“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 theman 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 needs 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.
Mary Deus turned her attention southward, listening. “I do not hear the sounds of battle. I suspect Sir Richmond’s men have triumphed,” waving a hand at the gaggle of nuns, she focused on the two knights and two ladies in the near distance. “Inside, sisters. Go about your chores.”
No one dared to argue with the woman who had managed Whitby for nearly twenty years. Only Sister Repentia remained, her pale green eyes continuing to observe the tender display. Remembering a love gone by, eighteen years past, she felt a fresh stab of anguish to an old wound as she pondered vague memories of a young man with fair hair, secretly devoted to her.
Not entirely unaware of the tender memories lurking in Sister Repentia’s heart, and knowing the woman’s history as she did, the abbess decided to call a halt to the compassionate spectacle before her. The sooner the lady and her protector were separated, the better for them all. The task, she suspected, would be difficult enough as it was.
“Sir Richmond,” the mother abbess addressed him calmly, interrupting their huddle. “I am Mother Abbess Mary Deus. I thank you for escorting the lady from Lambourn and defending her from those who sought to do her great harm,” she passed a lingering glance at the still form of Tad de Rydal, resisting the urge to shudder with horror. “When he came to us yesterday, he was weak with his wound and requested assistance. We had no choice but to offer him refuge.”
Richmond raised his head from where it had been buried against Arissa, his face pallid. “I understand, Your Grace. Certainly you are not to blame for the man’s twisted sense of vengeance against the lady and me,” his gaze lingered on the silky black head, resting against his shoulder. “And as for your mention of my accompanying the lady north, you will know that I am her protector. It was not only my pleasure, but my duty. You are undoubtedly aware that she’s been delivered sooner than expected.”
The old nun nodded. “I take it that circumstances dictated such actions and I will not question your reasoning. Suffice it to say that she’s welcome.”
