Armed with the pitcher, Andressa wielded it like a weapon as she faced the other three nuns. “You’ll not take me down without a fight,” she snarled. “I will not confess to something when there are others who just as easily could have committed such an offense.”
Shocked that someone they had attacked was fighting back, Sister Agnes and Sister Petronilla looked at Andressa with a mixture of outrage and surprise, while the Mother Abbess seemed oddly pleased by the display of force. She appreciated physical violence, in all forms.
“Then all you need say is you did not tell anyone,” she said calmly.
“I did not tell anyone!” Andressa screamed.
It was a lie, but it was a lie to save her life. She saw no sin in lying to murdering, dishonorable women. The Mother Abbess simply nodded her head.
“I believe you,” she said evenly. “And you know nothing of the death of Alasdair Baird Douglas?”
Andressa was poised to swing the pitcher again; she hadn’t moved. When Sister Dymphna stirred, she was close enough to bash the woman on the skull again. Sister Dymphna fell still.
“The Scotsman?” Andressa said, trembling and cocked, pitcher over her head as if to smash Sister Dymphna’s brains in. “He is dead?”
The Mother Abbess nodded slowly. “He is,” she said. “You never saw him last night?”
More lies were to come, but she felt no guilt. “Nay,” she said. “Why do you ask?”
The Mother Abbess didn’t push her. In fact, she put up a hand as if to ease the situation. “It does not matter,” she said. “Please put the pitcher down, Andressa. Come and sit and we shall discuss this calmly. In fact, the feast day is tomorrow and there are still preparations to come. We shall speak of that. All will be well now.”
Her manner was calming, which had a soothing effect on Andressa. But Andressa didn’t put the pitcher down until Sister Agnes set down the bindings that she had in her hands, and the Mother Abbess ushered the two nuns to her fine table. Shaken and still terrified, Andressa reluctantly put the pitcher down, but still within arm’s length should she need to get to it. She sat at the end of the table, where the Mother Abbess indicated.
With the situation calming, Andressa felt somewhat relieved but she was still on edge, still afraid there was something more to come. It was an instinct she should have listened to because as the Mother Abbess took her seat at the table, she passed behind Andressa with the Staff of Truth still in her hand.
And that was when the situation went from bad to worse.
One swing of the big, heavy iron and wood cross at the head of the staff at Andressa’s head, and she was knocked silly. A second blow to the head sent her to the ground where she lay, dazed and nearly unconscious, looking up at the ceiling of the chamber and seeing the three nuns standing over her. The Mother Abbess knelt by her head.
“Now,” she said softly. “If you do not understand the need for obedience and discipline yet, you will by the time we are finished with you. As for telling the king’s men of our plans, it is of little consequence. Men are so arrogant to believe that a woman can do them no harm, and they certainly will never believe that nuns are capable of ending a monarchy. But they will suffer in the end, as will you. Remember that death comes from the most unexpected sources, Andressa.”
The third blow from the Staff of Truth caught Andressa in the left arm, a powerful blow that sent her rolling over onto her side. As the blows from the staff and the thorny rod commenced, all Andressa could do was roll into a ball and protect that life growing inside of her.
Odd how she thought of the child at that moment over herself. To protect the child she’d tried so hard to ignore was the only thing on her mind, that inherent maternal instinct protecting the baby from blows that were drawing blood and leaving gouges in her body. In truth, she was more terrified what would happen to her should they discover the child, so maternal instincts were only part of it.
She had to hide the pregnancy.
She had to protect them both.
Curling up on the cold, stone floor of the Mother Abbess’ fine solar, Andressa could hear her cries of pain echoing against the old walls.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Farringdon House
Maxton couldn’t standit.
He’d been away from Andressa for all of one day, and he was longing after her as he’d never longed for anyone in his life.
The morning of the Feast Day of St. Blitha had dawned surprisingly bright, in stark contrast from the heavy mist they’d had the day before, and for most days over the past few months. But something in the weather pattern had changed today and the sky was clear.
It was a beautiful sunrise that came up from the east, casting golden rays onto the land. Inside the manor home, however, there was a sense of purpose as men prepared for the coming day. Much had happened, and much still needed to happen, and there was a sense of anticipation because so much was at stake. It wasn’t just a king’s life, but also the life of a certain pledge who had risked her life to make sure their task was successful.
They didn’t want to fail her.
The king had gone hunting in the forest of Windsor the day before, as planned, and even though the mist had been heavy well into the afternoon, he hadn’t scrapped his intentions.He’d gone out with his courtiers and military advisors, and they’d hunted for several hours while Maxton, Kress, Achilles, Alexander, Cullen, Bric, and Dashiell had shadowed the group from the recesses of the heavy foliage.
It wasn’t that anyone expected the nuns to make a move against the king out in the wilderness, but more as a preventative measure in case the information they’d received had been wrong and the nuns were the least of their worries. It wasn’t that they didn’t trust Andressa; they knew she was telling the truth. But given that the assassins after the king were of the most unexpected kind, and it was quite possible there was more than one set of assassins, Maxton wanted to ensure they were ready for anything.
