Chapter 18 #2
‘When they stripped his body they found he had woman’s parts.
My nurse said he was transformed at death because he was so holy: a true bride of Christ. For months afterwards, I prayed to God to do the same to me.
I thought if it was so easy to change, then surely I could do it too?
It never worked, of course,’ Agnes added with a huff.
‘A few years later I realised that he must have been born with woman’s parts and simply hidden them all that time.
But he was called a man, and used a man’s name, and lived amongst men and so did that not make him a man?
And he was a monk, so it is not as if whichever parts he had were ever needed to him. ’
She stuttered off, face flushing. Her true confession – the endless nights of prayer to be something else, something different – had been buried beneath the flood of words.
Ash was staring at her. ‘You prayed to be changed?’
‘I did.’
‘Into … into what?’
‘Into a boy. Or at least, into something other than a woman.’
More staring. ‘I cannot even claim that I understand …’ Ash said. ‘You … you are a woman. At least …’ he gestured, with an embarrassed expression, at her body ‘… you appear to be?’
‘And you appear to be a bastard,’ Agnes countered, without malice. ‘Yet inside …’ she reached out before she could stop herself, pressing her fingers to his chest ‘… you are not. You are a good man.’
Ash shook his head, but did not push her hand away. ‘It is hardly the same.’
‘Very well,’ Agnes countered. ‘What of you and Oliver? When people see you they see a man soon to be married to a … a woman.’ She had to hide a shudder, but forced herself on.
‘They see a man who loves women, and only women. They do not see a man who is in love with another man. They do not even think it possible, and if they did, they would call it … degenerate. Sinful.’
‘That is true enough,’ Ash said. ‘But I still do not understand. How does it feel?’
The question startled her. ‘How does what feel?’ she repeated, feeling foolish.
‘You were so distressed. How does it feel?’
‘Like my skin does not fit,’ Agnes said, after a pause.
‘Like I can feel every place my clothes touch my body, and every place my body touches itself. Like there are weights on me, all over me, pressing me. I look down and see myself – see my breasts – and it is like I am looking at someone else’s body.
’ She thought again, looking for words he would understand.
‘Have you ever been given a horse to ride that you are not used to? Or fought with a sword that is not your own? It may be a perfectly fine horse or a well-crafted blade, but beneath you or in your hands it feels … incorrect. In a way you cannot describe.’
‘I see,’ Ash said slowly. ‘Do you … often feel that way?’ he asked cautiously. ‘Is it always?’
‘Not always,’ Agnes said. ‘Sometimes I don’t feel it at all. But sometimes it is worse.’
He appeared to be mulling over his words again. Agnes knew how this would end: shock and horror and disgust. Shouting, like she had heard from her parents when she’d tried to explain it in her broken child’s words so long ago.
It was her biggest secret – the one that was the core of her, yet the one she understood least of all. And now Ash knew.
‘Thank you.’
‘What?’
‘For telling me. Frankly’ – Ash gave a low laugh – ‘I am relieved that it is not that you dread marrying me. I am—’ He stopped, peering down at the floor. ‘I am fond of you,’ he finished. ‘And I do not wish to lose you.’
Agnes gave him a small smile. It was so little, as far as confessions went, but it made her heart ache regardless.
‘And I am fond of you, too,’ she said. ‘I have chosen well, no matter what my family believe.’
‘Does anyone else know?’
Agnes picked at her hands. ‘Only Sara. Nicholas knew my manner of dress, and he never attempted to stop me. He was so unwell that I don’t think he truly understood.
He was just happy I was there. And my family …
’ She twisted her hands together. ‘They knew of my … predilections towards men’s clothes, as I said.
Once I was older, they attempted to put a stop to it. And …’
She could smell the grass again, the cloying scent of summer. The way it itched against the backs of her legs. Francis’s voice, his hands on her wrists, the dreadful expression on his face. Her father shouting afterwards, blaming himself, blaming her, having her rooms searched.
‘There was some unpleasantness,’ she said. ‘When they realised they had been unsuccessful in those attempts. Francis—’
She stopped herself. Ash was carefully watching her, saying nothing. She needed to tell him. Not for him, but for her, so it would be out of her head at last.
‘Francis found me. He was disgusted. He threatened to tell my parents. I begged him not to, and he said he wouldn’t if I, if—’ She took a deep breath.
‘If I granted him certain favours.’ She tried to load the word with as much hatred as she could.
‘At that time we thought he was to be my husband. He said it would not matter.’
Ash made a sharp noise. She looked across at him. His expression was dark.
‘I refused,’ Agnes said. ‘I hated him even then. He pushed. I refused again. He insulted me and told me he would ruin my name.’
‘What did you do?’
Agnes smirked. ‘I kicked him in the bollocks and ran,’ she said. ‘But true to his word, he told my parents. They were furious. It was why they insisted on Sara: they hoped with someone chaperoning my every movement I would be forced to stop.’ She sniffed. ‘They were wrong, of course.’
Ash looked down. He reached out – hesitated, corrected himself, and took her hand.
‘It is hard being alone,’ he said quietly.
She squeezed him back. ‘It is.’
They sat in silence for a moment. Ash seemed to be thinking. ‘Shall we take a walk?’ he said at last.
‘I— What?’
‘A walk of the grounds? I find the fresh air helps when I am feeling less than myself. When I feel unwell in my mind, rather than my body.’
‘Oh.’ Ash was offering a part of himself to her. His own private battle. ‘That sounds like a fine idea.’
‘Come, then—’
‘Wait.’
Ash turned. ‘What is it?’
‘I will need to change …’
Ash looked her up and down. ‘Do you wish to? I thought … if you feel so unsettled … ?’
‘People will talk.’
Ash stuck his chin in the air. ‘I am the earl,’ he said. ‘Let them.’
They headed from her chambers and into the hall. Agnes was not shocked to notice Oliver seated alone at the great table, apparently deep into a game of dice against himself. He looked up when they entered, then quickly rose to his feet and hurried over.
‘Are you all right? Ash told me—’
Agnes immediately twisted to look at Ash, who looked abashed. ‘Uh …’
‘Oh, do not glare at him. He told me you had been taken unwell; that was all. Are you all right?’
Agnes took a breath. ‘As I can be,’ she said, settling on the half-truth.
‘We are heading out,’ Ash said. ‘To take in the air. We will see you later, Olly.’
‘Wait—’ Both men turned to look at her. ‘You can join us, if you would like.’
‘Really?’
‘I would not have asked if I did not want you to.’
Oliver looked between her and Ash, disbelieving. ‘Oh, well,’ he said, his confusion melding into a smile. ‘I would be delighted.’
‘We could walk down to the river while it’s still warm,’ Ash mused. ‘Raff tells me we will have storms soon.’
‘Perfect.’ Agnes smiled. ‘Lead the way.’
They fetched the dogs, then took a longer route through the fields as the animals bounded along ahead. They had barely made it past the edge of Dunlyn’s land when they came across another party: hunters, led by an older man on a fine, tall horse.
It was too late to hope they hadn’t been seen – the rider had already spotted Ash.
‘Barden!’ the man called, striding away from his men towards them. ‘How are you? I’ve not seen you since your father’s—’ His smile became forced and frozen. ‘It has been an age, truly. How are you? I hear you are to be married?’
Agnes could tell that Ash was trying not to look at her.
‘You have heard right, Lord Justin,’ he said. ‘On the morrow, in fact!’
‘Wonderful to hear it!’ Justin said. ‘What of your new wife? What is she like?’
‘She is …’ Ash swallowed. ‘She is extremely tolerant of what an ass I am.’
Justin guffawed. ‘An extremely good characteristic to have.’ He laughed. ‘And what else? How does she look, boy? Is she beautiful? Is she’ – he raised his eyebrows – ‘naturally gifted?’
Beside Agnes, Oliver snorted. Agnes clamped her lip beneath her teeth, but it was not enough to stifle her laughter. At the noise, Justin turned.
‘And who is this? I do not believe we’ve met!’
Ash visibly relaxed.
‘This is Oliver,’ he said. ‘A friend of mine, and new to the keep. And this is Agn—’
Shit. Agnes gave a short, sharp cough.
‘—Nus,’ he finished, fumbling. ‘Angus. He … is one of my wife’s, ah, cousins. A hunter.’
‘Is that so?’ Justin turned. Agnes gave him a sharp smile.
‘Indeed it is. I am very grateful that my cousin’ – Agnes caught Ash’s eye, then looked quickly away – ‘has allowed me to stay with her. I was keen to extend my skills beyond the border.’
‘The game here is truly very good,’ Justin commented. ‘Have you been on any hunting parties yet?’
‘Not yet, sir.’
‘Ah well, there’s time yet. After the festivities are over you must join me – all of you.’
Justin swiftly drew Ash into more conversation before they were allowed to move on. Ash directed them in the opposite direction to Justin’s party, heading back towards the trees in the bowl of the valley.
‘You handled that impeccably,’ Agnes said, grinning, as they headed towards the treeline.
‘It does not feel that way.’ Ash sighed. ‘My God. Angus? What was I thinking?’
‘I think it’s a fine name for a dowager.’ Oliver grinned.
‘Do not call me a dowager,’ Agnes snapped. ‘It makes me feel like an old woman. It is a good name. Although maybe not the one I’d have picked for myself …’