“So we shall,” the earl agreed before
finally
releasing Nicole’s hand and turning his narrowed eyes on Rhodri. “Master harper, I find it right strange to find a Welshman so far away from his native land. What do you here?”
The demand for an explanation didn’t sit well, but Rhodri saw no compelling reason to withhold an answer. This wasn’t the time or place for a confrontation with an English earl. That place was on a battlefield, not an abbey’s chapel.
Rhodri bowed as shallowly and swiftly as he dared before answering. “I am
bardd teulu
to the lady’s uncle, Connor ap Maelgwn. He bade me visit the Lady Nicole and report on how his niece fares.”
De Vere’s glance darted from Nicole to Rhodri and back again. “I cannot believe King Stephen would condone your having contact with your Welsh uncle, particularly now. Does it not seem strange to you that your uncle would send an emissary to inquire of your welfare after so many years of neglect?”
The back of Rhodri’s neck itched in warning. De Vere had been doing too much pondering during the Mass instead of paying heed where he ought. And he dearly hoped Nicole wouldn’t take offense at the earl’s inferences and blurt out the reason for Rhodri’s visit.
To his relief, she tossed a dismissive hand. “Since our father’s death, Gwendolyn has kept my uncle Connor informed of mine and my sisters’ well-being. Apparently my uncle thought it time for a more direct report. I confess I am glad he sent Rhodri. His music has lightened our sorrow.”
“All well and good, but I cannot help but wonder why a Welsh chieftain is so curious about you at a time when you may prove valuable to our king. ’Tis now obvious that Lady Nicole cannot be properly guarded at the abbey. Until I am assured this visit is as innocent as you say, you shall both become my guests in Oxford Castle.”
Nicole paled.
Rhodri clutched his harp a bit tighter. “My lord, I assure you, I mean the lady no harm, nor does her uncle. Connor merely wishes assurance of her health and happiness.”
De Vere crossed his arms. “When the uncle is a Welsh chieftain, and King Stephen is in the midst of negotiating the lady’s marriage, then I would say mere concern for her welfare is not reason enough for your visit.”
Rhodri nearly winced at how close the earl had come to the truth.
“Marriage to whom?” Nicole asked, clearly surprised by de Vere’s revelation.
“I am not at liberty to say,” de Vere stated. “I suggest you partake of the meal and gather your belongings quickly. We leave before the sun marks midday.”
Obviously stunned, Nicole said naught as they followed the earl out of the chapel, and Rhodri had no opportunity to reassure her that she need not worry over the king’s negotiations or the earl’s audacity. But even as he looked for an escape route, he realized he must bide his time.
The earl hadn’t come to Bledloe Abbey alone. In the passageway outside of the chapel stood four knights, each of them armed with swords and daggers even in this holy house. Rhodri had left his own sword in the priest’s hut, anticipating no need for it during a burial! Too, there was likely a large contingent of soldiers in the yard guarding the horses.
Damn!
Upon his arrival, he should have grabbed Nicole and hustled her out of the abbey. Adhering to Connor’s wish to convince Nicole to leave the abbey of her own free will had been a mistake. Now, instead of fending off an upset nun or two, they must escape a fully armed escort of knights and guards.
’Twas his fondest hope that an opportunity for escape would present itself somewhere on the road. If not… Rhodri preferred not to ruminate on the difficulty of getting both himself and Nicole out of the royal castle in Oxford.
N
icole awoke, cocooned in a soft woolen coverlet atop a down-stuffed mattress. Dim light from the narrow window barely reached the corners of the bedchamber’s gray stone walls.
Familiar with her surroundings, Nicole tried to enjoy the simple pleasure of waking in a bed more comfortable than her cot at the abbey, until the sound of someone rustling the rushes on the floor told her she wasn’t alone.
Blinking away sleep, she rose up on an elbow to identify the intruder.
“Ah, you are awake, my lady!” Lucy, a slender, well-endowed maidservant whom Nicole had known for several years, set a platter of food on the small oak table under the window. “’Tis sorry I am about the abbess, may she rest with the Lord. She was always kind to me, an undemanding soul.”
Nicole swallowed hard to dull a sharp pang of fresh grief.
The last time she’d visited Oxford Castle, she’d slept in this same chamber. Mother Abbess had occupied the bed, and Nicole and Sister Claire had taken pallets on the floor. That had been this past winter, before Mother Abbess’s health began to fail.
“My thanks, Lucy.” Determined not to wallow in grief, she glanced at the platter. “Have all broken fast already?”
“Long ago, my lady. ’Tis after nooning. The earl said to allow you to sleep as long as you might, but I knew you would not want to sleep the whole day away, so I brought victuals and ale. Did I do wrong?”
Sweet mercy, after nooning? But then, having been awake from sunrise to sunrise and far beyond, by the time she’d arrived at Oxford Castle late yester noon, she’d been hard pressed to keep her eyes open and her legs from collapsing.
And she understood Lucy’s concern. The servant had taken liberties she truly ought not.
“You did right to wake me, Lucy. The earl will not hear of your transgression from me.” She eased her legs toward the edge of the bed, wincing at her entire body’s stiffness. “I swan, I would be in less pain had I walked all those leagues from the abbey. The cart’s driver had no notion of how to avoid ruts. My bottom will be sore for a sennight!”
Lucy gave a mew of sympathy. “Do you wish me to brew you a potion? Willow-bark tea, mayhap?”
“Your offer is kindness itself. My thanks.”
“The bread is from this morn’s baking, and the ale is the village brewer’s finest.” Lucy paused by the door, putting a hand on a gown of light blue that hung on one of the pegs. “This is one of Lady Julia’s castoffs. If it does not fit you aright, I shall send for the seamstress to make the needed changes.”
Nicole saw her white shift on the same peg, partially hidden by the gown. On another peg hung her cloak.
“Where is my habit?”
“The earl ordered it sent to the laundress to clean before it is returned to Bledloe Abbey.”
Nicole clutched the coverlet a bit tighter. “I should like the robe returned to me. Can you fetch it?”
Lucy’s brow scrunched in confusion. “I can try, my lady, but beg pardon, why would you want it? The laundress is readying an entire chest full of Lady Julia’s garments for your use. Most should be in good order by this eve, and certes, Lady Julia would not disapprove of your use of them.”
Julia de Vere, the earl’s niece and a dear friend of Nicole’s sister, Emma, now resided at the earl’s castle in Essex and wouldn’t begrudge Nicole the use of her old garments. Nor did Nicole oppose wearing castoffs. The earl’s presumption, however, proved most irritating.
“I hope to convince the earl to allow me to return to Bledloe Abbey. I should rather do so in the habit in which I left.”
Lucy tilted her head. “You wish to go back?”
Her wishes aside, Nicole knew she must return.
“The abbey is where the king expects me to reside. The earl should not have brought me here.”
Nor should de Vere have forced Rhodri to come to Oxford!
Sweet mercy, if the earl ever learned of Connor’s offer of refuge in Wales, Rhodri might not see Glenvair again in a very long time. If ever.
Before she could ask after Rhodri, Lucy left, closing the door behind her, leaving Nicole both worried about Rhodri and resentful of the earl’s impudence.
After Mother Abbess’s burial, the earl had made his shocking announcement about the king negotiating her marriage. Then he’d turned an unhearing ear to her protests, forcing her to leave Bledloe Abbey and suffer being bounced on the hard plank seat of the cart.
Upon arriving in town, she’d struggled to shut out the cries of the spirits in St. Peter-in-the-East church’s graveyard. She’d heard the pleas of these spirits before and refused to aid them, because their ties to earth involved inflicting harm on a living person.
The climb up the steep outer stairway of St. George’s Tower—the central keep of Oxford Castle—had wrung out the last drop of her vigor.
The last thing of yester noon she remembered clearly was watching Rhodri being led away by the castle’s soldiers, suspecting she was more than partly to blame for the earl’s decision to take Rhodri captive.
If she hadn’t turned to Rhodri for respite and solace during the burial, the earl might not have paid the harper much heed. She feared her moment of weakness had set the earl to wondering about the relationship between a king’s ward and a Welsh bard. Not liking what he saw, the earl had decided to further investigate.
Nicole sighed, unable to summon uninhibited sorrow for turning to Rhodri. His touch had been all the invitation she’d required to seek succor. Sweet mercy, she’d felt so cosseted and sheltered within the circle of his arms, as if while within his protection nothing more could hurt her.
Even now she could feel his strength, warmth, and compassion, and she couldn’t allow him to suffer any longer than necessary for her ill-timed vulnerability.
Praying the earl treated Rhodri with respect for his profession, but fearing he didn’t, Nicole cast aside the coverlet and pushed herself off the bed.
She quickly used the chamber pot and, from the pitcher on the side table, poured tepid water into the washbasin. The splash of water against her face banished the last traces of sleep. The quarter round of brown bread was indeed freshly baked. The yellow cheese proved mellow and the ale robust.
The gown, the blue of a clear summer sky, was truly lovely, the weave finer than Nicole had worn in many a year. The wide sleeves and generously cut neckline allowed enough of her shift to show to give a striking, fashionable contrast. The hem brushed the tops of her boots.
Vanity might be a sin, but sweet mercy, she couldn’t help wishing for a polished silver platter in which to see how she looked.
She was beginning to tighten the gown’s side laces when Lucy returned with a mug of steaming tea.
Lucy’s smile went wide. “Heaven have mercy! Will you look at what you were hiding under that habit! The knights will stumble over each other for the favor of your company. Allow me, my lady.”
Nicole smiled at the insolent servant’s flattery, a confirmation of how well the gown suited her, though she doubted any of the knights would fall at her feet. She took sips of tea and transferred the mug from one hand to the other while Lucy pulled the gown’s laces snug.
“Did you speak to the laundress?”
“The habit is cleaned, but you will not wrench it from Tilda’s hands without the earl’s consent. Certes, my lady, you have no need of the habit here, and if you do return to the abbey, it will be waiting there for you.”
True, but the habit was one more thing that had been taken from her in the short space of two days, and she found the earl’s lack of consideration for both her person and belongings irksome.
Still, Nicole admitted she rather liked the way the blue gown hugged the curves of her body. Though she didn’t possess the fullness of Lucy’s bosom or the blatant outward thrust of hip, Nicole believed she wouldn’t be found wanting.
Lucy eyed her critically. “Lady Julia was wont to wear a gold chain around her waist with this one. I do not suppose you have one in that satchel of yours.”
She’d had no need for any type of belt in the abbey. Indeed, Nicole possessed so few personal items they all fitted in a small satchel with room to spare.
“Alas, no gold chain, but I do have my gold circlet.”
Lucy fetched the satchel and opened it. “Blessed saints, my lady! What would you be doing with a dagger!”
Nicole gingerly eased onto the stool that stood next to the table. She put down the mug and began to undo her waist-length braid, remembering her childhood banishment from home while she’d still deeply mourned her brother. She’d pilfered one of William’s old daggers, wanting to take something of his with her to keep his memory alive.
Little had she known that she wouldn’t require a reminder, that once every year William’s revenge-needful spirit would spoil her family’s Easter visit to the abbey.
Damn! She’d inadvertently obeyed William’s latest command when she’d left Bledloe Abbey. One more reason to return as soon as she was able.
“’Tis merely a keepsake, Lucy. Find my ivory comb, too, if you please, as well as my circlet.”
“As you say, my lady. Oh, this be lovely!” The maidservant set the emerald-studded gold circlet on the table. “I remember Lady Emma’s circlet. Hers is adorned with topaz, is it not?”
As Gwendolyn’s circlet was adorned with sapphires. The circlets were gifts from their father, who’d fondly dubbed his daughters his jewels. Then Father had been killed in battle, along with William, and the girls had been left with little to call their own but their circlets.
In answer, Nicole merely nodded and closed her eyes. While Lucy attacked the snarls with the ivory comb, Nicole pondered her next move. Somehow, she must convince the earl to allow both her and Rhodri to quit Oxford.
“Is the earl in the hall?”
“Last I saw, he were in the solar. An odd thing, too. Lord de Chesney invited the earl to fly the falcons, which the earl dearly enjoys, but the earl said he was waiting on some messenger and wished to be in the castle when he arrived. Must be important, that message.”
William de Chesney knew his duty as a royal castellan and kept a mews full of excellent hawks and falcons for visiting royalty and nobility to enjoy. The awaited message must be important, indeed, for the earl to foreswear a chance to hunt.
Nicole suppressed a shiver, then chided her foolishness. She’d been here less than a day. Surely the message the earl expected didn’t concern her and an impending marriage.