The Novice Bride. Carol Townend

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СКАЧАТЬ a pang of fellow feeling for the man. Had his Gwenn not died early on in her pregnancy this would no doubt have been his lot, to sit on a stool tearing his hair out, waiting for her travail to be ended. Well, he was spared that now. His pain was over. Richard might tease him about wanting to find love in his new bride, but Adam was not so ambitious. Affection, yes. Respect, by all means. Lust—why not? Lust at least could be kept in its place. But love?

      Ulf had started chewing on his nails, a look of helpless desperation in his eyes as he kept glancing towards the recess.

      Love? Adam shook his head. Never again. He had had enough pain to last him several lifetimes…

      The hour wore on. More groans. Panting. A sharp cry. A soft murmur. And so it continued. Ulf twisted his hands.

      The girl and the boy returned with a pail of water and were directed to set it in a pot by the fire.

      More groans. More panting.

      Adam was on the point of withdrawing to fetch Richard and seek entry to St Anne’s when a new sound snared his attention. The cry of a newborn baby.

      ‘Ulf!’

      The nun Cecily appeared at the curtain, all smiles. In her role as midwife she had discarded cloak, veil and wimple, and had rolled up her sleeves. For the first time Adam had a good look at her face.

      She was uncommonly pretty, with large eyes, rosy cheeks and regular features, but it was her hair that made him catch his breath. The nun Cecily had long fair hair which brightened to gold in the light of the fire and the hanging lamp. Nuns’ hair was usually cropped, but not this one’s. A thick, bright, glossy braid hung down one shoulder. Unbound, he guessed it would reach well below her waist.

      A feeling of pure longing swept through Adam, and he frowned, disconcerted that a nun should have such a powerful attraction for him. But attract him she did, in no uncertain terms.

      Impatiently, almost as if she knew Adam’s gaze was upon it, the nun Cecily tossed her braid back over her shoulder and held her hand out. Adam had no difficulty in guessing the meaning of her next words.

      ‘Come, Ulf. Come and greet your new son.’

      Face transfigured with relief, Ulf all but staggered through the gap in the curtains and pulled it closed behind him.

      The golden-haired nun—God, but she was a beauty, especially when, as now, she was smiling—spoke to the children by the hearth. She must have asked something about food for the elder, the girl, nodded and showed her a loaf and a pot of some broth-like substance.

      The nun smiled again and, taking up her wimple and veil, set about re-ordering her appearance. Adam watched, biting down a protest as she set about hiding all that golden glory from the world.

      By the time she had finished, and had flung her flimsy cloak about her shoulders, Adam had turned away, irritated by his reaction to her. Picking his way along the narrow track behind the wooden houses, he headed back to his troop.

      He had learned nothing about the whereabouts of his errant fiancée, the Lady Emma Fulford, but more about his need to master the English tongue. Best he think on that—for a fine lord would he be if he couldn’t even converse with his people. As Adam approached the margin of the forest, he shook his head, as if to clear from his mind the persistent image of a slender nun with a glorious golden fall of hair.

      Chapter Three

      A grey dusk was beginning to fall when at length Adam and Richard rode openly to the convent gate. Mentally cursing the short November day that meant he and his men would likely have to beg a night’s refuge at the convent, Adam raised a dark eyebrow at his friend.

      His heart was thudding more loudly than it had when they’d waited for the battle cry to go up before Caldbec Hill, though he’d die before admitting as much. A man of action, Adam had been trained to fling himself into battle. This foray into the domain of high-born ladies was beyond his experience, for his own background was humble and his Gwenn had been a simple merchant’s daughter. He was unnerved, yet he knew his future in Wessex hung on the outcome of what happened here as much as it had when he had rallied his fellow Bretons at Hastings.

      ‘I can’t persuade you to doff your mail, Richard?’ Adam asked. He was still clad only in his leather gambeson and blue fur-lined cloak. ‘You’ve no need to fear a knife in your ribs. This is holy ground. There’s sanctuary of a sort.’

      Richard shook his head.

      ‘You will terrify the ladies…’

      ‘I doubt that,’ Richard said, dismounting. ‘Nuns can be fearsome harpies—as I know to my cost.’

      Adam banged on the portal. ‘How so?’

      Richard shrugged. ‘My mother. When my father set her aside to marry Eleanor, Mother moved herself and her household to a nunnery back home. Took my sister Elizabeth with her. When I visited them, Elizabeth told me the whole. Believe you me, Adam, ungodly things go on in holy places.’

      Momentarily distracted, Adam would have asked more, but just then the window shutter slid back, and he found himself gazing at the wizened face and brown eyes of the portress. The nun’s face was framed with a wimple that even in this fading light Adam could see was none too clean.

      ‘Yes?’ she said, eyeing him with such blatant misgiving that Adam felt as though he must have sprouted two heads.

      ‘Do you speak French, Sister?’

      ‘A little.’

      ‘I’ve come on the Duke’s business. I need to speak with your Prioress.’

      The brown eyes held his. ‘When you say Duke, do you mean the Norman bastard?’

      Adam drew in a breath. It was true that William of Normandy was a bastard, his mother being a tanner’s daughter who had caught the eye of the old Duke, but few dared hold his birth against him these days. It was shocking to hear such a word fall so casually from a nun’s lips. He shot a look at Richard.

      ‘Told you,’ Richard muttered. ‘There’ll be little holiness here, and little courtesy either. They hate us. The whole damn country hates us.’

      Adam set his jaw. The Duke had charged him with seeing to it that the peace was kept in this corner of England, and, hard though that might be, he would do his utmost not to let him down. ‘We’ll see. It was their high-born King Harold who was the oath-breaker, not our lord, bastard though he may be.’ He gave the nun a straight look. ‘Duke William is my liege lord, and I must speak with your lady Prioress.’

      The brown eyes shifted towards the clouds in the west, behind which the sun was lowering fast. ‘It’s almost time for Vespers. Mother Aethelflaeda will be busy.’

      ‘Nevertheless, Sister—’ Adam made his voice hard ‘—I will speak with the Prioress at once. I’m looking for my Lady of Fulford, and reports have it she rode towards St Anne’s.’

      The face vanished, the portal slid shut, a bolt was drawn back. Slowly, reluctantly, the door swung open.

      ‘This way, good lords,’ the nun said, and even though she mangled the French tongue her voice dripped with irony.

      Adam СКАЧАТЬ