“Find her,” Bruce said, “and bring her home.”
Ewen nodded. “I will.”
The king gave him a long, measured look. “I trust this mission won’t be a problem for you?”
He stiffened. “Why should it?”
“My former sisters by marriage have always been pretty little things, as I suspect you noticed. But I’ll remind you that while she might not be a nun, she is meant for another.”
Ewen’s mouth hardened. “I’m aware of that, Sire.” And he sure as hell didn’t need the reminder. But obviously, Bruce had sensed something from before and was letting him know in no uncertain terms to steer clear of her. Ewen didn’t need it spelled out.
“Good.” The king bowed his head, dismissing him. Ewen turned on his heel to leave, but Bruce stopped him with a sharp laugh. “Although when you do find her, you may not want to tell her that I have a husband waiting for her—she’s liable to get it in her mind to disappear again.”
The reminder of her betrothal set Ewen’s teeth on edge. But he managed a smile, as it seemed to be expected of him.
He would find Janet and bring her back to her betrothed. But he wasn’t looking forward to it.
Nine
Rutherford Priory, Scottish Marches, December 1, 1310
Janet’s self-imposed exile had begun to chafe. An excess of caution did not sit well with her, especially when anyone would be hard pressed to connect the Italian “Sister Genna” with “Novice Eleanor,” the English widow from Cumberland. She might not be able to change her face, but she’d done her best to change everything else—her name, her nationality, even the color of her veil.
Not much longer, she told herself. Friar Thom would come for her when it was safe, he’d told her as much.
But what was taking him so long?
The leaves had been thick on the trees and the grass still green when he’d delivered her to the nuns at Rutherford’s priory, the small convent of Cistercian nuns located a few miles west of Roxburgh, after her unfortunate confrontation with Father Simon.
She had to admit her heart had been beating fast there for a minute. Knowing she couldn’t deny the missive, which the priest had obviously seen, she’d slid the folded piece of parchment out of the hem of her scapular. “This?” She smiled. “It isn’t a missive, it’s a list.”
The priest’s eyes had narrowed to hard beads. “What kind of list?”
It had been her idea to use an inventory as a kind of code when passing messages about troops and supplies, and never had she been so glad of it. The priest had already unfolded the paper and scanned it when she replied, “As you can see, it’s a list of items for my next journey.”
She hoped her heart wasn’t pounding as loudly as it sounded in her ears and prayed he didn’t ask her where, as she had no idea of the specific contents of the letter.
“Why would a nun from Berwick travel to Carlisle? I thought you were returning to Italy.”
She heaved a silent sigh of relief.Carlisle!“I am. After next month’s market in Carlisle. As for why, our embroidery is much sought after, and surely a few miles isn’t too far in the name of the Lord’s work?”
He didn’t bother answering her. “Surcotes, purses—why are only two items written on this list?”
Men and horses. Those were the numbers the king was requesting for the English at Carlisle, if the information could be obtained.
Janet shrugged as if she were puzzled by his question. “Those are the only items of which I am short.” Her face fell, and she forced tears to well in her eyes. “Which makes the loss of the alms purse so much worse. It took Reverend Mother nearly six months to make. The level of detail was exquisite. It would have fetched a goodly sum that would have helped to feed the unfortunates—”
“You cannot remember two things?” he asked, cutting off her verbal detour.
“I am very forgetful, Father. It is a terrible sin,” she bowed her head for a moment as if shamed by the admission. “But the Sisters are helping me work on it. Lists help.”
“Is something wrong, Father Simon? Why are you questioning Sister Genna like this? She has done nothing wrong. It is she who is a victim of a crime.”
Janet had never noticed how formidable Sister Winifred could be, but she did so now.
Father Simon sniffed as if at something unpleasant. It was clear he and the older nun did not like each other. “She was acting suspiciously.”
“By possessing a folded piece of paper?” She laughed, and the priest’s face flushed an angry red. He looked foolish and knew it.
