Great Protector (63 page)

"Sweet
St. Jude, it's hot," Arissa mumbled, lying on her back and staring up at
the massive branches creating futile shade in the face of such sweltering
humidity. "I can hardly stand this heat. It's merciless."

Lady
Penelope Ellsrod fanned herself furiously in response. Her husband was undoubtedly
cooking within the confines of his armor, patrolling his station somewhere
within the rebuilt bailey of Lambourn. In command of the massive structure with
the earl off fighting the Welsh rebels, Daniel was as arrogant as if Lambourn
were his very own fortress. Penelope wished he'd pay as much attention to her
as he did to Lambourn's security.

"Daniel's
going to die of heat exhaustion before our son is even born," she
muttered, rubbing her slightly rounded belly. "I do believe his armor has
somehow become physically attached."

Arissa
smiled, sitting up with effort. In fact, Penelope had to reach out and pull her
into an upright position. "He’s the earl's captain now, Pen. Of course he’s
busy with Lambourn's security while Father is away."

"There
is nothing more to worry over now that Ovid de Rydal has ceased his
hostilities," Penelope insisted. "Good Lord, I thought the man was
going to die of pure shock when he was told his son had violated Whitby. He’s
apologized for Tad's attack more times than I can count, and still he sends
gifts and tokens of esteem to make amends for the actions of his impetuous
heir."

Arissa
nodded faintly. "I am glad the man has finally come to reason, especially
after Gavan reiterated that Richmond had nothing to do with Tad's ambush.
Father thought Ovid would go mad with the knowledge that his son had been
killed in his attempt to abduct me, but I am pleased to see that his
assumptions were wrong. Ovid realized Tad's vengeance was misplaced, as we all
did. I am so very tired of battles, of fighting. I simply want to know a
measure of peace."

Her
smile faded as Emma waded back to shore, the soaked hem of her surcoat clinging
to her ankles. Slender and beautiful at seventeen years of age, her cheeks were
flushed a delicious pink in the humidity as she sat gracefully before her two
friends.

Arissa's
gaze moved to her closest friend, truly at peace for the first time in her
life. She remembered when she had sent Gavan to retrieve Emma from Whitby. Emma
had returned seated in front of the knight, as happy and as lovely as Arissa
had ever known her to be. And Gavan, in spite of the violent circumstances
surrounding the Welsh rebellion and Richmond's defection, had seemed very much content
with Emma in his arms. A situation that Arissa hoped would develop to a
pleasing end.

Emma
did so love the man, and she knew that Gavan was in desperate need of comfort after
his wife's death. But as Arissa pondered the passing of Gavan's wife, she inadvertently
began to ponder her own emotional state should Richmond meet his fate upon the
cold hills of the Welsh border. Lingering on her darker thoughts, she couldn't
help her expression from dampening.

Emma
shifted herself on the cool grass, gazing into Arissa's gloomy countenance.
From the melancholy settled upon the beautiful features, Emma could guess the
subject of her friend's thoughts.

"Have
you heard from him at all, Riss?" she asked softly.

Arissa
shook her head. "You would have known the minute I received any missive. I
have not heard from him since February, when Owen was preparing an offensive. Father
took the missive from me and burned it in a fit of anger," her throat
constricted with sobs, but she swallowed them away, forcing down her sorrow and
longing. She thought, once, her grief would ease with time. Unfortunately, it
had grown. 

"Your
father still believes him to be a traitor," Emma said softly, sighing.
"I never thought I would see the day when Richmond and Gavan would fight
against one another."

Arissa's
brow furrowed with sorrow and Penelope rose unsteadily, extending her hand to
her raven-haired friend. "Come, let us go inside. It is much cooler in the
hall and we can play games."

Regine,
splashing about loudly, meandered onto the shore. Still tubby and round at the
brink of womanhood, she hadn't changed overly in the past several months. In
truth, with all of the transformations Arissa had been witness to, she found
the fact that Regine had remained constant very comforting. Some things never
changed.

"Forget
about the games, Riss," Regine said loudly, plopping heavily on the grass
beside her sister. With a contented sigh, she moved to rest her head on
Arissa's vanishing lap. "Let's talk about Ronald de Becket. Do you suppose
he will come to call on me now that he and father have become good friends,
battling the Welsh together?"

Battling
Richmond, you mean
.
Arissa tried not to let her depression reflect on her sister's eagerness to
attract a beau. With her thirteenth birthday approaching in less than three
weeks, Regine was eager now more than ever to find a husband and Arissa
resigned herself to the fact that her baby sister's inquisitive ideals would
never change. "I do not know, Regine. He’s rather old for you, do not you
think? He’s past thirty years."

"And
Richmond is forty," Regine snapped before she could stop herself. As
Penelope and Emma looked on with varied levels of sorrow and apprehension,
Regine quickly sat up beside her sister with remorse in her eyes. "I am
sorry, Riss. I did not mean to.... it does not matter how old he is."

Arissa
opened her mouth to reply when a familiar figure approached across the grass,
his fair hair glistening under the bright sun. "I have been sent to escort
you inside," Bartholomew de Lohr announced loudly. "Word had come
down from Hera herself; escort the fair Muses into the safe haven of Olympus
before Hades himself burns them to a crisp."

Distracted
from Regine, Arissa smiled brightly at her brother. Convinced he had been
killed by the Welsh spies, it was a perpetual surprise to realize he had been
fortunate enough to survive his injury.

It
had taken him months to recover from his near-mortal wound, leaving him a good
deal thinner and considerably weaker. Yet in spite of the physical obstacles,
Bartholomew's spirits had never been healthier; he was the same brilliant
eccentric she had come to know and love.

"Which
Hera might that be?" she asked as he extended his hand to help her to
stand. Between Penelope, Bartholomew and Regine, Arissa was able to rise
easily. "Do you refer to Lady Maude or my mother?"

"Actually,
both," Bartholomew said, tucking her hand into the crook of his arm and
leading her across the grass. Penelope and Emma occupied his other side as
Regine trailed behind. "Your mother has planted herself before the
upstairs solar window so that she would be able to observe as you frolicked in the
water. But Lady Maude was unable to watch you for fear she might witness some
sort of horrible catastrophe. Such as you sinking to the bottom of the lake, I
suppose."

Arissa
smiled, patting her swollen belly. "With this buoyancy, I doubt I shall
sink." Well into her seventh month, she was already large with child.
Almost too large, if one would ask the opinions of Lady Ellyn or Lady Maude.
But Mossy assured them the child was fine and Arissa was extremely healthy; in
fact, she was healthier than he had ever known her to be. There was nothing to
worry over, he told them. Naturally, they were not easy to agree.

"Great
Gods, I would think not," Bartholomew snorted, passing a glance at
Penelope. "And what about you, my fine lady? You have a great deal of
growing to do to catch up with my sister."

Penelope's
lips folded in a pout. "I have not been able to eat as well as Riss simply
because I have been ill nearly the entire time. She’s not been ill one
day!"

Arissa
shrugged. "I do not know that it is better to eat like a horse from morn
until evening. I do not think I have stopped eating for seven months."

Emma
snorted with humor. "Do you remember how Richmond used to practically feed
you every meal? You ate less than a bird and he was constantly scolding you for
it. He would hardly believe were he to see you at the table now, stuffing
everything into your mouth that you can lay your hands on."

Arissa
laughed softly in agreement, her joviality fading to think of Richmond once
again. The past seven months had been a winding journey through the inner
depths of an emotional hell, joy and sorrow than she ever thought possible.

Parting
with Richmond on that icy December morn had been harder than she ever imagined;
in fact, had it not been for Sister Repentia's calm words and comforting
presence, she doubted that she would have allowed herself to be taken from
Richmond at all. The fact that he had clung to her as if he were drowning only
made it worse.

Her
mother had stayed with her throughout the entire journey home, consoling her,
singing to her, treating her as if she were a babe once again. Arissa was
content to lay in the woman's lap day after day, barely able to think or feel
or move, and Sister Repentia was content to cradle her as she had so wanted to
all of these years. Her child needed her, more than ever, and she would not
disappoint.

Never
once had Owen's name mentioned as they travelled through the snowy landscape,
nor did she make mention of Arissa's blood ties to the Welsh leader.  Arissa
need never know the truth as far as her mother was concerned. The less she knew
of the harsh realities of life, the better for her well-being. She did not need
any more grief than had already been delivered.

Hoping
the trip homeward would prove to be calming and uneventful in the face of
Arissa's wrenching extraction from Wales, their wishes were granted. However,
an odd twist occurred that neither lady was aware of at the time; when Richmond
had ordered Arissa sent home, he had been referring to Whitby. Naturally, she
assumed he had meant Lambourn and when they arrived, they were met by
Bartholomew's inquisitive face. On Bartholomew's heels came William, full of
vigor and pleasantries and without knowledge of his most violent words towards
Arissa and Richmond.

As
Mossy had explained some time later, William had been drunk and exhausted the
day those fateful words had been uttered and had been sincerely distressed to
awaken from a two day's sleep to discover that Arissa had been whisked from
Lambourn. Knowing Richmond had final judgment on Arissa's safety, William had
assumed the knight had deemed a compromised fortress an inappropriate place for
Henry's daughter and had seen fit to promptly remove her.

Which
was why he had been overjoyed with her unexpected return. Exhausted and
hysterical, she had relayed stories of Richmond's bravery and betrayal, and William
had been deeply shocked to learn that Richmond had allied himself with Owen
Glendower. Arissa had informed her father that Richmond had betrayed his king
to save her from the Welsh prince's clutches; William wondered if it was true.

The
New Year came and went, and the Welsh resistance had fired in earnest thanks to
the brilliance of Richmond le Bec and the mighty sword of Hotspur. Gavan and
William left for the border to aid Henry's cause, despondent that they were to
be fighting against a man who had been a sworn ally and friend for the better
part of their lives.

It
was a painful predicament Arissa did not like to dwell on. Her father and Gavan
were waging war against Richmond and to maintain her sanity in the face of such
upheaval was a constant struggle.

The
battle threatened to deepen as she and her friends left the serenity of the
lake; for the sake of her brittle composure, however, she forced herself from
her gloomy thoughts and passed a disinterested glance at Regine and Emma as
they quibbled over something undeniably serious. Penelope, having had enough of
the arguing between the two younger women, moved beside Arissa as they made
their way toward the fortress.

"Mayhap
we can lose Emma and Regine and retire to the solar for a game of backgammon.
Are you hungry? I feel as if I could eat something."

Arissa
glanced at her fair friend, flushed rosy with her pregnancy. "It is indeed
a miracle if you feel like eating. Certainly I shall join you; mayhap I can
convince my mother to prepare her special apple-and-cinnamon treat for
us."

Penelope
nodded vigorously. "Your mother makes wonderful dishes; poor Whitby, we
have taken away their talented cook."

Arissa
smiled, thinking on her raven-haired birth mother. "Whitby's misfortune is
my greatest fortuity," she sighed, gazing into the hot blue sky above.
"I am so very glad she has decided not to return to the cloister. She
belongs here, with me. We have eighteen years of separation to make up
for."

"That
is what Lady Ellyn said," Penelope agreed softly. "I heard her tell
Lady Maude that she’s destined to be with you, be it at Whitby or at Lambourn.
And Lady Maude eagerly agreed."

Arissa
nodded. "How fortunate that I have two mothers who care deeply for
me."

She
paused a moment in thoughtful silence, thinking on the relationship she and
Lady Ellyn had formed. No longer was the green-eyed woman known as Sister Repentia,
a title she had given up the day she decided to remain at Lambourn. Outside of
the confines of the convent, her holy title seemed out of place and hollow. At
Lambourn, she had finally found a place where she belonged, a place where she
could be happy.   Anywhere Arissa was, she was happy.