The nuns stared at her a moment before looking to each other in confusion. Arissa and Emma passed uncertain glances and Arissa cleared her throat daintily, preparing to explain.
“I was due to arrive after the first of the year, yet because of unforeseen circumstances I find myself having arrived early,” when the nuns continued to look baffled, Arissa hastened to clarify the still-puzzling situation. “My….my father is the Earl of Berkshire. Surely your mother abbess is aware of my impending arrival?”
“I am.”
A sultry, low voice came from behind the group of nuns. Startled, the women clad in gray parted to reveal an older woman, swathed in a heavy woolen habit from her head to her toes. Shielded in the dank shadows, she moved forward with the grace of a cat and Arissa found herself gazing into piercing, all-knowing eyes. They appraised her openly and Arissa struggled against the urge to shy from the intense stare.
After several moments of scrutiny, the woman drew in a deep breath as if satisfied with her observation. “You do not look like your father. He’s rather fair.”
Swallowing again to regain a measure of composure, Arissa nodded weakly; there was something in the woman’s eyes that suggested she was not speaking of William de Lohr.
“I…. I am told I favor my mother,” she said softly.
The woman did not respond and Arissa could again feel the heat of her gaze. Averting her eyes, she pondered the well-scrubbed stone floor, the bare walls, acutely aware of the smells of soot and must around her; it was an atmosphere she discovered to be most cloying. She found her thoughts drifting to Richmond when a soft, wrinkled hand suddenly reached out to clasp her chin.
The abbess’ eyes were far gentler than they had been moments before. “Look at me, child, do not hide your beauty,” she said quietly. “What is it you have brought to my doorstep? A battle for your very soul, mayhap?”
“I…. I do not know who has attacked us, Your Grace,” Arissa stammered. “We were caught by surprise.”
The abbess gazed at her a moment longer, scrutinizing features so fine she would have sworn that God himself had intended to have her. A young lady she had been expecting for eighteen years, whose heritage and bloodlines were as powerful as England herself. She recognized the features, as they were very similar to another woman she knew.
A woman she had met for the first time eighteen years ago, devastated and crushed by circumstances beyond her control. A woman she had nurtured to a fragile emotional health that, to this day, was still not particularly robust. Gazing into the familiar features of the young woman before her, she hoped thesight of pale green eyes and raven-black hair would be enough to fortify the aching spirit housed within these old walls for the past eighteen years. The ache of a mother’s love.
“I am Mother Abbess Mary Deus,” she said after an eternal pause, dropping her hand from the lovely face. “You are indeed early, as we were not expecting you until the week after Christmas. But your company is welcomed all the same and we will not question God’s wisdom in bringing you to us sooner than intended,” her intense gaze moved from Arissa to Emma, and she fixed her heady stare on the young blond girl. “I am afraid servants are not allowed at Whitby, my lady. She must return to Lambourn.”
“She’s not my servant,” Arissa grabbed hold of Emma, pulling her forward for the abbess’ inspection. “This is the Lady Emma Trevor. She wishes to pledge servitude to God.”
The abbess cocked an eyebrow, indicating either disbelief or pleasure. “I see,” she replied non-committally. After a moment, the woman turned to the other nuns. “Where is Sister Repentia?”
“In the kitchens, Mother,” came a soft reply.
Mary Deus nodded briefly and Arissa swore she saw the woman’s jaw tick. “Seek her. Inform her that our new pledge has arrived.”
A nun broke off from the crowd, shuffling away on silent feet. When the woman disappeared into the depths of the sanctuary, the abbess refocused her attention on the two frightened young women before her. A weak smile creased her lips.
“You are undoubtedly tired. Follow me and you shall be refreshed.”
Still clutching one another as if permanently joined, Arissa and Emma did as they were told. As they moved down the ancient corridor, each lady found herself torn between greatcuriosity for her new surroundings and a deep concern for the raging skirmish in the moor.
Beckoned into the bowels of the musty abbey, they found themselves in a soaring gallery, rather small in size, but the ceilings overhead were of magnificent height. There were a few tables, scrubbed and worn, and little else. The entire place reeked of dampness, of age, and of a humble existence.
The mother abbess bade the ladies to sit. “Sister Repentia will be with you shortly,” she said, watching as the young women silently took their seats. “This is where we eat and pray, and sometimes it is used to house weary travelers who seek refuge for the night,” she indicated a slumped bundle against the far wall, hidden in the depths of the shadows. “Alas, that man came to us recovering from a great injury. As we commonly do not accept men into our sanctuary, he was quite weak and we could not refuse him aid.”
Arissa and Emma turned to stare at the swathed figure. “Do you tend a lot of sickness?” Arissa asked softly. “I am aware that some abbeys dedicate themselves to healing, but I did not believe Whitby to be such an establishment.”
“It is not,” Mary Deus replied. “We prefer the isolated life, paying reverence to God and doing penitence for man’s evil nature. In fact, I harbor five recluse nuns within my abbey, women intent on maintaining the purest life possible.”
Arissa nodded in understanding, folding her hands and trying not to appear overly unnerved. Although her body was safely guarded within the confines of the gallery, her mind wandered outside the walls of the abbey, seeking Richmond as he waged battle in the moors beyond. She was horribly worried.
Tears sprang to her eyes and she lowered her head, desperately attempting to fend off the tide of emotions. The mother abbess excused herself without a word, leaving Arissa and Emma alone in the midst of their fear and disorientation.
Alone in a mysterious realm of holy penitence and literal scripture; alone without those they loved for the first time in their young lives.
Alone at Whitby.
*
Mary Deus movedinto the lightless depths of the abbey’s kitchen, a large room filled with the sharp smells of smoke. Her intense eyes searched for the familiar figure that inhabited this chamber most of the time, a woman who took delight in preparing God’s bountiful harvest. But the room was vacant and the mother abbess sighed slowly, wondering if the nun who had been sent to inform Sister Repentia of the newly arrived pledge had only succeeded in chasing the woman into hiding.
