Fantin de Belgrume could not have known they'd find shelter-he'd have expected that they'd perish in the wilds after he and his men left them for dead. Mayhaps that had been his plan: the ambush was not so much meant to destroy Gavin's troop in the depths of the forest, but to injure them enough, and far from any assistance, that they would die while searching for shelter.
'Twas only by the grace of God, then, that he and his men found themselves in the sanctuary of some abbey, and that he lived yet to kill de Belgrume. He smiled at the Madonna and asked one more question. "What is your name, sister?"
"Madelyne. "
The beads fit comfortably in her hand, the irregularity of the rose-scented orbs welcome to the tips of her fingers. It was the first necklet of prayer beads she'd made after coming to Lock Rose Abbey, and Madelyne still prayed with it though she'd made many others in the decade since.
"Ave Maria, gratia plena. . . . " The words flowed from her mouth without hesitation even as her thoughts wound down a separate path. Most oft when she prayed at matins, her thoughts centered on spiritual contemplation, rather than of men-such as those who lay wounded in the infirmary. 'Twas not often that outsiders-particularly men-came to the abbey.
Those who wished for shelter or sanctuary were welcomed, although they were kept from the portions of the abbey where the permanent inhabitants lived. In the guest house and infirmary, the furnishings were mean and simple. But in the abbey itself, the women lived in much more comfort. Mother Bertilde insisted that keeping the wealth of the abbey hidden kept not only their goods, but also the women, safer from the outside world.
Indeed, in the weeks after she and her mother had escaped from her father's keep, they had flinched at every sound of the bell tolling the announcement of visitors at the gates. Mother Berthilde, as serene and motherly those ten years past as she was now, pled them to feel safe in their sanctuary-promising that few knew of the abbey, and even fewer could find it should they wish to.
Despite the Mother's calming words, however, men sent by Fantin had indeed found the abbey only two fortnights after they'd left Tricourten. Madelyne still felt the sickness of fear she'd known when she learned her father's men were at the gate. . . until 'twas made known to her that Seton de Masin was the leader of the group.
Meeting secretly with her mother Anne, he brought tidings of Fantin's rage at their disappearance-and the promise that their whereabouts were safe in his keeping. Seton hid his meeting with Anne from the other men accompanying him. Thus they would carry the tale that the abbey had been searched with no result.
Madelyne's thoughts were interrupted as the soft swish of a skirt brushed the stone floor next to her.
"Mother Bertilde. " Madelyne rose from the prie dieu at which she'd been kneeling and gave a brief curtsey.
The abbess glanced at the prayer beads with sharp blue eyes and murmured, "I didn't mean to disturb you, daughter, I meant only to see how our guests fare. "
"The Virgin will understand," Madelyne replied. "They're resting comfortably, most of them. Two are ripe for a fever, but Sister Nellen watches over them and will wake me if need be. "
Bertilde tucked strong hands inside the sleeves of her habit. She pursed her mouth, causing the fine, white hairs that grew along her upper lip to prickle outward. It seemed as though she needed to choose her words carefully, and, indeed, when she finally spoke, it was with precision. "They must be made to leave as soon as possible. "
Madelyne stared at the abbess in surprise. "Mother-"
"Do you not turn them out until they are able to ride, but you must see that they leave at that time. I. . . . " She closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them again. "They bring naught but disruption and danger to the abbey. . . I can feel it. The sooner they are without our walls, the more easily I shall rest. " She fixed the gaze of her blue eyes on Madelyne. "You must also see to it that they are kept in the infirmary or at the stables, and allow them nowhere else within the abbey. If they wish to pray or to hear Mass, they may also come to the Little Chapel, but I'll not have them see any more of us, or of the buildings, than that. "
Wrapping the prayer beads around her fingers, Madelyne could do naught but nod. She remembered with sudden clarity how cold and pained the gray eyes of their leader, the Lord of Mal Verne, had been when he opened them. A shiver skittered over her shoulders and she knew that Mother Bertilde was not wrong. This man brought power and the outside world with him, and somehow, this portended a change in the lives of those within the abbey.
She doubted that Mother Bertilde's precautions would protect them from whatever should come.
As the abbess left her, Madelyne renewed her prayers with fervor.
Chapter Two
The darkness of fear slithered through her, constricting the breath in her throat.
He held something long and thin, and it glinted in the firelight that tossed shadows over her mother's terrified face. The words that spewed from his spittle-flecked lips stabbed at her with their evilness, causing her to draw her knees closer to her chest as she huddled in the corner.
Screams echoed in the chamber where firelight danced happily as they endured his madness. Strange symbols that were carved into the stone floor melded into each other as the darkness and fear descended again, and again. . . and again.
No one could hear their screams, nor their cries for mercy.
Straps of leather. . . foul-smelling potions. . . the shrieks of a hooded hawk as it was denuded of its feathers. . . the crisp acridity of burning flesh. . . his laugh, smooth and low like the sound of far-off thunder. . . .
Madelyne dragged her eyes open and pushed away the dream, reaching blindly for her prayer beads. The darkness of the nightmare hovered at the edge of her mind, and she frantically sought the words to keep it at bay. Ave Maria, gratia plena. . . .
She mumbled the words automatically, inhaling the sweet, faded scent of roses from the beads. Slowly, the fear subsided and she became aware of the familiar surroundings of her cell in the abbey.
The barest hint of light speared the darkness, chasing away her dreams, giving shape to the forms of her trunk and the three-legged stool. A faint outline of the cross woven of willow branches hanging above the door, and the shape of the small tapestry that covered part of the opposite wall, comforted her.
Dawn was near, and Madelyne knew she wouldn't sleep again this night. Still shaken from the fierceness of her memory, she slipped slowly from her bed. Clad only in a fine linen chemise, she splashed water on her face from a low-sided bowl, and chewed on a sprig of mint. Her novitiate's habit, also made of well-woven linen, was naught but a simple, dark dress and an enveloping wimple that covered the two thick braids she wore.
Since she was awake, she'd see how her patients were faring, and relieve Sister Nellen from her night watch early. Tucking the beads into the hidden pocket of her gown, created solely for that reason, Madelyne left her cell and paced easily down the hall to the main entrance to the abbey.