must return.
“The abbey is where the king expects me to reside. The earl should not have brought me here.”
Nor should de Vere have forced Rhodri to come to Oxford!
Sweet mercy, if the earl ever learned of Connor’s offer of refuge in Wales, Rhodri might not see Glenvair again in a very long time. If ever.
Before she could ask after Rhodri, Lucy left, closing the door behind her, leaving Nicole both worried about Rhodri and resentful of the earl’s impudence.
After Mother Abbess’s burial, the earl had made his shocking announcement about the king negotiating her marriage. Then he’d turned an unhearing ear to her protests, forcing her to leave Bledloe Abbey and suffer being bounced on the hard plank seat of the cart.
Upon arriving in town, she’d struggled to shut out the cries of the spirits in St. Peter-in-the-East church’s graveyard. She’d heard the pleas of these spirits before and refused to aid them, because their ties to earth involved inflicting harm on a living person.
The climb up the steep outer stairway of St. George’s Tower—the central keep of Oxford Castle—had wrung out the last drop of her vigor.
The last thing of yester noon she remembered clearly was watching Rhodri being led away by the castle’s soldiers, suspecting she was more than partly to blame for the earl’s decision to take Rhodri captive.
If she hadn’t turned to Rhodri for respite and solace during the burial, the earl might not have paid the harper much heed. She feared her moment of weakness had set the earl to wondering about the relationship between a king’s ward and a Welsh bard. Not liking what he saw, the earl had decided to further investigate.
Nicole sighed, unable to summon uninhibited sorrow for turning to Rhodri. His touch had been all the invitation she’d required to seek succor. Sweet mercy, she’d felt so cosseted and sheltered within the circle of his arms, as if while within his protection nothing more could hurt her.
Even now she could feel his strength, warmth, and compassion, and she couldn’t allow him to suffer any longer than necessary for her ill-timed vulnerability.
Praying the earl treated Rhodri with respect for his profession, but fearing he didn’t, Nicole cast aside the coverlet and pushed herself off the bed.
She quickly used the chamber pot and, from the pitcher on the side table, poured tepid water into the washbasin. The splash of water against her face banished the last traces of sleep. The quarter round of brown bread was indeed freshly baked. The yellow cheese proved mellow and the ale robust.
The gown, the blue of a clear summer sky, was truly lovely, the weave finer than Nicole had worn in many a year. The wide sleeves and generously cut neckline allowed enough of her shift to show to give a striking, fashionable contrast. The hem brushed the tops of her boots.
Vanity might be a sin, but sweet mercy, she couldn’t help wishing for a polished silver platter in which to see how she looked.
She was beginning to tighten the gown’s side laces when Lucy returned with a mug of steaming tea.
Lucy’s smile went wide. “Heaven have mercy! Will you look at what you were hiding under that habit! The knights will stumble over each other for the favor of your company. Allow me, my lady.”
Nicole smiled at the insolent servant’s flattery, a confirmation of how well the gown suited her, though she doubted any of the knights would fall at her feet. She took sips of tea and transferred the mug from one hand to the other while Lucy pulled the gown’s laces snug.
“Did you speak to the laundress?”
“The habit is cleaned, but you will not wrench it from Tilda’s hands without the earl’s consent. Certes, my lady, you have no need of the habit here, and if you do return to the abbey, it will be waiting there for you.”
True, but the habit was one more thing that had been taken from her in the short space of two days, and she found the earl’s lack of consideration
“The abbey is where the king expects me to reside. The earl should not have brought me here.”
Nor should de Vere have forced Rhodri to come to Oxford!
Sweet mercy, if the earl ever learned of Connor’s offer of refuge in Wales, Rhodri might not see Glenvair again in a very long time. If ever.
Before she could ask after Rhodri, Lucy left, closing the door behind her, leaving Nicole both worried about Rhodri and resentful of the earl’s impudence.
After Mother Abbess’s burial, the earl had made his shocking announcement about the king negotiating her marriage. Then he’d turned an unhearing ear to her protests, forcing her to leave Bledloe Abbey and suffer being bounced on the hard plank seat of the cart.
Upon arriving in town, she’d struggled to shut out the cries of the spirits in St. Peter-in-the-East church’s graveyard. She’d heard the pleas of these spirits before and refused to aid them, because their ties to earth involved inflicting harm on a living person.
The climb up the steep outer stairway of St. George’s Tower—the central keep of Oxford Castle—had wrung out the last drop of her vigor.
The last thing of yester noon she remembered clearly was watching Rhodri being led away by the castle’s soldiers, suspecting she was more than partly to blame for the earl’s decision to take Rhodri captive.
If she hadn’t turned to Rhodri for respite and solace during the burial, the earl might not have paid the harper much heed. She feared her moment of weakness had set the earl to wondering about the relationship between a king’s ward and a Welsh bard. Not liking what he saw, the earl had decided to further investigate.
Nicole sighed, unable to summon uninhibited sorrow for turning to Rhodri. His touch had been all the invitation she’d required to seek succor. Sweet mercy, she’d felt so cosseted and sheltered within the circle of his arms, as if while within his protection nothing more could hurt her.
Even now she could feel his strength, warmth, and compassion, and she couldn’t allow him to suffer any longer than necessary for her ill-timed vulnerability.
Praying the earl treated Rhodri with respect for his profession, but fearing he didn’t, Nicole cast aside the coverlet and pushed herself off the bed.
She quickly used the chamber pot and, from the pitcher on the side table, poured tepid water into the washbasin. The splash of water against her face banished the last traces of sleep. The quarter round of brown bread was indeed freshly baked. The yellow cheese proved mellow and the ale robust.
The gown, the blue of a clear summer sky, was truly lovely, the weave finer than Nicole had worn in many a year. The wide sleeves and generously cut neckline allowed enough of her shift to show to give a striking, fashionable contrast. The hem brushed the tops of her boots.
Vanity might be a sin, but sweet mercy, she couldn’t help wishing for a polished silver platter in which to see how she looked.
She was beginning to tighten the gown’s side laces when Lucy returned with a mug of steaming tea.
Lucy’s smile went wide. “Heaven have mercy! Will you look at what you were hiding under that habit! The knights will stumble over each other for the favor of your company. Allow me, my lady.”
Nicole smiled at the insolent servant’s flattery, a confirmation of how well the gown suited her, though she doubted any of the knights would fall at her feet. She took sips of tea and transferred the mug from one hand to the other while Lucy pulled the gown’s laces snug.
“Did you speak to the laundress?”
“The habit is cleaned, but you will not wrench it from Tilda’s hands without the earl’s consent. Certes, my lady, you have no need of the habit here, and if you do return to the abbey, it will be waiting there for you.”
True, but the habit was one more thing that had been taken from her in the short space of two days, and she found the earl’s lack of consideration
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