Chapter Nine #3
With the heat, her exhaustion magnified.
Her eyelids began to droop, her head to bob.
She did not want to fall asleep in this strange place, even if it was a church.
She did not trust her surroundings. She wanted to dry off, reclaim her clothes, and press on.
Where she was going, she hadn’t a clue yet.
All she knew was that Matthew surely did not want her now and her life with him was ruined.
Perhaps her only choice was a place like this, gloomy and depressing and dirty, as a servant of God. She could imagine no other option.
With the shock of the situation wearing off, depression began to set in.
If only she had kept her mouth shut, if only she had done as Matthew had wished.
She should not have interfered. But she was only trying to help.
She and Matthew had been building such an amazing relationship, more than she had ever dared hope for.
The White Lord of Wellesbourne had been hers, if only for a brief moment until she dashed everything to bits.
She could not believe she had ruined it all because of her arrogance.
Her exhaustion and distress finally claimed her, for the next thing she realized, the door was opening and she was startled awake.
The monk was standing just inside the doorway with a cloth in his hand, filled with something she could not quite see.
Instead of handing it to her, he timidly placed it on the table near her as one would place food in the cage of a wild animal.
He remained standing by the door just in case he needed to bolt.
“I thought you might need something to eat,” he said. “There is cheese and some bread. It isn’t much, but at least it is something.”
She gazed over at the yellow cheese and crumbling brown bread. “My thanks,” she said. “You have been very kind.”
He nodded his head, once, as if he did not wish to discuss his kindness. Something about it made him uncomfortable. He stood and fidgeted.
“What manner of trouble do you have?” he suddenly blurted.
His uncouth manner almost made her smile. He had changed from his earlier suspicious approach to something of curiosity. Alixandrea picked up the cheese and took a grateful bite.
“Family trouble,” she said, her mouth full.
The monk looked puzzled, uncertain. “What did you do?”
She lifted an eyebrow at him, insulted by his question, but that was until she realized that she really did do something. She shook her head, averting her gaze as she spoke. “Things I should be ashamed of. I… I need sanctuary. I have no place to go.”
The monk looked stricken. “You cannot stay here, my lady,” he said. “We cannot… that is to say, we do not have a place for you.”
“Then where should I go?”
He took a step inside the room, apparently not so concerned now that the lady was going to jump up and bite him. “There is an abbey in Twyford,” he said. “Perhaps the Sisters of St. Jerome would be able to help you.”
It sounded reasonable. “Where is Twyford?” she asked.
“A few miles to the west. If you take the road that cuts through this town, you will come upon it within a day.”
Alixandrea’s heart sank as she realized where her destiny lay. Clearly, she had no other choice and, quite clearly, she must spend the rest of her days doing penance for Adam Wellesbourne’s death. It was her fault as surely as she had murdered him with her own hands.
“Then to Twyford I will go,” she said, the slight cough that had been plaguing her for the better part of the morning again bubbling up. “When my clothes are dry, I shall depart.”
He nodded, still standing a few feet away from her.
She resumed eating her cheese and bread, not looking at him, wondering what he was doing.
She could feel his curious eyes on her, moving across her back, down to her feet, and sliding across her head.
It was an eerie feeling, like unseen bugs about her.
She almost scratched herself out of sheer discomfort.
“You can stay and rest if you wish,” he finally said. All of the suspicion was gone from his tone. “The day proves ugly. You should wait until the weather clears.”
“My thanks,” she said softly.
“Are you running away?”
She looked at him sharply; it was as if he was thinking aloud, blurting out questions that were better left unasked. After a moment of staring him down with her piercing bronze eyes, she turned back to the fire.
“That is none of your affair.”
It wasn’t; he knew that. Awkwardly, he turned back for the door. He was almost through the opening when her soft voice stopped him.
“If any knights come to the door inquiring for me, you will tell them that you have not seen me. Is that clear?”
“Knights?” he exclaimed fearfully. “Are they after you?”
She shook her head at him as if he was an imbecile. “They will not kill you or burn the place down around your ears,” she said. “You will simply tell them that you have not seen me.”
The monk did not look entirely clear or convinced in his actions, but he nodded anyway. Shutting the door softly behind him, he left the lady to her bread and cheese.
The cough was gaining. By the time she finished her food, a slight fever had started, though she did not notice. Laying her head down on the rough, worn table cluttered with old bowls, an iron fork, and other implements, Alixandrea drifted off into a fitful, dismal sleep.