Lilies for Love (12 page)

'I can give you something for the pain that will also help you to sleep,' Janna said, automatically repeating what her mother might have said. Recollecting where she was, she blushed even more painfully. 'I beg your pardon, Sister Anne. I forget myself.'

'What, then, would you give him?' In spite of her misgivings over the situation, the infirmarian was more interested in an exchange of knowledge.

'I can brew up a decoction of primrose, wild lettuce and valerian, or hemp.'

The infirmarian nodded thoughtfully. 'In the meantime, I have a syrup of white poppies already prepared, which you may give to our patient to help ease his pain. I must tend another patient, but I need to make up a paste of my own before I see her. Sister Johanna?' She looked from Janna to Hugh. 'I trust there will be no disruption or unseemly behaviour while the lord is here under our roof,' she said, her warning clear to both of them.

'On my honour,' said Hugh, and Janna nodded in agreement, although her heart caught on fire at the very thought of what the nun had suggested. She hardly dared look at Hugh after the nun bustled out of the cubicle and they were left alone.

'Don't look so miserable.' Hugh's voice was determinedly bright. 'The thought of a dalliance with me isn't so utterly dreadful, is it?'

Janna swallowed hard as she remembered their shared kiss. 'Our infirmarian is right. It's not seemly even to think it,' she murmured.

'With you being almost a nun and all?'

'With me being who I am, and you a lord,' Janna returned swiftly.

Hugh was silent for a moment. 'I must say, you look more appealing in your habit than you did in those dreadful garments that you . . .' He hesitated.

'That I stole from your aunt's barn before setting fire to it.' Janna knew she was safe to admit it, for Hugh already suspected as much. She measured some poppy syrup into a spoon and held it out to Hugh. He swallowed it in one gulp and licked his lips, relishing the lingering sweetness. 'Don't worry about the barn,' he said then. 'I haven't told my aunt who burned it down.'

'Thank you, my lord.' Janna was truly grateful. If Dame Alice had a mind to it, Janna could be severely punished for her crime.

'Now that Mus is locked up, and my aunt and uncle have returned to their own home, it's safe for you to come back to my manor, if you wish it?'

Unable to find an excuse that might convince him, Janna kept silent.

'Does the way of life really suit you here?' Hugh's disbelief was written plain on his face.

Janna nodded.

'And I thought you so wild, so free; your spirit so fierce and unbroken.'

'And so it is.'

'How, then, can you stand to be shut in like this? Is it fear of Robert? For I assure you, my aunt has his measure in full, and watches him closely. He will not have the chance to strike against you again.'

Hugh waited for an answer, but it didn't come. 'Robert is no threat to you, I promise you,' he said at last. 'You may safely leave the abbey at any time of your choosing. You know I am willing to offer you a home on my manor, indeed I greatly desire it, but you may travel on to Winchestre in safety, if you so choose. I think you said you wanted to go there?'

'But not yet,' Janna said. 'I will stay to see Mus brought to justice.' She remembered the message Hugh had written to the abbess on her behalf, and her hand covered the small bump of the purse secreted beneath her habit. It would be so simple, it would save so much time, if she just asked Hugh to read aloud her father's letter to her mother. Tempted, she was about to speak, but she thought then of her mother's pride and the lengths to which she had gone to keep her father's identity a secret. If her mother had been a nun and her father a priest, the sin was even greater. She was already far below Hugh in station. Let him at least continue to respect her and her mother for what he knew of them, without revealing shameful secrets from the past.

Hugh looked puzzled. Then he shrugged. 'I vow I can do no more to change your mind, Johanna,' he said, 'but I called you to my bedside for I know you to be quickwitted and observant, and I am hoping we may put our heads together to try to make some sense of this attack on me, if that is what it was.'

'Are you sure it was not meant for me, my lord? It could have happened by mischance, like this.' Janna showed him how she'd stumbled, and how a dagger meant for her back might well have pierced his side instead.

'You are safe,' Hugh insisted. 'The dagger was not meant for you, I am sure of it.'

'Could it have been an accident?' Janna took up the dagger and showed him the stains. 'When I knocked against you and sent you staggering, could not the dagger have been dislodged and pierced you as you fell?'

'It's possible, I suppose. I certainly thought it was an accident when it happened.'

'And I am sorry, so sorry, my lord, if I was the cause of it,' Janna apologised hastily.

'But I've had time to reflect on it, and I no longer think it was an accident for I suspect I know who may be responsible. Tell me, did you notice a young man wearing a red cloak amidst the throng following the musicians? Dark hair, slightly taller than me?'

Janna wrinkled her nose as she visualised the colourful scene, the piping music, the shouting children and barking dogs. 'I can't say, my lord,' she admitted. 'The fairground was crowded with so many people, villein and highborn alike, I would be hard put to single out anyone in particular.' She looked down at him. 'Who is the young man in the red cloak, and why would you think he'd attack you?' she asked, acting on the impulse that always wanted to know more, even though she knew it was not her place to be so inquisitive.

To her surprise, Hugh looked a little discomforted. 'His name is Anselm, and he has a sister. A pretty sister.'

'Ah.' Janna was beginning to understand, but she couldn't prevent a pang of jealousy as Hugh's implication became clear.

'My aunt owes knight service to the king in return for her lands,' Hugh went on to explain. 'I am one of those knights, as is Robert of Babestoche.' His mouth pulled down in distaste at the reminder of their link by marriage.

'And Anselm?' Janna prompted, determined to hear the rest of the story if he was prepared to tell it.

'Is squire to another knight in my aunt's service.'

'And he has a pretty sister?'

'Indeed.' Hugh was thoughtful for a moment. 'We grew up together on my aunt's manor, and it was always assumed that when Emma and I were old enough, we would wed.'

Pretty, and having almost the same status as Hugh. Janna was prepared to thoroughly dislike this Emma.

'You are old enough to wed now, sire.' It almost choked her to say the words.

Hugh nodded. 'But Emma has only a very small dower, while I have my way to make in the world.'

'Do you love her?' Janna asked in a small voice.

He smiled. 'No, I do not. I tried to tell Anselm so when he accosted me at the fair and demanded to know my intentions towards his sister. He would not listen, berated me instead for what he called my cold heart, my greedy, grasping nature and, most especially, my faithlessness. I suggested he talk to Emma herself if he wanted the truth of the matter, but he was too angry to listen. He stamped off muttering about the honour of the family being at stake. And I am sorry, for he was a good friend, and his sister too.'

'And you think he might have worried his anger to such a pitch that he came back and attacked you?'

Hugh nodded. 'I admit I did not notice him among the throng, nor can I believe he would ever do such a thing. But I can't think of anyone else who might wish me dead.'

'Begging your pardon, my lord, but that doesn't make sense! If you were dead, you couldn't marry Emma. She wouldn't get what she wants, and nor would her brother, if his intention is to make you marry her.'

Hugh shrugged. 'But honour would have been satisfied, if that is his thinking.'

Emma. The name stuck in Janna's mind like a small, scratchy burr. If she was the young woman in the marketplace, she was indeed pretty. If Hugh would not marry Emma, who was not only beautiful but highborn and with a dower, albeit a small one, he would certainly never contemplate marrying anyone so far beneath him as herself.

She caught his glance, and looked quickly away. Could he know that she was thinking how sweet it would be to love him, that if he only asked she could be tempted to throw caution to the winds but for the fact she was determined never to be caught in shame, abandoned and disgraced just like her mother. Not Hugh, never Hugh. Janna had made a solemn vow that she would never dally with a man unless she loved him and was sure he loved her enough to make her his wife.

Hugh didn't love Emma enough to wed her. Perhaps that was what had stopped him, rather than her too-small dower? Involuntarily, her eyes strayed back to his face. There was no laughter there, now, but a straightforward regard, a warmth and recognition that had not been there before. 'You look so different,' he murmured.

'And so do you, my lord.' She strove for a light tone.

'Ah, yes.' He glanced down at his bare chest and at the bed he lay on. 'I can hardly act the heroic warrior when I'm lying here at your mercy, can I?'

'Is that how you think of yourself, sire?' Janna asked demurely, and turned with relief to take the medicaments from Sister Anne, who had just entered the cubicle.

J
ANNA PASSED
A restless night on her pallet in the infirmary. She had moved her bed as far from Hugh's cubicle as it was possible to be, but even so she was acutely conscious of how close he was, and how vulnerable. She worried that she might be responsible for his injury. She worried that the wound might be deeper than she'd thought, and that something vital might have been affected. She worried about the possibility of infection, the sort of infection that could lead to his death. She worried, too, about Emma, and Gytha, and Cecily, and any other pretty woman who might catch his eye. Her thoughts, her feelings about him, were in total confusion. He was handsome, kind and gentle. He had status and power, more so than any other man she'd ever met. Was that what had turned her head, or was she falling in love with him? She wondered if he was attracted to her, felt sure she hadn't misread the admiration in his eyes even while she heeded the warning implicit in his words about Emma. If he spoke true about Emma's lack of a dower, then he wouldn't look at Gytha or Cecily either. Nor would he look at her, other than as a bedmate to pass the time.

Janna squeezed her eyes tight shut, trying to block out all thoughts of herself as Hugh's bedmate. Her hand touched her breast, felt its new weight, felt her nipple spring to life under her fingers. She groaned, and rolled over onto her stomach, and prayed for the dawn to come, even while acknowledging that it was not the dawn but Hugh she wanted.

She wrenched her thoughts away from him, and instead contemplated the mischief she had caused between Will and Agnes. She wished she could see Agnes, talk to her, and apologise for her stupid remark. She was concerned that what had happened in the marketplace might prejudice her friend against the bailiff's pledge, and she deeply regretted forcing Agnes out into the public demesne before her friend was ready for it. She spent her last waking moments rehearsing what she might say to Agnes on Will's behalf, how she might put her friend in the best frame of mind to hear her argument.

On rising, she found Sister Anne already in the infirmary and tending to Hugh's needs. 'Go on,' the nun shooed her away. 'Go to Prime and break your fast. You may stay on to say the Mass and attend chapter, and give a report on our patients while you are there. Come back to the infirmary afterwards for I need you to stay here while I go out to the fair.'

Mindful that the nun was placing great trust in her, Janna nodded and slipped away. Her mind was full of questions, so she hardly paid attention to what she was eating or what she was doing during the celebration of the Mass. She looked for Agnes when the lay sisters filed into chapter, but knew she would have no chance to speak to her until it was over.

There was a collective gasp when the nuns learned that there was a man in the infirmary, but Janna gave a conscientious and clear report of his progress as well as the progress of their other patients, and her recital passed without comment other than a quick, 'See to it that the lord is well cared for,' from the abbess. Janna knew what motivated her instruction and bent her head to hide her amusement.

But there was more to come. 'I saw Sister Johanna enter the convent yesterday. She was running, and her head was bare. She wasn't even wearing her wimple.' Janna didn't have to look up to recognise the whine.

'May I answer the charge, Mother?' she asked. The abbess nodded wearily. Janna wondered why she didn't reprimand Sister Martha for the Sin of Always Complaining. She launched into an explanation of Hugh's injury and her makeshift bandage to staunch the flow of blood, and was rewarded by everyone's undivided attention. Janna was willing to wager that nothing so exciting had happened at the abbey since the Danes had burned it down. She waited with bowed head for the abbess to deliver her punishment.

'I see you are correctly attired this morning,' the abbess observed. 'Make sure that the bloodied linen is properly laundered and fit for wear once more. Attend to it personally. That is your penance.'

'Thank you, Mother.' It felt strange to address someone other than Eadgyth as 'mother', and yet Janna recognised the role played by the abbess in the convent. Abbess Hawise might not fill the role to perfection but anyone else in her position might indeed make a kind, loving and wise substitute for a parent.

'M-may I . . . may I s-say s-something, M-Mother Abbess?'

So the missing pages were not yet found. Janna felt desperately sorry for Sister Ursel as she stammered her way through her confession of the Sin of Carelessness.

'How do you account for the pages going missing?'

'I . . . I was w-working in a c-carrel off the . . . the c-c-cloisters. I w-wondered if . . . if the w-wind might have b-blown them away?'

'Was it windy while you were working there?'

'N-no, Mother.'

'Do you leave your work unattended at any time?'

'Yes, sometimes. At. . . at the end of . . . of the day I . . . I t-take it b-back to the s-sc-sc . . .'

'Scriptorium.' The abbess faced the convent with a stern countenance. 'Does anyone know anything of these missing pages? If so, I want to hear about it now!' she thundered. When no reply seemed forthcoming, she added on a softer note, 'Our good sister labours long and diligently over this illuminated life of our beloved saint, and any lost page is a betrayal not only of our own St Edith, but also our Lord, for this toil for His greater glory will have been in vain unless the pages are found.'

This was worse than Janna had imagined. She waited for lightning to strike the poor nun, or Christ and His avenging angels to mark her for her Sin. The abbess had paused to consider. Everyone waited for her verdict. Sister Ursel had gone so pale, Janna wondered if she might faint.

'I know how careful, how meticulous you are about scribing and illuminating this manuscript, Sister Ursel, and how much the life of St Edith means to you.' Abbess Hawise sounded genuinely sorry for the nun. 'To lose so many hours of your work is penance enough, for I feel sure that you have already searched diligently.' Her gaze hardened as she surveyed the assembled convent. 'I want you all to search for the missing pages. If you find them, you must bring them to me. If any one of you has knowledge of this matter, do not let it sit on your conscience. Come and see me at once.' She looked about the room, fixing everyone with a hard, fierce stare, before bowing her head to utter a closing prayer and benediction.

After chapter, although anxious to get back to the infirmary, Janna waited for the lay sisters to file out. She wasted no time in finding Agnes among them, and drew her aside. 'I was so sorry you didn't stay to enjoy the fair yesterday. Were you really not feeling well?' she whispered anxiously.

'I did feel sick – with fright.' Agnes pressed her lips together in a rueful expression. 'I lost my nerve and I am sorry for it, especially when you went to so much trouble to arrange for me to come with you.'

'Master Will was sorry too.' Janna hesitated. 'I saw him look about for you . . .'

'I don't like people looking at me!'

'He wasn't looking at you, he was looking
for
you.'

'Why?' Agnes pulled at her wimple in an unconscious effort to hide her scars.

'He cares for you, Agnes. He asked me to speak on his behalf. He –'

'No!' Still hiding her scarred cheek, Agnes backed away from Janna. She sounded both frightened and defensive as she said, 'My place is here, in the abbey. I have work to do here, the Lord's work.'

'Surely all our work is for the Lord, no matter where we may be, or what we do, or even how we go about it?' Janna protested.

'I am here because I love the Lord!' Agnes's voice rang out in sudden, strident affirmation. 'As soon as I was old enough, I took a vow to be obedient, to live chastely and in poverty. I cannot break my vow.'

'Is that your answer to Master Will, then?'

'It is!' Flushed and defiant, Agnes stared at Janna as if daring her to speak against her decision.

'He loves you, Agnes. He has hopes that you might wed.'

'I will never wed. I will never leave the abbey again!'

If she hadn't persuaded Agnes to come to the fair and then teased her about Will, perhaps Agnes's decision might have been different, Janna thought. She wondered if she could persuade Will to wait, to try asking her again during the next harvest, or at haymaking, when they could be alone together in the fields while still safe within the protection of the abbey. It comforted her to think it was not too late for Agnes, even though in her heart she was sure that the damage was already done. And it was all her fault for not realising Agnes's fear, and choosing a more opportune time to introduce her to the world outside.

Janna sighed. There was no point in arguing further, given Agnes's current frame of mind. 'Just so long as you're happy,' she said quietly.

'Happy? With this?' Agnes touched her scarred face.

She looked angry, almost desperate, and Janna hastened to soothe her. 'Those who know you, love you. You don't have to face any more strangers if you don't want to.'

'I know.' Agnes managed a small smile. 'Don't mind me, Janna. I woke up cross as a bear this morning. Cross with myself, cross with the world. I'm no good to anyone right now.'

Janna remembered her gift from the fair. 'Maybe this will help to cheer you,' she said, and lifted her sleeve to reveal the golden ribbon beneath. She untied it, and handed it to Agnes, who beamed with happiness.

'It's beautiful,' she breathed. 'No-one has ever given me anything before. Thank you, Janna, this is more than I deserve when you have already done so much for me.'

'You'd best keep it hidden,' Janna advised, and Agnes quickly whipped the ribbon out of sight. 'I will treasure it always,' she promised. She leaned forward and touched Janna's arm. 'I should have stayed at the fair, for I missed all the excitement. Was it an accident, do you think, or did someone mean to harm the lord Hugh?'

'I wish I knew.' Janna shook her head. 'But I know him,' she added on impulse. 'I stayed on his manor farm before I came to the abbey.' Her mouth quirked upwards in a dreamy smile. 'He is young, and very handsome,' she confided.

'Is he your beau?' Agnes breathed an excited breath.

Janna laughed. 'He is a lord. I am lowborn, remember, and the daughter of a
wortwyf
. I am nothing and nobody.'

'But if he loves you . . .?'

'He does not.' Janna thought of Gytha, of Cecily, and of Emma. Was Hugh as innocent with women as he seemed? She wasn't sure what she wanted to believe. The intended target of the attack might well have been her, not Hugh. But if he really had plighted his troth with Emma . . .

Janna didn't want to think about it. 'I must go,' she said quickly. 'Sister Anne and my lord Hugh both need me. But Agnes, I haven't forgotten my promise to you. If I can persuade Sister Anne to it, do you still want to come and help in the infirmary?'

'More than anything!' Agnes's smile glimmered like sunshine after rain. Janna hurried off, feeling regret on Master Will's behalf yet relieved that Agnes didn't blame her for what had happened, and seemed to have recovered her spirits.

On her way to the physic garden, she lingered for a moment at the abbey's cemetery. It was a quiet, peaceful spot, sheltered in part by yew trees although several headstones lay in a patch of sunlight, recording the passing of nuns long gone and probably mostly forgotten. Janna wondered who they were, and if the sunshine warmed their tired old bones and gave them ease. She hoped that they rested in peace after a lifetime of service to God.

The sun would also be shining on her own mother's grave, set in the wasteland of unconsecrated ground beyond the chapel at Berford. Janna hoped that the grave was safe, undisturbed, that it had not been vandalised by superstitious villagers. 'Rest in peace,' she whispered. 'I will avenge your death, I promise you.'

She walked on through the kitchen garden and into the herbarium. Janna had come to know it well, including the rare plants that had come from far-off lands, for Sister Anne had schooled her in their healing properties. She looked about with a critical eye as she leaned over to pick the flowers, leaves and roots she needed. Too many plants were being choked by a rank growth of useless weeds. Some of the herbs had finished flowering, and their dead heads needed cutting off and the seeds preserving. Leaves also needed to be cut and dried before they shrivelled in the autumn chill, while roots must be taken before winter snow drove living shoots under the earth to wait for spring. She would ask leave to work in the garden now that she no longer had to prepare goods for sale at the fair. She would ask if Agnes might join her, so that when it came to the big question of Agnes's future, she would be able to say in all truth that the lay sister knew everything Janna could teach her about herbs.

As Janna sniffed the pungent aroma of the plucked herbs, she smiled for the memories of her childhood that the scent revived. Suddenly mindful of the patient who awaited her, she hurriedly sought out the last of the plants she needed then hastened indoors to the infirmary to make up some new medicaments.

To her surprise, she found a number of people gathered around Hugh's bed. There seemed to be quite a party going on under the indulgent eye of Sister Anne who, as Janna entered, was making a vain attempt to shush their exuberance.

'Johanna!' Hugh saw her first, and called out a greeting. Godric gave her a smile, as did Cecily, while Hamo, Hugh's nephew and Cecily's young charge, took one delighted glance at her then cast himself into her arms. Janna bent to give him a hug, while looking over his shoulder at the fifth member of the group. She tried to suppress her amusement as she noted a shock of recognition, followed by embarrassment and dismay, flit across Gytha's face.

'John!' Gytha said the name like an accusation. Which it was, Janna realised, as the girl continued furiously, 'You let us think you were a youth! How dare you trick us like that! I would never have confided in you had I known you were a . . . a nun!'

Janna had to try even harder not to smile. 'I beg your forgiveness,' she said gravely. 'I was in hiding, and being a youth was part of my disguise. I did not mean to shame or embarrass you, mistress, and I assure you that your secrets are safe with me.'