Chapter 19 #2
Britta shrugged. “We have no proof. My father has friends in high places. The only weapon we have is the Church, and he has made sure there are no witnesses to his sins. Believe you me, they would make Gloria sound like a delusional lackbrain, especially since she suffers those screaming fits, even if we were able to get an audience before King Aethelred’s court.
There are two Norse noblemen, Thorfinn of Norstead and Steven of Amberstead, who might help, but how would I contact them? And how long would it take?”
After two months, when Britta’s body was almost back to normal, she approached Mother Edwina. “We must needs prepare for an assault from my father.”
“What?” Mother Edwina was in the abbey kitchen supervising the harvesting of honey from the hundred and more cone-shaped hives on the abbey grounds.
Honey was an important product here at the nunnery, their only source of income.
..or rather, the honeyed mead that they produced from a long-ago Margaret’s recipe.
Right now, there were a dozen nuns working on at least a hundred honeycombs.
Cutting off the caps with heated knives.
Draining the honey into pottery jugs. Placing the remaining honeycombs over coarse cloths bleeding into pots near the hearth fires; this would be the second extract of lesser quality honey.
Then the honeycombs would be washed, saving that water rinse for sweetening in the kitchen.
Finally, they would mash the clean wax combs for winter candle-making. It was a long, messy, arduous process.
“I have had dreams,” Britta began.
“Do not speak of the dreams again. Nor time travel. Nor any of your fever-induced fantasies. ’Tis not proper for a nun.”
“I am not a nun.”
“You will be if you stay here much longer.”
The other nuns and novices, working diligently, remained silent, but were interested in the conversation. Not much happened in a convent, and she was giving them much fodder for talk later when they were back in their cells.
“Heed me well, mother. Danger looms. And it is not just because my dreams tell me so. We live daily with what was done to Sister Gloria. I have gainsayed my father at every turn. He will not give up. Wouldst let him kill one and all to get at me?”
Several of the nuns shuddered.
“Let me give the women here some defensive training in the military arts.”
Mother Edwina cringed. “Well, mayhap you could do a little training.”
“We would not have to kill anyone, would we?” one young novice asked.
“Only if they try to kill or rape you first.”
Mother Edwina looked rather green at the prospect.
“I have been trained as a warrior, and lately, whilst I was at...well, just lately, I have learned new fighting skills. In the best of battles, no one dies, but I tell you, my father and brothers must meet the raven, or they will ne’er stop. You are not to worry. I will take care of them.”
“You would kill your father and your own blood kin?” Mother Edwina inquired.
“I would...if necessary.”
More gasps.
For the next two sennights, Britta tried her best to teach fighting skills to nuns and novices from thirteen to sixty, with little success.
It was one thing to teach the women at The Sanctuary how to fight; they had incentive.
These nuns would rather turn the other cheek, no matter the affront.
Also, they had been sedentary for a long time and got winded just throwing spears made out of broom handles. ..and then only several paces away.
“No pain, no gain,” a motto she had learned from the commander back at WEALS, meant naught to these ladies.
Sister Conception muttered in a most un-nun-like manner, “The only pain here is you...a pain in the arse.”
Nor did they understand the SEAL refrain, “The only easy day was yesterday.”
“I mucked the stables yestermorn, scrubbed the stone floors of the scullery, changed bed linens, and hauled fire wood,” Sister Egbert said, not even bothering to lower her voice. “What is so easy about that?”
Finally, she stuck with the age-old “God helps those who help themselves.” There was naught they could say to that.
Then everything changed when a group of ten nuns came riding into the abbey courtyard.
How they had passed through her father’s ranks was amazing.
They were riding horses, which was a surprise in itself; most nuns had no coin for such an extravagance.
But the biggest surprise was the woman leading the pack.
She wore the drab garb of a nun, except no head covering. Her hair was coal-black, and her eyes a strange shade of blue. It was the nun warrior of her dreams. And she was beautiful.
Britta put a hand to her heart in shock, as well as thanks. How many miracles could one person sustain in a lifetime?
But then the biggest shock of all came.
“My name is Angelique. We have come from Frankland to help you,” the woman said, loud enough for all to hear. Then she rode her horse a little farther so that she was right in front of Britta. “Greetings, sister.”
Good-bye is the saddest word...
For two months, Zach ranted and raved and made himself and everyone around him miserable.
Not only had Arsallah and his evil cohorts gotten away, they still stirred the diplomatic pot by demanding that Sammy be returned to his native country.
Most of all, Zach was devastated by the loss of Britta.
After extensive searches, there was no body, but he figured Arsallah had disposed of that, wanting there to be no connection to his evil deeds in the basement of that abandoned house.
At first, he had even hoped that Arsallah had taken her back to Afghanistan to use as leverage, but he would have made mention of that by now. Zach had to accept that she was dead.
He was on leave from the SEALs, with good cause.
There was no way he could focus, not even on training WEALS.
Besides, the class was down to a manageable twenty now.
Actually, twenty was more than had been expected to make it through the rigorous training.
There would be no Britta, though, and that saddened Zach even more.
She had wanted so badly to succeed in WEALS.
Sammy had been very clingy at first, but then, with the resilience of childhood, he settled into his normal routine, and hardly ever mentioned the ordeal he had been through. Still, Zach knew that Sammy was worried about his grandfather Arsallah, and whether he would try again.
And now his family was pulling an intervention on him. An intervention! Like he was a friggin’ addict or something. They had him trapped in his townhouse living room, with Sammy upstairs playing video games with Scary Larry.
His grandmother was serving them tea...tea, for Pete’s sake.
..using a silver tea service and bone china, both of which he hadn’t even known he had.
What is bone china anyway? Crushed bones?
Yeech! It was a scene right out of Alice in Wonderland.
There were fancy-pancy little cookies the size of quarters she’d brought from a bakery that probably cost a dollar a piece.
Danny was flicking them into his mouth like popcorn.
His mother and father, divorced almost twenty years, were glaring at each other. They made The War of the Roses look like kindergarten.
“Shape up, boy,” his grandfather said after putting his tea cup down. “Everybody loses someone sometime. Get yourself a new assignment. Lose yourself in work. Uncle Sam needs you.”
Yada, yada, yada. He’d heard this spiel a dozen times.
His grandmother gaped at his grandfather as if he’d sprouted two heads. “Nonsense. He needs time to grieve. He may never get over the girl, but in the meantime, he must think about Sammy and move on.”
I wonder if there’s any beer left in the fridge.
His mother, romantic that she was, despite having been two-timed by his father numerous times, sighed. “It’s just a shame that you had to find the woman of your dreams, only to lose her. Do you think a person can have two loves?” The latter she addressed to her ex-mother-in-law, his grandmother.
“Of course,” his grandmother replied.
“Come to Hollywood with me,” his dad offered.
“You and Sammy can stay in the guest house. I’ll introduce you to some women who’ll make you forget your own name, let alone a woman you only knew for a few weeks.
Hey, I know. Lori, my housekeeper on Light in the Storm is between husbands, and she used to be a Playboy bunny.
” His dad leered at Zach, something a grown man did not want his father to do.
Are you kidding? I’ve seen Lori. She may have been a Playmate, but it must have been thirty years ago. Besides, I’m not into silicone.
Everyone glared at his father for his insensitivity.
“Isn’t that just like you, Victor?” His mother sneered. “Thinking with your zipper as usual.”
Oh, boy, here we go.
“Maybe if you’d paid more attention to my zipper, we wouldn’t be divorced.”
This is just like watching a ping-pong match. Duel of the divorcees.
“Grow up, Victor. You’re not sixteen anymore. And, by the way, your hair looks silly with those gray streaks.”
I was thinkin’ that myself.
“You know what’s silly, Sally? You. Modeling for that geezer magazine. If that’s what acting my age is all about, no thank you.”
I think her new career change is cool.
The two of them were practically shaking with anger. A minute more of this and they’d be clawing each other’s carefully made-up faces. Really, there was a reason why his mother and father were rarely in the same room together, and they were just witnessing it.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Zach stood, then sat down on the couch between the two of them. “This is accomplishing nothing.”
“I hate to say it, but Dad has a point.” Great. Danny was joining the other side. “You need to get laid.”
I do not believe he said that in front of our parents and grandparents. “You think the answer to everything is sex.”