A Man of Value (8 page)

“Leaving?”

He nodded. “I expect many will come to Northumbria. The people I’m in contact with are already on their way here. You’ll likely be seeing refugees at your Abbey soon.”

Agneta could hear her heart pounding in her ears. She rose to her feet unsteadily and bade her patient goodbye.

“His wound seems fine to me. It’s long since healed,” Mayda suggested as they made their way back on foot to the Abbey.

“Wound? Oh, yes. It’s healed well. You’re right.”

Agneta looked at the threatening clouds and drew her cloak around her.

It was on such a day as this.

As she crossed the very moorland where she’d first seen Caedmon the memory of the sights, sounds and smells of that fateful day assailed her, but the one predominant image was of Caedmon, lying helpless, tied to the pallet, yet exuding strength and power.

Are you an angel?

“Do you think he’ll come?”

Agneta stopped abruptly and stared at her fellow novice. “What?”

“Your knight. Will he come?”

Agneta hunched her shoulders against the wind and clutched the cloak. “My knight? I don’t know what—”

“Agneta, we all know. We all sense why you’re unhappy. None of us can understand why you didn’t leave with him.”

Agneta found it hard to believe the wail she heard came from her own throat. “I sometimes can’t understand it myself,” she choked.

Her friend embraced her as she wept. “We must pray for him, Agneta.”

“I pray for him, but I don’t know what to do if he comes.”

They stood for long minutes, buffeted by the cold wind, then walked back, arm in arm to the Abbey. Thank goodness her friend said nothing more.

As if the mercenary’s words were prophetic, there were indeed newcomers seeking sanctuary at the fledgling Abbey when they arrived back. Mayda squeezed Agneta’s hand in reassurance as they entered the Infirmary. “Trust in God, Agneta.”

There were ten refugees, all cold, hungry and dirty. Caedmon wasn’t among them. The nuns offered food and shelter for the night. The group intended to move on the next day, bound for Sussex.

“You’ve a long journey ahead of you,” she said to one of the older women, determined not to ask about Caedmon.

“Do you have any news of a knight named Caedmon Woolgar?”

Agneta looked daggers at Mayda.

The woman nodded. “Yes, I know his mother, Lady Ascha. My daughter knows Sir Caedmon. In fact she never stops talking about him. He’s a handsome devil, a hero returned from the dead, so to speak. All the young women have set their cap at him. The Woolgars were still there when we left, but they intend to flee.”

Mayda smiled at Agneta, but it did nothing to calm the conflicting feelings racing through her. Caedmon probably had a thousand women falling at his feet. Why should she care? “So, he’s not married, this Sir Caedmon?” She wanted to kick herself.

“No, unless he married someone in the last few days. Many of those fleeing did that, for the sake of propriety. Sweethearts didn’t want to be left behind. It’s been a terrible time. Reminds me of when we fled the Conqueror, all those years ago.”

Agneta could see the woman had reached the limit of her endurance, and didn’t envy her the long journey to Sussex. “Sleep now. You need your rest.”

The group left after Prime the following day. Agneta watched the horizon, willing more refugees to appear, but none came, until the day after.

~~~

“How far are we from the Abbey at Alnwick now, Caedmon?” Lady Ascha asked wearily.

“We’ll be there in about two hours,” he replied curtly.

Ascha bit her lip. “What’s your plan?”

He grimaced. “I’ll beg.”

“I have a better plan.”

He reined his horse and rode back to where she’d stopped. He could see she was worn out. She’d shown a moment of tearful elation and gasped when he’d told her they’d crossed into England an hour earlier. The whole group had come to a halt, dismounted and gathered for a moment of prayer. But now the strain of long hours in the saddle showed in them all.

They’d been on the road from Scotland for ten days. It had taken them longer than anticipated, problems with the wagon slowing them down. Then, Coventina’s mother had become unwell and the Brightmores had to stay behind at a monastery until she recovered. Leofric had volunteered to remain with them, prompting Caedmon to wonder again about his friend’s relationship with the girl. Leofric’s distorted face had given nothing away when Caedmon smiled at him and arched his eyebrows.

Now, he stood in the stirrups, taking advantage of the pause in their journey to rub his sore saddle muscles. “Plan? What are you talking about?”

“We have money, Caedmon.” She patted her belly, where the money belt she wore made her look rounder than she was. The person of an older woman had been deemed the best hiding place for the proceeds of the sale of the house to Edgar.

He looked at her blankly. “I don’t understand.”

“Didn’t you tell me Alnwick is an unfinished Abbey?”

“Aye—but—”

She wagged her finger at him. “My son, I’d wager there isn’t an Abbey, monastery, convent, priory or church in the whole of England that has sufficient money for its needs. All those mouths to feed, buildings to keep up, good works to be undertaken.”

Caedmon now understood.

She smiled and continued. “The Abbey near Alnwick, in addition to all those expenses, must find funds for building a great edifice.”

He smiled. “You’re right. I remember talk when I was here of how difficult it was to keep the construction going. When money ran out, the work stopped.”

Ascha raised one foot, and appeared to be studying the toe of her boot. “How long do you estimate it will take to finish, if they go on at the present rate?”

He rubbed his chin. “Fifty years, at least.”

“This Abbey has something you want, does it not?”

“Aye—but if she ever found out—”

“Who will tell her? You said yourself she doesn’t want to become a nun. You can offer her a better life, at Ruyton.”

He looked his mother in the eye. “You would give me your money for this?”

Ascha smiled. “Caedmon, money means nothing to me compared with your happiness. It’s obvious you’re smitten with this woman. I’m selfish. I can’t be happy if you’re unhappy.”

Though he longed to see Agneta again, Caedmon had been feeling pessimistic about the reunion, but now his heart sang with renewed hope. He dismounted and went to kiss his mother’s trembling hand. “My gracious Lady Ascha Woolgar, whatever did I do to deserve a mother like you? I thank you from the bottom of my heart.”

She shifted nervously in the side saddle. “It would be better if I speak with the Superior. Woman to woman.”

“I agree. I might make a detour, to a nearby lodging house, when we get closer. I’ll catch up.”

~~~

As she entered Vespers, Agneta heard the Almoner welcoming new refugees. Her feet itched to run out, to see if Caedmon was among them. All through the office, she fidgeted, alternating between hope and dread. Instead of the
Magnificat
, she recited her familiar exhortation regarding Caedmon’s health. Mother Superior looked down her nose at her more than once.

Be still.

As they filed out of the chapel the Almoner gave Mother Superior a message. The woman went off in the direction of her office and didn’t join them for supper. Agneta cast a glance at the newcomers who were nodding their grateful thanks to the nuns serving them. No Caedmon. Her heart plummeted. She could barely get the food past her lips.

She noticed one of the older refugees, in the garb of a maidservant, examining the faces of all the nuns with great interest, as if looking for someone. When her eyes caught Agneta’s, the woman smiled. She managed to return the smile. After all, this poor woman had undergone a long, difficult journey. No-one in this group was in need of attention in the Infirmary and Agneta had no opportunity to speak to them before entering the chapel for Compline. She thought she heard the Almoner welcoming someone again, but it seemed late for that.

As she left the torment of Compline, the Sacrist whispered a message. “Mother wants to see you. In her office.”

“Now?”

“Immediately.”

CHAPTER TEN

“I don’t understand, Mother. Why am I being denied final vows? You wanted me to become a nun.” Agneta was at a loss to comprehend why the stern woman had told her bluntly she wouldn’t be making her final vows. Inwardly it was an immense relief. The idea of living out her life in the remote abbey filled her with dread, though she enjoyed tending the sick and injured in the infirmary. But where would she go? What would she do? She had no family to turn to.

The woman’s mouth was stern. “I did, my child, I did. But to be a good nun, a woman needs to be detached from worldly things. You’ve had difficulty with that. You become too involved with people.”

“But I—”

The Superior raised her hand. “The decision has been made, my child. Gather your things together, if you wish, and make plans for yourself. You can stay here as long as you need refuge. We won’t turn you out to be destitute, but you’ll not be joining the community.”

Agneta was thunderstruck. She felt the same lonely desolation she had on the day of the raid on her home, and cried herself to sleep that night, desperately trying not to let the other novices hear her sobs.

Mayda appeared at her side. “What’s wrong, Agneta?”

“The nuns have rejected me. I’m not to be allowed to make my vows.”

Mayda put her arm around Agneta’s trembling shoulders. “Oh, Agneta. Why?”

She rested her head on her friend’s shoulder. “I don’t know. I’ve tried hard to be a good nun, haven’t I?”

Mayda rocked her and she must have fallen asleep, exhausted. She woke before two in the morning and started to dress for Lauds, then remembered and fell back on her pallet, sobbing. At dawn, an elderly nun came for her habit and gave her an outfit of lay clothing. It felt strange to put on the simple chemise and dress. There was no wimple, only a hooded woolen cloak. She suddenly missed the hated coif and hoped her ugly hair would grow quickly.

“Perhaps Mother is right. I care too much about worldly things. She must have noticed how unhappy I’ve been since Caedmon left. I can’t understand why my thoughts keep drifting to a man I should hate.”

She decided to go to the garden. Caedmon had found some answers there, perhaps she would too. She sat shivering on the cold stone bench, beneath a leafless willow tree, staring at her hands clasped in her lap. How long had he been there before she felt his presence beside her? She sensed who it was before she looked up. Her heart thudded in her ears.

“What are you doing here, Caedmon?” she asked, struggling to make her frozen legs work as she stood, fretting over her clothing and her hair. She drew the hood tighter.

“I came for you, Agneta.”

He moved towards her, but she backed away. “I told you I wouldn’t go with you. There’s too much hatred between us. I could never love you.”

He moved quickly to place his hands on her shoulders, and drew her to his body. “I don’t ask for your love. Only that you agree to spend your life with me. I need you. Please say you’ll fill my need. I want no other—only you. Say you’ll become my wife. You need me.”

What to do or say in reply? Her head throbbed as much as her heart. She was cold, and his body radiated heat. He alone had managed to break through the icy numbness in which she’d been encased for too long. The nuns had cast her out. She’d nowhere to go, no one to turn to. Now, suddenly, here was a man she’d been attracted to proposing marriage in the husky voice that beguiled her. She’d lain awake at nights trying to recall the sound of it. But what did he mean about knowing she needed him?

How could he know about the Abbey?

“How do you know my needs, Caedmon?” she asked suspiciously.

He cupped her face in his warm hands. “I know you long for my touch, as I long for yours.”

Oh God.

“You long for my lips, as I long for yours.” He brushed his thumbs along her quivering lower lip. “You long for my body, as I long for yours.” He put his hands back on her shoulders and bent to kiss her, gently at first and then his tongue coaxed her lips. His mouth was warm in the chill air. She’d tried not to dream of his kiss. She couldn’t kiss him, wouldn’t kiss him, and didn’t know how to kiss. He licked the corners of her mouth, nibbled her bottom lip and kissed her again. “Open for me, Agneta,” he breathed.

His words washed over her like a warm summer breeze and she was lost. Sighing, she opened to him and shyly put her arms around his neck, arching her body to his, tears streaming down her face. The hood slipped from her head.

He licked the tears from her cheeks, and again put his hands on either side of her face, then ran his fingers lovingly through her hair. The sensation echoed in her toes.

“I knew it. Your hair
is
brown—and short. It’s the most beautiful hair I’ve ever seen.” He sighed and leaned his forehead against hers. “Agneta, please say
aye
.”

She was relieved he’d uttered no words of love. It could never be a marriage of love. But he was right. They were attracted to each other. Perhaps that could take the place of love. “But where would we dwell, Caedmon? I could never live in Scotland.”

“We’re bound for my manor in England. My mother tells me it’s a beautiful estate with five hides of good land and its own church. It earns a dependable income. It’s in Ruyton, in the Welsh Marches. We can ask the Abbot to wed us before we leave. When we get there, I’ll make myself known to my mother’s protector, the Earl of Ellesmere. Then he can be assured I’ve returned to take care of the manor myself.”

Agneta felt like she was in the grip of mysterious illness, one that had dulled her brain. She was overwhelmed by many conflicting feelings. “I remember you told me a Norman earl is your mother’s protector.”

“Aye. It seems strange, I know.”

Suddenly something he’d said a few moments ago penetrated the fog. “You said
we
?”