Her mind wandered back to those dark days when she had first been separated from her only child. Only the knowledge that someday her beloved daughter would join her at Whitby had provided Sister Repentia the strength to go on during those desolate years. Before she had been smuggled north to the abbey, Henry had made a promise; since it had been necessary to separate mother and child at birth, he had vowed that the two of them would spend the rest of their lives together when Arissa became of age, sequestered in an abbey far from the realities of England’s politics. Even if Sister Repentia had missed the first eighteen years of Arissa’s life, she would spend the rest of her years coming to know the young woman she had birthed. It had been Henry’s vow.
“Sister?” Arissa’s voice was faint, inquisitive. Torn from her thoughts, Sister Repentia struggled to focus on her daughter’s question.
“I apologize, my lady,” she labored to recover a measure of her composure, hoping her voice did not reflect her emotions. “You put forth a question to me?”
Arissa nodded, noting the woman’s cheeks had pinkened slightly in the past few moments. “I asked if we have met before. You appear most familiar.”
Sister Repentia shook her head, slowly. “Nay, my lady, you do not know me.”
Arissa frowned, attempting to sort her memories. The odd, warm emotions that had swarmed her the moment Sister Repentia had introduced herself seemed to be fading and she shrugged. “Then I apologize if I am staring at you,” she said. “I thought we might have been introduced once before and that I knew you.”
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.”
