Judith scrubbed, not only to hurry the chore along, but to take her mind off submitting. It didn’t work. It might have if talk of urges and submitting didn’t bring to mind the face of one particular man. The male who had first, and last, aroused her curiosity and stirred her urges.
Corwin of Lenvil.
Sweet heaven, she hadn’t seen Corwin in three years, yet could recall his startling blue eyes, a body wide at the shoulders and narrow at the waist, a smile that warmed her from head to toe.
Maybe, at the age of ten and five, she’d simply been ripe to feel those urges. Maybe she recalled Corwin’s handsome face so vividly because Ardith frequently mentioned him in her letters. Unfortunately, she also remembered him because Corwin had shown her kindness and she’d repaid him with meanness.
Corwin had brought Ardith to Romsey, to see a nun whose skill as a midwife was unequaled. Poor Ardith had been so upset, and Corwin…well, Judith had never seen the like. Imagine a brother who so cared for his sister that he would risk the wrath of a baron to ease her mind.
She’d thought Corwin courageous as well as handsome, and her unfettered interest in the man had been so apparent that Matilda noticed and issued a warning.
“You must not encourage his attention,” Matilda had said. “Corwin is a nice young man, but has neither the rank nor wealth to play suitor to a royal heiress.”
Thoroughly disappointed, Judith had snubbed him the next time she’d seen him. Even now, after all this time, she felt a twinge of remorse for her crass behavior, and a greater twitch of embarrassment for her arrogance in assuming Corwin had given any thought to becoming her suitor.
He certainly hadn’t pursued the matter. He’d never returned to the abbey to see her. Even if he’d tried, Abbess Christina or Queen Matilda would have turned him away.
Still, meeting Corwin had been a good thing. She’d learned for certain she wasn’t suited to be a nun. Not that she’d harbored much doubt before then, but she certainly couldn’t’ imagine any nun experiencing the tingles of awareness she’d felt when near Corwin.
The knowledge that she wasn’t immune to a man’s charm gave her a measure of confidence when arguing with Abbess Christina about taking vows.
Judith grabbed the biggest and heaviest of the iron kettles. She slid it gently into the tub, but managed to create a wave of water that splashed up and soaked the front of her robe.
Frustrated, Judith rolled down her sleeves and headed for the courtyard just beyond the kitchen door. High, gray stone walls loomed before her, blocking out nearly all of the sunshine that struggled to lightthe small courtyard. Sister Mary Margaret sat on one of the benches, her eyes closed. Other nuns, also silent, were scattered about on others. A few walked about slowly, talking quietly to companions, making hardly a rustle in the never-ending peace.
No male ever intruded on this inner courtyard, not even the traveling priest who would say Mass in the abbey’s chapel on the morn. Joy and laughter weren’t allowed entry, either. Only when Matilda was in residence, and then only in the privacy of the queen’s chamber could Judith laugh without censure.
Many of the nuns, like Sister Mary Margaret, had chosen this life and were content. But there was unhappiness here, too, among the daughters of noble houses who’d been given to the Church as children and had no hope of escape. The thought of being trapped here forever. Judith shook off the dire thought, knowing it would never happen. Someday she would leave this place, and doubted she would ever return. If she did, it wouldn’t be by choice.
‘Twas the quiet-the endless drone of days without change or color or laughter-that was driving her witless, she decided. That and the ceaseless pressure from the abbess. ‘Twas beyond time to get out, to end these useless bouts of self-pity, to stop waiting for a prince to come to Romsey Abbey as Prince Henry had come for Matilda. Maybe ‘twas time she went in search of her own prince.
With that intriguing thought. in mind, Judith returned to the kitchen, rolled up her sleeves and went back to her pots.
If her fate in this world was to marry a high-ranking noble, then the best chance to meet her future husband was at court. If she wrote to Matilda and asked if she could come, would her aunt allow it? Perhaps. Judith had been to court before, though not in a long time. The prospect brightened her mood.
Getting such a letter out of the abbey would prove a challenge. The abbess would throw a fit if she learned of Judith’s plotting. Maybe the visiting priest would be willing to deliver her letter, providing he was headed toward London.
Even if she didn’t find her very own prince at court, once there, if she begged the queen’s grace, she might be able to stay and not return to Romsey Abbey.
And she would never, ever, be forced to scrub another pot.
The crystal blue sky and early summer sun had called hard to Judith. Tagging along on an outing to gather medicinal plants, to escape the abbey’s gloom for a morning, had seemed such a good idea. Until now.
Judith held back a strong curse directed both at the ruffian intent on kidnapping her and at herself for putting a group of innocent nuns in danger. If she’d remained in her cell, patiently waiting for an answer from Matilda, she wouldn’t now be in this dire fix.
From atop his horse, an older man-obviously the leader-stretched out his hand toward her. “You have naught to fear, Lady Judith, if you will just come quiet like,” he said.
Judith glared at the man, who shifted in his saddle, fully expecting her to relent. He appeared to be about her father’s age, slightly grayed and life worn, sporting a full, shaggy beard. A warrior still, by the hard-muscled look of him. A Saxon, by the sound of him.
Several paces down the road, two young men, also mounted on fine steeds, held Sister Mary Margaret and four other nuns-who huddled together and prayed for deliverance-at bay.
If she fought, if she ran, would the ruffians harm her companions? Judith didn’t think so. The men risked forfeiting their immortal souls if they harmed the nuns. Besides, ‘twas she the brigands had come for. They’d singled her out, knowing her identity.
Sweet heaven, she’d been foolish to put herself at risk. She’d been warned of the dangers a royal heiress faced from those who would use her for their own gain. But she’d been outside of the abbey walls many times over the past years and nothing untoward had ever happened.
“What do you want of me?” she asked, her voice amazingly steady considering how her hands shook, hidden within the sleeves of her robe.
To her surprise the ruffian smiled at her. Almost tenderly.
“You have a destiny to fulfill, lass,” he said. “We have not the time for explanations, but know that you will want for no comfort or proper deference.”
Judith summoned every ounce of royal blood in her veins and tilted her chin higher. “‘Tis a strange deference you show me, brigand. If you truly wish to give me my due, be gone!”
His smile disappeared. “I cannot, my lady. I have my orders. ‘Tis for you to decide to come quietly or by force.”
“By whose orders?”
“My lord’s, soon to be yours, too.” He stretched out a hand. “Come, my lady. We must be off.”
So, some noble thought to force her into marriage to raise his standing at court, did he? ‘Twas not an unheard-of practice. Judith had just never thought it could happen to her. Still wouldn’t happen, if she could help it.
She slid her hands from her sleeves. “You may tell yourlord to go straight to hell!”
She