Love Above All (16 page)

“It’s certainly a desolate place, and not as
formidable as some I’ve seen,” Royce remarked, reining in his horse
to look over the abbey with a thorough eye.

The rest of the troop stopped just behind
Royce, at a spot where they could look down on the scene from atop
a slight rise. Beyond the abbey lay the choppy grey waters of the
Firth of Forth. On the opposite side of the firth, Fionna could
just make out the misty shore of Fife.

“You think it’s undefended?” asked Quentin.
He raised a skeptical eyebrow as he surveyed the area. “That door
at the gatehouse looks sturdy enough to withstand a Viking
attack.”

“Abercorn probably was raided by Vikings,”
Royce said. “It looks old enough to have been here during those
violent years, and it’s close enough to the firth to provide an
easy target to anyone arriving by boat, though whether the place
ever contained any treasure worth looting is debatable. Fionna, are
you ready?”

“Yes.” Unwilling to betray her increasing
nervousness, she bit out the single word in the same cool tone the
men were using. She understood their seemingly idle conversation
was their way of appearing to be indifferent to the possibility of
danger lurking behind the innocent-looking door of Abercorn, or in
the forests beyond the cleared fields. From the corner of her eye
she saw Quentin glancing at her, but she refused to meet his gaze
directly. Once Janet was safe she’d have to deal with her feelings
about Quentin. But not now; not until later.

“I’ll deploy my men along the edges of the
woodland and then rejoin you,” Royce said to Quentin. “You and
Cadwallon stay hidden among the trees with Fionna until I return.
Braedon, come with me. We can use you on the other side of the
abbey.”

Fionna’s impatience grew with every passing
moment. Left to herself, she’d have run down the slope to pound on
the heavy wood door of the abbey and demand immediate entrance.
Only the many warnings issued by her four tutors in the skills of
spying prevented her from acting on the impulse. They had
repeatedly impressed upon her that Janet’s future depended on her
actions in the hour or two after they reached Abercorn. She had
taken the admonitions to heart; she’d not jeopardize her sister’s
safety.

After what seemed to Fionna an incredibly
long time, Royce rejoined the three who waited on the raised patch
of land.

“The men are all in place,” Royce announced.
“As far as we can tell, everything is peaceful down there. Nothing
within sight is moving, except for that boat in the middle of the
firth.”

Fionna spared only a quick look at the boat
Royce mentioned. Then she looked at it again, for a moment longer
this time, and her chest tightened.

“I’ve seen a large sailing vessel like that
before,” she said. “It’s the kind of ship that travels between
Scotland and France.”

“You are thinking of Colum.” Quentin’s hand
briefly rested on hers. “The chances are good that Colum is still
in France and that is an innocent ship, a merchantman plying its
trade, and nothing more.”

“You’re trying to make me feel less nervous,”
she said.

“True.” Quentin’s eyes shone with excitement.
“The best cure for your bout of nerves is for us to put our plan
into effect at once.”

“Go, then,” said Royce. “Fionna, believe in
your heart that you will encounter no problems at all and our
scheme will succeed. At the same time know that I and my men are
here, ready to back you if you need us.”

“Thank you, Royce,” Fionna said, twisting in
her saddle to face him.

“Thank me again after you and Janet are in
England,” Royce told her.

“Come on.” Cadwallon kicked his horse’s sides
and pulled on the reins of the spare mount he was leading, the
horse Janet was to ride on leaving the abbey. “We’ve talked so much
about our plans that even I am becoming nervous. And, Quentin, you
know how dangerous my nervous spells can be.”

Quentin uttered a laugh that startled Fionna
with its harsh eagerness. Then he followed Cadwallon down the slope
toward the narrow path that led directly to the closed door of the
gatehouse. Fionna took a deep breath and went after the two
men.

Cadwallon was first to dismount. He strode
quickly to the gatehouse entrance and pulled on the bell chain.

Quentin lingered to help Fionna off her
horse. She held tightly to his arms for a moment.

“Bow your head,” Quentin instructed. “Calm
your thoughts. Remember to ask entrance in a humble way.”

Just as Fionna reached the door someone
pulled open a panel behind a metal grate that was set into the door
at face level. She couldn’t see who stood behind the grate.

“Yes?” The voice was female, and it sounded
youthful. “What is it?”

“I’ve come to beg admittance,” Fionna said,
keeping her voice low and her head bowed. “May I speak with the
abbess?”

“Do you come alone?” The voice sounded a bit
frightened.

Fionna imagined the woman behind the grate
trying to peer through it to see who else waited on the doorstep.
She decided to reassure the woman.

“Two of my dearest relatives have escorted me
here, to keep me safe along the way,” Fionna said. “They also seek
an audience with the abbess.”

“Wait where you are. I’ll ask if Mother
Abbess will receive you.” The panel behind the grating slid shut
again.

“So far, so good,” muttered Cadwallon. To
Fionna’s astonishment, he grinned at her.

“You’re enjoying this,” she accused him.

“If I didn’t enjoy it, I wouldn’t do it,” he
said.

“Be quiet, both of you,” Quentin ordered.
“Fionna, for heaven’s sake, try to look humble.”

“I’m trying!” She spoke too loudly, and at
once clamped her lips shut, saying not one word more until the
heavy abbey door began to open.

“Mother Abbess will see you,” said the same
voice they’d heard before. “I am Sister Mariad. Please, come
in.”

Upon noticing the tall knights who
accompanied Fionna, both men wearing full armor and with swords
belted at their sides, Sister Mariad uttered a squeak of fear and
stumbled backward a pace.

“Don’t be afraid of them, Sister,” Fionna
said, remembering to keep her voice low. “As I told you, my cousins
rode with me from Carlisle, with the intention of protecting me,
which is why you see them prepared for combat. They are honorable
knights and will offer no violence to those who accept them
peacefully.”

“I have been told to ask your name,” Sister
Mariad said. She continued to regard the two men as if she didn’t
quite trust Fionna’s reassuring words. She was a plain-faced,
sturdy girl, wearing a gown of undyed wool, with a rough linen
wimple covering every strand of her hair.

“I am Lady Ursula of Wortham,” Fionna said,
following the instructions Royce had given her.

“You are welcome, Lady Ursula,” said Sister
Mariad. “I will show you to the reception room. However, the men
must wait in the entry hall.”

“If I leave my sword here, may I accompany
Cousin Ursula to her interview with the abbess?” Quentin asked.

His offer surprised Fionna, though she tried
not to show it. Neither Quentin nor Royce had mentioned one of the
men going with her. She kept her eyes on the stone floor of the
entry hall while she awaited Sister Mariad’s response.

“I am sorry,” Sister Mariad said, not
sounding the least bit sorry. “The rule is that no men are allowed
beyond the entry. Not ever; not for any reason.”

“It’s all right,” Fionna said to Quentin. “I
will speak to Mother Abbess, and then I’ll come back to talk with
you, dear cousin, and tell you what we have decided.”

“We won’t stir from this hall until you
return,” Cadwallon said, his voice sounding unnaturally loud in
those hushed confines.

“Come this way, please, Lady Ursula.” Sister
Mariad opened an inner door and gestured to usher Fionna through
it.

On the other side of the door lay a small
reception room furnished with a bench against one wall, a small
table, and a single chair. Another door opened on the opposite side
of the room.

Undoubtedly, the chair was for the exclusive
use of the abbess, Fionna thought. She’d be surprised if any
visitors came to Abercorn who held rank high enough to appropriate
the chair from the woman who was in charge of the abbey. If any of
the sisters came from noble families they certainly hadn’t made
large donations to the abbey, for the furniture was of poor quality
and the walls of the little room were unpainted plaster. The room
was angled so its single window looked out across sloping ground to
a beach and the firth. A chill wind off the water blew through the
unshuttered window.

“I’ll tell Mother Abbess you are waiting,”
Sister Mariad said.

Left alone, Fionna was about to go to the
window, to look out in search of the ship she’d seen earlier, when
a footstep at the inner doorway made her pause.

“I am Mother Hroswitha,” said a quiet
voice.

The abbess was tall, thin, clad in grey wool,
with a spotless white linen wimple. She pulled the door shut as she
entered, leaving Sister Mariad outside the room.

“How may I help you?” The abbess’ aged,
heavily lined face was further creased by a fleeting smile that
vanished as quickly as it appeared.

“Mother Hroswitha.” Fionna made a deep
curtsy. “Thank you for seeing me.”

“Rise, my child, and tell me why you are
here.”

Surely, Fionna thought, the sweet purity of
the abbess’ face and the gentle sound of her voice were signs of
holiness. Impulsively, Fionna dropped all pretense and spoke the
truth.

“I have come to see my sister, if you will
allow it,” she said.

“Who is your sister?” asked Mother
Hroswitha.

“Janet of Dungalash. She came here to
Abercorn years ago, as a student in your school.”

“I know who she is.” Mother Hroswitha’s voice
was no longer gentle, but oddly cold. A faint narrowing of her eyes
indicated a sudden, thoughtful tension. “You come early, Lady
Ursula. Your brothers have sent a messenger to say they will arrive
tomorrow morning to take Janet away. I understand she is to be
married at once.”

Fionna hesitated, shocked speechless for a
moment. She knew she should have expected the news, and she
silently thanked heaven for sending her to Abercorn before Janet
was removed from the abbey. Noting Mother Hroswitha’s sharp
watchfulness, Fionna bitterly regretted not following Royce’s
instructions more precisely. Thanks to her own hasty words, she
feared her effort to remove Janet was about to go badly awry.

At least she was inside the abbey. She vowed
that, whatever happened, she wasn’t going to leave without Janet.
She thought quickly, while at the same time she tried to notice
details, as Royce had taught her to do. Thus, she saw how Mother
Hroswitha’s eyes had narrowed a bit more and she realized the
abbess was harboring a growing suspicion that all was not as it
appeared to be with her unexpected visitor. Fionna tried the first
excuse that came to mind and she prayed the abbess would accept
it.

“If you will allow me, Mother Abbess,” Fionna
said, trying to keep her voice low and calm, “I would like very
much to speak with Janet today. You see, I must return to Carlisle
at once, to rejoin my husband at his command. Thus, I won’t be able
to attend Janet’s wedding. I want to wish her well, and to offer
her my blessing. We haven’t seen each other for several years and I
fear we won’t meet again for a while. Please, Mother
Hroswitha?”

As she finished her plea, Fionna remembered
to keep her head bowed and her hands clasped at her bosom in an
attitude of petition. She held her breath and silently said a
little prayer in which she asked for the abbess to find her
substitute story acceptable.

“Since you are Janet’s sister,” said Mother
Hroswitha, “and since it’s plain to me you are eager to see her, I
will permit a short visit.”

“Thank you so much!” Fionna would have gone
to her knees in honest gratitude if Mother Hroswitha hadn’t turned
away from her, toward the door.

“I will have Janet sent to you at once. I
will also order refreshments. We have a fine crop of apples this
year and our cider is unusually tasty.” Mother Hroswitha paused
with one hand on the door latch. “As for the men who accompanied
you to Abercorn, they must remain in the entry hall and Janet may
not speak with them.”

“I understand. Sister Mariad explained the
rule to us,” Fionna said. She was too overjoyed at the prospect of
seeing her sister to complain about abbey regulations. With Quentin
and Cadwallon waiting on the other side of the reception room door,
she entertained no concern about her ability to leave the abbey
with Janet.

While Fionna waited, Sister Mariad appeared
bearing a wooden tray on which rested a pottery pitcher and a
silver cup.

“The cider is excellent this year,” Sister
Mariad said, filling the cup. She handed it to Fionna and watched
as Fionna tasted it.

“Mother Hroswitha said the same thing, and
both of you are right,” Fionna told her. “Sister Mariad, how long
have you lived at the abbey?”

“I beg you will pardon me, Lady Ursula, but
we are forbidden to speak with strangers except for the sake of
curtesy, and we may not discuss our lives here.”

“No, it’s I who must beg your pardon,” Fionna
said. “I should have known better than to question you. I only
wanted to learn if you know my sister.”

“Abercorn is so small that we all know each
other. I’ll see if Janet is ready to join you. Mother Hroswitha
sent one of the sisters to the dorter to fetch her.” Sister Mariad
vanished through the inner door.

Cup in hand, Fionna wandered to the window,
expecting to see the ship Royce had noticed earlier continuing its
progress up the firth. But the ship had drawn closer to the shore
near Abercorn, and had put out a small boat, which two men were
rowing directly toward the beach below the abbey. A third man sat
in the stern and, though Fionna couldn’t see his face, she made a
shrewd guess as to his identity. If she was right, and Colum had
returned to Scotland, then getting Janet away from Abercorn had
become a matter of desperate urgency.