firm basis to deny the request and she realized with resignation that she had
no choice but to allow Arissa to travel to London to meet her dying father.
"Nay,"
she said after a long moment, her voice quiet. "I shall not deny his
request. But the lady will travel with an escort, a chaperone of my choosing.
And she will be returned to me as soon as Henry has finished with her. Is this
understood?"
Hotspur
felt a bolt of relief run through him, so powerful that he fought the urge to
collapse with thanks. But the added element of an escort was something he had
not anticipated; still, it would be of no consequence. A harmless nun was
insignificant in the overall scheme and he would not fret over the unexpected
addition. All that mattered was that Arissa was to be placed in his custody, as
Owen had corrected predicted.
"I
understand your directive perfectly, your grace," he said steadily.
"The lady will be in good hands."
The
abbess continued to eye him a moment before faintly gesturing to her two young
charges, silently demanding them to return to the abbey. As Arissa and Emma
dashed away, the abbess maintained her cool gaze on the mighty knight.
"I
must tell you that this situation is unnerving," she said quietly.
"But based upon your reputation as an honorable man, I will not dispute
the poorly written missive nor the blotched seal. All I ask is that you return
Lady Arissa to me, unharmed. She is, after all, my charge."
Hotspur
nodded faintly, feeling a substantial increase in his own guilt.
"I
shall guard the woman with my life." He meant it.
While
Hotspur and his army wait on the road, Emma helped Arissa pack a small satchel.
Soap, a comb, another clean woolen frock and the surcoat she had arrived in
filled the small bag. As Arissa donned a pair of soft woolen hose to protect
her against the chill, Emma seemed particularly distracted. Securing the heavy
cloak Richmond has given her, Arissa laughed softly at the picture she
presented.
"Look
at me, Emma. Dressed in a plan gray woolen frock and an exquisite cloak of the
finest material," with a smile, she turned to her moody friend. "I
look terribly mismatched. I suppose I should.... now, what's the matter with
you? Why do you look like that?"
Emma
had been fumbling with her hands, a frown on her face as she immersed herself
in thought. Hearing Arissa's softly demanded question, she cast her a long
gaze.
"What
did Hotspur mean when he called you Henry's daughter?"
Arissa's
smile faded. After a lengthy, guilty moment, she averted her gaze and planted
her bottom on the edge of her cot. "Do not be angry with me for not
telling you," she said softly. "I myself discovered my true heritage
only a few weeks ago. Apparently, I am a bastard of royal blood, sent to live
with the Earl of Berkshire so that I would not shame my father the king."
Emma
stared at her, shocked but not completely disbelieving. After all, she'd had
time to dwell on the clues Hotspur had raised and was somewhat prepared for the
startling truth. After a moment, she exhaled sharply and leaned against the
wall. "So you are the king's daughter?"
"Aye."
“Truly?”
“Aye.”
"Does
Richmond know?"
"He’s
the one who informed me of my true heritage."
Emma's
gaze lingered on her dark head. After several long seconds, she simply shook
her head. "I.... I simply cannot believe it, Riss. You are not the earl's
offspring, but a princess?"
Arissa
shrugged vaguely. "Apparently. But I do not feel like one. I feel like a
cast-off, a bit of rubbish that no one can decide what to do with."
Emma's
brow furrowed. "Why do you say that?"
Arissa
toyed with the hem of her cloak, advancing to chewing on her nails, a habit she
had yet to break. "Look at the situation; my mother abandons me at birth
and I am forced to live with another family, my true identity concealed from
the world. When I become of age, I am forced into an abbey to hide for the
remainder of my life. Would you not feel like so much extra baggage?"
Emma
pondered her question a moment. "I do not know, Riss. Richmond doesn't
think you are extra baggage."
Her
smile made a weak appearance. "Nay, he does not. Mayhap I shall be lucky
enough to see him in London. Certainly, I can hope."
Emma's
gaze lingered on her friend a moment longer, still reeling with some shock and
amazement. But, truthfully, she did not know why she was so surprised; Arissa
had always possessed a special aura, a grace and beauty beyond the limits of
mere mortals.
Still,
Emma found herself giddy with the knowledge. The longer she gazed at Arissa,
the more excited she became.
"You
are going to London to see the king," she said, her mood rising.
"Aren't you excited?"
Arissa
sucked on a fingernail she had nearly chewed raw. "You heard the contents
of the message; the king is dying and wishes to see me. I.... I do not think I
should be excited about death."
"I
did not mean it that way. Yet, it's as if an entirely new life is about to open
up for you. The acknowledgement of your royal blood by your ailing
father," she suddenly cocked her head in thought. "Mayhap he will
tell you that he’s agreed to a marriage between you and Richmond. Would not
that be exciting?"
Arissa
nodded, attempting to fold her hands lest she chew them all to bloody nubs.
"Certainly, I can hope for the best," she glanced at her satchel,
sighing with longing. "Sweet St. Jude, Emma. I miss him so."
Emma's
rising excitement cooled. As badly as Arissa missed Richmond, she found herself
longing for Gavan in the same manner. Even though the guilt of wishing death
upon the man's wife had not faded entirely, she found her sorrow of the woman's
death had not cooled her love for him. If anything, her adoration had grown. It
was a breathing entity, capable of pain and madness. It was something she was
unable to control in the least.
"I
know you miss him, Riss. But you shall be with him soon."
Arissa
rose from her cot, pondering the dingy little room. "Mayhap he will join
me in London and I shall never have to return here again. Mayhap this is the
last I shall see of this gloomy place." Moving to the window, her gaze
wandered to the large army waiting patiently in the distance. After a moment,
she turned to her friend. "I shall send Gavan for you, Emma. I shall not
leave you here alone."
Emma
met her gaze, torn between her fading guilt and the love she had always felt
for the man. "Do not.... do not force him. After all, he just lost his
wife. He must have time to heal."
"He
will be given ample time to heal. And then I will send him for you."
Emma
did not say anything for a moment. Meandering to the window, her gaze fell upon
Hotspur's stationary army. "If he comes, it will be the answer to my
prayers, Riss. The impossible dream I never thought to come true."
Arissa
put her arm around Emma's shoulders, hugging her gently. "Dreams do come
true, Emma. I am living proof of that."
CHAPTER
TWENTY
Sister
Repentia was well acquainted with the relatively flat topography that
surrounded London, which was why the first inkling of trouble infiltrated her
veins at the sight of snow-capped mountains in the distance. Although the rest
of the caravan seemed unconcerned, including Arissa, she felt the distinct
taste of apprehension as they drew closer to the white cluster of hills. There
was something vaguely familiar about the sharp landscape and she spent the
majority of her time staring at the snowy mountains, trying to determine their
placement.
She
couldn't seem to shake the uneasy sense of familiarity. As Lady Arissa's
chaperone to the Sodom and Gomorrah that was London, she was supposed to remain
focused on the lady. Unfortunately, she seemed to be utterly riveted to the
snow-capped hills in the distance.
As
the caravan actually crossed into the hilly terrain and the sharp iciness gripped
them, Sister Repentia couldn't help succumb to the growing knowledge that they
were nowhere near London. Somehow, they had been directed down another path.
Her
increasingly concerned attention moved from the icy landscape to the massive
knight riding the lead, wondering if he even realized his error. It was, after
all, their ninth day of travel and it was quite possible that the man had been
thrown off course somehow, moving into the harsh territory of the borders when
he should have been following the path of the Thames.
But
even as she sought a reason for their change of direction, she realized her
efforts were foolish. Hotspur was acutely aware of the path he had chosen and
Sister Repentia's heart sank as she became cognizant of the fact that, somehow,
the plot to remove Arissa from Whitby had nothing to do with Henry. Hotspur was
part of something the slender nun was unable to figure out at the moment, but
shrewd enough to realize that subtle plots were enveloping them. Plots
involving Henry's daughter.
She
would not upset Arissa with her suspicions; at least, not at the moment. Not
until she had the opportunity to speak with Henry Percy regarding his reasoning
and motives. Motives, she discovered, she was fearful to know. God help her,
she had unknowingly escorted her daughter into the gaping jaws of political
intrigue and there was absolutely nothing she could do against the fickle
tides.
The
caravan traveled from harsh, frozen ground to a firm-packed snow, newly placed.
Sheer mountains on either side of the road were coated with a fresh white
dusting and the wind that screamed off the mountains was harsh and beautiful at
the same time. Even as Sister Repentia simmered in a growing horror, Arissa
thought the trip to be quite wonderful. Wrapped in her warm woolen cloak, she
drew in the magnificence of the scenery with her usual pleasure; she'd never
seen anything so brutally lovely.
Arissa
was the first one to spy an encampment, eyeing it curiously as the company drew
near. Heavy tents of hide, sewn together in a mismatched design, gathered in a
large cluster amidst the white packing of snow. The wagon upon which Arissa and
Sister Repentia were riding came to a jolting halt and Arissa turned her
puzzled expression to the nun.
"This....
this is London?" she asked hesitantly.
Sister
Repentia did not reply; her gaze was riveted to Hotspur as he dismounted his
charger and made his way back along the column. Arissa continued to stare at
the nun, expecting an answer, as the mighty knight drew alongside the wagon.