Maid Of Midnight

“Do you come by night to nurse animals as you do wayward travelers?” he asked.

She opened her mouth to speak, but her throat felt clogged with hay dust from the stable floor. “I—I—” she stuttered.

His smile died as he saw the panic in her expression. “Calm yourself, angel. I didn’t mean to alarm you. I’ve been looking for you these two days past in order to thank you for my cure.” He pointed to his still-bandaged head. “I probably owe you my life.”

“Nay, ’twas nothing. I must go.” She twisted sideways to pull her arm from his grasp, but he held her firmly.

“I won’t hurt you, mistress. I promise. Don’t run away again.”

Bridget’s head was ringing with the dire warnings the brothers had given her over the years about what would befall them all if her presence became known. The dangerous game she had played with the stranger was no longer a game. It was obvious he was too well recovered to ever be convinced that seeing her had been another dream.

“You don’t understand,” she pleaded. “I beg you, let me go.”

For another long moment, their eyes held, hers anguished, his puzzled. Then he released his hold on her arm. Without another word she pushed past him, ran out of the barn and into the darkening night.

Ranulf stood staring after her retreating form for several moments. One of his questions had been answered, at least. The maid was real. It was no wraith whose strong, slender arm he had held. The face that had looked up at him with such alarm was not that of an otherworldly creature, but of a flesh-and-blood woman with a sprinkle of freckles across her nose and a wild-rose blush painting her cheeks. The lips he’d once touched with his own in the throes of his fever had been full and red.

He realized with sudden shock that his brief encounter with the mysterious young woman had left him shaky with something akin to desire. Jesu. He’d never been a man to woo and love lightly. In fact, he’d scoffed at those of his fellow Crusaders who were desperate enough to seek out the women of the stews to ease their bodily needs.

He’d always preferred to turn his own thoughts to loftier channels. Though he’d never admitted it to anyone, he’d often used the vision of Dragon’s promised bride, Diana, when the weariness of battle had made him long for more tender thoughts of women and home. Oddly enough, Diana’s ethereal beauty suddenly seemed tame next to the memory of the woman he’d just confronted in the barn.

He looked around him. Night had fallen, and the animals had grown quiet. He could barely make out their forms in the darkness. He started walking slowly toward the doorway, his mind whirring with questions. Why had she fled? What was she afraid of? And why had Brother Francis lied about her?

He reached the courtyard and squinted to see across it in the dusk. There was no sign of his beautiful nurse. Across the square was the church with the small cemetery beyond. On his left were the monks’ quarters and to the right a kitchen. The small brick building beyond that? Could she have gone there?

He continued walking to the middle of the square. The tiny building had no window, and there was no light showing from underneath the crack of the door. If his nurse was inside, she was sitting in the dark.

Ranulf sighed. He did not yet have enough strength to search the whole compound for her, especially at night. His lifesaver would remain a mystery for another night.

Francis had consulted with Brother Ebert and Abbot Alois.

“Bridget, it’s simply too dangerous for you here right now,” Alois told Bridget gently as she sat in stunned silence on his bed in the abbot’s chamber. “The Marchands are kind people. They’ll give you a good home. If anyone discovers you there, Mistress Marchand has agreed to introduce you as her niece, the daughter of a sister who has died.”

“That would mean living with some deceit, Bridget,” Ebert added. “But no more than we have all had to bear over the years. I’m sure God will forgive us since it has all been done in an effort to keep you safe.”

Bridget shook her head and said firmly, “I won’t go. What would you do without me here?”

Francis sat beside her on the abbot’s narrow cot and, ignoring the conventions of his order, put an arm around her and drew her against his plump shoulder. “We shall have to manage, Bridget. We’re not totally helpless, you know. We did get on somehow before you came.”

“But the kitchens…the gardens…the work orders…” Bridget could not believe what she was hearing. They were sending her away from the only home she’d ever known, all because she’d exchanged a few sentences with a stranger who would no doubt continue on his travels and never bother them again.

“We’ll all miss you dreadfully, Bridget, and we’ll try to keep the abbey from falling apart in your absence.” There was a touch of amusement in Alois’s voice.

“You may like it on the outside, Bridget,” Ebert added. “It’s time you had a life of your own that involves more than caring for a bunch of old men.”

Bridget looked up at Francis, who still held her clutched to his side, then at the anxious faces of Alois and Ebert hovering over her. She was beginning to realize that, unlike times in the past when she’d been able to sweet-talk or bully the monks into seeing her side of things, this time they were not about to be swayed. “I’ve never wanted any life but this,” she said, her voice faltering. “I’m happy here. Please don’t send me away.”

Alois straightened up. “It’s already decided. Ebert will take you tomorrow before dawn. By the time our English visitor wakes up, you’ll be gone. Now you’d best get some sleep before your journey.”

Her momentary weakness past, Bridget slipped out of Francis’s arm and stood, facing all three of them, her hands on her hips. “I won’t go,” she said again. “I’m sorry that I’ve worried you by speaking with the stranger, but he’ll be soon gone, and I’m not going to let his visit disrupt the life of this entire abbey.”

Francis rose heavily to his feet. “I’m afraid the abbot is right, Bridget. It’s the only way to protect you. What would people think if they knew you’d been raised among us?”

“I don’t care what they think.”

“Ah, but you profess to care what becomes of this abbey,” Alois said gravely. “And if it were known that we had kept you hidden here all these years, it could endanger our very existence.”

This was an argument Bridget had not considered. “Do you think the church would—”

“Holy orders have been disbanded for less grievous offenses,” Alois interrupted.

She sat back down on the bed in stunned silence. Though she could hardly fathom the thought, it appeared that she might have no choice but to agree to the abbot’s decision. She was going to be banished from her home and all the people she loved.

Struggling with rising tears, she said, “Promise me that once the stranger leaves, you’ll let me return.”

Francis gave a sad smile. “Lass, you’re about to discover a whole new world that you’ve never before experienced. By the time the Englishman leaves us, you may not want to return here.”

“I shall want to return here,” she said fiercely. “St. Gabriel is my home, and it always will be.”

The monks exchanged a sad glance, but none of them tried to argue with her.

“So as soon as he leaves, you’ll have me back?” she asked again.

“We’ll discuss the matter at that time,” Alois said stiffly.

And she had to be content with that.

Ranulf found Brother Francis leaving church after morning prayers.

“How’s your head today?” Francis greeted him. It seemed to Ranulf that some of the monk’s usual enthusiasm was missing.

“Each day a little better,” Ranulf replied. “But I’ve not sought you out to discuss my condition. I’ve come for some answers.”

Francis looked around. A number of the monks were leaving the church, making their way to their morning tasks. He nodded his head toward the far end of the courtyard. “We’ll talk over at the vegetable garden,” he said. “It will be more private, and in any event, I’m on cook duty today.”

Neither man spoke until they had crossed to the other side of the compound and reached the good-sized plot of land where the monks grew most of their produce. Francis picked up a basket from the edge of the tilled area and gestured with it toward Ranulf. “Did they ever set you to harvesting vegetables in that fancy estate of yours, lad?”

But Ranulf was not about to be distracted from his purpose. He ignored the monk’s question and the offered basket, saying instead, “I saw her again last night, Brother Francis—the midnight nurse. Why did you lie to me about her?”

Francis hesitated, then set the basket back on the ground and turned to face the younger man. “May the Lord forgive me, son, but I had my reasons. I’ll ask you to inquire no further about the maid.”

“But why? Can’t I at least have an explanation? This woman saved my life, remember.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You’ll not give me her name? Nor tell me where I can find her?”

“I cannot.”