Arissa raised her head from the safe haven of Richmond’s neck, swollen-eyed and puffy-lipped as she met his ashen expression. With a feeble smile purely for her benefit, Richmond set her gently to the ground.
“She’s cut her lip,” he murmured. “I would tend her wound, if I may, before going on my way.”
The abbess gazed at Arissa a moment before extending her hand to the young lady. Dazed and uncertain, though not lacking in proper manners, Arissa obeyed the request and reluctantly moved from Richmond’s company. As the abbess’ warm hand closed over Arissa’s arm, the woman discreetly motioned Sister Repentia forward to take charge of the girl.
Richmond realized what was happening without benefit of an explanation; from the moment they set foot on Whitby’s lands, Arissa was considered their property and even now, she was considered the abbess’ charge. Without fanfare or ceremony, Arissa ceased to become his sworn duty and assumed her role as a holy pledge. He was no longer her protector.
“Sister Repentia is quite capable of tending her lip, my lord,” the abbess said, not unkindly. “You have completed your duty admirably and are to be commended. But she’s our responsibility from this day forward.”
Richmond opened his mouth to politely argue the point, desperate to see to Arissa’s needs himself. But his gaze fell on the slight nun approaching Arissa and his protest died in his throat. Although Sister Repentia was properly covered in layers of gray wool, all flesh obscured but her delicate face, the familiarity of the woman’s features pummeled him like a hammer blow and he heard his breath catch in his throat.
Greetings, Sir Richmond.There was no mistaking the pale green eyes that silently acknowledged him and Richmond felt as if he had been slapped in the face. But in the same instant, a great deal suddenly became clear to him; Henry had delegated Arissa to Whitby because it was the same abbey to which her mother had been pledged.
He continued to gaze at the woman, dumbfounded, but the nun quickly averted her eyes and he was not so dazed that he did not receive the silent message of her guarded countenance; Arissa had no knowledge of the woman’s true identity and hewould not betray the fact, no matter how surprised he was. But, God help him, he simply couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Arissa’s mother was at Whitby.
Arissa was unaware of Richmond’s struggle to recover his senses and more concerned with the fact that they were separating her from Richmond. With panic in her eyes, she looked to Richmond for help, realizing that Sister Repentia was putting more and more distance between them. She wasn’t ready to leave him, not in the least.
“But…. but I have not yet said my farewell!” she said, digging her heels in. “Can…. can he not stay for sup?”
Richmond realized that he was the only person who possessed a remote chance of calming her before she built into a substantial fit. Turning to the abbess, he struggled to maintain an even tone.
“Might I have a word with her, alone, to explain the situation?” he asked.
“I do not believe that to be necessary,” the abbess replied steadily. “The lady realizes that she’s now our responsibility and you are free to go along your way. She’s in safe hands now.”
Arissa could scarcely believe what she was hearing. They were not going to allow her to say good-bye to Richmond! Knowing that she should obey the abbess’ directive by showing proper submission to the will of the church, she simply couldn’t help the panic and disbelief that surged through her heart.
When Richmond turned his helpless gaze upon her, something deep within her snapped. Pulling roughly from Sister Repentia’s gentle grasp, she threw herself forward with the intention of propelling herself into Richmond’s arms. However, the mother abbess reached out to stop her momentum, grasping hold of the emotional young girl in an attempt to contain her. With a shriek, Arissa tore herself from the old woman’s hands and stumbled aimlessly in the direction of the wagon.
She could hear Richmond’s soft pleas intermingled with the sultry voice of the mother abbess. Arissa continued to stagger toward the wagon, having no idea where she was going or what she was intending to accomplish, only that she couldn’t let him go without a word, a touch, a final gesture. She had to feel him, to taste him, one last time.
The events of the day were weighing heavily on her fragile mind, creating a wild spin from which there seemed to be no escape. She bumped into the wagon and her forward movement came to a halt; turning toward the bed of the rig, her eyes came to rest on her oaken trunk.
As she stared at the box, she began to calm. Inside, she had packed several possessions of a personal and sentimental nature, items Emma had managed to leave intact when she stowed away in the case.
Taking a deep breath to ease her tumultuous emotions, Arissa realized that the likelihood of being able to physically display her affection for Richmond in front of the mother abbess an impossibility at best. In lieu of a kiss to remember or a touch to linger upon, she realized that a tangible token of her adoration might work a similar effect.
Arissa leapt into the bed of the wagon, struggling to unlatch the heavy oak lid of the case. Releasing the locks, she propped the lid open and began to rummage through her belongings, new and old, searching. Several feet away, Richmond and the mother abbess had come to an uneasy agreement and Richmond approached the rig, eyeing Arissa with a good deal of concern and curiosity.
“What are you looking for, kitten?” he asked softly. “You know that you cannot bring any of your possessions with you.”
She continued to rummage about, finally coming upon the object of her search. Richmond watched as she drew forth the rosary he had given her. She smiled weakly at him, stringingit over her neck for safe keeping. He returned her smile and extended his hand to assist her from the wagon, but she ignored him and delved into the trunk once more.
His smile faded. “What are you looking for now?”
“I know I put it in here….” she mumbled, tossing her expensive new garments onto the bags and crates of provisions in Richmond’s wagon. “I put it….ah! I found it!”
He watched curiously as she drew forth a small, elegant box of ivory. Exquisite carvings graced the sides of the rectangular case and he continued to observe as she raised the lid, peering inside. A bit of color reappeared in her cheeks as she cautiously fumbled with the contents of the box until she came to the item she apparently sought. Drawing forth a small envelope of green silk, she replaced the ivory box in her trunk.
“What is that?” Richmond asked softly, noting the care with which she held the tiny parcel.
On her knees, Arissa moved to the edge of the wagon to where Richmond stood. His bright blue eyes were filled with a thousand emotions, all of them piercing her heart until she could scarcely breath. She struggled against the natural instinct to collapse into his powerful, comforting arms. To have him so close yet forbidden the luxury of a simple touch was torture. The hands that clutched the package began to quiver as she began to unwrap it.
“I do not press all of the flowers I collect into pomades,” she said softly, her voice quaking. “Sometimes I simply press them flat between pieces of wood. Once dried, they are preserved in a lovely state to enjoy forever.”
Richmond watched as she unfolded the green fabric, revealing a flattened, perfectly preserved collection of tiny blue flowers. He stared at the dehydrated bouquet a long moment, the name of the delicate blooms suddenly coming to mind andhe raised his eyes, his gaze softer and more emotional that Arissa had ever seen it.
“Forget-me-nots,” he whispered.
