To the Lady Born (11 page)

CHAPTER NINE

April 1388

“Ammy?” Sister Teresita stuck her head inside the hot, smoky kitchen. “He is here again.”

Amalie looked up from the carrots she was preparing for the evening meal.  She was flushed rosy from the heat, a heavy kerchief on her head keeping her blond hair back from her face and scratchy garments of rough wool covered her tender body.  She wiped the sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand, knowing what Sister Teresita meant without much explanation.

“De Royans?” she asked the obvious.

Sister Teresita nodded. “He has come bearing gifts again.” The woman came into the kitchen, eyeing the young woman who had become her friend over the past few months. “He says he is not leaving until he sees you.”

A brief flash of pain crossed Amalie’s features before she turned back to her carrots, washing the dirt from them in the bucket of fresh water she had just brought in from the well.

“He always says that,” she said. “Tell him that I am busy.”

“I always tell him you are busy.  He always comes back.” Sister Teresita put a small, rough hand on Amalie’s forearm. “Why will you not see him? He seems so sad when you send him away.”

Amalie looked at the young nun, an unattractive woman with big moles on her face.  But she had a heart of gold and had become a dear and gentle friend.  After a moment, she shrugged.

“I have nothing to say to him,” she said, moving the carrots from the bucket into a bowl. “He will forget about me soon enough.”

Sister Teresita smiled sadly, patted Amalie’s hand, and left the kitchen.  Amalie thought a moment on Weston; he had come daily to the convent since the day she had committed herself.  He always came with gifts, always asking to see her, and she always sent him away.  She didn’t want to, but she knew she had to. As much as it hurt her heart, it was the right thing to do. She didn’t want the man to see her humiliation.

She rubbed at her growing belly, the pregnancy quite evident at four months. She looked as if she had a small pumpkin under her skirts.  The child was very active and she would lie still at night, feeling it roll around in her belly.   There were times when it brought her great joy and other times when she felt so shameful that she wished she could die. But she was beyond the temporary madness of suicide; now, she was determined to have the child considering it was the only child she would ever have.  With no husband, it was guaranteed. Her life, as she saw it, was over before it began.

She wasn’t particularly miserable at the convent but she wasn’t particularly happy, either.  She deliberately stayed away from town and avoided any manner of news that came from the castle.  Her focus was on the convent, her duties, and the impending child.  So she pushed thoughts of de Royans from her mind and collected her big reed basket.

The garden to the rear of the nunnery was sprouting with spring vegetables.  There were several particularly large cucumbers she had wanted to collect earlier but her basket had been full of carrots.  Donning a woolen cloak that was heavy and wet at the bottom, she proceeded out into the cool spring day.

The garden was big and plentiful, and all of the nuns worked it at one time or another.  Amalie spent a good deal of time here because it kept her constantly busy and she needed to feel occupied; leisure time brought about thoughts of great depression and anxiety so she tried to always be busy. 

Thoughts of Weston were heavy in her mind and heart at all times; the fact that he showed up daily to speak with her only deepened her sense of sorrow. She would never forget about the man if he kept coming around; on the other hand, she didn’t want to forget him at all.  It made for a difficult dilemma.

Wandering out into the damp plants which had just had a dousing of seasonal rain, she knelt beside the cucumbers and began to separate them from the vines.  It was dirty work and her fingers were cold with the wet earth, but she didn’t particularly mind.  She rather liked gardening. Grasping a cucumber, she took a small knife and cut it free of the plant.

Cutting the second cucumber, she heard footsteps approach and she didn’t bother to look up.  Thinking it was Sister Teresita, she spoke.

“Sister?” she said. “Can you please help cut some cucumbers off of this vine? They are fairly ripe and I am afraid they will rot with all of the rain we have been having.”

She was indicating the plant in back of her.  When she didn’t receive a reply, she turned to look at the nun.   But the only thing she saw was enormous boots standing a few feet away. Startled, she lifted her eyes to see Weston gazing down at her.

Their eyes met and the spark, dormant for these past few months, ignited with a fury. Having no idea what to say to the man, she simply sat there, apprehensive and fearful that he was going to give her an earful for sending him away day after day.  He had been persistent and she had been cruel.

She waited for the boom as the painful seconds ticked away and neither of them said a word, but Weston merely smiled when he realized she wasn’t going to jump up and run away.

“Greetings, my lady,” he said in his soft, rich voice. “I was just leaving the nunnery and thought I might check the back door just in case you happened to be around.  I see that my instincts were correct.”

The sound of his deep, beautiful voice almost brought tears to her eyes. It had been so long since she had heard it.  She sighed faintly, resigned at his appearance and unwilling to fight it further, though she should have been. She should have run for her life.

“So you have found me,” she said softly, her gaze lingering on him. “You are looking well, Weston.”

His smile broadened. “And you are more beautiful than I had remembered,” he said, keeping his manner even and steady, although it was difficult. He wanted to explode at her. “Are you well?”

“Verily.”

“That is good to know. I have been very worried.”

“Why? You knew I was here. You must assume that I am well taken care of.”

Weston shifted on his big legs; he was in full armor this day, looking every inch the imposing Bolingbroke knight.  But his face, feature for feature, was calm and more handsome than she remembered. He was so big and blond and beautiful. The more she looked at the man, the more she felt herself softening.

“I had to see for myself,” he said quietly.

“And so you have. Is there anything else you wish to know?”

“Are you happy here?”

He was straight to the point. She nodded, looking back to her cucumbers. “The nuns are very kind to me.”

He suddenly crouched down to bring himself more to her level.  His dark blue eyes drank in her face, every lovely line and every gentle slope.  He could hardly believe he was looking at her after all of these months; he’d spent one hundred and twenty one days being disappointed daily when the nunnery turned him away in his attempts to visit Amalie, and every day he would return to the castle knowing he would try again the next day.  She was the last thing he thought of at night and the first thing he thought of in the morning. 

“I have come daily to see you but you have sent me away,” he said quietly. “I always hoped that one of these days you would agree to see me.”

She looked up from her cucumber. “I hope you will be satisfied now that you know I am well.”

“I am,” he watched her fiddle with the cucumber. “I just wish you had not left in the first place.”

“I was not going to stay at Hedingham with a host of Bolingbroke soldiers around me.”

“I understand,” he said quietly. “But I swore to protect you. I wish you had trusted my word.”

“I did trust it,” she replied, fussing with the cucumber out of nervousness. “But I felt that it was best for me to come to the nunnery. I am assured safety and protection here, for always, with no more knights to attack me.”

He watched her put the cucumber in her basket.  The silence between them grew heavy as she fidgeted nervously and he groped for the proper words. He didn’t want to upset her or frighten her, but there was much to say to her.  Four months of longing had seen to that.

“Amalie, I must say something,” he finally said, watching her look up at him with her beautiful green eyes.  He met her gaze, praying he wouldn’t send her running back into the nunnery with what he was about to say. “I know what happened with Sorrell. I know what he did to you.”

She stared at him and he could see her cheeks reddening. “I told you what he did.”

He shook his head. “You did not tell me everything,” his voice was a whisper. “I know about the rape. I know it was because of the rape that you tried to kill yourself. So many times I asked you why and you would not tell me, but now I know. I just wanted to say how sorry I am that he did that. I am so sorry you had to go through that horrible ordeal.”

By this time, her eyes were beginning to water. As he watched, she turned away from him and broke down into soft sobs. Weston knew he had to say everything he needed to say, and say it quickly, before he lost her completely.  He was afraid she would run back into the nunnery and he would never see her again.

“What I am trying to say is that it does not matter to me that you are compromised,” he said quickly, softly. “I know you believe yourself an undesirable marriage prospect and that is why you committed yourself to the nunnery, but I am here to tell you that I would be deeply honored if you would accept my proposal of marriage.  I could think of no greater privilege that to become your husband, Ammy. Perhaps the lure of working in the garden and wearing woolen underwear is a greater attraction to you, but I pray that you will at least consider marriage to me as an alternative.”

She was looking at him by now, astonishment on her face. But the tears were still flowing, dripping off her chin, as the big green eyes fixed on him, holding him captive within their vibrant gaze.  After a small eternity of staring at him, she simply shook her head in bafflement.

“Oh… Weston,” she breathed. “Why would you do this?”

He shrugged, feeling somewhat uncomfortable.  But now was the time for truth. “Because I cannot forget about you no matter how hard I try,” he whispered. “Your spirit and your beauty have marked me and I know in my heart that I cannot go on without you. Committing yourself to this convent has crushed me, Ammy. I have come every day to ask you to marry me and every day you have sent me away. I love your courage, your humor, your kindness and your compassion. You are a rare woman and I would never find another like you if I lived to be one hundred. I know that you do not love me but perhaps you will in time. I only ask for that opportunity. Please do not send me away again.”

She sat frozen as he finished his sentence.  He didn’t think her eyes could get any bigger, her expression any more shocked, but it did.

“You… you
love
me?” she gasped.

He nodded without hesitation. “I do.”

He watched a myriad of emotions run across her face, from shock to disbelief to joy. He was particularly focused on the joy and thought, perhaps, that there might be a chance.  But she suddenly closed her eyes and put her dirty hands to her ears.

“Nay,” she shook her head violently. “Do not say such things. You will regret it.”

His brow furrowed, concerned. “I will never regret it, not ever.”

She began to sob loudly. “Aye, you will. Go away, Weston; go away and never come back.”

He wasn’t about to leave; he reached out and grasped her arm to steady her. “I will not go away and I will never regret loving you. Why do you say such things?”

She was growing louder and more animated.  Yanking her arm from his grasp, she tossed the cucumber basket aside and rose to her knees.  Weston watched, shocked, as she pulled tight her apron and surcoat around her torso to display her gently swollen belly.

“Because of this,” she wept painfully. “Weston, I did not try to kill myself because the commander raped me; I tried to kill myself because of the child he implanted in my womb.  The worst night of my life resulted in a baby and I was determined to die rather than live with the shame. But you stopped me; again and again, you stopped me without truly knowing how it was affecting my life. When my attempts at suicide failed, I did the only thing I could do; I committed myself to the nunnery. You wanted to know everything, Weston; now you know and now you will leave and never look back.”

Weston stared at her, at her swollen midsection, and he had never felt more sickened in his life. He didn’t know what to say; he just stared at her. Amalie gazed steadily at him, her sobs fading as she looked into his astonished, horrified expression.

“But there is more,” she sniffled, sobs fading as a great and awful pain took hold in her heart. “You have confessed your thoughts and I will confess mine. Weston, I committed myself to the convent because I knew I was falling in love with you, too, and I knew there was no chance for a future between us. You are a strong and virtuous knight, and you must have a bride that reflects that. I do not reflect that; thanks to a drunken knight, my life has been ruined. I would not ruin yours as well.”

Weston abruptly stood up and turned away, his mind reeling.  He knew he loved her; God help him, he knew it. But there was a great portion of him that was sickened and shamed by what had happened to her, the deeply religious side that was rigid and unbending when it came to issues of morality. But the compassionate side of him, the side that loved her deeply, knew that it was not her fault. What happened to her had been completely beyond her control.  Amalie was still pure and innocent in his eyes in spite of her condition; he simply couldn’t bring himself to condemn her.