Читать книгу Forbidden Lady - Anne Herries - Страница 7

‘I do not think it wise for you to make the journey alone,’ Owain Davies said. ‘There are many lawless bands roaming the country, my lady, and they would not hesitate to take you prisoner and hold you to ransom. I do not think that Lord Whitbread would be pleased if that happened—do you?’

‘He would be very angry,’ the lady Melissa of Whitbread said. ‘But it will not happen if you are with us, Owain. I must get to the Abbey, because I may never have another chance. You know that I have been kept almost a prisoner for the past several months since…’ Her voice broke and she lifted her head, hiding her pain. She didn’t want anyone to guess how she had suffered these past months, not even the man she trusted most. ‘My father is determined that I shall marry a man of his choosing and I would rather die.’

‘That is foolish talk, my lady.’ Owain’s eyes narrowed. He had not been in the castle when Robert of Melford had been sent away and he did not know her true feelings on the matter for she had not confided in him.

‘Foolish or not it is how I feel. I have decided to beg my aunt for sanctuary. If she grants it, I may live at the Abbey in safety and perhaps take the veil.’

‘You should do so only if you have a calling,’ Owain replied, his eyes thoughtful as he looked at her face. He knew that her life had been hard these past years, and sometimes it was as much as he could bear to stand by and watch as she was ill-treated.

‘Are you willing to risk your father’s anger, knowing that he may punish you again?’

‘Yes, because there is no other way. Besides, she is my aunt and the only link to my mother,’ Melissa said, her eyes dark with sorrow for a mother’s love she had never known. ‘I would speak with her, ask her about my mother if she will tell me. She has always refused to talk of her sister, but she may relent this time if she understands how unhappy I have been…’

Her look was so wistful that Owain could not refuse her request, though he knew he ought not to allow this madcap idea. Lord Whitbread’s anger would know no bounds when he returned to find her gone.

‘If you wish it so much, I shall escort you,’ Owain said. ‘But we must return on the morrow. If we are gone no more than a day, it may be that your father will never know.’

Melissa smiled at him. She had known he would help her as never in the years that he had served her had he failed her. He had been the father she lacked, helping her in so many small ways that she had lost count. Yet she felt a little guilty for not having told him the whole truth. It was true that she wanted to ask her aunt about her mother, but it was not the only reason for her flight from Lord Whitbread’s manor.

It was a warm afternoon, but the canopy of ancient trees sheltered the traveller from the fierce heat, the stillness broken only by the heavy pounding of the destrier’s hooves and the sound of a thrush trilling from its secret hiding place. Suddenly, a woman’s screams rent the air; shrill and desperate, they sent a flock of birds winging into the sky, destroying the peace of the forest.

Robert Melford was riding hard, leaving his train lagging behind in his anxiety to reach his home on the borders of England and Wales. He had lately been at the Castle of Angers in France, where he had pledged his father’s affinity to Henry Tudor, Earl Richmond. Descended from the great John of Gaunt and Katherine Swynford, through Margaret Beaufort, Henry Tudor had a slender but legitimate claim to the English throne, and was even now gathering an army. Rob had gone to Richmond’s court with his father’s good wishes, for the wars that had plagued the country for nigh on thirty years were not yet done. The English crown sat uneasily on the head of King Richard III, who had seized it, in the opinion of many, from King Edward IV’s heir by treachery.

Now Rob was returning ahead of Henry Tudor’s army in order to gather support in the lush valleys and lowlands of the Marches. Even as he had prepared to leave Angers, a message had reached him that his father had been struck down with a dread illness and Rob’s haste was not so much on behalf of his promise to Richmond as his fear that he might be too late.

However, despite his impatience to be home, Rob was too much the chivalrous knight to ignore a woman’s cries for help. When he came to the clearing and saw the three ladies being attacked by a band of brigands, his first thought was to aid them. Drawing the trusty sword that he carried slung across his body, always at the ready, Rob rode directly at the brigand attempting to subdue a young woman. She was fighting for all she was worth, struggling against the superior strength of the great brute that had his hands on her, but it was the other two women who were screaming.

Rob leaned down from the saddle of his mighty steed, swinging the heavy sword and delivering a blow that cut deeply into the shoulder of the brigand, sending him staggering away to fall bleeding to the ground. Wheeling about, his destrier snorting with the lust of battle, Rob rode down another of the brutes and sent him flying, trampled beneath his horse’s hooves. Seeing that they were facing a powerful knight, who was trained for war, the other three robbers fled in panic.

Rob laughed in triumph as they disappeared into the forest, dismounted and turned to the woman who had fought so valiantly against her attackers, sweeping her a courtly bow.

‘I hope you are not harmed, lady,’ he said, and turned to her, smiling at her in a way that had charmed many a lady at Angers despite the disfiguring scar that marred one side of his face. Robert Melford was well formed, his shoulders broad, his legs long and powerful. He was also handsome, with his dark hair worn long, and his eyes as blue as the cloudless sky above their heads in this sunlit clearing. However, the humour left his eyes as he stared down into the face of the woman he had sworn to forget. ‘You!’ he exclaimed, his gaze fixed on her like a hungry wolf, ravenous and menacing.

‘Rob…’ Melissa said, the colour draining from her cheeks as she looked at him. His was a strong face with well-defined bones and, despite his stern expression, a soft mouth—but she could see only the terrible scar on his left cheek. ‘I…What happened to your face?’

Rob reached up to stroke the scar. It was no longer a source of terrible agony, though it had given him weeks of sleepless nights. The thick welt of red flesh was unsightly, for it had been crudely sewn and had never quite healed as it ought, though the blow to his head had recovered well and there was only a thin scar beneath his thick hair. Her question made him angry and he could barely restrain himself, his hands clenching at his sides.

‘You dare to ask?’ he said harshly. ‘This was your parting gift to me, lady. Your brother laid my cheek open to the bone to remind me not to look above my station in the matter of a wife.’

‘No…’ Melissa felt the sickness in her throat as she stared at Harold’s work. ‘I knew that my father had told him…but that is so cruel…’ She closed her eyes for the realisation of what he must have suffered had washed over her, making her faint. ‘I feared the worst and wondered if you were dead.…’

Although a wimple covered her head, a few strands of red-gold hair had escaped to curl way wardly about her face. Her complexion was fair, her eyes more green than blue. Rob’s eyes dwelled on her beauty, anger stirring as he understood that she still had the power to move him.

‘As you see, I am not,’ Rob said coldly. ‘I am sorry to disappoint you, lady, but your brother did not finish his work and I live still.’

Melissa opened her eyes and looked at him. ‘You think that I wished for…’ She turned away from him, fighting her tears. She must not give way to weakness. ‘No matter. I am innocent of the sin you would place on me, sir—but I shall not beg for your understanding. You have come to my aid, though perhaps you wish now that you had not?’

‘I have not said it,’ Rob growled. ‘You may be faithless, lady, but your women deserved my help.’ He looked around him. ‘Where are your men? Why has your father allowed you to ride out unprotected in these uncertain times?’ His gaze narrowed. ‘Or does he know that you are here?’

Melissa raised her head proudly. ‘I go to the Abbey to visit my aunt who is Abbess there. She wrote some weeks ago to say that she was unwell…and I took the opportunity to visit her while my father was away.’

‘As I thought,’ Rob said, looking down at her. What was it about her that affected him so? He had every reason to distrust and hate her, and he had made up his mind to put her from his thoughts—but seeing her had brought the pain and anguish of her betrayal rushing back.

She affected him as no other ever had. She was surely the most beautiful woman he had ever seen! He experienced a surge of fierce desire that made him long to sweep her up in his arms and ride off with her. But he fought it, listening to her explanation in silence.

‘My groom accompanied us, but he lies dreadfully wounded a little back there.…’ She pointed in the direction she had come from, which was opposite to that Rob had taken to reach this clearing. ‘I believe he may well be dead.’ Alittle sob escaped her. ‘Owain was loyal and kind and I will blame myself for his death…as you say, I ought not to have come without men-at-arms to guard me. It will be my fault if he dies because he was against this journey.’

‘Your will prevailed as always,’ Rob said scornfully as the memory of her scorn stilled the surging desire. She was false and not to be trusted, so even if his body still burned for her, his mind rejected all that she was. ‘Show me where you left the man…we should go and see whether his wound is fatal. You have been foolish and wilful, lady, and we must hope that the loss of your serf is the worst that befalls you.’

‘Owain is not a serf,’ Melissa said, and her eyes flashed with fire as she was aware of his scorn. ‘He is his own man but chooses to give his affinity to me.’

Rob knew that he was right to distrust her, for plainly she was as haughty and proud as she was beautiful. ‘To you, lady?’ he asked, raising his brows. ‘It is more usual for a man to offer his affinity to a nobleman for his good lordship.’

‘Owain was my mother’s kinsman,’ Melissa said. ‘When she died in childbed, he gave his loyalty to me. He asks for nothing more than a roof over his head and the food he eats.’

‘And wears your father’s livery no doubt?’ Rob said, mocking her in the hope of some reaction. She did not fail him, her eyes sparking as she raised a hand to strike him a blow. He was too quick for her, seizing her wrist and holding it in an iron grip. Against the fairness of her skin, his was dark toned and bronzed by the sun of France.

‘Let me go, you devil!’ Melissa blazed at him, feeling angry now. He hated her for what had been done to him, and perhaps he had the right—but his scorn pricked her and her anxiety for Owain had brought her close to tears.

‘Let you go?’ Rob asked, wild thoughts of revenge in his mind. He could take her now, ride off with her to his home and teach her what it felt like to know despair, and yet her beauty moved him and he smiled oddly. ‘No, no, lady, let us not come to blows. I shall take you up with me since your horse has been lost. If your ladies wait here my men will arrive at any moment and they may follow us to the Abbey, bringing your horses if they can be found nearby. If your faithful kinsman still lives we shall take him there for the monks to nurse. If he is slain my men will bury him and a candle shall be lit in the house of our Lord and the priest paid to say a mass for his soul.’

‘You are kind, sir,’ Melissa said, her manner proud and reserved, for she had seen the mockery in his eyes. ‘I do not know why, because you have been served ill by my family.’

‘The cruellest blow of all was yours, Melissa,’ he told her. ‘Yet I shall not take foul advantage for it would not set well with my honour.’

Melissa stared at him for a moment and the look in her eyes gave him pause for thought. It was almost as if she were accusing him of something, though he could not imagine what—she was the one who had betrayed him.

‘I will help you because my father was once, long ago, your father’s friend,’ Rob said. As young men, Rob’s father had pledged his affinity to Lord Whitbread, as many did to the most powerful lord in their district. But they had quarrelled years ago, and of late the divide had grown wider because they were now on opposite sides.

After King Edward died and the throne fell to Richard, Duke of Gloucester, Sir Oswald Melford had changed his allegiance to another powerful lord. The rumours that King Richard III had ordered the murders of King Edward’s sons in the Tower of London had caused Sir Oswald, like many more freemen of England, to become disaffected. Lord Whitbread remained loyal to King Richard, but Sir Oswald had sent his son to the Earl of Richmond.

‘Why does my father hate yours?’ Melissa asked. ‘What is between them that…’ she choked back the words and shook her head. If she once faltered, if she gave way to the emotions swirling inside her she would weep—but she must not.

‘An old quarrel, I do not know. We waste time, lady,’ Rob said, a note of impatience in his voice. ‘Come, I am in a hurry. I must return home in all haste for my father is ill, but I shall see you safe to the Abbey before I continue my journey.’

Without more ado, he brought his horse forward, swept her up upon its back and leaped up behind her. Even as the great horse began to move ahead, his retainers were pouring into the sunlit clearing.

‘Follow to the Abbey and bring the women with you,’ Rob cried to his squire and urged his mount into the forest. He turned his attention back to the lady he was holding lightly against his chest, clamping down on his senses though her perfume was a bittersweet memory that hurt him still. ‘How far did you travel after your kinsman was struck down?’

‘It cannot be far for they pursued us and soon fell upon us,’ Melissa said as they moved on to the track that wound between the trees. After a few moments she pointed to a figure that lay sprawled upon the ground just ahead of them. ‘See! There lies my faithful Owain…’ As Rob drew his horse to a standstill once more, she slipped from its back without assistance and ran to where her servant lay. A little cry escaped her as she saw that his eyelids fluttered when she touched him. ‘I think he lives. The saints be praised, he is not dead!’

Rob dismounted and went to her side. He saw at once that although the man had received a blow to his head that ought by rights to have slain him, he clung stubbornly to life. Turning him over to look at his face, Rob knew at once that this was the man who had saved him and carried him back to his home, departing the next day before he was well enough to thank him.

‘This man is your kinsman?’

‘Yes, his name is Owain Davies.’

‘I am glad to tell you that God has seen fit to spare him, lady,’ Rob said, bending down to examine the wound. ‘He lives yet, though for how long I know not. We shall carry him with us to the Abbey.’ He was glad that he had not given way to his baser nature because this man needed his help, and he owed him his life.

Some of his men had followed hard upon their heels and he summoned them to his side, giving orders that a sling was to be fashioned so that the man might be carried between two of the baggage horses—just as Owain had carried him home that night. He stood up, taking hold of Melissa’s arm, tearing her from her weeping examination of her faithful kinsman. For some reason her tears made him angry. She wept for Owain Davies, but she had cried none for him!

‘Come, lady. I have no time for this. I must see you to the Abbey and be on my way.’

Melissa looked at him. ‘I owe you my life and that of my ladies,’ she admitted. ‘Since you are in haste to be on your way, I must not detain you. Perhaps if you were to give us horses and the escort of three of your men it would suffice?’ She felt that she could hardly bear to be near him and know that he despised and hated her.

‘Perhaps,’ Rob said. It would be convenient for he was impatient to continue his journey, and yet something held him. He knew he could not rest easy in his mind if he abandoned her to his men. ‘But it is not my way to desert a lady in trouble. I shall see you safe to the Abbey for those robbers are not the only danger a lady of your standing might face. You were foolish to venture out without at least ten of Lord Whitbread’s men to protect you.’

‘We do not live in the days of poor mad King Henry,’ Melissa said, becoming proud and haughty once more, though she knew he spoke truly. ‘My father has told me that the kingdom was indeed lawless in those days, but it is not thus now.’

If she believed that then she was indeed a fool! King Edward had managed to subdue some of the lawless nobles for a while but they had too much power and would never be brought into line while they were allowed to continue the custom of livery and all that that implied. Many of the earls and barons had set up a court to rival that of the King himself with hundreds of followers through various affinities, and were likely to take the law into their own hands. Only strong rule would break their power, which had grown so strong during King Henry VI’s reign.

Rob was tempted to tell her that England was once more on the brink of war. Yet it was best to keep a still tongue whilst nothing was absolutely certain. Henry Tudor had promised to bring an army to these shores soon, but until he actually arrived it might be unwise to speak of these things—especially to the daughter of a man who was the King’s stalwart and his enemy.

‘I shall not argue with you, lady. Come, your kinsman is being attended. We shall ride on.’ He held out his hand to her, his manner imperious, brooking no refusal.

For a moment she hesitated, but then gave him her hand and once again he threw her up on the great warhorse. She said nothing as he mounted behind her, though he felt her body stiffen when he put his arms about her.

‘You have no need to fear me, lady,’ he whispered, as her warmth and the delicious scent of her roused forbidden feelings in his loins. ‘I swear by all that I hold sacrosanct that I shall not harm you. There may come a time when I shall take revenge on you and yours—but it is not yet. I do not prey on vulnerable women.’

‘I do not fear you,’ she replied, and yet she knew it was a lie. To be with him like this would bring back the sleepless nights and the terrible pain she had endured for months.

‘I have always admired your courage,’ he said.

Melissa relaxed slightly against the hardness of his chest. For this little time, she would let herself believe that the bad things that stood between them had never been. She would let herself remember a young man who smiled at her with love in his eyes and the sweetness of his kisses. For a few short weeks, while her father was absent from the castle, they had met in secret, wandering through the woods hand in hand or riding together on his horse as now. Once he had taken her to a fair, buying her sweetmeats and ribbons from the peddlers…so few memories, but each one precious. If only her father had not forbidden the marriage…if only she had run away with him before it was too late! She held back the sob, which rose to her lips, because she must not give way to the overwhelming longing, the desire to tell Rob the truth…but would he even care or believe her? After seeing scorn and anger in his eyes, she thought that it would only shame her to confess her love.

They rode in silence for some time, covering a distance of no more than five leagues when the forbidding shadow of the great Abbey fell across their path. It was a thirteenth-century building with arches, narrow windows, little bigger than arrow slits, and a massive undercroft, built to house both monks and nuns in separate quarters. At the huge gates of iron-studded oak, Rob dismounted and lifted Melissa down, placing her gently on her feet before turning to tug at the rope, which rang the bell above the arch.

Moments later, a nun came to answer the summons, and looked out through a little peephole in the gate. Melissa gave her name and the nun recognised it, beginning to draw back the huge bolts that kept the gate secure to admit her.

‘I must leave you now.’ Rob made his bow to Melissa. His expression was cold and hard, his manner reserved. ‘If I were you, lady. I should send word to your home. It would be folly to attempt the return without an escort.’

‘Yes, perhaps…’ Melissa raised her head, then, her expression a little hesitant. ‘Thank you, sir. You have done more than I could have expected.’

‘I did what any decent man would do for any lady in distress, no more and no less.’

Melissa inclined her head, regretting the coldness between them. Once he had smiled at her, his bold eyes challenging her but with warmth…with love. He had loved her once, she knew, but she had killed his love—and her brother had humbled his pride, making him cold and bitter. How could she expect more from him? She raised her eyes to his, her own pride making her seem haughty, though inside she was weeping for what had been lost and would not come again.

Rob left her as she was admitted to the Abbey, remounting and riding on even as his men brought in her kinsman. He had wasted precious hours and must ride all the harder if he were to reach his home in time.

Melissa lingered a moment to watch the knight ride away. She knew that he had saved her from a fate worse than death for the men who had attacked her would hardly have been satisfied to take her purse. Yet to leave secretly, without an escort, had been her only chance of escaping her father’s tyranny.

Lord Whitbread had been visiting someone of importance and she had been informed that he might bring a guest with him when he came home. She knew that he was thinking of finding a husband for her and she believed that his guest might be the man he was considering giving her to in marriage.

However, the letter from her aunt telling her that she was unwell had made up her mind. She had seized it as her excuse and taken the chance to escape the domination of her father.

Lord Whitbread had never been kind to his daughter. Melissa’s mother had died in childbed and for some reason Lord Whitbread had chosen never to marry again. He had acknowledged Harold his bastard son as his heir. Harold might be a great brute of a man, coarse and strong with the manners of an oaf, but he was clever in his own way and had found favour with his father.

Melissa did not know why her half brother should be so favoured by their father, while she, his legitimate child, was scorned. She knew that he hated her and she feared him, though his habit of cuffing her about the head had ceased since her fifteenth birthday. He had suddenly realised that she was a beautiful young woman, and that her beauty might be an asset. In the time since then Melissa had lived in dread of the marriage he would make for her. She knew that he would not take her feelings into account and that she would be sold for position or power.

Sometimes she wished that she was not an heiress, for then she might have been allowed to live in obscurity and peace. However, her mother’s father had been the Earl of Somersham and his lands had been left in trust for her when he died earlier that year because he had no other heir. Melissa had begged to be allowed to retire to her lands, but her father had refused her. Until she married she was under his domain, and he meant to use her beauty and wealth to his advantage.

Melissa was sure that had he been able to snatch her lands from her—her father would have done so without compunction. However, the earl had made King Richard the steward of her fortune, and her death would have brought no gain to her father with the estate then becoming the property of the Crown. Even now, her father would have to gain the consent of the King to her marriage. Melissa was praying that if her aunt recovered her health, which she prayed she would, she might petition His Majesty to allow her to retire to the Abbey. She was recalled to the present, as she became aware that the nun was speaking.

‘It is good that you have come, my lady,’ the nun was saying. ‘Mother Abbess has asked for you many times.’

‘I would have come before if I could,’ Melissa said, and glanced at the men who were bringing Owain in. ‘But we were attacked and my kinsman has been injured. Will you tend him, sister? Forgive me, I do not know your name?’

‘I am Sister Cecile,’ the nun told her. ‘The monks will tend to your servant as in this order we are not allowed to care for men, only women, unless given special dispensation by the Bishop—but your kinsman may be admitted and taken to the infirmary. However, the rest of your men must stay outside the gates.’

‘They are the men of…a gallant knight who came to my rescue,’ Melissa said. ‘They will depart once they have done their duty—but I do not intend to leave just yet. How is the Abbess? It is some weeks since I had her letter, but I was not able to make the journey here until now.’

‘A little better this morning,’ Sister Cecile told her with a smile. She waited until Melissa’s women and the men carrying the injured Owain were inside the gates before addressing them. ‘You must take him to the infirmary and leave by that gate. The monks will attend you, good sirs.’

Rob’s men inclined their heads and went off in the direction of the outbuilding she had indicated. Cecile led the way towards the building used by the nuns. A high wall and another heavy gate separated the living quarters of the nuns and the monks, though the chapel was used by both for worship.

‘I thank God that He has spared her,’ Melissa said as Sister Cecile led the way. ‘I feared that I might be too late as she said that she had been gravely ill.’

‘Indeed, when you were sent for we thought she might not last the night,’ Sister Cecile said. ‘But come, lady. I shall take you to her quarters. Your women will be cared for by my sisters and you may see them later.’

Melissa turned to her women, telling them that she would see them in a little while, and then followed Sister Cecile inside the living quarters provided for the Sisters of Mercy. Although it was a warm day in June, Melissa shivered as she went inside the stone building. It had only tiny windows and the sun was shut out by the thickness of the walls. Even wearing her cloak over her silk tunic and surcote, she still felt chilled. Glancing at Sister Cecile, she saw that the nun did not seem to notice the cold, and realised that she was accustomed to the discomfort.

For a moment Melissa was discouraged. Did she truly wish to devote her life to God? Once she had thought that happiness, love and children were her future—but now she knew that all that was at an end. Melissa realised that she had secretly hoped to meet Rob again and that he would declare his love for her and beg her to ride off with him—and she would have gone. His coldness, the scorn in his eyes combined to tell her that he no longer loved her. It was foolish to dream though, because even if he had spirited her away, Lord Whitbread would have taken retribution. Melissa could not live with so many deaths on her conscience, knowing that it had been no idle threat.

The nun had stopped outside a closed door. She knocked and waited for a moment, then looked inside. Putting a finger to her lips, she beckoned Melissa to enter.

‘Are you sleeping, Mother?’ she said softly.

The Abbess opened her eyes, looking at Sister Cecile for a moment and then her gaze transferred to Melissa. Her lips moved and her hands fluttered as if she were in some distress.

‘Melissa, my child,’ she said. ‘I was not sure that your father would let you come.’

‘I could not stay away from you when I knew you were ill,’ Melissa said. ‘My dearest aunt. I have seen you all too seldom these past years, but you are often in my thoughts.’

‘My child…’ The Abbess held out her hand as Melissa approached. ‘I do not know how long I may be spared to this life and I wished to see you once more before I die.’

‘Please do not speak of dying, Aunt.’

‘If my time has come I must accept it,’ the Abbess said. ‘When I entered this place I put away worldly things, but I have loved you from afar, Melissa. I wished to tell you something…’ She glanced at the nun still standing near the door. ‘Thank you, Sister Cecile. You may leave us.’

‘Yes, Mother. You will ring when I am needed?’

‘Of course.’ The Abbess waited until the door closed behind Cecile and then reached beneath her pillow, taking out a paper sealed with wax. She put it into Melissa’s hands. ‘No, do not read it yet, child. It tells you a secret that I vowed never to reveal in life. When I am gone you may read it and take what action you will, but until then promise me that you will abide by my wishes in this matter.’

‘Yes, dearest aunt,’ Melissa said, taking the letter and placing it in the leather pouch that she wore attached to a braided belt at her waist. ‘I shall remember and respect your wish.’

‘I promised that I would never reveal the secret,’ the Abbess said, and her eyes held an expression of distress. ‘But I have feared for you, Melissa. I know…’ She drew in a sucking breath. ‘I must not reveal what I know while I live for I gave my sacred promise. Yet I would not have you at the mercy of that…’ She shook her head and fell back against the pillows, closing her eyes.

‘Aunt!’ Melissa cried, frightened that it was her aunt’s last moment, but after a few seconds the Abbess opened her eyes once more. ‘I love you, Aunt Beatrice.’

‘I am Mother Abbess,’ her aunt reminded her gently. ‘I am not allowed to care for you as I would wish—but I think God will forgive my final sin.’

Melissa looked at her, feeling bewildered and uncertain. If her aunt had guarded her secret for so long it must be important—and yet it seemed to concern her.

‘Is there something I may fetch for you?’ she asked. ‘Some water perhaps?’

‘Sister Cecile will return soon,’ the Abbess said. ‘She will give me my medicine which needs to be measured carefully. Though it heals, it also kills, as do many of the herbs we use in our cures. You have travelled a long way and should rest. Leave me now and we shall meet again tomorrow.’

‘I wish that I could do something for you,’ Melissa said, her throat catching with emotion. ‘But I shall leave you to rest, dearest aunt.’ She turned away from the bed. As she opened the door, she discovered Sister Cecile about to knock. ‘I believe that Mother Abbess wishes to rest,’ she said. ‘Perhaps you would show me to my cell and then return to her?’

‘Yes, of course,’ Sister Cecile said, glancing past her at her superior. ‘She seems to be resting now. I shall return and tend her later.’

Melissa nodded, following the nun from the room. She had not mentioned her mother, nor yet her wish to remain at the Abbey, to her aunt, and she was not sure why. Perhaps she had not wished to distress the sick woman at such a time, and yet she knew that she must do so unless she wished to return to her father’s house. Only the sanctuary of the Abbey could save her from the fate he was planning for her.

Reaching his home, Rob lost no time in entering the house. David, his father’s faithful steward, a man of advanced years, grey in his beard but honest and generous of nature, came hurriedly to greet him and the look in his eyes told him that he was too late.

‘My father?’

‘He died two days ago, Rob,’ David said. ‘Forgive me. I would have sent for you sooner, but he would have it that nothing was wrong.’

Rob felt an overwhelming surge of grief. ‘I should have been here! I should have been with him!’

‘He bid me give you his blessing,’ David said. ‘He told me that he was proud of you because he knew that you would choose the right path in life—and he asked your pardon.’

‘My pardon—for what?’

David’s eyes went to the scar on his face. ‘He blamed himself for what was done to you, because of the quarrel between him and Lord Whitbread.’

‘I have told him that it was none of his doing,’ Rob said. ‘What kind of a man would do this over a piece of land?’

‘I do not believe it was just the land,’ David said. ‘It began long ago, when they were both young…’

Rob frowned, his gaze narrowing. ‘What is this? I have heard nothing of it before. I believed it was that woodland Whitbread coveted?’

‘That came later,’ David said. ‘Do not ask me to tell you what was the source of their anger because I do not know but I believe it may have been a woman.’

‘My mother?’

David shook his head. ‘I can tell you no more. Will you go up and see your father now, Rob? Megan has cared for him, but we waited to bury him until you returned.’

‘You did as you ought,’ Rob said. ‘I shall go up to him now.’

He was thoughtful as he walked up the stairs. What was this quarrel that had led to such hatred between his father and Lord Whitbread? If his father had lived he might have told him. Rob had been young and foolish when he fell in love with the beautiful girl he had seen walking in the meadows by her home. For some weeks he had gone every day to meet her, and their courtship had been sweet—but he had been blinded by his passion and her beauty, for Melissa was obviously as cold and proud as her father.

He would put her from his mind…but what of his heart?

This was no time to be thinking of such things! Rob was angry at himself. He must keep a vigil by his father this night and in the morning Sir Oswald would be laid to rest with all the honour due to the honest, decent man he had been.

Melissa was thoughtful as she walked in the Abbey gardens that evening before it grew dark. It was peaceful here, with the birds singing from the branches of ancient apple trees and a scent of lavender on the air. She had requested another interview with her aunt, but had been told that the Abbess was sleeping.

Would she be content to spend her life here? Melissa wondered. It had been her intention to ask for a dispensation when she left her home that morning, but now she was uncertain. She did not wish to admit it but she had not been able to forget the sweet feeling that had swept through her as she rode through the forest with Robert of Melford’s arms about her. But that was foolish because he hated her! He had loved her once, but she had sent him away and her half brother had done terrible things to him. He must hate her very name!

She was a fool to think of him, but he would not be dismissed from her thoughts. She could not help wondering what he was doing now, and if he had been in time to see his father alive.

A hand shaking her shoulder awakened Melissa. She was deep in sleep, dreaming of a time when she had been happy, walking barefoot in a meadow, and she awoke with a smile on her lips, but the smile left her swiftly as she saw her serving woman’s expression.

‘What is it, Rhona?’

‘Sister Cecile told me to wake you,’ Rhona said. ‘She fears that your aunt has taken a turn for the worse and asks that you join her immediately. The priest has given her the last rites.’

Melissa needed no further bidding as she sprang up from her pallet. Her serving woman had her cloak waiting, slipping it about her shoulders over her flimsy shift. Melissa slid her feet into leather shoes and tossed her hair back from her face. It had tangled as she slept but there was no time to dress it. Her heart was thudding as she left the small cell where she had spent the past few hours in repose, knowing that the nun would not have sent for her if it were not urgent.

She prayed silently that her aunt would be spared as she hurried down the cold and narrow passage, which was only dimly lit by a torch at the far end. By the time she reached her aunt’s chamber, she was shivering, the fear striking deep into her heart. She hesitated outside the door for a moment, and then went in. Tallow candles were burning in their sconces, the smell pungent and adding to the unpleasant odour in the room. Melissa realised that her aunt must have been sick, and she saw Sister Cecile wiping vomit and blood from the lips of the Abbess.

‘Dearest Aunt Beatrice,’ Melissa said, going to her side. The stricken woman held out her hand and she grasped it, but she could see the colour fading from her aunt’s face. ‘God give you peace.…’

‘May God bless and keep you, child,’ the Abbess whispered, and then gave a little cry, her head falling back against the pillows. Her eyes were open and staring, and Sister Cecile closed them, making the sign of the cross on her forehead.

Melissa felt the tears welling inside her as she came forward and bent to kiss her aunt’s cheek. The stench of the vomit was vile and made her gasp and draw back swiftly.

‘What made her be sick like that?’ she asked the nun. ‘Has she done so before?’

‘No, my lady, she has not,’ Cecile said, and looked upset. ‘I had thought she was rallying before you arrived—but this came upon her suddenly. It is not natural…’

‘What do you mean?’ Melissa was startled. ‘Do you suspect…’ She lowered her voice to a hushed whisper. ‘It is not poison?’

‘I do not know,’ the nun said. ‘I say only that I think the manner of her death suspicious.’

‘But who would do such a thing and how?’ Melissa saw the nun’s look and shook her head. ‘You do not suspect me? I swear before God that I did no such thing. I loved her and wished her to live.’

‘I know that you loved her,’ Sister Cecile said. ‘She has spoken of you with fondness and I hold you blameless in this—but your women and you are the only strangers in our midst at this time. No one else has been admitted—and none of the sisters would harm one hair of Mother Abbess’s head for we all love her dearly.’

‘You think that one of my women…’ Melissa shook her head. ‘You must be wrong. Both Rhona and Agnes have served me faithfully all my life. Why would either of them betray me by taking her life? They knew that I hoped…’ Melissa sighed as she realised that she could not stay here now. She had hoped that the Abbess would petition for her inheritance to be released so that she might offer at least a part of it to the Abbey in return for sanctuary. She shook her head, because the idea no longer appealed now that her aunt was dead. ‘I do not believe that either of them would have done anything so wicked.’

‘Well, perhaps it was not poison,’ Sister Cecile said, clearly uncertain. ‘I must write a letter to the Bishop and he will send a brother versed in these things to investigate. I shall not lay the blame at your door whatever his decision—but do not trust Agnes.’

‘Why do you suspect her?’ Melissa asked, her fine brows raised.

‘I found her coming from Mother Abbess’s room not an hour ago. When I asked her why she was not in the cell she had been given, she said that she had gone out to the privy and lost her way—but that would be hard to do unless she is blind or a fool.’

‘Agnes is neither,’ Melissa said. ‘Say nothing of this to anyone but the Bishop and his representative when he comes. I shall watch Agnes and if she betrays herself in any way I shall send word to the Bishop myself.’

‘Then we are in agreement,’ the nun said. ‘I do not wish to distress my sisters at this time. Perhaps I am wrong to suspect foul play.’ She was thoughtful, then said, ‘May I ask why the Abbess wished to speak to you in private? Did it concern matters here?’

‘No, it was merely a family matter,’ Melissa said. ‘I am sure that it had nothing to do with her death.’ And yet the letter she had given Melissa contained a secret that she had not wanted to reveal until after she was dead.

‘Very well,’ Cecile said. ‘Her body will be displayed in the chapel once I have made her clean and sweet. You may pay your respects to her in the morning before you leave.’

‘May I not stay until she is buried?’

‘You are not one of us. Unless you need nursing—or receive a dispensation from Mother Abbess or the Bishop—you may not stay here more than one night. I am sorry but I did not make the rules, though I must abide by them.’

‘Yes, I understand,’ Melissa said. She had hoped that her aunt would grant that dispensation, but it was too late.

‘What of my kinsman Owain?’

‘The monks care for him,’ the nun said. ‘I will inquire in the morning how he does—but if you wish to remain nearby you must find lodgings. I believe there is a decent hostel in the village of Melford, which is some five leagues distant.’

‘I thank you for your kindness—and your devotion to my aunt,’ Melissa said. ‘We shall leave you in the morning.’

‘Yes, you must go. We need to grieve for Mother,’ Cecile said, and her eyes were bright with unshed tears. ‘I am sorry that you must leave, but you may not remain at such a time—and I would remind you to be wary of the woman Agnes.’

‘Yes, I shall watch her,’ Melissa promised. ‘I can find my own way back to my cell, thank you.’

Sister Cecile inclined her head. Melissa walked to the door. There she glanced back and saw the nun on her knees beside the bed, her head bent in prayer. Closing the door softly behind her, Melissa was thoughtful as she walked back to her tiny cell. Was it possible that one of her women had administered a poison to the Abbess—and if so, why had she done it? She could hardly believe it was so for why would anyone wish to harm that good woman?

Melissa felt the beginning of a deep anger inside her. If she discovered that Agnes had murdered the Abbess she would make sure that she was justly punished. Yet there remained the mystery of why a woman who had always seemed loyal should do such a thing.

Rhona was waiting for her when Melissa returned to her chamber. She greeted her mistress with an anxious look.

‘You look distressed, my lady,’ she said. ‘Is your aunt no better?’

‘My aunt died,’ Melissa said, a catch in her voice. She was keeping her tears at bay for she needed to be alert. ‘Where is Agnes?’

‘I do not know, my lady. She said that she needed to visit the privy and she has not returned, though it was more than an hour since. Would you wish me to look for her?’

‘No, stay here with me,’ Melissa said. ‘And light one of the wax candles we brought with us. I cannot bear the stench of tallow.’ She did not think she would ever forget the smell of burning tallow mixed with the foul bile that her aunt had vomited. ‘There is something I wish to read.’ Melissa knew that she was fortunate that she had been taught to read, because many women were not. It was not always thought necessary, but in this at least, Lord Whitbread had been generous.

‘As you wish, my lady.’ Rhona took a thick candle from their saddlebag and brought it near, striking tinder. As it flared to life, she lit the candle and set it upon the stool for the only pieces of furniture the cell contained were a stool and the straw pallet. ‘Is there light enough or shall I bring another?’

‘I can see if I kneel on the pallet,’ Melissa said, and took the letter from her pouch, breaking the seal. She read the words her aunt had written, gasping as she realised what they meant. ‘No, it cannot be…’

‘Is something wrong, my lady?’

‘Go to your own bed, Rhona,’ Melissa said. ‘I would be alone.’

As the woman left her, Melissa held the letter closer to the candle, reading it once more. She had thought that she must have imagined its contents, but the words had not changed.

The Abbess had accused Lord Whitbread of murdering his wife!

It is certain that your mother did not die in childbed. I received a letter from her to say that you were born and asking me to be your godmother. I could not give that promise, but as you know I have always taken an interest in you, my dearest child. When I heard that your mother had died I believed it from a fever, for your father wrote that it was so—but some weeks later your mother’s kinswoman, Alanna Davies, came to see me.

She swore to me that her cousin had been well when she was sent on an errand and when she returned she was not allowed to see her. For some days she was barred from Lady Whitbread’s chamber and then she was told that her cousin had died, but she says it is a lie. She heard screaming in the night and she believes that Lord Whitbread killed his wife for she saw him coming from her chamber and there was blood on his clothes.

I made discreet inquiries but nothing could be proved, though I incurred your father’s lifelong hatred for it. I can tell you no more, Melissa, but if you are in danger go to Alanna Davies for she would help you. She resides with Morgan of Hywell and has influential relatives or I doubt not that she too would have met her death.

If you are reading this then I am dead. Know that I have loved you beyond what was permitted me. I have revealed my secret only because I wish you to be aware of Lord Whitbread’s nature. If you should cross him I dare not think what he might do. Live well and kindly, my dear child, and think only that I loved you. Your Aunt Beatrice—Abbess of the Church of Saint Mark and the order of the Sisters of Mercy.

Melissa folded the paper and returned it to her pouch. Her hands were trembling and for some minutes she could only sit and stare at the shadows on the wall. Her father had not been kind to her but she could never have imagined that he could be guilty of the murder of his own wife. It was a wicked crime, yet she could not be certain of his guilt for there was no proof against him. He had sworn that his wife had died of a fever that came upon her after the birth of her child, and Melissa had seen her mother’s tomb in the family crypt.

There was only the word of her mother’s kinswoman to give the lie to his story. Melissa began to pace the confines of her cell, her mind reeling with the horror of what had been revealed to her. She had no doubt that her aunt had believed it true for she had not wished to reveal her secret until after her death.

Had she been threatened with dire consequences if she revealed what she knew? Or was it merely that she had given a promise to someone? Melissa would never be sure. She could not even know whether Alanna Davies had lied to the Abbess, but she was certain of one thing—she did not wish to live beneath her father’s roof again.

Yet where could she go? Melissa raised her head, pride and anger raising her spirit as she realised the truth. There was no one she could turn to for help. She had no alternative but to return to her father’s home, but she would refuse to marry the man he had chosen for her—and she would demand the truth of him!