Chapter Seventeen #3
Emma was not daft. For the sake of her own sanity, she was coming to resign herself to the fact that she and Gavan would never know happiness within each other’s arms. Whitby, in fact, was the perfect opportunity for her to escape her dreams of a man she could never have.
Even now, as she stared at his outstretched gauntlet, silently beckoning her to partake of his strength and comfort, she knew the point of separation had to be emphasized for the sake of her rejected heart.
Turning away, she hadn’t taken two steps when strong hands were suddenly grasping her.
“Riss needs you, Emma,” Gavan said gently, winding his massive arm about her shoulders and turning her in Arissa’s direction. “Be brave, my lady. All is well now.”
Emma looked up into his magnificent face, her confusion and emotions rendering her weak as she caught sight of the rarely-experienced warmth within his eyes.
“She…. she has Richmond,” she said softly. “She does not need me.”
Gavan nodded faintly, his grip on her tightening. “Aye, she needs you, love. Come along and render comfort.”
Love. He called her love. Emma’s heart soared and sank with the joy and agony of it all. Before she could recover from his term of endearment, Gavan had maneuvered her against Arissa and the two ladies burst into a fresh chorus of sobs as their terror found its release.
The mother abbess and Sister Repentia, nursing a substantially bruised abdomen and an aching head, watched the touching scene as long as they dared. The abbess stood next to the green-eyed nun, her piercing eyes riveted to the four people huddled beneath the clouded sky.
“She favors you tremendously,” the abbess said softly.
Sister Repentia nodded. “I was surprised to see for myself, Mother. She’s a beautiful girl.”
Mary Deus continued to watch the tender scene. “The knight holding her is Richmond le Bec, is he not?”
“That is correct. He’s been her guardian for eighteen years.”
The abbess sighed. “’Twill be hard to separate them. From the affection displayed, I suspect their relationship is deeper than mere companionable concern.”
Sister Repentia watched Richmond as he crooned to her daughter, well remembering the bright-eyed young knight entrusted with the royal bastard those years ago.
He was an extremely handsome man who had grown more beautiful with age and as she observed his manner toward Arissa, she surmised the mother abbess to be correct in her assumption.
“Shall I take her?” she asked, her voice small and hesitant.
The abbess shook her head. “Nay, Sister. The lady is my charge and I shall complete the necessary action,” she turned to the other nuns clustered in a fearful group by the abbey’s entrance. “Retreat inside, sisters.”
“But what of the battle on the moors, Mother?” a novice nun wanted to know.
Mary Deus turned her attention southward, listening. “I do not hear the sounds of battle. I suspect Sir Richmond’s men have triumphed,” waving a hand at the gaggle of nuns, she focused on the two knights and two ladies in the near distance. “Inside, sisters. Go about your chores.”
No one dared to argue with the woman who had managed Whitby for nearly twenty years.
Only Sister Repentia remained, her pale green eyes continuing to observe the tender display.
Remembering a love gone by, eighteen years past, she felt a fresh stab of anguish to an old wound as she pondered vague memories of a young man with fair hair, secretly devoted to her.
Not entirely unaware of the tender memories lurking in Sister Repentia’s heart, and knowing the woman’s history as she did, the abbess decided to call a halt to the compassionate spectacle before her.
The sooner the lady and her protector were separated, the better for them all.
The task, she suspected, would be difficult enough as it was.
“Sir Richmond,” the mother abbess addressed him calmly, interrupting their huddle.
“I am Mother Abbess Mary Deus. I thank you for escorting the lady from Lambourn and defending her from those who sought to do her great harm,” she passed a lingering glance at the still form of Tad de Rydal, resisting the urge to shudder with horror.
“When he came to us yesterday, he was weak with his wound and requested assistance. We had no choice but to offer him refuge.”
Richmond raised his head from where it had been buried against Arissa, his face pallid.
“I understand, Your Grace. Certainly you are not to blame for the man’s twisted sense of vengeance against the lady and me,” his gaze lingered on the silky black head, resting against his shoulder.
“And as for your mention of my accompanying the lady north, you will know that I am her protector. It was not only my pleasure, but my duty. You are undoubtedly aware that she’s been delivered sooner than expected. ”
The old nun nodded. “I take it that circumstances dictated such actions and I will not question your reasoning. Suffice it to say that she’s welcome.”
Arissa raised her head from the safe haven of Richmond’s neck, swollen-eyed and puffy-lipped as she met his ashen expression. With a feeble smile purely for her benefit, Richmond set her gently to the ground.
“She’s cut her lip,” he murmured. “I would tend her wound, if I may, before going on my way.”
The abbess gazed at Arissa a moment before extending her hand to the young lady.
Dazed and uncertain, though not lacking in proper manners, Arissa obeyed the request and reluctantly moved from Richmond’s company.
As the abbess’ warm hand closed over Arissa’s arm, the woman discreetly motioned Sister Repentia forward to take charge of the girl.
Richmond realized what was happening without benefit of an explanation; from the moment they set foot on Whitby’s lands, Arissa was considered their property and even now, she was considered the abbess’ charge.
Without fanfare or ceremony, Arissa ceased to become his sworn duty and assumed her role as a holy pledge. He was no longer her protector.
“Sister Repentia is quite capable of tending her lip, my lord,” the abbess said, not unkindly. “You have completed your duty admirably and are to be commended. But she’s our responsibility from this day forward.”
Richmond opened his mouth to politely argue the point, desperate to see to Arissa’s needs himself.
But his gaze fell on the slight nun approaching Arissa and his protest died in his throat.
Although Sister Repentia was properly covered in layers of gray wool, all flesh obscured but her delicate face, the familiarity of the woman’s features pummeled him like a hammer blow and he heard his breath catch in his throat.
Greetings, Sir Richmond. There was no mistaking the pale green eyes that silently acknowledged him and Richmond felt as if he had been slapped in the face.
But in the same instant, a great deal suddenly became clear to him; Henry had delegated Arissa to Whitby because it was the same abbey to which her mother had been pledged.
He continued to gaze at the woman, dumbfounded, but the nun quickly averted her eyes and he was not so dazed that he did not receive the silent message of her guarded countenance; Arissa had no knowledge of the woman’s true identity and he would not betray the fact, no matter how surprised he was.
But, God help him, he simply couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Arissa’s mother was at Whitby.
Arissa was unaware of Richmond’s struggle to recover his senses and more concerned with the fact that they were separating her from Richmond.
With panic in her eyes, she looked to Richmond for help, realizing that Sister Repentia was putting more and more distance between them.
She wasn’t ready to leave him, not in the least.
“But…. but I have not yet said my farewell!” she said, digging her heels in. “Can…. can he not stay for sup?”
Richmond realized that he was the only person who possessed a remote chance of calming her before she built into a substantial fit. Turning to the abbess, he struggled to maintain an even tone.
“Might I have a word with her, alone, to explain the situation?” he asked.
“I do not believe that to be necessary,” the abbess replied steadily. “The lady realizes that she’s now our responsibility and you are free to go along your way. She’s in safe hands now.”
Arissa could scarcely believe what she was hearing.
They were not going to allow her to say good-bye to Richmond!
Knowing that she should obey the abbess’ directive by showing proper submission to the will of the church, she simply couldn’t help the panic and disbelief that surged through her heart.
When Richmond turned his helpless gaze upon her, something deep within her snapped.
Pulling roughly from Sister Repentia’s gentle grasp, she threw herself forward with the intention of propelling herself into Richmond’s arms. However, the mother abbess reached out to stop her momentum, grasping hold of the emotional young girl in an attempt to contain her.
With a shriek, Arissa tore herself from the old woman’s hands and stumbled aimlessly in the direction of the wagon.
She could hear Richmond’s soft pleas intermingled with the sultry voice of the mother abbess.
Arissa continued to stagger toward the wagon, having no idea where she was going or what she was intending to accomplish, only that she couldn’t let him go without a word, a touch, a final gesture.
She had to feel him, to taste him, one last time.
The events of the day were weighing heavily on her fragile mind, creating a wild spin from which there seemed to be no escape. She bumped into the wagon and her forward movement came to a halt; turning toward the bed of the rig, her eyes came to rest on her oaken trunk.