Hotspur did not falter. “Because he’s busy with the situation on the Welsh border,” he replied steadily. “Henry asked that I accomplish the duty since Sir Richmond was else occupied.”
“Richmond is on the Welsh border?” Arissa asked before she could stop herself, filled with concern and confusion. He was supposed to be in London, demanding her hand. Why was he in Wales?
Henry’s soft eyes found her. “Sir Richmond is a master of negotiation and Henry asked that he assist the crisis on the border to see if a bloodless conclusion cannot be sought against the Welsh,” seeing the sorrowful expression on Arissa’s face, a measure of guilt swept him; God help him, Richmond was his friend. What he was about to do was not only treacherous, but blatant cruelty. Yet, it was necessary.
Tearing his gaze from the magnificent face, he refocused on the abbess. “Time grows short, Your Grace. Every moment we delay is a moment away from Henry’s life. Surely you cannot deny a father the right to see his child before he passes on?”
The abbess drew in another long sigh, staring at the mighty knight before her; she was well aware of Henry Percy, soon to be the second Earl of Northumberland. Hotspur was a fierce fighter, the most powerful knight in England next to Richmond le Bec, and she knew he was a man of honor. Truthfully, she had no firm basis to deny the request and she realized with resignation that she had no choice but to allow Arissa to travel to London to meet her dying father.
“Nay,” she said after a long moment, her voice quiet. “I shall not deny his request. But the lady will travel with an escort, achaperone of my choosing. And she will be returned to me as soon as Henry has finished with her. Is this understood?”
Hotspur felt a bolt of relief run through him, so powerful that he fought the urge to collapse with thanks. But the added element of an escort was something he had not anticipated; still, it would be of no consequence. A harmless nun was insignificant in the overall scheme and he would not fret over the unexpected addition. All that mattered was that Arissa was to be placed in his custody, as Owen had correctly predicted.
“I understand your directive perfectly, Your Grace,” he said steadily. “The lady will be in good hands.”
The abbess continued to eye him a moment before faintly gesturing to her two young charges, silently demanding them to return to the abbey. As Arissa and Emma dashed away, the abbess maintained her cool gaze on the mighty knight.
“I must tell you that this situation is unnerving,” she said quietly. “But based upon your reputation as an honorable man, I will not dispute the poorly written missive nor the blotched seal. All I ask is that you return Lady Arissa to me, unharmed. She is, after all, my charge.”
Hotspur nodded faintly, feeling a substantial increase in his own guilt.
“I shall guard the woman with my life.” He meant it.
While Hotspur and his army wait on the road, Emma helped Arissa pack a small satchel. Soap, a comb, another clean woolen frock and the surcoat she had arrived in filled the small bag. As Arissa donned a pair of soft woolen hose to protect her against the chill, Emma seemed particularly distracted. Securing the heavy cloak Richmond has given her, Arissa laughed softly at the picture she presented.
“Look at me, Emma. Dressed in a plain gray woolen frock and an exquisite cloak of the finest material,” with a smile, she turned to her moody friend. “I look terribly mismatched. Isuppose I should…. now, what’s the matter with you? Why do you look like that?”
Emma had been fumbling with her hands, a frown on her face as she immersed herself in thought. Hearing Arissa’s softly demanded question, she cast her a long gaze.
“What did Hotspur mean when he called you Henry’s daughter?”
Arissa’s smile faded. After a lengthy, guilty moment, she averted her gaze and planted her bottom on the edge of her cot. “Do not be angry with me for not telling you,” she said softly. “I myself discovered my true heritage only a few weeks ago. Apparently, I am a bastard of royal blood, sent to live with the Earl of Berkshire so that I would not shame my father the king.”
Emma stared at her, shocked but not completely disbelieving. After all, she’d had time to dwell on the clues Hotspur had raised and was somewhat prepared for the startling truth. After a moment, she exhaled sharply and leaned against the wall. “So you are the king’s daughter?”
“Aye.”
“Truly?”
“Aye.”
“Does Richmond know?”
“He’s the one who informed me of my true heritage.”
Emma’s gaze lingered on her dark head. After several long seconds, she simply shook her head. “I…. I simply cannot believe it, Riss. You are not the earl’s offspring, but a princess?”
Arissa shrugged vaguely. “Apparently. But I do not feel like one. I feel like a cast-off, a bit of rubbish that no one can decide what to do with.”
Emma’s brow furrowed. “Why do you say that?”
Arissa toyed with the hem of her cloak, advancing to chewing on her nails, a habit she had yet to break. “Look at the situation; my mother abandons me at birth and I am forced to live withanother family, my true identity concealed from the world. When I become of age, I am forced into an abbey to hide for the remainder of my life. Would you not feel like so much extra baggage?”
Emma pondered her question a moment. “I do not know, Riss. Richmond doesn’t think you are extra baggage.”
Her smile made a weak appearance. “Nay, he does not. Mayhap I shall be lucky enough to see him in London. Certainly, I can hope.”
Emma’s gaze lingered on her friend a moment longer, still reeling with some shock and amazement. But, truthfully, she did not know why she was so surprised; Arissa had always possessed a special aura, a grace and beauty beyond the limits of mere mortals.
