Sister Repentia smiled weakly, tears stinging her eyes as she held back the confession she so desperately wanted to release. She had shared this conversation with Arissa a thousand times in her mind, imagining her daughter’s reaction when she revealed her true identity.
But now was not the time for such admissions. Certainly, with time, the opportunity would present itself and Sister Repentia looked forward to that moment. Until then, however, she had every intention of remaining by Arissa’s side as she became accustomed to life in the abbey. The mother abbess had entrusted her with Arissa’s introduction to Whitby, and she would gladly accept the duty.
With a deep breath for courage and strength, she turned from the young ladies to retrieve a cooling pitcher of wine and two wooden cups. As Arissa and Emma gingerly helped themselves to the bread and fruit, Sister Repentia poured the tangy liquid and listened to their insignificant chatter with more contentment than she ever thought possible. Hearing her daughter’s voice for the very first time.
She was so involved listening to the sweet sounds of her only child that she failed to notice the wounded man in the corner as he shifted from the floor, rising unsteadily to a sitting position. Swathed in yards of dirty, stinking wool, he resembled a badly-wrapped corpse until some of the bindings fell away to reveal glistening pieces of mail beneath.
More bindings fell away as Sister Repentia remained focused on her two young charges, gradually becoming acquainted with her daughter and listening to the young woman’s tale of their trip north. By the time Arissa’s story reached the boundaries of Coventry, nearly half of the rotted wool had fallen away from the armored man in the corner.
Rising from the floor, the tall man retrieved his helm from the dilapidated satchel at his side and placed it on his head, leaving the visor raised. His eyes, glittering in the dim light, were full of malevolence as he silently congratulated himself on a plan well executed. There was a God, after all. His victim had finally arrived.
Turning toward the table occupied by two young women and a nun, his sinister smile flickered in the darkness.
“It’s about time you made an appearance, you little bitch!”
Arissa and Emma shrieked at the sound of the voice, turning their attention to the armored man emerging from the shadows. Immediately, they instinctively bolted from their wooden chairs and stumbled away as the phantom stormed his way into the heart of the dimly-lit room.
Crashing into tables and stools in their haste to escape the advance, the two young women watched in horror as his sinister features met with the soft illumination of the gallery.
Tad de Rydal jabbed a gloved finger at Arissa. “I have come all the way to Yorkshire for you, wench,” he announced. “You are coming with me!”
Sister Repentia had been frozen with shock until the moment the evil knight made his target known. Seized with a fierce sense of protectiveness, she grabbed the pitcher containing the wine and hurled herself forward, smacking Tad on the side of his armored head. Caught off guard by the avenging nun, he lashed out and caught her in the chest, sending her crashing to the floor.
Horrified, Arissa and Emma screamed as Sister Repentia lay in an unconscious heap upon the cold stone. But Tad continued to move for Arissa, knocking aside tables and stools as he progressed. As Emma separated herself from Arissa and fled into the kitchens in search of help, Arissa made a mad dash for the entrance of the abbey.
She could scarcely believe Tad de Rydal had come for her. The last news of his well-being had not been favorable, wounded in an ambush, and she had assumed that he had met his death. But the man following her with determination was anything but dead; his face was pale and his movements slowed, but he remained powerful nonetheless.
Arissa raced down the small corridor leading to the massive oak door; beyond lay the North York Moors and Richmond. Around her, she could hear screams and shouts as the nuns cried alarm, but she was unconcerned with their panic as she dashed for the door. She was only concerned with her own terror and the fact that Tad was determined to do her great harm.
Her pace came to a panicked halt as she fumbled with the lock on the oak panel, heavy with age and size. The door was bolted and she struggled to dislodge the lock, acutely aware of Tad’s approaching footfalls.
Time passed as she wrestled with the iron bolt. A shriek came to her lips as she heard his heavy boot falls behind her, closing in. She was trapped.
“Try to flee from me, will you?” he slapped her on the cheek, forcefully enough to bring a trickle of blood as her teeth carved into the soft tissue of her mouth. Grabbing her brutally, Tad forced his captive to meet his gaze.
He smiled devilishly, his gaze roving her beautiful features. “I am pleased to see that you have grown more beautiful since we last met,” his breathing was harsh, his face pale with exertion. “So you are surprised to see me? Fortunately, your lover failed to complete his act of vengeance against me and it is my pleasure to be able to seek revenge against him by stealing what is most precious to him.”
Arissa shook her head with disbelief and horror. “You cannot steal me, Tad. I belong to Whitby!”
His smile vanished, a malevolent gleam in his eye. “And I told your father that he was a fool for committing you to the church when a woman of your beauty should be savored and enjoyed. Something I would wager Richmond le Bec has already indulged in.”
She struggled against his mighty grip in an attempt to break free. “You are mad!”
His grip tightened and he moved to pull her close, attempting to kiss her blood-streaked lips. But she spit at him, spraying his flesh with saliva and blood, and he hissed angrily.
“I shall teach you the meaning of madness, bitch,” he snarled. “Know that I have come from my death bed to capture you, to plan a diversion for le Bec while I waited for you in the abbey disguised as an injured traveler. I fooled the witless nuns into sheltering me so that I could lay in wait for you, knowing you had to make an appearance sooner or later with le Bec as your escort,” he calmed strangely, gazing at her frightened beauty. “I mean to have you. All of you. I knew it from the moment I first lay eyes upon you.”
“Is that what all this is about? Having me?” Arissa shook her head, bewildered and terrified. “You have violated an abbey, Tad. The wrath of the church shall come down upon you and your family, and there will be no protection from their anger!”
Tad’s jaw ticked. “There will be no proof of my presence or my transgression. Especially after I burn the abbey to the ground and her occupants with her, there will be no witnesses left to identify me,” keeping a firm grip on her arm, he jerked the iron bolt free of its lock. Casting a lingering glance to Arissa, he smiled wicked. “You shall enjoy me, love. I am quite good, I am told.”
Her expression rippled with loathing. “I simply cannot believe that you would come all the way to Yorkshire simply to abduct me. You are supposed to be dead.”
A flash of madness ignited in his sunken eyes. “Le Bec’s men were off their mark, damaging my shoulder and nothing more. Even so, I was only able to arrive yesterday and pray that I was not too late,” as if suddenly remembering his fury, his grip tightened and he yanked her against him harshly. “No more talk. You and I have a date with destiny.”
She opened her mouth to protest as he jerked open the door, but what wait on the other side of the heavy oak panel did not surprise her.
Richmond’s sword was raised in an offensive stance. Tad caught a glimpse of the glistening metal and was wise enough to surmise the situation. With lightning speed, he pulled Arissa in front of him to act as a human shield; thrusting her forward, he expected her to meet with le Bec’s fatal downparry.
Richmond was a hair’s breadth away from striking Arissa but veered off at the last possible second. Off balance and filled with terror, he stumbled sideways as he narrowly avoided slicing her in two. Heaving with shock and horror, he raised his faceplate to her swollen, bleeding face.
“Dear God…,” he gasped, swallow
ing the bile that threatened to erupt. “Kitten, are you badly injured?”
She shook her head, her pale green eyes filling with frightened tears. Richmond emitted a ragged sigh, struggling to return his focus to Tad. The moment he gazed at the man, he felt his loathing and determination return tenfold.
What had begun as a moderate game of abhorrence had transformed into something so malignant that he was not at all concerned with the repercussions his actions against the de Rydal heir might have. He did not care if Lambourn and Goring Hall remained embroiled in a bitter feud for all eternity as a result of his deed. He was going to kill the bastard and enjoy every minute of it.
Tad smiled thinly, stroking Arissa’s arms in a seductive manner purely to enrage Richmond. “So you discovered my plot, le Bec? I am not surprised, although I expected you to be involved with the battle time enough to allow me to escape. But no matter; I shall be allowed to go on my way or the lady will meet with an ugly beating. Right before your eyes.”
Richmond struggled to maintain his composure as Tad attempted to kiss the side of Arissa’s head, only to be met by a slap. She squirmed and shrieked, trying to pull free, but he simply laughed and tightened his grip. “I shall wager she’s not so resistant to you, Sir Richmond. In time, I am sure she will show me the same eager response.”
“You shall never leave this place alive,” Richmond growled. “Release her and I shall end your life mercifully.”
“I think not. Move aside or the lady will suffer.”
Richmond took a deep breath, shifting on his thick legs. He seemed to be calming, refusing to look at Arissa lest his composure dissolve completely. As long as she was relatively unharmed, he could handle the negotiations with Tad without an overly emotional reaction. But the struggle to maintain his control was a constant, unnerving battle.
He had been shocked to realize the de Rydal heir had masterminded the ambush. He had been led to believe that the arrogant young knight had one foot in the grave, hence Ovid de Rydal’s attack against Lambourn. Even though the man before him was pale and drawn, he was alive nonetheless and fully capable of executing an organized abduction.
Too weak to fight in the battle he had staged as a diversion from his true goal, Richmond had suspected early on that, somehow, he had unknowingly delivered Arissa into Tad’s waiting arms.
Tad knew that Richmond would remove her from the battle zone, and the abbey had been a most logical destination. Relying on his healing injury, Tad had acquired the nuns’ sympathies in order to gain entrance to Whitby to wait for Arissa.
He was sorry that he had not realized the plan soon enough to foil Tad’s kidnap attempt. But no matter. What the earlier ambush by unknown parties had failed to complete, Richmond would gladly finish. Gazing calmly into Tad’s eyes, he could only envision the man’s death.
“Nay,” he replied slowly. “I shall not move aside. And the only person to suffer shall be you.”
Tad cocked an eyebrow. In a flash, he unsheathed a small dagger lodged within the plated sections of his armor. Pointing the tip against the curve of Arissa’s slender torso, he applied pressure until she winced with pain. Richmond clenched his teeth so tightly that he bit his lip as he watched Arissa squirm with agony.
“Move aside or I swear I shall cut her. Do not push my patience, le Bec.”
The sharp point of the dirk broke through the material of her surcoat and Arissa yelped when the razor-edge punctured her skin. All color drained from Richmond’s face, staring at Tad as if to look right through him.
“You have already pushed mine.”
A thin wail suddenly pierced the damp air, growing louder by the millisecond. The smug expression faded from Tad’s face as he identified the sound, knowing it was meant for him, and knowing it was already too late to save himself.
Grasping the hilt of the dirk as the last fractions of his life ticked away, he prepared to drive the weapon deep into Arissa’s body when he suddenly emitted a harsh grunt and lurched forward, sending a terrified Arissa to her knees.
The dirk fell to the moist earth and Tad fell beside it, the brutal sounds of death gurgling deep within his throat. Shrieking and gasping, Arissa turned to witness a large arrow protruding from Tad’s neck in the precise seam where the helm met the body armor. Even as Richmond swept her into his arms, she continued to watch as Tad de Rydal drew in his final breath, the sightless blue eyes closing forever on a world that had permanently evaded his grasp. The first arrow a week prior had missed its mark; the second arrow did not.
Clinging to Richmond’s neck, Arissa turned toward the direction the arrow had come in time to see Gavan emerging from behind the parked provisions wagon. A Welsh crossbow lodged in his two-fisted grip, his handsome face was taut as he lowered the weapon. His jaw ticked furiously as he looked down at the man whose life he had been forced to take.
“Rot in hell, you miserable bastard,” he rumbled.
Arissa was trembling so violently that she could barely respond to the man who had saved her life. Turning from Gavan’s angry face, she collapsed in sobs against Richmond’s shoulder; she’d come too close to death to react in any other fashion.
“Shush, kitten,” Richmond murmured, his own body quivering with emotion. “All is well. He cannot hurt you again.”
Arissa continued to sob, bordering on hysteria as Gavan approached. After a moment, she felt his gentle hand on her back.
“I killed him for you, Riss,” his voice was hoarse. “You do not have to worry about his spoiled antics any longer.”
She was incapable of replying; with one arm about Richmond’s neck, she extended the other hand to Gavan and he caught it tightly within his grasp. Her silent thanks moved beyond the scope of words, her fear and relief palpable.
Emma and a few nuns had spilled forth from the interior of the abbey, torn between the horror of what had occurred and the relief that it was over. Sobbing with fear, Emma moved toward the small, shaken group with hesitant steps, wanting to be comforted just as she wanted to give comfort.
Hand to her mouth as her eyes spilled over with tears, she came to an unsteady halt a few feet away from Arissa and the knights, too reluctant to proceed any further. She had not lived through the terror as they had; therefore, they were entitled to their own brand of grief. As an outsider to their pain, she simply stood by and watched.
Gavan caught sight of her, turning his ashen face to gaze upon her fair loveliness. After a moment’s hesitation, he extended his free hand to her in a gesture of welcome to their exclusive clique.
Even though she was desperate to comfort Arissa, Emma found herself reluctant to accept Gavan’s invitation purely for the fact that it would prove to be both wildly easing and desperately grieving at the same time. Selfish ideas consumed her as she gazed at the knight, thinking only of herself when she should have well been considering Arissa. To be embraced by the man who had spent the past few weeks reluctantly escorting her northward was nearly more than she could bear.
Emma was not daft. For the sake of her own sanity, she was coming to resign herself to the fact that she and Gavan would never know happiness within each other’s arms. Whitby, in fact, was the perfect opportunity for her to escape her dreams of a man she could never have. Even now, as she stared at his outstretched gauntlet, silently beckoning her to partake of his strength and comfort, she knew the point of separation had to be emphasized for the sake of her rejected heart. Turning away, she hadn’t taken two steps when strong hands were suddenly grasping her.
“Riss needs you, Emma,” Gavan said gently, winding his massive arm about her shoulders and turning her in Arissa’s direction. “Be brave, my lady. All is well now.”
Emma looked up into his magnificent face, her confusion and emotions rendering her weak as she caught sight of the rarely-experienced warmth within his eyes.
“She…. she has Richmond,” she said softly. “She does not need me.”
Gavan nodded faintly, his grip on her tightening. “Aye, she n
eeds you, love. Come along and render comfort.”
Love. He called her love. Emma’s heart soared and sank with the joy and agony of it all. Before she could recover from his term of endearment, Gavan had maneuvered her against Arissa and the two ladies burst into a fresh chorus of sobs as their terror found its release.
The mother abbess and Sister Repentia, nursing a substantially bruised abdomen and an aching head, watched the touching scene as long as they dared. The abbess stood next to the green-eyed nun, her piercing eyes riveted to the four people huddled beneath the clouded sky.
“She favors you tremendously,” the abbess said softly.
Sister Repentia nodded. “I was surprised to see for myself, Mother. She’s a beautiful girl.”
Mary Deus continued to watch the tender scene. “The knight holding her is Richmond le Bec, is he not?”
“That is correct. He’s been her guardian for eighteen years.”
The abbess sighed. “’Twill be hard to separate them. From the affection displayed, I suspect their relationship is deeper than mere companionable concern.”
Sister Repentia watched Richmond as he crooned to her daughter, well remembering the bright-eyed young knight entrusted with the royal bastard those years ago. He was an extremely handsome man who had grown more beautiful with age and as she observed his manner toward Arissa, she surmised the mother abbess to be correct in her assumption.
“Shall I take her?” she asked, her voice small and hesitant.
The abbess shook her head. “Nay, Sister. The lady is my charge and I shall complete the necessary action,” she turned to the other nuns clustered in a fearful group by the abbey’s entrance. “Retreat inside, sisters.”
“But what of the battle on the moors, Mother?” a novice nun wanted to know.