E. M. Powell (37 page)

“I said, it is nothing.”

“Stop lying, Theodosia. And if you don’t tell me the truth, I’ll rip that cursed wimple right off your head, so I can see for myself.”

Her hands shot to protect her headdress, and her shorn hair scattered. “Brother Edward did it. It is part of my penance. To remind me of my broken vows.”

Rage surged in Palmer’s chest. “I’ll kill him.”

“You cannot say anything. I should not even be talking to you anymore.”

“You said part of your penance. What else?”

“That is between me and my confessor.” She bent to the floor once more to pick up her fallen hair.

As she did so, her woolen dress slipped to one side on her right shoulder to reveal soft white skin reddened by the coarse material. The sight hit Palmer like a punch to his guts. “He’s got you to mortify your flesh, hasn’t he?”

“It is what I deserve.” She stood up once more and readjusted her dress without meeting his eye.

“No, it isn’t. The man’s a bully. This isn’t penance. This is an abomination. It has to stop. At once.”

“No, Sir Palmer.”

Her firm tone took him aback.

“My body, while shared with you for one time of madness, is mine and God’s. What I do with it is between me and Him. None of it is your concern. Do I make myself clear?”

“You do. But I refuse to accept it.”

Heavy footsteps sounded from the stairwell, and Edward’s voice floated up. “Are you ready, Sister?”

Dread showed in her face. “Please do not make it worse. Please.”

He couldn’t do it. He turned to address Edward as the monk appeared in the doorway.

Edward’s glance flew from one to the other. “Sister, I can’t believe you consort with this man — ”

“Leave her alone, Edward. I came back to meet you here and found you gone. The sister here only told me you’d walked with Sister Amélie to the boat. Nothing untoward has taken place.”
Except what you’ve done to my Theodosia, you filthy devil.
If it wouldn’t have made things worse for her, he’d have punched Edward’s lights out there and then.

“I’m very relieved to hear it,” said Edward. “Now, make haste in gathering your things. We need to leave.”

“Yes, Brother.” Theodosia kept her head bowed, meek.

Palmer straightened and challenged the monk with his gaze. “I have no need to gather anything. All I have are the clothes that I stand up in. Which I will pay you back for,” he added, before Edward could respond.

“Then God be praised for traveling light,” said Theodosia.

Edward’s attention switched to her. “Indeed. If we’re ready, let’s set our faces for France.”

France. Henry. Palmer vowed to make it his business to advise the King of Edward’s sickening treatment of Theodosia. He, Palmer, might have lost her forever to the church. To stomach that was bad enough. But allow another man to use her for his own ends? Never.

CHAPTER 29

Stood on the rear deck of the heavily laden
Stella Maris
, Theodosia watched the port of Southampton recede into the distance. Its noise and business had faded to a sprinkle of lights against the darkness of the mainland. Above, the crescent moon sat in a sky frosted with a million stars.

A couple of yards away, the captain, Jacob Donne, stood at the tiller, absorbed in steering his craft. The other three crew members had gone below as soon as the ship had caught the tide and was under way.

“You should go below, Sister,” said Donne. “It’s powerful cold up here after a while.”

“I should like to stay for a little while longer if I may.” She gestured to the dark water. “I never realized the sea was this big.” She felt foolish as she said it, but Donne nodded in acknowledgment.

“Not seen it before?” he said.

“No, and I never will again.”

“Then make the most of it. Mind, what you see here might look big, but it’s still the harbor. Once we get out onto the open water, ’tis like there’s no end to it.”

Her mother emerged from the ladder that led below and climbed out with care.

“Oh, my goodness.” Amélie tottered to join Theodosia and clutched for the rounded wooden rail. “It’s so unsteady.”

“It’s fine, Mama. There is scarcely a movement.”

“Then you must get your sea legs from your father,” said Amélie. “Believe me, there’s plenty moving.”

Theodosia drew in a deep, slow breath through her nostrils. The fresh, salty sea air, so different out here compared with the rank smells of the port, came as sheer delight. It was clean, pure. Like she would be.

“We have a meal waiting below,” said Amélie. “Brother Edward sent me up to fetch you.”

Theodosia tore her gaze from the ebony ocean and the mirrored moon with reluctance. Were she given a choice, she would stay up here all night. But it wasn’t only the appeal of the sea keeping her from her meal. When she went below, she would have to face Benedict, be in his company, yet remain utterly aloof. It seemed an impossible task. When she’d rejected him in the hostel, his dark eyes had blazed with anger. But she’d also seen hurt, pain, bewilderment. If she could have, she would have taken him in her arms, consoled him, comforted him. She could not. She’d chosen her path, made her promises to God. Benedict would have to heal alone, and, Lord help her, so would she.

Her mother staggered and gasped as she crossed the deck. Close behind, the sway of the ship beneath Theodosia’s feet felt completely natural. Her body seemed to know how to handle the pitch and roll as if by instinct. Maybe this did come from her father.

She waited as her mother climbed below, then swung around to follow. Her father. The King. She’d see him in a couple of days. Her heart tripped faster. She wasn’t sure which made her more nervous, Henry’s being her sovereign or being the father she’d never known.

The smell of boiled fish wafted from a small room to her left. Her mother entered first, and she followed.

Benedict and Edward were already seated in heavy silence, elbows propped on the table. An oil lamp suspended from a ceiling hook swung gently above them and sent shadows to and fro across their faces.

“At last. Civil company.” Benedict raised a full goblet to them. “Good evening to you, Sisters.”

“Good evening,” said Amélie with a final lurch for her seat.

Theodosia frowned to herself as she took her place. Both men were drinking, a large stone wine bottle at each of their elbows. But Benedict must have consumed a great deal. His face shone with sweat, and he had a foolish, set look on his face. He glanced at her briefly, then looked away, his expression unaltered.

Edward too had a goblet of wine but seemed well in control of himself.

A large covered pottery dish sat on the table, along with four small bread trenchers. Edward reached forward and removed the lid, releasing a cloud of fishy steam that he savored with a long sniff. “Now let us say our grace, because the Lord needs to be thanked for such a wonderful feast.”

Once thanks had been made, he served each person in turn.

Theodosia accepted hers with a bowed head, keen to avoid Benedict’s gaze. The plain boiled fillet of mullet sat grayish and plain on the trencher, clear liquid leaking from it. She set to eating the unappetizing repast. While she was hungry, she was also in a state of utter discomfort. She longed to be able to shed her overtight wimple and belt and rid herself of the plaguing wool dress.

“It is indeed godly, plain food,” said Edward. “Surprising when you think what an unholy place Southampton is. I’ve never seen so many strange folk.”

“Happen you look strange to them,” came Benedict’s sharp response.

Theodosia raised her gaze.

Brother Edward’s green eyes narrowed at Benedict, and Theodosia tensed for his reply.

“Well, it was certainly strange to us, Sir Palmer,” Amélie intervened quickly. “But you must have seen many places like it.”

“More than I’d ever want, Sister Amélie.”

Theodosia relaxed a mite as Benedict responded to her mother with courtesy.

He took a long drink before he continued. “As a working knight, I’ve had to go wherever I’d be paid. I’ve been where the snow and ice could bury a man. Where the sun’s so fierce, it’s burned the people black.”

“You mean like a Saracen?” said her mother, eyes wide.

“No, much, much darker,” he said.

She shuddered. “Poor things.”

“They seemed happy enough,” he said. “But they spoke in strange tongues, so it was impossible to know.”

“Then they’ll be heathens,” said Edward. “Happy in this world, maybe, but in the fires of hell for all eternity.” He too took a long drink. “Burned even more, with no end to it.”

Benedict smacked his beaker down onto the tabletop. “You know what’s in every man’s heart, do you? How God will judge them?”

“I know that only the godly can be saved. No one else will.” Edward shot him a glance. “Until you mend your ways and repent, that means you too, Palmer.”

“Then I’ll see out eternity with the Saracens and the savages. I’d prefer their company to yours any day.”

Edward looked thoroughly shocked, but Benedict laughed aloud as he took another drink. “Faith, Edward, you’re an easy man to rile.” His dark eyes crinkled at the edges, as they always did when he smiled, and he pushed back his unruly dark hair. In this light, his teeth glowed white against the shadows of his weathered skin.

A sudden wave of utter longing swept over Theodosia. Benedict was like the sea: wild, untamed. A force of nature. Edward was the direct opposite. Calm, controlled, contained. Like she was once and had to be again. Mortified at her flash of desire, she stabbed at her bland fish with her eating knife. Her choice was made, and she should rejoice in her soul that she’d chosen wisely.

“I’m not even going to answer such fool’s talk,” said Edward. “How is your food, Sisters?”

“Most welcome,” said Amélie. “Well prepared, and a modest amount, with no inflaming herbs.”

Theodosia nodded her agreement, though the stuff was foul.

“As we are well prepared,” said Edward. “We will be with the King the day after tomorrow. I’ve already written the account of Becket’s murder to present to him.”

“I pray it will be kindly received,” said Amélie. “But, knowing Henry, there will be no fear of that.”

“There’s never a fear of truth,” said Edward. “God will indeed be on our side.” He refilled his goblet and leaned to top up Benedict’s once more.

“When did you write it, Brother Edward?” said Theodosia, keen to distract herself from her treacherous thoughts.

“Over the last ten days,” said Edward. “I did it as quickly as possible. I think the soul of my lord Becket himself guided my hand.”

Theodosia considered his words. “You have given a correct account of Sir Palmer’s involvement?”

Edward paused, spoon halfway to his mouth. “Are you questioning my competence with the quill, Sister?”

“No, not at all.” All eyes were on her and flustered her. “Only that Sir Palmer’s part…changed as events unfolded.”

“You don’t need to worry on Sir Palmer’s account,” said Edward with irritation. “I’ve spent many hours compiling it.”

She opened her mouth to question again. “But — ”

“Oh, Theodosia, give the man his due,” said Benedict, words slurred around the edges from drink. “He might not be able to use a sword, but he’s an expert at wielding a quill.” He made a crude mime with a cramped hand, eyes in an exaggerated squint.

“Thank you, Palmer. I think.” Edward raised a hand. “And remember, she’s Sister Theodosia.”

“My apologies, Brother.” Benedict bowed in exaggerated contrition. “You’ll have to forgive me now. You’ll be worn out from it.”

Edward shook his head. “Your blasphemy knows no bounds. You’re lucky you have the likes of me to pray for your soul.”

“And you, my friend, are lucky to have sinners like me to pray for. Keeps you busy.”

“Never a truer word.” Edward raised his goblet to Benedict and sipped.

“I think, gentlemen, we will retire soon. Thank you for this excellent meal,” said Amélie. “We will leave you to your wine.” Her knowing glance to Theodosia encouraged her to eat up, but she’d already finished.

Theodosia nodded and rose to her feet along with her mother. She couldn’t wait to leave the knight’s presence.

“Good night, gentlemen.” Amélie swayed in the cabin’s roll, and Theodosia took her arm to steady her.

“Good night, Sister Amélie.” The reply came from both men.

“God’s rest to you both.” Theodosia escorted her mother from the cabin, with a brief, polite smile for Edward and Benedict.

“And you, Sister Theodosia,” replied Edward.

Benedict looked straight ahead, as if he’d heard nothing, seen nothing.

Theodosia helped her mother along, fighting down her anger at his slight, at his crude drunkenness. It shouldn’t matter; he would soon be out of her life forever. Then why did she care so much?

♦ ♦ ♦

“Good night, my blessed.” Amélie yawned as she settled under the rough cover. “It feels strange to be in a bed that sways, but I know I’ll sleep well. My very bones feel tired tonight.”

“I know what you mean, Mama.” Theodosia bent low to kiss her mother on the cheek. She straightened with care so as not to bump her head on the low roof of their tiny quarters belowdecks. Only a step away in the cramped space, her own hammock beckoned, promising blessed respite from her regret, her sorrow. Suspended just high enough to clear the floor, it too had a single cover. “I’ll do the candle now.”

“Leave it till you’ve undressed.” Sleep softened Amélie’s voice.

“No, I can manage.” Theodosia blew out the tiny flame. She didn’t want her mother to see her raw flesh and shaven head, have to offer any more explanations. This was between her and God.

The darkness was almost complete and brought the regular movement of the ship under her feet to greater prominence. Though cold and damp, the air smelled stale with the scents of hundreds of voyages and cargoes.

Theodosia raised her hands to her veil and slipped it off. Her wimple proved far more difficult. Her fingers found the tucks, the knots, and eased them loose with difficulty. Finally, it came undone and she pulled it free. She moved her head from side to side and eased out the muscles in her neck and shoulders. When she replaced the wimple in the morning, she doubted if she’d be able to get it as tight as Edward had. Still, she’d have to try.