Chapter Twenty
Sister Repentia was well acquainted with the relatively flat topography that surrounded London, which was why the first inkling of trouble infiltrated her veins at the sight of snow-capped mountains in the distance.
Although the rest of the caravan seemed unconcerned, including Arissa, she felt the distinct taste of apprehension as they drew closer to the white cluster of hills.
There was something vaguely familiar about the sharp landscape and she spent the majority of her time staring at the snowy mountains, trying to determine their placement.
She couldn’t seem to shake the uneasy sense of familiarity. As Lady Arissa’s chaperone to the Sodom and Gomorrah that was London, she was supposed to remain focused on the lady. Unfortunately, she seemed to be utterly riveted to the snow-capped hills in the distance.
As the caravan actually crossed into the hilly terrain and the sharp iciness gripped them, Sister Repentia couldn’t help succumb to the growing knowledge that they were nowhere near London. Somehow, they had been directed down another path.
Her increasingly concerned attention moved from the icy landscape to the massive knight riding the lead, wondering if he even realized his error.
It was, after all, their ninth day of travel and it was quite possible that the man had been thrown off course somehow, moving into the harsh territory of the borders when he should have been following the path of the Thames.
But even as she sought a reason for their change of direction, she realized her efforts were foolish.
Hotspur was acutely aware of the path he had chosen and Sister Repentia’s heart sank as she became cognizant of the fact that, somehow, the plot to remove Arissa from Whitby had nothing to do with Henry.
Hotspur was part of something the slender nun was unable to figure out at the moment, but shrewd enough to realize that subtle plots were enveloping them. Plots involving Henry’s daughter.
She would not upset Arissa with her suspicions; at least, not at the moment.
Not until she had the opportunity to speak with Henry Percy regarding his reasoning and motives.
Motives, she discovered, she was fearful to know.
God help her, she had unknowingly escorted her daughter into the gaping jaws of political intrigue and there was absolutely nothing she could do against the fickle tides.
The caravan traveled from harsh, frozen ground to a firm-packed snow, newly placed.
Sheer mountains on either side of the road were coated with a fresh white dusting and the wind that screamed off the mountains was harsh and beautiful at the same time.
Even as Sister Repentia simmered in a growing horror, Arissa thought the trip to be quite wonderful.
Wrapped in her warm woolen cloak, she drew in the magnificence of the scenery with her usual pleasure; she’d never seen anything so brutally lovely.
Arissa was the first one to spy an encampment, eyeing it curiously as the company drew near.
Heavy tents of hide, sewn together in a mismatched design, gathered in a large cluster amidst the white packing of snow.
The wagon upon which Arissa and Sister Repentia were riding came to a jolting halt and Arissa turned her puzzled expression to the nun.
“This…. this is London?” she asked hesitantly.
Sister Repentia did not reply; her gaze was riveted to Hotspur as he dismounted his charger and made his way back along the column. Arissa continued to stare at the nun, expecting an answer, as the mighty knight drew alongside the wagon.
His dark gaze met with frantic, angry eyes of pale green. “Where have you brought us, my lord?” Sister Repentia asked.
Even as Henry held up his arms for Arissa, he met the nun’s gaze steadily. “To our destination, Sister.”
Sister Repentia grasped Arissa by the arm, firmly pulling her away from Hotspur’s extended hands. “This is not the destination that was indicated to the mother abbess,” her voice was remarkably cold. “Where are we?”
Hotspur was not deterred by the suspicious nun; reaching out, he gently grasped Arissa by the hand and pulled her to her feet, into his arms. Cradled in the massive knight’s embrace, Arissa looked quite puzzled as Hotspur and Sister Repentia glared at each other.
“I believe you already know the answer, ’else you would not have asked,” he answered quietly.
Sister Repentia was pale with fright and anger. She pondered the knight a moment. “Then I would calmly ask what you intend to do with us. If you were going to kill us, why did you not do it on the road? Why bring us to Wales to accomplish this task?”
Arissa, her arms wrapped around Henry Percy’s neck, gasped with shock. “Wales?” she suddenly began to squirm, well remembering the fact that Owen Glendower was intent on capturing her. “You must take me away from here! The Welsh prince has already tried to capture me, and if he finds me…!”
Hotspur met her panicked gaze, tightening his grip against her twisting. “He will not harm you, I vow. He merely wishes for you to be his guest for a short time, nothing more.”
Arissa stopped wrestling, staring at the man as if he had gone completely mad.
Her breathing, coming in sharp little pants, sent up puffs of fog into the icy winter air.
“His guest? What are you…. but what of my father? Am I not to see him? And where is Richmond? You said he was on the Welsh border!”
Hotspur shook his head, feeling his guilt return in one forceful blow.
“I am afraid it was necessary to deceive the abbess so that I would be able to escort you to Wales without a struggle. The tale of your father’s illness was a fabrication, as was the story of Richmond’s whereabouts.
Owen Glendower is most anxious to meet with you, my lady, and it was necessary to do all that we could in order to assure your deliverance. ”
At the mention of the Welsh prince, Sister Repentia’s pallor washed a sickly gray.
Struggling to maintain her composure, she looked to Arissa with a mixture of apology and terror; she simply could not believe that they had been delivered into the hive of the Welsh rebellion, by an English knight, no less.
A sickening horror filled her body, threatening her thoughts, her mind, her functions.
She wished it were possible to protest this action, demanding the immediate return to Whitby, but she couldn’t seem to muster the strength.
In fact, she was quite close to falling away into a cold stupor as she listened to Arissa express her confusion.
“And that would include lying to a woman of the cloth?” Arissa asked, her fear taking flight. “Moreover, why is Owen Glendower so eager to speak with me? He tried to abduct me from Lambourn and killed my brother in the process. He wants to harm me, I tell you.”
Hotspur was afraid to set her to the ground lest she attempt to escape.
“Nay, lady, he has no such desire. I promise that I shall protect you should he make such an attempt,” when her struggles suddenly resumed, he clenched her tightly to prevent her from wriggling free.
“I swear on my oath as a knight that no harm shall come to you. Do you understand me?”
She was not listening to him; her sense of terror was sharp as she struggled against his iron grip. “Let me go! I shall not meet him! He wants to…!”
Abruptly she slipped from his grasp and would have tumbled to the cold snow had Hotspur not broke her fall.
Clutching her arms tightly, he forced her to meet his eye.
“Listen to me, Arissa. I will attend you in your meeting with Owen. He will not be provided with the chance to harm you as long as I am present. Do you understand? For Richmond’s sake, I swear to protect you with my dying breath. ”
Her fear-filled eyes stared at him, confusion and terror running a tight race.
After a moment, she shook her head in awe.
“You have delivered me into his arms.” It was a whispered statement, not a question.
“How could you do this, Sir Henry? He’s my father’s enemy.
He’s Richmond’s enemy, and yours as well… isn’t he?”
Hotspur’s grip loosened, his guilt increasing.
“I realize you do not understand the finer elements of England’s politics, my lady, and I am sorry if you are frightened and puzzled.
But the situation is not as desperate as you seem to think; in fact, there is no war going on at the moment.
As you can see, the world is quite peaceful and I think you will come to see the reasoning behind the calm if you will only listen to Owen’s explanation. Will you do this?”
Arissa pondered his words a moment, torn between her natural fear and her natural curiosity.
Hotspur was a legendary soldier, a man of grace and honor and skill.
Richmond and Henry Percy were very good friends, and she knew Richmond thought highly of the man.
Therefore, it was reasonable to believe that if he assured her there was no need for her fear, then it would be well to heed his advice.
Slowly, she felt herself calming. His dark eyes seemed to have a comforting effect on her, a man who had been closely allied with Richmond for several years. If he said he would protect her with his life, then she would believe him.
After an eternal moment, she sighed with great resignation. “As you say,” she whispered. “I do not believe that I will be given any choice in the matter.”
Hotspur cast her a brave smile, releasing his grip to tuck her gloved hand into the fold of his arm as he passed a rapid glance at the pale nun in the wagon.
“You will remain here a moment. The lady’s conversation with Owen will be private,” turning to Arissa, he urged her forward.
“Come along, my lady. We must get you out of the foul weather that would threaten your health.”