She had always obeyed this woman. Hild was the one person she thought she could rely on to keep her safe, yet now it seemed she was prepared to throw her to the wolves.
Gulping back rising panic, she fought to keep her emotions under control. Refusing to allow her true feelings to betray her, she arranged her face in a passive expression that communicated nothing of the resentment and fear gathering just beneath the surface.
“Forgive me, Mother, but I don’t understand why you would wish me to marry.” Why you would put me at such risk. She wanted to shout the accusation but stayed quiet. Tears rolled down her cheeks, but try as she might, she couldn’t contain them. Impatient with her body’s treachery, she swiped them away with a swift, efficient gesture that left her cheek stinging.
Hild’s eyes traveled over Isabeau’s face. The old nun’s expression had lost its earlier fury. Now the gray eyes, usually sharp as any falcon’s, held a hint of compassion. It made Isabeau’s eyes leak more tears.
Hild let out a long breath, revealing her frustration. “The king has gifted Baron Beauforde with lands that are adjacent to Haythorpe. If I am to protect you, and the abbey, I need to cede my lands to the baron, thus removing the risk of their remaining under Hexham’s control.” Her tone held an edge of desperation; it almost broke Isabeau’s heart to hear it. “I am left with little choice as to who will control our futures. I will choose Beauforde over Hexham.”
Isabeau didn’t understand, so kept quiet and nodded, which seemed enough encouragement for her aunt to continue. “The only way I can protect you, and ensure the bishop does not remain in control of the abbey, is for you to marry, and for me to bequeath the abbey’s lands to you as a dowry. If they are held by Beauforde, as your husband, then the bishop won’t be able to defile any more of our treasures.” The old nun’s shoulders sagged as though the effort of speaking robbed her of strength.
Isabeau knew firsthand what treasures the bishop wanted. Her stomach roiled at the thought he would have free access to her, and when he was finished violating her, he would cast his eye over the other inhabitants of the abbey.
“I understand what you need to do, Mother, but I can’t understand why you would have me marry.”
“There is no one else, Isabeau.” Hild’s tone told Isabeau her aunt would brook no argument.
“As an orphan, with no knowledge of my parents, I’m not allowed to marry,” she said, trying to keep her voice even. “If the church ever found out, I might be excommunicated.” She didn’t add that once perhaps, before she understood the ignominy of being nameless, when she had been young and full of passion, she had hoped for marriage.
The impatient glare her aunt settled upon her brought her back to the present. “You will do your duty. I ask nothing more of you than I would ask of myself,” Hild snapped.
Hild rose to her feet and once again paced the floor. Isabeau merely sat and watched as the woman walked out her frustration.
Finally, she came and stood before Isabeau. “You are my niece, or at least the world knows you as such. Neither the church nor the baron will learn of your nameless state. I believe the king’s wishes to use Beauforde to control the borders will play into our hands.” She gave Isabeau a weak smile. “I have heard that Beauforde is a ruthless and arrogant man, but no more so than many of his ilk.” Isabeau was about to speak, but her aunt stilled her with a wave of her hand. “I’m sorry, child, but your future is either as Lady Beauforde, or the plaything of Hexham.”
Then in a more considered tone she continued, “You know you will not be safe if Hexham continues to remain in control of St. Leonard’s. Now that his eyes have settled on you, he will not stop until he has you as his concubine. What happens when I am gone? Hexham will see to it that the abbess who replaces me will not have the courage to object to his godless ways. When that happens, where will you go? Who will protect you?” Hild glanced at the fire, then back at Isabeau. “I have not raised you for the role of concubine, but as a helpmeet for a nobleman.”
Hild sat down on the chair she had vacated minutes earlier. She reached out and took Isabeau’s hands in hers. Isabeau was surprised how soft and warm they were. Hers were cold as stone. It was a rarity to receive such a simple gesture. She was sure her aunt loved her; nevertheless she was not a woman to show signs of affection or tenderness. Such a display revealed a depth of emotion her aunt habitually kept well under control.
Isabeau met her aunt’s eyes. It was true she would have nowhere to go when her aunt died. The thought caused her throat to constrict.
Isabeau had no words, so she nodded her assent. Feelings of betrayal and resentment washed over her. She had been naive to think she would live out her days here at St. Leonard’s. By church edict, marriage to a nobleman was denied to women like her. With no knowledge of her family, the church would forbid a marriage. She didn’t understand why her aunt thought they could get away with such a deception.
Unbidden, the memory of her dream brought with it a tightening in her chest. Fear. Isabeau knew it immediately. Its weight crushed the breath from her lungs. Foolishly she had hoped the dream, if a portent of danger, was one for the abbey, or perhaps the village. Alas, it was an ill omen for herself.
“I think it’s time I tell you of the morn you arrived here at my door.” Hild spoke quietly, but her voice sounded strained to Isabeau’s ears.
Isabeau knew some of the story, but her aunt’s tone suggested there was more to tell. Taking a deep breath, she tried to gain control of her breathing. Her heart beat against her chest, threatening to burst through. Be calm. Be calm.
Isabeau sat staring at the linen bundle Hild placed on her knee.
“When Daw found you under the ash tree, this was tied around you. Whoever laid you there wanted to keep your identity a secret, but they ensured you were raised according to your noble bloodline.” Hild didn’t meet Isabeau’s eye. Something akin to guilt flashed over the nun’s expression; then it was gone. Isabeau looked down at the bundle on her knee, rather than focus on her aunt’s strange expression. Her fingers trembled as she untied the linen strips that held the undyed woolen cloth. She had no idea what she would discover.
She let out a little gasp as she looked up at her aunt; an unspoken question sat between them. The fabric was a rich brocade in colors of greens and gold. Silver thread glistened in the light from the windows. It was the most exquisite piece of material she had ever seen. It must be worth a fortune.
Pinned to the top of the fabric was a ring. The large ruby winked its brilliance, dazzling her. With care borne of reverence and awe, she picked up the ring to examine it more closely. It was heavy; she hadn’t expected that. The gold band and gem sat in her palm like a great bird’s egg.
Slowly she turned it this way and that, allowing the sun’s glow to reflect off the large red gem that sat between two dragon’s heads. The workmanship was beyond her imagination. The intricate detail of the gold band and mount, which held the stone in place, announced the ring’s great value. Whoever had left this with her when she was abandoned at the abbey wanted to demonstrate that she was no ordinary infant.
A strange sensation crawled up her legs and settled in her stomach. She couldn’t speak, her face numb. Who was she?