***
“You are recovered,” Thomas exclaimed as he walked into Richard’s sick room and found him standing beside the bed.
Sister Anne was carefully tucking the hood of the boy’s cloak around his neck for warmth. “If not fully so, well enough that I would have to tie him to the bed to keep him in it.”
“I am fine, Uncle!” Richard hopped like a rabbit toward the monk, then stood grinning up at him. Had all men ever looked so innocent as lads, Thomas wondered as he smiled down at the boy. Then he shook his head. If the boy had not burrowed into his heart before like a puppy seeking warmth, he would surely have done so now.
“Sister Anne, would you say our young knight was well enough for a short ride on his brave new steed?”
“The hobbyhorse?” Richard’s eyes grew large. “Oh, yes! Please, Aunt Anne, please say I may?”
Thomas grinned at Anne and silently mouthed, “Say yes, Aunt!”
Anne struggled to keep her expression stern. She had, however, utterly failed to banish the twinkle from her eye. “Very well,” she said, “but only a short ride around the room. Then you must get rest and take your medicine.”
Thomas whisked the hobbyhorse from behind his back where he had been hiding it. “One short ride then,” he said, kneeling to the child’s level to give him the toy.
The boy squealed with joy, hugged the horse to him, then held it out at arm’s length and studied it with a gravity that had the stamp of his grandfather’s face. “I name you Gringolet,” he said at last, “and we shall have many adventures together.”
“Aye, lad. There are dragons to slay and damsels to save,” said Thomas.
Richard wrinkled his nose. “More dragons to slay, Uncle, and fewer damsels to save, methinks.”
“What do you say to your uncle for bringing you such a fine horse, Richard?”
Without letting go of the toy, Richard threw his arms around Thomas and hugged him. “Thank you, Uncle! I love him, I do. Gringolet is the finest horse in my grandfather’s castle!”
As Thomas hugged the boy back, he hoped Sister Anne did not see the tears of happiness in his own eyes. “Well,” he said as he cleared his throat and stood up, “I had better show you how to hold those reins. Gringolet is a very spirited horse.”
Soon the boy was trotting around the chambers on his fine wooden steed and Anne bent to Thomas’ ear. “I have yet to meet a man who is not still a boy,” she whispered.
As Thomas turned to smile at her, he felt the heat of a blush spread across his face.
Chapter Nineteen
“Henry raped you?” Eleanor stared at the woman in front of her. A torrent of feelings, horror and sorrow mixed, flooded her heart.
Isabelle nodded her head once. The fire of her anger banked, she sat hunched and wizened on her stool.
With gentleness, the prioress reached over and took her companion’s hand. “Was there no one you could have told?”
Isabelle shook her head.
“Would you care to tell me more of the story?”
Isabelle said nothing.
“You may find some peace in the telling.”
Sir Geoffrey’s wife shook off the prioress’ hand, then began to draw lines with one finger across the puddle of wine on the chest. “I had long known of Henry’s wish to marry me,” she began in a hushed tone. “The family hoped to retain the income from my lands, of course, but he lusted after me as well.” She hesitated. “Many told me how fortunate I was that he longed for the woman as well as what wealth the woman would bring to him, and I would nod in agreement. Indeed, he is handsome enough to the eyes of other women. Or so some have said. Nonetheless, I dreaded the very thought of his touch, and I sickened at what I must endure on the wedding night.”
“He knew this?”
“How could I tell him? And what difference would it have made? I knew that I had little choice in this marriage so prayed that I would come to feel…nothing instead of loathing when his fat fingers groped me.” Isabelle grabbed Eleanor’s arm with a ferocious strength. “Can you understand this at all. At all, Prioress? Bedding with Henry was like bedding with my natural brother! It was as unnatural and sinful to me as incest.”
That Eleanor could indeed understand, yet she knew there was more to come. She nodded in silence. She did not want to stop the flow of the story.
“At first, his attentions were almost charming, childlike and innocent, but, as time went on, he began to plague me with incessant demands. I allowed the occasional kiss, but I could not bear his hand on my breast. My flesh froze at his touch, and I began to push him away when he fumbled with my clothes. I hoped he would take my hesitancy for maidenly modesty, but he became angry at my refusals. One day, he found me alone in the garden and would not stop with a kiss. He covered my mouth so I could not cry for help. Swearing I would now spread my legs for him whether I wished to or not, he pulled me to the ground and raped me.”
“You could have told your priest.”
“What an innocent you are, Prioress,” Isabelle sneered. “Are you so removed from the world that you are ignorant of the assumption that any woman who quickens with child from sexual contact must have found pleasure in the act and thus may not cry rape? If you are, let me assure you that many of your cherished monastics accept that theory even more than those who remain in the world. Now tell me how could I claim rape when my courses ceased and I began to vomit every morning?”
“Indeed, Isabelle, not all believe that pregnancy equates to pleasure in the act. My Aunt Beatrice thought such a conclusion odd for she knew women who begat many yet remembered feeling no pleasure in the begetting, while others who had felt great joy in the act never had children.”
“Your aunt was not in residence at Sir Geoffrey’s estate.”
“I might then understand why you hesitated to say anything after your courses had ceased, but surely you could have spoken before…”
“It is well that you did escape the world, Eleanor. You are too innocent to have long survived outside your convent walls.”
“Not all in the world are without compassion, Isabelle.”
Isabelle ignored her, then looked around, her mouth twisting with anger. “How can you breathe in here, Prioress? The air cuts like ice crystals.” She looked over at Eleanor. “But then Wynethorpe Castle has always been a bitter place, especially when the winds howl and bring snow to this horrible land.” Great beads of sweat began to break out on Isabelle’s forehead and her face turned a pallid green. “Have you never had a dream that haunted you?” she abruptly asked, her voice dropping to a whisper as if she feared someone might overhear her words. “I have.”
Eleanor blinked at the suddenness of the question, then quickly said, “Tell me about it.”
“It came to me after the rape.” Her eyes glazed over as the memory of the dream took hold of her. “I was in a meadow, naked, and the sun’s gentle warmth flowed over me. A breeze, soft as baby’s breath, caressed my body. As I glanced down, I saw that the silkiness under my feet was a tapestry of wildflowers: flecks of white, dots of lavender, bits of yellow hiding under green leaves as if shy of any notice. With a sigh, I bent my knees, extended my arms, and slid into the petals as if I were slipping ever so slowly into a tranquil pond. The flowers were as soft as angel feathers against my breasts.”
Eleanor watched with fascination as Isabelle became bound with the spell of her dream.
“As I breathed in the comforting fragrance from the undergrowth, I remember thinking how foolish I had been to suffer so when the solution to all my problems was right before me. Indeed, I realized, the problem was no problem at all. Then a feeling of great peace coarsed through me. I closed my eyes and just lay there, listening to the sweet twittering of the birds in counterpoint to the delicate hum of insects.