Chapter Seven #2
Maxton didn’t quite smile at her, but his lips twitched as if he were entertaining the thought.
What was he doing here?
It was a question with more than one answer.
The first answer was, of course, a fact-finding mission.
After his conversation with Alexander at Farringdon House, he had to come to the focus of their discussion – this mysterious, treacherous place called St. Blitha.
An order of poor nuns, and a Mother Abbess who apparently had no trouble committing murder.
It was a distorted and complex place, indeed, if all of that was true, and if Douglas had, indeed, been here, it only added to that chaotic concept.
Maxton wanted to scout the place out, because reconnaissance was the smart thing to do.
Perhaps St. Blitha was not all it seemed.
But the second answer, of course, was a certain young woman who lived here.
That was, perhaps, the more prevalent answer, especially now that Maxton had laid eyes on her.
Pale, graceful, with the face of an angel, Maxton had never been smitten with anyone in his life but, oddly enough, he suspected he might quickly be approaching that state with Andressa.
He couldn’t explain his curiosity towards her, and his interest, any other way.
“I had business outside of town and happened to be passing by,” he lied. “I could see you from the road.”
That part was true. The angle of the road made it so the area beneath the trees and the stream were visible from it, but only briefly. Briefly enough that Maxton had seen the movement and spied her, making his story believable.
But Andressa didn’t question him, even if she did look past his shoulder to the distant road beyond, just to make sure she could really see the road.
“I see,” she said, fixing him in the eye.
“Then I am glad to see you again to apologize for my behavior this morning. I ran from you rudely when I should not have. You were simply being kind and trying to help me from my… well, my predicament here.”
He shook his head, cutting her off, though it was gently done. “I should not have been so bold as to suggest finding a place for you away from St. Blitha,” he said. “It is your home, right or wrong, and it was improper of me to suggest you leave. Forgive me.”
Her face brightened as she realized he wasn’t upset with her. “There is nothing to forgive, my lord. Please allow me to thank you once more for the meal this morning. It was most generous of you, my lord. You must be a very kind and generous man to all those in need.”
He lifted his eyebrows, averting his gaze as he looked for a place to sit down. Now that he’d finally found her, he had no intention of leaving. “There are many, many people who would dispute that.”
Andressa watched him meander around until he found a stump from a long-dead willow tree worth sitting on. “But I cannot believe that,” she said. “Clearly, you are a pious man who gives greatly of himself. I am sure God will reward you.”
Maxton snorted as he planted his buttocks on the stump.
“Lady, I cannot permit you to entertain the thought that I am anything other than what I am,” he said, looking up at her.
“I am a knight of the highest order. I have just returned from The Levant after many years away. You cannot possibly imagine how unkind and ungenerous I am.”
Her brow furrowed curiously. “The Levant,” she repeated. “You went on Richard’s Crusade?”
“I did.”
She gasped softly, suddenly quite interested in his presence whereas only moments before, she’d been seemingly wary of it.
“I have never met anyone who went on his Crusade,” she said. “Will you tell me of it? If you have the time, of course. I can only imagine how glorious it must have been, wielding the word of God against the savages. What a great and fearsome sight that must have been.”
It was a dreamy and misguided opinion; he could see it in her face. The woman was na?ve, living sequestered as she did. “Do you truly wish to know what kind of a sight it was?” he asked. “I do not think you will like the answer.”
She nodded eagerly, sinking to her knees in the grass with her bucket still in her hand. “I very much want to know,” she said. “Will you please tell me?”
Maxton looked at her. He wasn’t a man with tact, nor did he couch harsh realities.
In fact, his blunt honesty was one of his traits.
But in this case, he was considering softening that particular talent because, somehow, Andressa seemed like a delicate flower, idealistic and innocent, and he didn’t want to crush that spirit in her.
He found it intriguing because in his line of work, he didn’t often meet people with such an ingenuous view of the world.
He cleared his throat softly.
“The Levant is a land with golden sand as far as the eye can see,” he said. “Everything is golden for the most part. And it is very hot.”
She was already hanging on his description. “Hot? It is never cold?”
“Hardly ever. And they have amazing creatures there called camels. They look like a very large horse with big lips, big eyes, and big feet. They also have a hump on their back that stores their water for times when they cannot drink.”
Her eyes widened. “Camels,” she repeated in awe. “They sound like monsters.”
He grinned, lopsided. “They are most assuredly not, though they are ugly enough,” he said. “Many of the Muslims travel with them instead of horses. They have more endurance than a horse.”
She was fascinated with the idea of a camel. “It seems incredible to imagine such a beast, truly. Are there any in England?”
He shrugged. “I have not seen any,” he said. “I think they prefer the hotter climate. They would not do well in our cold and wet seasons.”
He suddenly stood up from the stump, making his way over to where she was sitting.
Andressa watched him curiously, perhaps a bit fearfully, preparing to leap to her feet if he came too close.
When she saw him pick up a stick, she was very close to scrambling away from him, but he came to a pause by a strip of mud near the stream, something that didn’t have any growth or grass on it.
He began to draw in the mud with the stick.
“This is what they look like,” he said as he sketched out a shape. “Very tall, very big. They have also been known to spit when displeased.”
Very interested, Andressa moved so that she could see what he was drawing. It looked like a horse with a big, flat head and a hump on its back.
“Fascinating,” she said, grinning. Then, she sat back, looking up at him. “What else did you see? Were the savages truly dressed in skins and speaking the language of Satan?”
He shook his head. “Nay, they were not dressed in skins,” he said.
He thought carefully on his answer because his reply was something that was not conventional thought amongst the Christian armies.
“If you want to know the truth, many were men of intelligence and education. Their families are thousands of years old. They have strange customs, that is true, but there were some I came to know and I found them inoffensive.”
Andressa listened seriously. “But they worship their own god.”
“They worship one god, as we do, and it is the same god. They simply call him a different name.”
It was clear she had never heard such a thing. “What do they call him?”
“Allah.”
She thought on that. “What a strange name,” she said. “Why do they not simply call him God, as we do?”
“Allah means God in their language.”
“Mother Abbess has said it is Satan’s language.”
He finished with the camel drawing, standing back to take a look at his handiwork. “It is not Satan’s language,” he said. “It is an ancient language, and quite beautiful if you listen closely. Ladayk jamal alshams almushriqa.”
Her eyes widened. “Is that their language?” she gasped. “What did you say?”
A smile played on his lips. “I said that you have the beauty of the rising sun,” he said.
“The Muslim poets are great flatterers. That is part of a song I heard once. I was riding down an alley in the city of Caesarea, north of Jerusalem, and I heard a young man singing as he played a harp he had made himself. The words went something like this – In a world of darkness, you are my only light, with the beauty of the rising sun. It was a lovely song.”
Andressa was enchanted with the entire conversation, swept up by his deep, rumbling voice and stories of the great and mysterious Levant.
But it also brought her back to the days of Okehampton Castle, when she was exposed to the beauty and excitement of life.
Minstrels, plays, book reading… they had been everyday occurrences and as Maxton spoke of faraway lands, she began to realize just how much she was missing tucked away in St. Blitha.
The loneliness and isolation were something she’d long struggled with, even as memories of her former world were shoved aside.
She was so very lonely in this cold, terrible place, and she missed the beauty of the world outside the walls of St. Blitha.
Hearing Maxton’s words was like a stab to her tender heart because she could see just how isolated she had become from things that used to bring her joy.
“It is very lovely,” she said, feeling sad. “Thank you for telling me of it. But I am sure I have kept you long enough; surely you must be on your way now.”
She stood up, taking her bucket with her, and Maxton tossed the stick in his hand aside.
“I have men waiting for me near the docks, but they can continue to wait,” he said.
“I thought to spend some time speaking to a former charge of Okehampton. It is not often I come across someone who is from Devon, from places that I know.”