Hild had watched as she examined the items that were her birthright. “As you can see, you are indeed of noble birth, and I have raised you as such. Your birth is beyond question.” The nun’s eyes bored into Isabeau. “I knew it was essential I raise you to be a woman who would one day take the responsibility of her birth. It is your destiny.”
Isabeau thought she detected a wistful edge to her aunt’s voice. Dragging her eyes away from the brocade and ring, she looked at her aunt. “Who would leave such treasure with an abandoned infant?” She knew her aunt didn’t know, but she couldn’t stop herself from asking.
“I have raised you as my niece because I knew there would come a time when you would be required to step into the future. You were born to this, Isabeau.”
Isabeau slowly rewrapped the brocade and ring in the woolen fabric and handed it back to her aunt. “I can’t be the person you want me to be.”
Isabeau saw regret pass behind her aunt’s eyes. It was replaced almost immediately with something much cooler. Irritation.
“I will not force you to marry, but remember this; it is not for yourself alone that you must consider.” The older woman pinned Isabeau with a cold stare. “The abbey under the hands of Bishop Hexham will suffer much.” She almost spat the words, the disdain for the man evident. “He has the power to destroy all who stand in his way.”
Her aunt took a steadying breath before she continued. “I thought to remove the threat of him by suggesting you marry Baron Beauforde. I would be trusting you with the lives of the nuns who serve God here at the abbey, and those of the villagers.” The old nun tilted her head to the side and considered Isabeau. “Perhaps I expect too much of you?”
Guilt and shame were not new for Isabeau, but the effect of her aunt’s words served to compound their weight beyond measure. The bishop would try again to make her his whore. She had been lucky last month to escape with minor bruising, and her virtue intact. Next time she wouldn’t be so fortunate. What choice did she have? None. And that was what terrified her.
She had heard the stories of the knight who was the new king’s favorite. Beauforde, so it was told, was a man with little regard for anyone but himself. She was afraid she would be forced to live a life even more bereft of love and affection than she had experienced as an abandoned orphan at the abbey. It was almost too much to bear.
She rose from the stool she’d been sitting on and knelt before her aunt. She must find the courage to embrace the future, and earn the trust her aunt was wanting to place upon her shoulders. So many lives depended on her.
Without looking at her aunt, she gathered her strength about her. It was ill fitting, but she was determined to become acquainted with the unfamiliar garment. She would be honest with her aunt. Perhaps for the first time in her twenty years of living under the older woman’s gaze, she would open her heart and tell her of her fears. “I am fearful I will fail.” Her throat constricted, but she fought the urge to remain silent.
She took a deep breath and continued, “I have such a limited knowledge of the world.” She had no idea what was expected of her, but she was too embarrassed to voice her fears. “I don’t know how to be anything other than what I am here. Nobody.” Her voice faltered. “How can I be a wife?” She said in a small voice, “The thought of a man’s hands on me will always remind me of the bishop’s attack. It makes my skin crawl.”
With infinite tenderness, Hild lifted Isabeau’s chin so she could meet her eye. “To live only in the knowledge of what your limited experience allows ensures a narrow, and unexceptional, life. Fear is built on doubt. Banish it from your heart, child, and you will find it loses its power.”
Isabeau realized she had neither the will nor the desire to argue the point. She wanted to stay at St. Leonard’s, but that was impossible now that the bishop had laid claim to her. Her only hope was to become some arrogant stranger’s wife. She was being pushed from the nest. God only knew whether she would find the courage to fly. Please, Holy Mary, Mother of God, help me.
It was a pitiful prayer, but it was all she had in her to pray. It had to be enough.
Isabeau was aware of the strange sensation but tried to ignore it. Once again, in the place where she felt useful, her mind wandered back to the bundle she had placed in the chest by her bed. Her chamber was a small room adjacent to the stillroom where she now worked. It was a privilege to have a chamber, and workspace, all to herself. Smiling, she wondered whether it was her aunt’s way of showing others that although she had no family, she was indeed a person of consequence.
Try as she might, the sensation that she had misplaced something nagged at the back of her mind. She put aside her pestle and mortar, full of the herb poultice she was mixing, and with her hands at her sides she allowed her mind to settle. Whatever was hiding just beyond her grasp would show itself. This, she had learned.
Wait.
Be still.
She sensed Flea watching her, but sure enough he tired of her inactivity, and resumed his snoring.
With her eyes closed and her mind still, images danced across her mind’s eye.
The image of her hand with the ruby ring on her finger appeared before her closed eyes. As she waited, she saw herself remove the ring and pin it to the fabric. Then she’d carefully folded the brocade and ring up in the wool and placed it in her chest.
Waiting, she allowed feelings to follow.
She uttered a small gasp, her eyes flying open. She raised her right hand and looked at her naked finger. The finger where the ring had been only hours ago.
She realized what was missing. Once she had put the ring upon her finger, she had sealed her fate. She and the ring’s owner were connected. Some part of both their lives were now joined.
She knew what she must do.
Walking past the herb table, she made her way to the curtain separating her stillroom from her chamber.
She retrieved the ring and placed a leather thong through its band and tied it about her neck. She would not wear it for all to see, but it now lay close to her heart.
Was it her imagination, or did wearing the ring shift something deep inside her? Her heart seemed to warm with a sense of belonging.
She belonged to someone, and that was enough to give her a sense of acceptance.
That knowledge gave her the courage to do what was required of her.
“Sweet Christus, help me be the wife I need to be.” It was a prayer she knew God would answer, but it would require all her courage. Hopefully, heaven would extend enough grace to include the man she would call husband. From what she knew of the knight, she was going to be a sore disappointment to him.
So much depended on her, yet her life was to become one of deceit. How could she hope to succeed when everything hung on a tissue of lies?
Chapter Three
Northumbrian and Scottish border
The putrid, clawing stench of burned flesh still hung in Ranulf’s nostrils. He’d seen the smoke. He knew what to expect. The small hamlet of Catcleugh, north of Byrness, was the latest village to be attacked by a raiding party. His hatred seethed, threatening to break free of the tight grasp he had upon it. He was a skilled killer, but he detested the wanton violence and destruction of crops and animals. That was not warfare. These raiders were beneath his contempt. He considered them dishonorable, cowardly. Merdaille.