Courtly Love (42 page)

And I do not belong!
Sister Anne thought a trifle wildly, and with the thought, sadness at the realization that her life lay outside the cloister's walls, not within, stabbed at her heart.
I thought I did; I was certain that whatever my past I would not have to search for it, but I must. I must know!

"Sister Anne," the soft touch on her sleeve caused her to start and she flushed as she realized that all save the abbess and herself had left the chapel. "Are you well?"

"I . . . yes, Reverend Mother, I am well." Sister Anne rose from her knees.

"You have lost weight again." The abbess surveyed the thin face and body critically. Even through the copious folds of the habit it was a simple matter to see the girl was becoming too thin. "Sister Madeline is worried."

"Forgive me, I shall try to do better." Sister Anne bent her head. "Reverend Mother, I must speak with you."

"Of course, my child. You have prayed on what disturbs you?"

"I have prayed, but there has been no answer." The abbess drew the girl down to the bench alongside her as Sister Anne continued. "I have fasted and prayed—I have tried to do as you advised, Reverend Mother, and wait for God to reveal all in His time. But all has been for naught! I do not belong to the cloister and I do not belong to the world beyond these walls. What am I to do?"

"You must be patient, Sister, and have faith in His ways. There is a reason for your being here." The abbess smiled gently into the drawn face.

Sister Anne buried her face in her arms. "You cannot understand, Reverend Mother! You have no way of knowing what it is like not to remember your name, your past, even what you look like or what foods you enjoy! I didn't even know I could sew until Sister Caludia thrust a piece of tapestry into my hands. Tis as if I am a blank page of parchment awaiting the touch of a quill. I am afraid to remember the past and I am afraid not to and I do not know why I fear either!"

The abbess was silent. No easy words of compassion sprang to her mind, though she ached for the emptiness Sister Anne was experiencing. The abbess, too, prayed daily that Sister Anne's memory might be restored to her, but beyond prayers, there was naught that could be done.

"Come, Sister," the abbess rose from the bench, "the repast is waiting as are the others. Ask Sister Judith for a potion before you retire, I am told you are not sleeping well."

Sister Anne sighed inwardly as she walked to the kitchen. The abbess did not understand, she could not know the helpless confusion that swam through her thoughts. She forced back the tears that threatened and managed somehow to choke down a portion of her meal. Looking at the familiar faces at the table, Sister Anne felt a rush of shame. How could she be so ungrateful to these kind women? They had nursed her back to health, given her food and shelter, and now she wanted to desert them, to find the part of her that was hidden. She owed them so much . .. her very life!

But I do not belong here!
Sister Anne raged silently.
I feel like an outsider, like one of the ladies who retreat here for a time then take their leave. Surely inquiries could be made somehow of these visitors—young women did not disappear without people knowing of the event! Someone must be concerned with her whereabouts.
Sister Anne decided she must ask the abbess about the possibility of questioning their guests tomorrow. Sister Judith placed a goblet in front of her and she drank it all obediently, smiling slightly when she returned the goblet.

"Thank you, Sister."

Sister Judith looked pleased. " 'Twill grant you a peaceful night. Reverend Mother has excused you from Matins so you need not rise 'til Prime."

"Will your elixir also spare me from my dreams, Sister Judith?" Sister Anne questioned with wide eyes.

The older woman lowered herself onto the bench near Sister Anne. "Are they unpleasant, your dreams?"

Sister Anne shook her head. "Nay, Sister, not unpleasant but rather disturbing, as if something is trying to reach out and touch me but cannot. And there are people in my dreams now—people without faces in strange rooms but I cannot hear their voices and when I try to touch them or see their faces, the dream stops and I awake. Sister Judith, what am I to do?" she pleaded.

The nun had no answer beyond a reassuring pat on the hand and Sister Anne wearily sought her pallet.

* * *

The following day found Sister Anne more relaxed than she had been in the past few weeks, her wide sapphire eyes had lost their haunted expression though a sad emptiness still remained in their depths. Shortly after the midday meal Sister Anne found the abbess alone in her office and she tapped softly on the open door.

"Yes? Oh, Sister Anne, come in." The abbess motioned her into one of the chairs. "What is it, child?"

"Reverend Mother, would it be possible to make inquiries about me ... my identity ... to the outside world? Or question the guests that come here for retreat?"

The abbess sighed, "Child, child, do you know what you are asking? Our guests retire here to separate themselves from the outside world. They do not wish to bring their cares behind these walls. As for any of our order venturing beyond the abbey, you are fully aware of our rules."

"But, Reverend Mother—" Sister Anne broke in.

The abbess continued as if the girl had not spoken. "There is an additional barrier, which I did not wish to reveal. You assumed—and we did nothing to dissuade you—that you had been injured in a fall from a horse, but I must tell you now that is not true. When William invaded England, many of our brave Saxon knights found their way here and for a time our cloister was engaged solely in healing the wounded. I, along with many others, saw a great many wounds inflicted in the heat of battle and I say to you now that your injuries were caused by a sword.

"If you look to your side, you will see that what I say is the truth—no tree limb, rock, horse's hoof, nor even a dagger can inflict that type of wound. And no thief would allow his victim to live, so you cannot hope to explain your injuries thusly. Sister Judith, Sister Madeline, and I had thought to keep this from you, but 'tis now impossible. Whoever you are, wherever you were bound, you were set upon by a well-armed force. Assassins, dear child, who for some unknown reason left you alive when they made good their escape. You can see now why, until you regain your memory, your presence here must remain a secret. Why do you believe we did not tell the novices how you actually came to us? You must have powerful enemies, Sister Anne, for them to go to such lengths to secure your death."

"But you can only guess at that, Reverend Mother!" Sister Anne insisted. "You cannot be certain that my death was plotted. It could have been a band of thieves— they could have been well-armed, 'tis not unheard of."

"I would indeed not be so certain if I had not heard from your own lips what I guessed. You spoke when the fever raged within you, child. You spoke of murder and blood; of destruction, an ambush in a wooded place. For months we dreaded the sound of the bell above the gate to our cloister—every day we waited for a party to descend upon us and ask if we had heard or seen you. We dared not question any of those who retreated here out of fear that should your presence be revealed we would have been condemning you to death. To regain your memory is the only safe course for all of us."

"You mean I must remain here 'til such a time?" Sister Anne displayed the first burst of anger toward another that the abbess had seen. "I will grant you that what you say could be true, but I cannot believe that whoever wishes to kill me would harm you or any of the sisters. You have done naught to warrant such harsh treatment."

"To your mind—and mine—perhaps not, but to others . . ." The abbess raised her hands in a helpless gesture.

"Surely all who knew me must believe me dead now," Sister Anne stated boldly. "So wherein could lie the harm? A few subtle questions . . . please, Reverend Mother!"

"I shall pray for guidance," the abbess relented with a sigh. "Now, Sister, you must excuse me."

* * *

With a sense of wonder Sister Anne suppressed an impatient retort and left the abbess's office. During the first months of her stay the only emotion she had experienced had been confusion and a tinge of fear, fear of the unknown. But recently she found herself chafing under the order's restrictions, becoming impatient with herself and others though she managed to conceal it. But last night, she mused while she strolled through the courtyard, last night the dreams had come again and had not frightened her. Rather she had welcomed the vague images and the contentment they brought, and when she sought to recapture the dreams today, her head did not throb as badly as before. Could it be possible that her memory was returning? Sister Anne smiled to herself; perhaps her prayers had been answered at last. Caught up as she was in her own thoughts she failed to hear the gate of the cloister swing open and barely avoided being trampled beneath the hooves of a massive steed. She stepped quickly aside, making certain that her head remained lowered when a deep, masculine voice called down to her.

"Sister, are you injured?"

She gave a slight shake of her head and hurried off in the direction of the orphanage.

* * *

"Cloisters!" The dark man snorted as he watched the novice disappear. "Women so engrossed in their prayers they do not attend to where they are." He settled back into his saddle. "I still fail to understand why you had to drag me along, Bryan."

The young lord of Broughton laughed as he dismounted. "You heard Catherine, Gyles. She insists upon having this cloister prepare swaddling for the babe and I cannot refuse her. And since you are a father twice over I thought your opinion to be of value."

Gyles of Camden swung from his steed and grimaced. "I know naught of cloth and trimmings, those matters were attended to by Alan's nurse and—" he hesitated briefly "—and Serena prepared all that Evan needed."

It still hurt after all these months to think of his wife. The pain had not diminished but had changed from the sharp, twisting sensation in his belly to a poignant yearning in the heart he had once denied having, when he remembered the loss of his wife.

Bryan ignored the shadow that passed over Gyles's face. "Nonetheless, 'tis a job I could not undertake alone, and since Catherine is unable to travel, you were the best at hand. Besides, I thought you might enjoy a visit to Broughton before your guests descend upon Camden for the tourney."

"And you and Catherine will be able to spoil my sons 'til there will be no living with them," Gyles responded with a laugh, then sobered as his laughter drew the attention of the sisters in the courtyard. Once again Gyles's impatience returned. "We have probably frightened the nuns, Bryan, how long is this going to take?"

"Presently," Bryan chuckled, "I believe that must be our escort to the abbess."

* * *

The abbess studied the two men seated before her and restrained the flicker of amusement she felt. It was obvious they were both uncomfortably out of place within the quiet isolation of the order, particularly the dark knight whose gaze seemed to mock the piety surrounding him.

Ah, well, 'twas not his coins that would find their way into the order's purse.
The abbess returned her attention to the younger man. "We have a fine selection of materials, Lord Bryan. I have sent several of the sisters for those best suited for your purpose, you may view them here if you wish. Now, the threads and trim ..."

Gyles withdrew his attention from the conversation and watched through the window as a band of children and nuns surrounded his and Bryan's mounts to admire the trappings. The smaller children playfully darted beneath the horses' bellies and between the hooves, skillfully evading the sisters' hands when the women tried to snatch them away from the potential danger. Gyles muttered an oath under his breath and ungraciously stalked from the abbess's office, not even bothering to turn and answer Bryan's question as to where he was going. The mounts were well trained to be sure, but with a group of squealing babes underfoot Gyles was not about to trust Demon's volatile temperament to any great length. As he approached the steeds, the children fell back, hurrying into the relative safety of the sisters' arms when they glimpsed the white curved scar on Gyles's cheek. Gyles surveyed them silently for a moment, his green eyes flickering over the clean but patched clothing of the children while they measured him in turn, their eyes round with fear at the awesome figure standing before them.

* * *

Sister Anne stood at the rear of the group, her heart beating so wildly at the sight of the tall stranger that she felt she would swoon. How handsome he was, in spite of the scar that marred one cheek; but when his gaze was about to fall on her, Sister Anne lowered her head, for there was a coldness in those green eyes that caused her to tremble. Surely he was not angry with the children for wanting to touch the steeds and their finery— they had naught in their lives that even hinted of such splendor.

In fact, Gyles was not angry in the least, rather he found his heart melting in the face of the innocent, wide-eyed urchins. Were these rags all the children had to wear? Gyles wondered. Serena would have deplored these conditions; would, in fact, probably have prevailed upon him to bring these children to Camden. Or perhaps ... A plan began to take shape in Gyles's mind and he suddenly smiled as he scooped the nearest child into his arms and onto Demon's saddle. Within a short time all the children had had a turn on Demon's back accompanied by a short ride around the courtyard. When the last of their number finished his ride, the children and nuns thanked Gyles warmly and retreated to the orphan-age. Gyles retied Demon's reins to the pillar and made his way back to the abbess's office.

Bryan looked up from the long table of materials and smiled as Gyles entered. "I am nearly finished, Gyles."

Gyles nodded then turned abruptly to the abbess. "How many children do you care for here, Reverend Mother?"

The abbess was slightly taken aback. "Why ... at the present time we have fifteen children. I noticed some of the smaller ones by your steed, I hope you are not angry, m'lord, I am sure they meant no harm."

Gyles waved away her apology. "I should like to see the children better cared for." The abbess made to protest but Gyles silenced her with a gesture of his hand. "I have no doubt the good sisters do the best they can, but the children's appearances are wanting. Surely with all the materials you have here, the order could fashion new clothing for them."

"I am afraid not, m'lord, these materials are made up and sold to the nobles. We are a cloister, m'lord, and we are not wealthy; the gold our work brings in barely provides for food we cannot supply ourselves and for the building repair that is essential, Tis rare indeed if we have any coin to spare."

'"Then determine what the children need and I shall see you receive what is required," Gyles directed the nun. "If the orphanage is in need of repair, I shall send you masons and carpenters from Camden. Make your list, Reverend Mother, I shall take it with me when we depart. Bryan, I am sure the Reverend Mother needs time to make her list. Will you join me in a short stroll?"

The abbess announced the convent's good fortune to the nuns at the evening meal. For a brief moment the members of the order sat in stunned silence—then the normally sober faces broke into smiles and quiet laughter and excited chatter ensued.