Joanna Davis - Knights In Shining Armor (13 page)

              Magda was not moved.

              He ran his hands through his hair in frustration.

              What could he do to convince the woman?

              Just then the doors opened and two guards came in carrying a box. Behind them was the local magistrate, Mr. Jefferson. Rowan frowned, wondering what the man wanted. He was loath to stop working on the old woman for a moment.

              She'd finally assured him that Emeline was safe and nearby but that was only after he swore to leave Peter alone and not punish him for his part in this. He'd been trying to think of ways to bribe the former captain of the guard into spilling his secret but the man seemed immune to strong drink and morally unimpeachable on top of that.

              "Good day Mr. Jefferson."

              "Greetings my lord. As promised I have brought you the letters."

              "Letters?"

              "Lady Fairhaven's letters. All to the same man as far as I can tell."

              Rowan blanched. Of course. How had he forgotten?

              "Thank you. Set them down over here. Join us for a glass of wine."

              The man nodded and sat. Rowan poured the man a goblet of wine, refilling Magda's and his own. Courtesy insisted that he do so even if he wished to thrust the man out the front gate and open the chest. He had to buy time to still the beating of his heart.

              Her letters. Emeline's letters.

              "This is Magda. Magda, Mr. Jefferies."

              The Magistrate nodded and sipped his wine.

              "Is the lady at home? I must admit, I've never gotten a good look at her. I'm very curious considering the conflicting reports I've been given."

              Magda piped up at that.

              "Oh would ye now? What kind of reports are those?"

              "Just idle talk. Some have said she has the face of an angel, other the face of a crow. It's hard to credit such disparity."

              Rowan was staring at the box, trying to find a way to get rid of the man.

              Of course, the man wanted coin!

              "She's abed at the moment with an ague. But since you've been so helpful, I would say she's about average."

              Magda choked on her wine. Rowan thumped her loudly on her back, then pulled out a coin. He stood, indicating that the visit was over.

              They shook hands and Rowan handed him the coin.

              "Thank you for your trouble. We'll have dinner when the lady is herself again."

              "Thank you my lord. I look forward to it."

              Magda was eyeing him drunkenly as he opened the chest.

              "Thought the man would never leave. Pompous bastard."

              Rowan stared at the letters. There were hundreds of them. He picked one up and felt a cold hand on his heart. They were addressed to him indeed.

              All of them.

              He tore the letter open and began to read.

             
Dearest Rowan,

              I have not heard from you in so long that I admit I often fear you dead. I feel I would know in my heart if this was true though so alive you must be. Perhaps you are nearby, fighting the Scots with the army. I do not know but every night I pray for your safety.

              As I told you last, the local squires son has taken ill. We feared the plague but he failed to break out in the blisters that mark the black death. We are safe from it still. Tis the one true benefit of our isolation.

              I continue to seek an annulment from the church but our  priest seems to be delaying the paperwork. As time goes on, I fear I will never escape this castle.

              The springtime is the best time at Fairhaven. I am allowed to leave the walls for short periods of time, to collect herbs for our garden. But mostly I just enjoy the fresh air and sunshine. I go out even in the rain, though Magda scolds me for doing so. It is the only time I am free of this place.

              My dream last night was of our garden. I sat waiting for you but you did not come. In the dream I was waiting to tell you of my parents demise, and the debts they owed to Lord Fairhaven. But I awoke before I was able to tell you.

              There is nothing more to say, only that I pray for a response to this or any of my letters. But even if none ever comes, I wish you well and prosperous.

              Yours,

              Emeline

              A brick settled on his chest. She sounded so… lost. And alone. He knew from the servants that she was not telling him all. But what she'd said about her parents made him wonder if she'd been given a choice in the matter of her marriage. Perhaps she had not betrayed him at all.

              He tore open another letter. Magda reached for the one he had read but he snatched it back. He could not hide the pain in his eyes.

              "What is it?"

              "They are letters. From Emeline. To me."

              The woman stared in wonder at the heap of folder papers.

              "I knew she was writing, but I never imagined it was so many… and to think that they never posted any of them."

              She was shaking her head.

              "Poor gel. She did't deserve any of this."

              He wanted to rise, to walk away from the table. To hide himself somewhere and read them all. But he felt frozen in place. Without a word he rose and lifted the chest by himself. He carried it to his room and locked himself inside.

**********

              Hours later Magda came to the room and knocked.

              "My lord?"

              He didn't answer. She was starting to worry about the man. He'd been the enemy just a few days ago but she was starting to wonder if she'd judged him too harshly. He certainly knew how to spoil an old woman. And he did care about her lady Emeline, no matter what he had said to the King. That much was plain.

              "Lord Fairhaven!"

              "Go away."

              "You must eat my lord."

              "Nay. Bring wine."

              She hastened downstairs and brought him a goblet and a bottle. He opened the door for her a moment later. Letters were strewn everywhere. She gaped at him. He looked as though he'd been weeping.

              "My lord…"

              "She wrote me so many letters Magda. She was true to me after all. How could I have doubted her?"

              He lay his head on the table where he sat by the fire.

              "Well, you're a man."

              He lifted his head and finally looked at her. She saw the raw pain in his eyes.

              "All men are destined to be dunderheads at one time or another."

              "I must write to her Magda. If you won't tell me where she is, can you and Peter see that she gets the letters?"

              Slowly she nodded. She knew it could be a ruse. He could send one of his knights to follow Peter on his travels. In fact, if he didn't try that, she might lose respect for him.

              "Alright my lord."

              He roused at that, staring at her with renewed hope.

              "Bring paper and ink to me. And wine. More wine."

              He pulled a deep draught directly from the bottle.

              "Much more."

**********

              Rowan watched as Peter set off with the bundle of letters for Emeline. He'd started answering each note as he read them, in no particular order. The earliest ones were the ones where she pled with him to help her escape. The raw fear in those letters tore a hole into his chest.

              As time went on, she'd stopped asking for anything, only asking to hear that he was still living. She had many wishes for him, even hoping that he was wed and happily settled. She hadn't begrudged him a life, albeit an imaginary one, as he had resented her marriage. Eventually though, she'd stopped asking even for that. The letters had come to serve as a sort of diary. They consisted of the day to day things she might have told him if he had been here. But nothing personal. No words of love or hint of the terrifying reality she had lived with for all those lonely years.

              He wondered why she had bothered to write him when he'd failed her so utterly. He certainly didn't deserve her love and devotion. Not after he'd forced her to his bed so coldly time and time again. Not after he'd failed to save her when she needed him most.

              Rowan rubbed his eyes blearily. He'd been writing by candlelight for nearly a full two days. He'd been drunk most of that time as well. He waved Kenneth and Wyeth forward.

              "Track him. I must know where he goes. Make sure he doesn't get into any trouble."

              Magda would be cross with him but he had no choice. He had to know where she was. He had little hope that she would return to him but he could at least be sure she was safe.

Eleven

              Emeline knelt in the chapel with the other novice nuns. She resisted the urge to scratch at her wimple. The itchy cloth of her light gray habit was overly warm and even worse, it itched.

              She was definitely not suited to being a nun.

              She closed her eyes and bowed her head in time with the other women. She tried to focus on the latin but instead all she could think about was him.

              How could he have sold her to the King?

              She didn't believe it.

              She couldn't bear to believe it.

              If it was not true then perhaps she should return. But to what? He would surely marry eventually. No, it was better to be here, chaste and alone, than to be his layman for all her life. His wife could make her life a living hell. Here at least, there was peace.

              But at night she could not stop tossing and turning, recalling at the things he had done to her body. All the things he had made her feel… and craving his touch with a ferocity that terrified her.

              She blushed, realizing she was thinking of things that were
not
appropriate for prayer.

              No, she definitely not well suited for the sisterhood.

              When they left the chapel Emeline was surprised to see the Mother Superior herself waiting to pull her aside.

              "Come with me please."

              Emeline was filled with trepidation as she followed the older woman deeper into the cloistered collection of buildings. She stepped inside the Mother Superior's chamber. The room was large but austere with hard backed chairs facing a large wooden desk. Still, the mother did allow for some beautiful art work and tapestries, as long as it was religious in nature.

              "You've done well here so far Emeline."

              The tension left her body. They weren't kicking her out. She had been fearful that they had detected her lack of interest.

              "Sister Margrite in particular has mentioned your skill in weaving and needlepoint."

              "Thank you Mother. I enjoy it."

              The Nun leaned forward and rested her chin on her folded hands.

              "Are you content here my child? It is quite different from being a wife and chatelaine to your own castle."

              She started to nod but hesitated. She was not content here. But she had no where else to go.

              "I am adjusting. The peace is a welcome change."

              The Mother Superior looked at her deeply and then nodded, as if coming to some conclusion.

              "We don't generally allow our members to receive letters that are not from a family member. But in this case, I feel we must make an exception."

              "Letters?"

              "Yes, I feel strongly that you should read these before you make your decision."

              "I don't understand. Who would write to me?"

              "He's a suitor I imagine. A rather prolific one if you ask me. Here, see for yourself."

              The Mother Superior lifted a sack up and poured the contents onto the table. There were dozens of letters there. Emeline picked one up and stared at it in wonder. But who...

              "They came with this."

              She held forth a small wooden box, intricately carved. Emeline stared at it for a long time before reaching for it.             

              "Go on child. It won't bite you."

              Emeline drew a deep breath and opened the box. Inside were two rings. One made of thick gold and adorned with a large emerald. The other was a plain gold band.

              Her ring.

             
His ring.

              It was the ring he'd given her so many years ago. The one she'd treasured in her darkest moments. The one she'd thrown in the fire.

              The room started to spin and she sat down heavily into the chair behind her.

              "My dear are you alright?"

              "I don't understand."

              The Mother Superior smiled at her.

              "It appears to be a marriage proposal my dear. Do you know who it is from?"