The Winter Promise (15 page)

“I was upset with you,” she said, and he flinched a little, but kept his steady gray gaze on her. He wasn’t going to help. He probably didn’t know how. He stood, very big and surly looking, and the idea that he might care for her, in some gentle way, was so improbable —

She put her hand out, touching the back of his chair to steady herself.

He gave her a curious look, then said, cautiously, “Perhaps you will tell me how I failed — ”

“You don’t even trust me,” she said.

He shrugged. “I trust you more than I trust most of my thanes.” Then, “You came for me that day.”

She was staring at him, trying to think how to respond, when his servant Kenneth entered the chamber, bearing a package. “My lord, the stone cutter has finished your commission.” He stopped, and nodded to Imma. She had the disheartening feeling that
Kenneth
would have known what to do. He would have taken her into his arms —

“Imma, you must look,” Robert said, as if their conflict did not exist, or as if it had just been mended. He took the package from Kenneth and opened it, clearly happy for the interruption. “I have had this made for Elizabeth.”

Imma forced herself to smile and accept the box. Perhaps it was just as well not to continue the conversation. Only heartache lay in that direction. Suppose she admitted to an affection for him, or he for her. What good could come of that?

She opened the box and lifted out the cloak pin, chased silver set with a cabochon-cut ruby, a rune incised on the surface of the stone.

“That is a charm for long life and happiness,” she said, looking up at him with delight. “Elizabeth will adore it.”

“Elizabeth is quite fond of baubles.”

She had to smile at that. “Indeed.”

He nodded to Kenneth, who bowed and withdrew. Then Robert set the cloak pin aside and tilted his head to look at her. “And you, Imma? What may I give you for Christmas?”

She gripped the chair tighter to steady herself. “I have no need of baubles, my lord.”

“Then what would you have of me?”

His gray eyes were very intense, alive in his calm face. What did he want her to say? What did he think she
could
say? She spoke slowly, choosing her words carefully. “I would have your esteem, my lord.”

“You have that, Imma,” he said.

She searched his eyes for a moment. Maybe he even thought he spoke the truth. Her smile slipped and she let it go. “Then that is all I need,” she said, and left the room.

Christmas morning dawned bright and crisp, and the members of the household glowed with cheerful tidings and excitement about the feast and the festivities to come.

A messenger from the abbot had already arrived with a package containing the sweets and the book Imma had requested. She was pleased to have thought of such good gifts. Elizabeth would appreciate the book — she had few of her own. Tilly would enjoy the sweets, probably sharing them with her Osbrycht.

The gown Elizabeth had caused to be made for Imma was finished and ready for her to wear tonight. Possibly Robert would even notice how pretty she looked in it.

Imma pushed open the door to Elizabeth’s sitting room. Tilly had already joined Elizabeth and she smiled as Imma came in.

“Happy Christmas!” Imma said. Elizabeth and Tilly responded with their own smiles and well-wishes.

“It’s snowing again,” Imma said, drawing the door closed. “The servants are decorating the hall. How festive it looks!” Christmas in Canterbury had never been cheerful. Back in Wales, her uncle had celebrated by drinking himself into a stupor. Her cousins had always followed suit, so she had never found the holiday very appealing. But even Robert’s gray stone keep looked cheerful today.

“Oh, you should see Glastonbury at Christmas,” Elizabeth said. “We used to celebrate there, before Robert became steward. The Glastonbury thorns would be in blossom, and the whole city shining.”

“I should like to see that,” Imma said, though she never would. Next Christmas she would be somewhere else in England, married to a man she hardly knew.

“It was beautiful,” Tilly said. “I wonder what it will be like in Normandy.”

And that was the difference between them: Tilly eager to find out what her future held, and Imma dreading it.

Selfishly she wished Tilly were not leaving; she liked the other woman. But in the spring they would all go forth on their separate journeys and it was likely they would never meet again.

“Look what my dear Robert has given me!” Elizabeth said brightly into the silence. She showed the cloak pin to Imma.

“Isn’t it lovely? My lord showed it to me the other day.” She could feel the flush rising on her cheeks just from saying his name. She rushed to say, “My lady, I have a gift for you.” She handed the package to Elizabeth.

“My dear, there was no need.” Elizabeth beamed as she accepted the gift. She untied the ribbon and spread open the fabric wrapping. “Oh, Imma. A book! What a lovely thing to give.” She touched the slim volume and read out the title with satisfaction, then got to her feet to embrace Imma.

“I sent to the abbot for it,” Imma explained. “Knowing it was for you, he enclosed a letter. I have it here.”

“Oh, that will be his Christmas letter,” Elizabeth said as she accepted the packet Imma handed her. “He always sends his blessing and reports on what good works he has accomplished.” Elizabeth sat back down in her chair and broke the sealing wax, then unfolded the letter.

Imma gave the box of sweets to Tilly, who exclaimed delightedly, then shyly produced her gift for Imma, a handful of colorful ribbons for her hair. Then she showed Imma the linen handkerchiefs she had sewed for Elizabeth, and the chest of beeswax candles Elizabeth had given to her.

“I love Christmas,” Tilly sighed, biting into a sugared walnut from the box of sweets.

“What did you get for Osbrycht?” Elizabeth asked, looking up from the letter.

“I commissioned the leathermonger to make him a pair of boots,” Tilly said. Imma held her smile but Tilly must have seen it because she added, “It’s what he said he wanted, a good pair of stout boots. The ones he has pinch, he says.”

“Comfortable boots are a good gift,” Imma said soothingly.

“Besides,” Elizabeth said, “I am sure what he really wants is a kiss, and you can give him that easily enough.”

Tilly blushed scarlet. Presumably to direct attention from herself, she said to Imma, “Robert gave Elizabeth the cloak pin, and he gave me this.” She indicated a silver brooch on her dress, in the shape of a cross inlaid with mother-of-pearl.

“That is very beautiful.”

Tilly dimpled prettily. “And he promised to negotiate an advantageous betrothal settlement from Osbrycht.”

Imma laughed out loud, but when Tilly added, “What did Robert give you?” the laughter stopped.

Imma’s throat tightened. Tilly’s own smile faltered, and then she said with a false note in her voice, “Well, perhaps he has just not had time.”

Elizabeth looked away, picking up the abbot’s letter and busying herself with it. Tilly opened her mouth and then closed it. Imma sighed and took her accustomed chair, wishing she had brought her sewing with her. The room was quiet for a moment.

Then Elizabeth gave a gasp, her hand going to her mouth.

“What is it?” Tilly asked, moving quickly to Elizabeth’s side and darting an alarmed look in Imma’s direction.

Elizabeth held up a hand as she continued reading. Finally she set the letter aside, her hand shaking as she did so. “My dear,” she said, reaching for Imma’s hand. “Oh, Imma.”

“My lady?”

“The abbot writes that he was delighted to hear from you. He had thought you were lost in the attack in Glastonbury forest. He did not realize you had sought shelter at Athelney.”

Imma nodded, not quite sure what in that had upset Elizabeth so. In his separate letter to her, the abbot had said as much, and she’d reproached herself for never thinking to tell him the story sooner. Her only excuse was that her grief and fear had blotted out her good sense and after the worst had passed, she’d been more concerned about her precarious position here and the threat of the future than any of the events of the past.

“Oh, Imma,” Elizabeth continued, tightening her grasp on Imma’s hand. “He says his men came upon a grisly sight in the forest — the remains of a party of forty strong, set upon by thiefmen. There was a great deal of damage done by wild animals and the abbot’s men could only recognize some of the bodies but realized who the company must be. The brothers bore all back to the monastery. Of course the abbot directed the proper burial of the bodies. He ordered everything burned that they could not salvage and use themselves. He did not realize Helen’s connection to me, or he would have written sooner. Instead, he sent the ill tidings to Edward, knowing Harold was his thane and believing you lost, Imma. He has now sent a messenger to Edward with the happy news of your survival.” Elizabeth tried to smile, but the abbot’s letter had obviously brought her grief to life again and she covered her eyes.

“Oh, Elizabeth! I didn’t realize he’d discovered the remains. He said nothing in his letter to me. I suppose he didn’t want to distress me.” She rather wished he would have — it explained why Elizabeth’s riders found no sign of the company when they searched the forest. “Elizabeth, I would spare you this unhappiness,” Imma said. “I wish I had read the letter first. I’m sorry it gave you hurt on a joyous day — ”

“Don’t berate yourself,” Elizabeth said, taking a breath and composing herself. “At least I know my Helen is at rest now. I am glad to know what happened.”

She gathered up the papers and put them in the wooden chest against the wall. “I will have to tell Robert. He will have to believe
this
.”

Imma sighed. If Robert had wanted to believe her, he would have; if he did not, no letter from the abbot would change his distrust of her.

“You misjudge him,” she said. “If you think that letter will make any difference.”

Elizabeth gave her a level look. “I hope you are the one who has misjudged him,” she said unhappily. “But I’m afraid you’re probably right.”

“Good morning, Tilly,” Imma said, on a morning that brought the first hint of spring with it. She came into the bedchamber she shared with the other woman holding out a book. “You left your accounts in Elizabeth’s room.”

“I was wondering what I had done with that,” Tilly said, setting her brush down and shaking her head as she took the book Imma held out. “I’m getting so absent-minded. I wanted to show Elizabeth how we account for the weaving. She’ll have to take over when I leave. She may need to take over sooner if I keep forgetting what I’m doing!”

“It’s not long now, is it?” Imma asked, her heart twisting as she thought of spring and what it would bring.

“Not long now,” Tilly said, her eyes shining. “I saw a violet in the valley on my ride this morning.”

Imma sat on the bed, ready to listen if Tilly wanted to talk. Just because Imma dreaded what spring would bring didn’t mean she couldn’t be happy for her friend.

“Oh! I haven’t shown you this.” Tilly set the book aside and Imma wondered if it would be forgotten again. Had she ever been so distracted by happiness? Maybe, when she was a child, and thought summer would last forever.

Tilly walked to the clothes chest by her bed and opened the lid. she reached inside and pulled out a small object. “Osbrycht gave this to me as a betrothal gift. He and Robert have finalized the contract.” She held out the object for Imma to see. It was a small wooden box with a cloisonné enamel and gold lid.

Imma stared at it. A beautiful trinket, of no little value. She had last seen it when Helen had tucked it into her traveling trunk before that awful morning in the forest.

“It’s lovely,” she said, forcing a bright smile, trying not to recoil when Tilly thrust the box closer to her. Imma couldn’t bear to even touch it.

“Osbrycht is very generous,” Tilly said, setting the trinket down. “Will you join me weaving today?”

“Not just at present,” Imma said, getting to her feet unsteadily. “I have an errand. But later — ” Unable to keep the smile on her face, she grabbed Morfydd and her cloak and fled the room.

She wrapped the cloak around her shoulders and went into the foreyard. Settling on her usual stone bench, she held the cat in her lap, stroking its fur to soothe her panicky feeling. She must think about what she’d seen. She was certain the cloisonné box belonged to Helen. She was equally certain she was the only person at Athelney who could recognize it as such. Elizabeth had probably never seen it before. How often had she been in Helen’s Canterbury home, looking at trinkets? It had fallen into the possession of the thiefmen, and from there to Osbrycht and thence to Tilly.

Imma took a gulp of air, trying to catch her breath, to impose some discipline on her racing mind. How had Osbrycht obtained the box? That was the essential question. She remembered how he had asked her about the attack during their conversation at the welcome feast. If he had been one of the thiefmen, now he knew there had been a survivor. She had not thought his conversation remarkable at the time. But now … .

When the attack happened, she had been among the trees on the trail of a crane, bow in hand, which was how she had escaped its violence. She had seen nothing of the attackers or the attack, only heard it happening and witnessed its aftermath. She would not recognize any of the thiefmen. She was no threat to anyone. She had said as much to Osbrycht. So she was safe, wasn’t she? He would have acted against her before now if she wasn’t, wouldn’t he?

Why had he given the box to Tilly? He must know Imma might recognize it since she was an intimate of Helen’s. Why take the risk? Or perhaps he had
not
realized she would recognize the trinket. She had not told him she was a close friend of Helen’s, merely that she was in the company. Or perhaps like Lord Robert, he disbelieved her story. Or perhaps he had forgotten where it had come from. Or perhaps he had purchased it at the market at Glastonbury, never knowing its provenance. Perhaps —