His
dark gaze met with frantic, angry eyes of pale green. "Where have you
brought us, my lord?" Sister Repentia asked.
Even
as Henry held up his arms for Arissa, he met the nun's gaze steadily. "To
our destination, Sister."
Sister
Repentia grasped Arissa by the arm, firmly pulling her away from Hotspur's
extended hands. "This is not the destination that was indicated to the
mother abbess," her voice was remarkably cold. "Where are we?"
Hotspur
was not deterred by the suspicious nun; reaching out, he gently grasped Arissa
by the hand and pulled her to her feet, into his arms. Cradled in the massive
knight's embrace, Arissa looked quite puzzled as Hotspur and Sister Repentia
glared at each other.
"I
believe you already know the answer, 'else you would not have asked," he
answered quietly.
Sister
Repentia was pale with fright and anger. She pondered the knight a moment.
"Then I would calmly ask what you intend to do with us. If you were going
to kill us, why did you not do it on the road? Why bring us to Wales to
accomplish this task?"
Arissa,
her arms wrapped around Henry Percy's neck, gasped with shock.
"Wales?" she suddenly began to squirm, well remembering the fact that
Owen Glendower was intent on capturing her. "You must take me away from
here! The Welsh prince has already tried to capture me, and if he finds me...!"
Hotspur
met her panicked gaze, tightening his grip against her twisting. "He will
not harm you, I vow. He merely wishes for you to be his guest for a short time,
nothing more."
Arissa
stopped wrestling, staring at the man as if he had gone completely mad. Her
breathing, coming in sharp little pants, sent up puffs of fog into the icy
winter air. "His guest? What are you.... but what of my father? Am I not
to see him? And where is Richmond? You said he was on the Welsh border!"
Hotspur
shook his head, feeling his guilt return in one forceful blow. "I am
afraid it was necessary to deceive the abbess so that I would be able to escort
you to Wales without a struggle. The tale of your father's illness was a
fabrication, as was the story of Richmond's whereabouts. Owen Glendower is most
anxious to meet with you, my lady, and it was necessary to do all that we could
in order to assure your deliverance."
At
the mention of the Welsh prince, Sister Repentia's pallor washed a sickly gray.
Struggling to maintain her composure, she looked to Arissa with a mixture of
apology and terror; she simply could not believe that they had been delivered
into the hive of the Welsh rebellion, by an English knight, no less.
A
sickening horror filled her body, threatening her thoughts, her mind, her
functions. She wished it were possible to protest this action, demanding the
immediate return to Whitby, but she couldn't seem to muster the strength. In
fact, she was quite close to falling away into a cold stupor as she listened to
Arissa express her confusion.
"And
that would include lying to a woman of the cloth?" Arissa asked, her fear
taking flight. "Moreover, why is Owen Glendower so eager to speak with me?
He tried to abduct me from Lambourn and killed my brother in the process. He
wants to harm me, I tell you."
Hotspur
was afraid to set her to the ground lest she attempt to escape. "Nay,
lady, he has no such desire. I promise that I shall protect you should he make
such an attempt," when her struggles suddenly resumed, he clenched her
tightly to prevent her from wriggling free. "I swear on my oath as a
knight that no harm shall come to you. Do you understand me?"
She
was not listening to him; her sense of terror was sharp as she struggled
against his iron grip. "Let me go! I shall not meet him! He wants to...!"
Abruptly
she slipped from his grasp and would have tumbled to the cold snow had Hotspur
not broke her fall. Clutching her arms tightly, he forced her to meet his eye.
"Listen to me, Arissa. I will attend you in your meeting with Owen. He
will not be provided with the chance to harm you as long as I am present. Do
you understand? For Richmond's sake, I swear to protect you with my dying
breath."
Her
fear-filled eyes stared at him, confusion and terror running a tight race.
After a moment, she shook her head in awe. "You have delivered me into his
arms?" It was a whispered statement, not a question. "How could you
do this, Sir Henry? He’s my father's enemy. He’s Richmond's enemy, and yours as
well... isn't he?"
Hotspur's
grip loosened, his guilt increasing. "I realize you do not understand the
finer elements of England's politics, my lady, and I am sorry if you are
frightened and puzzled. But the situation is not as desperate as you seem to
think; in fact, there is no war going on at the moment. As you can see, the
world is quite peaceful and I think you will come to see the reasoning behind
the calm if you will only listen to Owen's explanation. Will you do this?"
Arissa
pondered his words a moment, torn between her natural fear and her natural
curiosity. Hotspur was a legendary soldier, a man of grace and honor and skill.
Richmond and Henry Percy were very good friends, and she knew Richmond thought
highly of the man. Therefore, it was reasonable to believe that if he assured
her there was no need for her fear, then it would be well to heed his advice.
Slowly,
she felt herself calming. His dark eyes seemed to have a comforting effect on
her, a man who had been closely allied with Richmond for several years. If he
said he would protect her with his life, then she would believe him.
After
an eternal moment, she sighed with great resignation. "As you say,"
she whispered. "I do not believe that I will be given any choice in the
matter."
Hotspur
cast her a brave smile, releasing his grip to tuck her gloved hand into the
fold of his arm as he passed a rapid glance at the pale nun in the wagon.
"You will remain here a moment. The lady's conversation with Owen will be
private," turning to Arissa, he urged her forward. "Come along, my
lady. We must get you out of the foul weather that would threaten your
health."
Fresh
snow crunched under her sturdy shoes as she passed Hotspur a peculiar
expression. "You sound a good deal like Richmond."
His
smile faded. "We think a good deal alike."
Or we used to
.
***
Owen
was waiting for her. The arrival of the caravan had been announced nearly an
hour prior and Owen wait with veiled patience for his young cousin to make an
appearance. He was pleased that his scheme to obtain the princess had finally
succeeded and he paced the floor nervously, anticipating Hotspur's arrival.
Seated
by the vizier, David watched his cousin grind the aged rushes into the frozen
earth. All of the planning, the hoping, the prayer for the sorely-needed
advantage to bolster the Welsh resistance was finally within their grasp. They
had her.
Hotspur
did not keep them waiting. Hearing soft voices outside the tent, Owen and David
barely had time to turn for the opening when the English knight suddenly
emerged into the stuffy innards of the tent, pulling with him a woman of such
refined features that, for a moment, Owen was actually struck speechless.
Arissa's
pale green eyes were wide with apprehension as she gazed to Owen, and then to
David. As her gaze lingered on David, an odd look of familiarity crossed her
face.
"You...,"
she began softly. "I.... I know you, my lord, do I not?"
David
gazed back at the features of his sister, unbelieving that he had once been so
blind to the similarity. Even though Ellyn had been exceedingly lovely, Arissa
was by far more beautiful than her mother had ever been. Even if he hadn't
suspected her parentage from the start, he had realized her heritage from the
beginning. She was far too colorful and striking to be a pale English wench.
"
Sut
mae
, my lady," he greeted softly.
Arissa
continued to stare at him, a sickening realization dawning. He was the soldier
who had killed Bartholomew. Swallowing her distress and nausea, she averted her
gaze from the man. "
Da iawn
, my lord." Her voice was a
strangled whisper.
David
noted the taut expression, realizing she did indeed recognize him. Knowing she
had responded to his inquiry of her well-being purely out of courtesy, he was
eager to make amends for their brutal first encounter. Yet before he could
respond, Owen was set to interrupt.
Placing
himself between the magnificent young girl and her uncle, the Welsh rebel’s
expression was soft with the overwhelming realization of her presence.
"You
speak Welsh?" his voice was gentle, surprised.
Arissa
eyed him nervously. "A....a little, my lord," her gaze found David
once more and he was not surprised to note the hatred. "My brother taught
me."
Owen
disregarded her fury toward David. "Welcome, Princess Arissa," he
said after a lengthy pause. "I am Owen Glendower. It is a pleasure to
finally make your acquaintance."
In
spite of her anxiety, she managed to dip into a practiced curtsy. "My
lord," she greeted, her voice quivering regardless of Hotspur's
reassurances.
Owen
heard the quake in her tone, passing a long glance at Henry. "Am I to
understand that there were no obstacles to her acquisition?"
Hotspur
shook his head. "None. You are plan was executed flawlessly."
Owen
nodded faintly, drawing in a deep breath through his nostrils. "I am
pleased," his gaze once again moved to Arissa. He could scarcely
comprehend her blinding beauty. "God's Blood, she’s exquisite. I had no
idea Ellyn's daughter would be so fair."
Arissa,
staring at the ground, suddenly blinked as the impact of his softly-uttered
words settled. Brow furrowed, she raised her head to meet his dark, appraising
eyes. "I.... I do not understand your meaning, my lord. Who is
Ellyn?"
"Your
mother, of course," Owen replied.
Arissa's
eyes widened, forgetting her fear and apprehension and confusion. All that
mattered at the moment was that Owen Glendower knew of her mother, the
mysterious woman who had abandoned her at birth..
Gazing
into Owen's stubbled face, she removed the hood of her cloak, her eyes as vast
as the sky above. "You know of my mother?" her voice was faint. In
spite of the fact that the woman had left her to the mercy of the angels,
Arissa simply couldn't bring herself to hate her. It was not her nature to
loathe. "Tell me what you know?"
Owen
shrugged, glancing at David. "You would undoubtedly know more. I have not
seen Ellyn in twenty years."
Arissa
shook her head faintly. "I know nothing about her, my lord. I have never
met her."
Owen's
eyebrows drew together. "Was she not at Whitby?"
"There
was no Ellyn at Whitby."
"She
doesn't use her birth name any longer," he turned to David. "What was
the name she assumed when she took her vows? Rachel? Re..Re...."
"Repentia,"
David supplied. "Sister Repentia."
Arissa
suddenly found herself on the ground, her bum stinging with sharp impact as her
flesh met with the cold earth. Her head was swimming, her ears ringing, and she
could scarcely draw a breath. Strong hands were reaching down to aid her, but
she brushed them off, eventually swatting them away. Crawling, rolling, moving
away from them, she somehow made her way to the edge of the tent, leaning
against a pole for support. Shock did not fully encompass what she was
experiencing.
She
had no idea what she was feeling. All she knew was that she was feeling more
astonishment and anguish than she ever thought possible. The knowledge that
demure, kindly Sister Repentia was the woman who had given her life was far
more than her young mind could comprehend at the moment.
Hotspur
watched her with concern; it was obvious that the lady had been unaware of her
mother's identity and he cast Owen a long, critical glance.
"Sister
Repentia accompanied us from Whitby," he said softly. "I ordered her
to stay to the wagon."
David
suddenly rose from his chair. "My sister is here?" he rasped.
"Ellyn is in Wales? Why.... how..?"
"As
a chaperone," Hotspur answered softly, refocusing on Arissa bowed,
quivering head. "The mother abbess would not allow me to take Arissa
without a chaperone."
David's
pale face stared at the tent flap as if to see his sister in the camp beyond,
clad in the nun's habit secured with a simple coarse rope, tied with four knots
to remind the holy woman of the four vows she had taken upon entering the
cloister. A woman he hadn't seen since his twelfth birthday, when last he had
been witness to a terrible disagreement between his only sister and their
parents.
Horrible
words, nasty rumors. A disagreement that had caused her to leave Wales for the
bustle of London, to fend for herself however she was able.
An
argument that David had not been a part of, but he had been old enough to know
that their parents had accused his sister unjustly and he found himself more
than willing to apologize for her anguish. If Ellyn was truly in their midst,
then he would not permit her to leave without allowing him to make amends for
the sins of their parents.