Winds of Time (4 page)

Chapter Four

I lay on a pallet that
night, in a room with several women of the court, worried that it
might be a long time before I could figure out how to leave. I had
no money or friends, no resources other than my former husband’s
diamond ring (the pawning of which might take some doing), and I
hadn’t been able to track down my few possessions. The maidservant
I questioned only shrugged and said they’d been disposed of.
Great
.

The next evening at dinner, however, Sir
John informed me that he was making arrangements for me to find
lodgings at the nunnery of Armathwaite, seventeen miles southeast
of Carlisle.

Startled, I focused on my food, trying to
think how to respond. I hadn’t anticipated this particular side
effect of looking twelve years younger than my true age. Sir John
was correct to send me away. Although women lived among his court,
I had no guardian, no authority over me besides what he chose to
wield. It made it impossible for me to stay at the castle for more
than a few days.

“
A nunnery?” I
said.

“
Yes, of course. It isn’t
far. You will leave in the morning—early, mind—and should arrive at
the nunnery before noon. I will compensate the nuns for your keep
until such a time as you are able to make your way south to
Shrewsbury.”

To Sir John, this was the perfect solution
for me. The nuns wouldn’t require me to take orders, but they would
provide me a safe place to stay. He could ensure that I had the
same shelter and food he was giving me, but without the hassle.
That was all very well and good, but if I was to buy passage to
Wales, I needed more than this. Thus, after the meal, I followed
Sir John as he left the table. Pulling my the diamond ring from
under my dress where it had been resting on the chain around my
neck, I held it out to him.

“
My lord, would it be
possible to exchange this ring for gold to pay for my keep and
passage south?”

Sir John glanced at my face and then gazed
at the ring, though he didn’t touch it.

“
This ring is worth a great
deal, Margaret,” he said. “May I ask how you came by
it?”

I had been reluctant to
approach Sir John because I feared he would ask this question. The
ring was modern, of course, but I’d dirtied it up a bit and I hoped
it could
pass
for
medieval more easily than I could. “It was a gift from my
grandmother, before I set out to Newcastle with my husband. My
grandfather had given it to her many years ago, but she gave it to
me because she feared for me. I am loathe to part with it for that
reason, but I cannot be a burden to you.”

Sir John shook his head. “My dear, you must
keep it. I am in your debt for the life of my nephew. Without
question, I will provide the nunnery with means to account for your
stay with them, and you personally with enough gold to allow you to
travel where you will. I would neither have you sell this, nor take
it from you in compensation for my care of you.”

With a nod of dismissal, Sir John left me
and entered his office. I watched him go. As had happened the first
time I’d come through the veil that separated my world from this
one, I had found shelter, protection, and aid. How little I had
known of the people of the past, even now with my advanced degrees
in the subject, until I lived among them.

The next morning, I headed to the bailey
where my escort of men and horses waited. I was to travel with a
young girl, Elizabeth, and three of Sir John’s men. Elizabeth had a
vocation to be a nun, so Sir John was providing her the opportunity
to pursue it. I didn’t know their connection, but as in my case, it
seemed he was paying for her out of the goodness of his heart.

I was apprehensive, having involved myself
in a permanent lie that looked to stretch on for the foreseeable
future—but was less worried than I’d been. I wasn’t sorry to see
the last of Sir John and Carlisle, especially if it meant getting
me a little bit closer to Wales.

The travel consumed the morning and I forced
myself to look around me, rather than dwell on my inner
uncertainties. The Lake District of England is almost always lush
and must have had a wet summer, because the streams were full and
the grass was green. The country consisted of rolling hills, down
to the little pocket of Armathwaite in which the nunnery nestled,
at the junction of the rivers Coglin and Eden.

I followed the course of the Eden with my
eyes. That river would lead me to the sea, and Wales, if only I
could find a way to traverse that distance—a distance made all the
greater because the only way to cross it was to go on foot,
horseback, or by boat. Where was Marty and his plane? I felt bad at
how lost he must feel and hoped he’d put the plane down further
north, and found succor there.

The road widened as we came before the broad
gates of the nunnery. The walls were comprised of a weathered, dark
stone that I found welcoming instead of ominous. Sir John had told
me that the nunnery was founded shortly after the Norman conquest
in 1066. While technically within the jurisdiction of the Diocese
of Carlisle, it treasured its isolation and independence.
Apparently, the prioress was newly elected, but Sir John had heard
good things of her. I was sure that Sir John was delighted to dump
me on her, feeling his duty to me now done.

And so it turned out. We were greeted with
courtesy. Women whisked Elizabeth off to the far reaches of the
nunnery. An elderly nun showed me to a small cell with a pallet on
the floor and a washbasin stand against one wall. A small window
(no glass, but a shutter) overlooked the gardens. As the door shut
behind her, I found myself releasing a breath I hadn’t known I was
holding. For as long as it took to find passage to Wales, I felt I
could be safe here.

The nun said that I was free to wander the
grounds that afternoon, which I did after washing my face and
hands. I spent several hours exploring the gardens and the pretty
walk along the river. At the bell, I returned, hoping for dinner,
but a prayer service was held before the meal. I found a place at
the back of the church. After the service, a nun led me to the
private rooms of the prioress, where she said I would dine.

When I walked into the room, the prioress
stood and we contemplated each other for a minute before I
remembered myself and bobbed a curtsy. She bowed her head regally
and indicated that I should sit in a chair on the other side of her
desk.

“
Good evening, Reverend
Mother,” I said, taking the offered chair. “I am most grateful to
you for taking me in.”

The woman tilted her head and gave a slight
smile.

“
You may call me ‘Prioress
Edyth’, if you will,” she said. “Sir John was most gracious in his
request, and generous in his allowance.” She waited for me to
settle myself in front of what looked like an excellent roast
mutton before she continued. “I was made to understand that you are
a widow, with children. You seem quite young to have had so much
befall you.”

“
Prioress,” I said. “I would
not like to continue with you the same misunderstanding I had with
Sir John. I must tell you that I am thirty-seven years old, and my
children are much grown.”

She narrowed her eyes at me. “You do not
look it. Many women would pay a great deal of money for your beauty
secrets. Fortunately, we don’t have such desires here. You will be
quite safe.”

Was she mocking me?
Surely she was, but I couldn’t tell from her
serene expression. I swallowed hard. The turnip I’d just eaten
stuck in my throat.

“
I have heard something of
how you came to be among us from Sir John’s letter,” Edyth said.
“Is there anything you would like to add?”

“
I do not know, Prioress
Edyth, for I haven’t read Sir John’s letter,” I said.

Edyth looked at me sharply. “So you read?”
She tilted her head again. “You could be of benefit to our priory,
but I understand that you desire to travel to Shrewsbury? May I ask
your purpose, for Sir John has not related it here. He says that
you are originally from Wales, from the royal court, even.”

Instead of rendering her words entirely in
English, the prioress used the Welsh word for Wales: ‘Cymry.’

She gazed steadily at me with slate-gray
eyes and a calm face. I guessed that she was about my own age—my
real age. I found myself facing, for the first time, a woman from
the thirteenth century with whom I sensed an actual connection. She
was also quite strikingly beautiful. I couldn’t see her hair, but
thought it might be dark, like her brows and lashes, and I imagined
that if she were dressed as I was, she could have married well
above her rank.

I decided to take a risk. “My name is
Marged,” I said, replying to her in Welsh. “I am recently widowed
and I hope to return home to my children, who are staying with my
grandfather’s family in Gwynedd. It is to Wales that I would like
to travel.”

Although she froze at my initial words,
Edyth relaxed into her chair before I finished my sentence.

“
I see,” she said, also in
Welsh. “Sir John knew of your connection to Gwynedd?”

“
Yes, Prioress,” I said.
“Perhaps that is why he sent me to you? Can you help me to return
home?”

She looked down at her desk and tapped one
finger rhythmically on the edge. “It may be possible to help you,”
she said, after some thought. “I will ask my half-brother if he
knows of a merchant who is traveling to Wales soon. Marc … has some
contacts.”

She inspected me some more. “However, I
would at least like the truth from you. Have you fled a convent? A
second marriage you did not want? Did your father give you to an
Englishman who has displeased you? Will I find a company of armed
men on my doorstep in the morning, demanding your return?”

I looked at her, confused. “Pardon?”

“
You might have fooled Sir
John, but you cannot fool me so easily.” The prioress waved a hand
toward me. “You may be from the line of Ednyfed Fychan, but
according to what you told Sir John, you haven’t lived as well as
that for many years. And yet, there is nothing about you that
indicates a lowly existence in Shrewsbury. Your skin, your
carriage, your ease of speech, your education, even your hands,
belie your words!”

I looked down at my hands, now clenched
together in my lap. They were soft as she said, not work-roughened,
and I had trimmed my nails (though without polishing them,
thankfully) the morning I boarded Marty’s plane.

I looked up at her. “I don’t know what to
say.”

Edyth was angry. I was angry too—at myself.
I thought my story was pretty good considering the difficulties
with my situation. Sir John had bought it, but Edyth was smarter
than Sir John and I shouldn’t have been surprised that it was
easier to fool a man than another woman. I hated having to fool
anyone. A long silence stretched between us.