She gave a violent shudder as she recalled his veiled threat of having such heinous labels attached to her. She remembered her body convulsing as his hands closed around her waist and traveled up to her breasts. Instead of allowing the unspeakable to happen, she had lashed out, screaming, biting, and kicking. Flea had come to her defense, only to be viciously kicked by her attacker. His yelps of pain had tormented her for weeks. Afterwards, she had hidden herself behind a carefully erected mask of meek obedience, not letting anyone close for fear her courage would falter. Now the riders had come. She wasn’t stupid enough to truly believe they were not connected.
She couldn’t bear going back to her small stillroom empty-handed, so she pulled on her hose, and fastened them with frayed linen ties above her knees. Then she squeezed her feet into shabby, scuffed shoes, and fastened her unruly hair with a leather thong, and set about collecting medicinal herbs that grew amongst the trees in the orchard.
Sometime later, with her basket full, she walked back towards the only home she knew—a haven in a world where she was no longer safe.
Isabeau was in her small stillroom hanging the white goosefoot she had gathered earlier. Careful not to damage the unopened flower buds, she removed them from the stems and leaves. The flowers she would hang to dry, but the lush green leaves would be used to prepare a poultice. Engrossed in her work she yelped and dropped her pestle to the floor when she heard footsteps at the door. It landed with a crash. “Oh, for heaven’s sake!” she shouted.
“Sorry, m’lady, I didn’t mean to scare you.” The little girl didn’t meet Isabeau’s gaze; rather she kept her pale blue eyes focused upon her own bare feet.
Isabeau was immediately aware that her outburst had caused a fearful response in Tillie. She put down her mortar, and walked around the pestle, to where Tillie stood. With infinite care she raised the girl’s chin, forcing her to look at her, offering her a smile she hoped would calm her. “Tillie, I’m sorry to scare you, and I’m not angry,” she said quietly. “Tell me why I have the pleasure of your company twice in one afternoon.” Isabeau lifted her eyebrows in question. “And what have you done with that great beast of mine?”
The little girl took a shuddering breath and offered a tentative smile. “Mistress Bride gave him his supper. He’s by the hearth.”
“What induced her to be so generous, do you think?” Isabeau was sure it was Tillie’s doing. Bride could never deny the child.
Tillie offered Isabeau a radiant smile, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “I told her he had been so good, and that he deserved a special supper.”
Isabeau ruffled the child’s hair. “You are a little minx.”
Tillie must have remembered why she’d come to the stillroom; her expression became serious. She puffed herself up to her full height and declared in a very pompous tone, “Mother Hild asked me to fetch you.” Her expression was so earnest Isabeau tried to hide her amusement.
“Thank you, Tillie.”
With the message delivered, the child spun around and scampered out the door. Isabeau didn’t have to guess where she was off to in such haste. Tillie would spend every waking moment she could with Flea.
Knowing how lonely it could be growing up without friends or family, especially in the abbey where the nuns kept to themselves, she didn’t begrudge Tillie the dog’s company. Tears burned at the back of her eyes; Flea was, in fact, her only family too.
Isabeau watched as the older woman paced the floor. Mother Hild’s solar was situated on the first floor of the house where the abbess lived. It was a beautiful room, with high windows facing southwest to take advantage of the afternoon sun. The whitewashed walls reflected the sunlight, giving the room a warm, airy feeling. She loved this room and had spent hours here as a child.
The abbess would speak when she was ready, so Isabeau waited. As the silence continued, she tried desperately to control her mounting anxiety. Her thoughts raced among her encounter with the lecherous bishop, her dream from the previous night, and the purpose of the visitors. Moisture trickled between her breasts and down her stomach. Trying to relieve her discomfort, she loosened her shoulders and licked her dry lips. A cold, clammy feeling traveled up her neck, and worked its way around her face. Oh no, she was going to be sick!
“You look pale, child, are you unwell?” Mother Hild’s voice was not uncaring, but it held a note of impatience.
Swallowing the excess fluid in her mouth, she fought to control the urge to retch. “I am well, Mother.”
Hild walked to the table and poured a cup of wine and brought it back to where Isabeau sat.
Without a word, she resumed her pacing. Isabeau wanted to scream, but instead took small sips from the cup. It wasn’t the usual vintage served with meals; this had a rich, almost spicy taste that left her mouth tingling. It was rather pleasant, so she continued to take small sips, enjoying the feel of liquid velvet sliding down her throat, and pooling in her stomach.
“You will be aware I received a missive this morn?” Isabeau was about to reply, but the abbess continued. “It was from that viper Hexham. He meant to warn me of some most distressing news,” Hild spat, almost choking over the bishop’s name.
Hild was a small woman, straight of back, and fierce in her protection of the abbey, and its village. She held Isabeau in a glare that would have made the most battle-worn knight tremble. Isabeau couldn’t find her tongue, or her wits. She merely stared back at the older woman.
Hild seemed to bristle with indignation. Isabeau continued to watch as the older woman stalked to the table, where several parchments lay. With a vicious movement, she grabbed the largest of the documents and stomped back to stand before Isabeau.
“Read this!” She thrust the missive in Isabeau’s face.
Isabeau flinched; she was unused to being on the receiving end of Hild’s caustic tone. Her hands shook as she reached out to take the parchment. The parchment was dry and fragile to her touch. She turned slightly towards the sun streaming through the window and read the contents. Her stomach cramped as she read the Latin. Whatever it contained, it must be grave for her aunt to be so provoked.
“I don’t understand.” Isabeau’s voice sounded small to her own ears. She was at a loss to apprehend why her aunt was so angry. The king had ceded land to a favorite. That was the king’s right, surely?
Not wanting to infuriate her aunt further by asking stupid questions, she waited.
A huge, shuddering sigh escaped her aunt, leaving her looking somewhat deflated. “No, I suppose you don’t.”
Hild poured herself a cup of wine and walked to the hearth, where she took her seat in front of the fire.
“Come, child, and take the seat beside me, I have much to say.”
Isabeau did as bidden. She chewed her lower lip as she sat on the stool beside her aunt. Perhaps for the first time in her life, she noticed how old and worn her aunt appeared. Whatever she had to share, it seemed to have stolen her confidence. Please, Mary, Mother of God, protect us.
Chapter Two
Ten minutes later, her mouth agape, she stared at the woman as though at a stranger. She’d heard the words, but she couldn’t make sense of what she’d been told. Mother Hild, abbess of St. Leonard’s, and the woman who had raised her since infancy as her own niece, wouldn’t meet her eye.