Forbidden Lady

Melissa walked to her bed and sat down, taking off her wimple to let her hair cascade down her back. She had thought that Agnes was gone for good, and she was not sure how to greet her.

Agnes came into the room looking nervous. She stood just inside the door, her hands clasped in front of her. ‘Forgive me for deserting you. I was afraid that I should be accused of murder and…’

‘Did you give the Abbess poison, Agnes?’

‘No, I swear I did not,’ the girl said. ‘I did not mean to harm the Abbess. She begged me for her medicine, because she was in pain. I poured some into a cup and she drank it. I did nothing more.’

‘Do you swear it on the Body of Christ?’

‘On my honour I gave her only what she asked of me.’

‘But what were you doing in her chamber?’

‘I lost my way and heard her cry out in pain. I tried only to help her.’ Agnes was white, the fear in her eyes as she fell on her knees before Melissa. ‘Forgive me. I did not know what I did.’

‘Did you not know that some medicines can kill as well as heal?’ Melissa saw that the woman was frightened and wondered if after all it had been an accident, and yet the doubt was still there. ‘I should write to the Bishop and tell him of your sin. Do you know what they would do to a woman who murdered the Abbess who had given her shelter for the night? I think that if you came before the church courts they would show you no mercy. They would say you were a witch and you would hang and afterwards they would burn your body.’

‘I beg you, do not denounce me.’

Melissa hesitated. She was minded to dismiss the woman, but knew that if she did Agnes would be forced to work in the kitchens for she would not easily find work elsewhere. And she did not know for certain that she was guilty of anything, other than ignorance.

‘Very well, I shall not send you away for the moment—though you will not serve me again. You may take your instructions from Rhona, but I do not want you near me. You may go now.’

‘Yes, my lady.’ Agnes kept her eyes downcast, but once she had left the room they blazed with anger and she placed her ear to the door, listening.

‘She is not to serve me,’ Melissa said to Rhona. ‘She may wash and mend—but I do not want her in my chamber.’

Rhona nodded, pleased that she was to be her mistress’s chief attendant. ‘Do you not think it might be worth sending word to Robert of Melford?’

‘I do not think he would care what becomes of me,’ Melissa said. ‘But I shall send word to Owain and ask him to come to me. He may know where Alanna lives—or someone else who would take me in.’

‘I am watched,’ Rhona said. ‘We need someone we can trust to take your message…’

‘Then ask the priest to come to me. I wish for his blessing—but do it secretly for I do not want anyone else to know.’

‘Yes, my lady. I shall go at once.’

Outside the door, Agnes darted away before it could open. She had known full well what she did when she gave the Abbess her medicine, and she would report everything to her master. He had paid her generously on her return from the Abbey—and would give her a dowry if she continued to serve him.

Rob was sitting in his father’s chair, which he had brought downstairs to his chamber. His head was bent over his work as he honed the edge of his sword to a fine sharpness that would cut through bone like butter. For some reason, his cheek was throbbing as it did at times, though the skin had long since healed over, due to the care lavished on him by the faithful Megan. She had laid poultices of herbs and cures on his tortured flesh, nursing him through his fever but her herbs had not healed the deep-seated pain that was eating away inside him.

Melissa would not be banished from his mind. She had haunted him these past few nights, and he had an odd feeling that she was in some kind of trouble. Yet what could it matter to him? She was a deceiver and faithless and he was well rid of her…but sometimes in the dark of night, it seemed that she came to him in his dreams and it was as before when they loved each other.

‘You know that I would never betray you,’ she had cried in his dream the previous night. ‘I need you…I need you…’ But he was a fool and the dream was only that. He was nothing to her and she could be nothing more to him.

He looked up from his work as David entered the room. Seeing that his steward carried a sealed letter, he reached for it with impatience thinking it some unimportant estate matter. However, when he broke the seal and read the contents, he gave a great shout of joy. It was the summons he had been waiting for since his return to the Marches.

‘It has come,’ he cried. ‘Henry Tudor has landed with a force of two thousand men and bids me meet him with all the fighters I have raised. God be praised! At last we shall have some action.’

‘It is what you need, Rob,’ his steward said. ‘You have been brooding too much of late…’ He raised his eyes looking at the man he loved as a son. ‘She has bewitched you! You have not been the same since she sent you away. No woman is worth the agony you have endured because of her!’

‘You have not seen her,’ Rob said, and for a moment the old smile was there in his eyes. ‘Besides, she did not do this—my wound was courtesy of her brother. She was distressed when she saw it.’

‘You would be a fool to forgive her. She is the daughter of your father’s enemy. I do not like to see you brought so low by a woman’s treachery.’

‘Perhaps it was my own fault,’ Rob said with a shrug of his shoulders. ‘Have you seen Owain Davies? He was to ride with us, but I have not seen him for some days.’

‘I think he had some business of his own,’ David said. ‘A message came for him from the Abbey and he left at once. He said that if the summons came before he returned he would meet you on the field of battle.’

‘Then he will keep his word,’ Rob said. ‘I shall leave today for Shrewsbury for I wish to speak with Morgan of Hywell. He would not give his promise until he was sure that Henry really meant to come—but now I am certain he will agree.’

‘As you wish, sir,’ David said. ‘Forgive me if I spoke out of turn, Rob—but I know she made you suffer.’

‘I could never be angry with you,’ Rob said. ‘Besides, you were right—she is not worth the pain she has caused.’

Rob tested the blade of his sword. Melissa was false and it was foolish to lie in torment each night thinking of her. Yet the scent of her was imprinted into his senses, and he could not forget how it had felt to hold her in his arms. He still wanted her, burned for her, even though she might be a proud witch who had merely played with his emotions.

He left the chamber, shouting orders to his servants. He must ride with all haste to Shrewsbury and give Morgan of Hywell the news that Henry Tudor was to come. At last he had something to do and could forget his own problems for the moment.

Melissa rode in stony silence. Her father had sent Harold in his place to see her wed, for he was too busy to accompany her to his cousin’s fortress. She had been told that she was to be betrothed to the Marquis of Leominster when she reached the stronghold in the north of England. The marriage would take place almost at once after the betrothal, and she would leave the Earl of Gifford’s home to travel to that of her new husband not far from the city of Nottingham. What was more, she had been denied Rhona’s company and given Agnes as her only attendant.

‘You think that I do not know you plotted with Rhona to escape me again,’ Lord Whitbread had told her. ‘Well, I am not a fool, daughter—and you shall have Agnes to serve you. I know that she is loyal to me and will guard you well until you are safely wed—as for the other, your maid may think herself lucky if I do not give her to Harold for his sport.’

‘Do that, Father, and I shall never reach the earl’s house alive.’

‘You defy me still?’ Whitbread took her arm. ‘The girl is safe—but if I hear that you have somehow escaped from your brother’s care, she will die. Do you hear me?’

Melissa had not answered him, but she knew that he would carry out his threat if she escaped or took her own life before she was the Marquis of Leominster’s wife. She had no choice but to make the journey to the earl’s house and see what presented itself then. Perhaps there was some way out of her dilemma, though she did not know what it might be, for her freedom might mean Rhona’s death.

Melissa had met the Earl of Gifford only once. He was her father’s cousin and a tall, thin man with a long nose. She recalled that she had not liked him when he visited with her father some years previously—but she had not disliked his wife, who was a pretty woman with pale hair and limpid blue eyes. She would not have minded the visit so much had it not been for the shadow that hung over her—the fear that they would force her to marry a man she did not know and could not like.

All she had heard of the Marquis of Leominster was that he was a hard, cold man and twice her age. She had learned from the casual talk of the men who rode with her that he was known for his brutality. He had, it was said, taken the wife of one of his neighbours after a dispute between them, keeping her a prisoner and using her as his mistress until he had tired of her. He then turned her out, but when she returned to her husband he would not have her back for she had dishonoured his name. Friendless and broken, she had walked into a river and drowned herself.

What kind of a father would sell his daughter to a man like that? Melissa shuddered at the thought of her likely fate if she became Leominster’s wife. She would rather die by her own hand! It was a sin to take your own life, but Melissa thought that she would risk eternal damnation rather than live in the hell that such a marriage would bring—but had she the right to condemn Rhona to a cruel death?

‘We shall break our journey at the next inn, sister.’ Harold’s voice brought her back from her reverie. ‘We have made good time and you must be weary.’

Melissa flashed him a look of dislike. ‘Do not pretend to consider my needs, Harold. I am not hungry. I would prefer to continue until we reach our resting place for the night.’

‘Well, I am hungry if you are not,’ Harold told her, a sulky expression in his eyes. ‘I swear I know not why Leominster wants a sharp-tongued witch like you for a bride. Give me a woman with a merry laugh and a warm heart, anytime.’ She was too thin for his tastes, for he was used to seeking his pleasures in the arms of a plump tavern wench. His father had taught him to fight and given him a hunger for good living, though he lacked all the qualities and refinements of a true knight.

Melissa had tried to feel affection for him, but his coarseness and his surly manner had killed any feeling she might have had for him. She lifted her head, a look of scorn in her eyes.

‘I am sorry that I do not find favour in your eyes, brother. I wish that you might allow me to slip away to an Abbey and save yourself the trouble of this journey.’

‘If it were up to me, I would slit your throat and be done with it,’ Harold said, an evil leer on his lips. ‘I cannot see why we may not just take your lands for ourselves, but Father says it must be done within the law.’

‘I thank you for your kind words, brother,’ Melissa said. She turned her head from him. ‘I care not what becomes of me.’