The Warrior and the Dove - A Short Novel (Medieval Chronicles) (7 page)

He gave her a
swift encompassing glance before turning back to Hugh. “Maud’s at Elmley Castle
with my parents. Why?” he asked as Hugh grimaced.

“Annith would
have been glad of her company, but no matter. We’ll be here only a night or
two, I think. I hope you’re not planning on going anywhere today, Will, because
I need to leave my lady where she’s well-guarded while I’m away for an hour or
so. And that includes denying she’s here if anyone comes asking for a girl of
her description. In fact, you can detain any such person. I’ll want to question
him.”

Will’s eyes
widened. “Detain someone on no charge. That should be interesting. I sniff a
mystery. Should we expect Edward to come riding in to set us all by the ears
before you leave, with me none the wiser as usual.”

“Edward is
probably attending the Parliament at Winchester,” Hugh told him, grinning.
“This isn’t the King’s business. Yet,” he added, suddenly thoughtful.

Annith looked up
at him in startled question, but she could see she was going to remain as much
in the dark as Will Beauchamp.

“Even more
mysterious,” that gentleman boomed. “Aye, of course your lady will be safe
here. Come into the hall. I’ll have a couple of maidservants prepare a chamber
and see to her comfort.”

“My thanks,
Will.” Hugh clapped him on the shoulder. “You’re a good friend.”

Will waved that
away and strode off toward the keep. “Send your men to the stables,” he shouted
back at them. My steward will find them accommodation.”

The next half hour
was a flurry of activity. When Hugh had left for the priory, Annith was shown
into an upper story chamber of the keep. A maidservant was lighting a fire in
the brazier while two other girls began hauling in hot water for her bath. A
tray with bread and cheese, fruit and a flask of wine had been placed on the
table beneath the window, and soap, fine linen drying cloths, and even a clean
shift, were brought in for her use. The soap, she was told proudly, was from
Lady Maud Beauchamp’s own store.

Annith thanked
the girls, and assured them she needed no assistance in dressing since she
intended to rest as soon as she had finished her bath. She shut the door firmly
behind them as they descended the stairs, buckets clanging.

When the din had
faded into the distance, she glanced around the small chamber. There were no
tapestries to soften the stone walls, but thick sheepskin rugs lay on the floor
and the bed looked comfortable. There was even a small alcove, which had
probably once served as a wardrobe, where the bath awaited her. She told
herself she should undress and bathe while the water was hot, but, instead, she
walked over to the window to look down into the empty bailey. From this height
she could see a curve of the Severn and part of the town. Nothing looked
familiar.

She returned to
the bed, sat down, and contemplated the bare walls. And tried not to feel very
lost, alone, and frightened.

*         
*          *

Hugh arrived at
the priory as the nuns were filing out of their small wooden chapel after the
midday office. He had left his horse in the nearby village and quartered the
perimeter on foot, but there’d been no sign of anyone watching the place. Nor
had any strangers been nosing around, according to the villagers he’d
questioned.

An elderly sister
opened the iron grill in the gate when he rapped on the wooden panels. She
peered at him suspiciously, but when he introduced himself, departed readily
enough with his request for an interview with the Prioress.

Within a few
minutes he was ushered into that lady’s private solar, a sparsely furnished
apartment with the minimum of comfort. The Prioress was also sparse, but the
lines on her face spoke of humor and she exuded an air of competence.

“Lord de
Verney,” she said. “I am Edith, Prioress of this house. You honor us, although
I cannot conceive of any reason why you should do so.”

“Madam,” he
replied, bowing briefly over the hand she held out to him. “I will come
straight to the point. Have you had living here a girl of about sixteen, small
and delicate in build, with dark blue eyes and dark hair? There may have been
others enquiring about her.”

All expression
left Edith’s face. “We are not accustomed to barons, or their emissaries,
enquiring about the girls in our care,” she said coolly. “Let alone two in one
week.”

“Someone else
has been here?”

“What is your
interest in this girl?” she asked, ignoring the question.

“As of this
morning, she’s my wife.”

The Prioress’s
impassive mask vanished. “And you’ve mislaid her
again
?”

His brows
lifted. “Nay, I have her safe. But she remembers little of her past. Not even
her name.”

“Then what makes
you think she came from here?” Edith asked.

Hugh had had
enough. “Madam, let us put an end to this jousting. By your answers, I am sure
she came from here. I think she was trying to return here, to seek safety. That
safety may well depend on everything you can tell me about her.” He let that
sink in, before adding in a milder tone, “But before you speak, let me tell you
what I know.”

The Prioress
studied him for a moment before gesturing for him to continue. By the time he
had finished the tale, from the day he had first spoken to Annith, to their
marriage that morning, Edith was pacing the small room, hands clasped at her
waist. She halted when he fell silent and turned a stark face up to him.

“God be thanked
that she found refuge with such good and kindly people,” she said fervently.
“And you have her safe, indeed, my lord? She is as well as can be expected
after her ordeal?”

“She is, and
safe in Worcester at this moment.”

“Then I will
delay you no longer.” Edith crossed the room to sit down behind her desk and
waved him to the chair opposite. “My lord, you have described Annetta de Saye.
She was brought to us ten years ago after her mother and older brother died of
a fever. Her father, Sir Richard de Saye, was in the Holy Land at the time and
died there a year later. There was no other family.”

Hugh nodded.
“The King would have given wardship of her to one of his nobles.”

“Aye. Annetta
inherited lands and a castle in Gloucestershire and wardship was granted to
Baldwin de Beche. I knew nothing of him until he came to see the child, and
then didn’t much like what I saw. He looked her over as though she was a
commodity that may come in useful one day, and gave instructions that she was
not to be allowed out of the convent, not even to go into the village.” The
Prioress shook her head. “We are not in the habit of gadding about the world
whenever we please, but we do visit the sick, and folk in need. I thought it
odd, but mayhap he was over-protective of her health. The child did look
delicate, but she was sturdy enough.”

“Did he visit
her often?” Hugh asked.

“Nay, for which
I was grateful, may God forgive me for the thought. His steward sent an
endowment each year to cover Annetta’s keep and education, and his couriers
took back reports of her, but de Beche never came to see her.” Edith spread her
hands. “Why would he? She meant nothing to him.”

“Until she
reached marriageable age,” Hugh said grimly.

The Prioress
nodded. “I was surprised he had waited this long, but he arrived without
warning three months ago and asked to see her from a short distance, without
her knowledge. He said he wanted to be sure she had grown healthy and strong,
but didn’t wish to submit her to a close examination. I thought it considerate
of him and felt more in charity with the man.” She paused, before adding
tartly, “Especially if Annetta was marrying a great noble, some of whom inspect
candidates for the position of wife as if they were buying heifers at market.”

Hugh grinned.

“Aye, well…”
Edith coughed discreetly. “A few weeks after his visit, de Beche sent a letter
telling me Annetta’s marriage had been arranged and that he would send for her.
The next thing we knew, men-at-arms arrived to take her home. With a woman to
see to her needs on the journey,” she added grudgingly, as though honesty
compelled her to give de Beche his due.

“You let her go
thus escorted?”

The Prioress
flushed. “What right did we have to keep her, my lord? I won’t deny I was
concerned that Lord de Beche hadn’t come for her, but his men were polite
enough. And they reached Gloucester safely. Annetta, herself, sent a message
saying all was well.”

Hugh thought for
a moment. “Was it one of these same men-at-arms who came searching for her?”

“Nay, ’twas de
Beche’s courier. The same man who had come for the past three or four years. A
nervous creature. You may imagine how closely I questioned him, but I doubt he
knew more than to follow orders.”

“How did he explain
Annith’s disappearance? ’Tis what she is called at present,” he explained when
the Prioress raised her brows.

“A like enough
name,” she agreed. “As for the courier, he said Annetta had decided to become a
nun, and when it was pointed out that she was already betrothed, she ran away.”

Hugh frowned.
“Could that be true?”

“Nay.” The
prioress smiled. “Annetta, or Annith since that is more familiar to you, was
interested in healing, and learned much from our Infirmaress, Sister Margaret,
but she had no desire to enter the cloister. On the contrary, she was eager to
see her home and the world beyond these walls. Nor,” she added, “would she have
run away for the reason given. She wanted to marry, to have a family of her own
again.”

“When did she
leave here?” Hugh asked.

Edith tilted her
head, considering. “’Twould have been about three weeks after the battle at
Evesham, toward the end of August.”

“So, sometime in
the two weeks between Annith leaving here, and when she was found near Crofton,
something happened that drove her from her home.”

“Something so
dreadful that God has sealed her mind against it,” Edith whispered, crossing
herself.

“Seals can be
broken,” Hugh said firmly, rising to take his leave. “But that will depend on
my lady. It might be less of an ordeal if she remembers in her own time, even
if I confront de Beche and demand an explanation. On the other hand, I think
she has courage enough to face him, herself, with me by her side.”

“It may be so,”
the Prioress said, rising also. “She was a gentle child, but every now and then
she would surprise us if one of the girls was admonished unjustly, or she
thought one had done ill to another. She would not be swayed from her course if
she believed in it.”

“I know,” Hugh
said wryly. “I’ve seen her in action. As for her courage, it terrifies me.” He
smiled slightly at the admission.

Edith eyed him
shrewdly. “From the way you speak of her, my lord, I think you care for
Annetta.”

Hugh frowned.
“She’s my wife. Of course I care for her.” He inclined his head briefly,
turned, and started for the door.

“But do you love
her?” Edith asked softly.

Hugh stopped
dead, stunned by the question. He was a breath away from whipping around and
fixing the Prioress with the glare he reserved for insubordinate squires, when
understanding struck him. This woman also cared for Annith, had stood in place
of a mother to her for the past ten years. She deserved more than a cutting
answer.

He turned and
met her gaze. “I would give my life for her,” he said quietly. And, in that
moment, fully recognized the truth in his heart.

For a fleeting
second, Edith’s expression softened, then she drew herself up. “Well,” she
said, once more business-like and brisk. “Let us hope it doesn’t come to that.
Especially as it seems you will be of more use to Annetta in this world than
the next.”

Despite feeling
as if he’d just taken a blow to the head from a battering ram, Hugh found
himself smiling. “In that case, Madam, I shall count on your prayers to keep me
here,” he said, and bowed himself out of her presence.

*         
*          *

Hugh let his
horse choose its own pace back to Worcester while he grappled with the
maelstrom of need, desire and yearning that was battering him. He had never
suspected that acknowledging any feelings for a woman would result in such
chaos. After all, it wasn’t as if he had shut all emotion out of his life. He
just hadn’t considered that anything more than mild liking and a modicum of
physical attraction was necessary when it came to a wife.

Now he knew that
Annith was as necessary to him as life itself. And this need, this longing to
be with her, this yearning to have her love him as he loved her, was so much
more than desire it shook him to his soul.

And he was
worried. For the first time in his life he was unsure of his next step. His
talk with the Prioress had clarified much, but the reason for Annith’s flight
still lay shrouded in darkness. He had skimmed over the reason with Martin
earlier, but even then he’d known it must be dire. Nothing less would have
driven her to such an extreme. How, then, could he do anything to jolt her
memory, when there was a dreadful possibility that whatever had happened to her
might prevent her from loving any man?