Page 1 of The Herald's Heart
PROLOGUE
Our Lady of Sorrows Abbey, Northumbrian coast on the Scottish border, 1294
“I would meet this miraculous woman. Where is the abbess? I’ll have her order you to admit me.”
“Mother Clement is at prayers and cannot be disturbed. I am in charge of the infirmary, and I will not have my patients treated as objects of curiosity. The return of the girl’s speech is indeed a miracle. However, I remind you, Lord Hawksedge, that she has been mute for the seven years since she came to us. I doubt she will be able to say much of any interest.” Sister Joan’s tone discouraged argument.
“But I understand that she regained her speech at the sight of my insignia. ’Twould be wrong of you to deny me, since my mark caused the miracle to occur.”
“God is the source of all miracles, your lordship.”
Count on Sister Joan to steer every conversation to God. But since the Earl of Hawksedge was the target of the sanctimonious old nun’s reproach, Larkin nearly cheered as she listened to the polite disagreement taking place outside the infirmary window.
“Very true, Sister. But how often does a man get to witness a miracle in which he played a part?”
“I could not say.”
“Allow me to see the woman, please. I will be gentle in my manner and most generous in my gratitude,” Hawksedge persisted.
Sister Joan sighed. “As you will.”
A polite knock sounded, and the infirmary door opened before Larkin could force her rusty voice to bid them enter.
“The Earl of Hawksedge has learned you recovered your ability to speak,” the nun said in slow, calm tones.
“Aye.” Larkin rasped the word and stared at the tall, elderly man who followed Sister Joan. Of course the murdering hypocrite she’d wed by proxy would hasten to witness the miracle of a mute orphan’s speech. May his soul rot in hell. Hate boiled in Larkin at the sight of him.
“Here, drink this.” Sister Joan handed her a cup of water. “Try not to talk too much. Your voice will need time to accustom itself to being used again.”
She drank and nodded.
“The earl wishes to witness the miracle of your returned speech. Praise heaven.”
The man stared at Larkin, as if surprised to see an ordinary woman where he expected a deformed idiot, though she knew her bright red hair made her far from ordinary.
She ducked her head to greet the nobleman and kept her eyes downcast. She wanted him to see humility, not the fear and loathing that crawled along her skin and burned her face. She had a request to make and needed all her courage, for she had every reason to believe the earl would not be pleased.
Hard fingers lifted her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze. “What is your name?”
“Lady Larkin Rosham,” she croaked. “Your wife, my lord, and I demand justice for the murder of my family at the hands of your men.”
The earl’s face purpled. He dropped his hand as if scalded. “That is preposterous. Scots killed Lady Larkin and all her family on the eve of sealing the vows we made by proxy.” He rounded on Sister Joan. “What is the meaning of this? Do you harbor liars here, or is she mad?”
The nun stepped to Larkin’s side and placed a hand on her forehead. “Lie down, child, and do not speak again until you have rested.” Then Joan turned to the earl. “See how red her face is. She is fever mad. Let us leave her to the care of the good sisters who assist me at the infirmary. You have traveled far from your estate in the south. I’m sure your business at Hawksedge Keep is more urgent than the ravings of a fevered orphan.”
They left the small building, pausing once more where Larkin could hear them beyond the window.
“Ravings or no, I will not support such insult. She is not a nun, so I want her gone from the abbey by daybreak, or I may forget why I generously allowed the abbey to be built on my lands and reclaim the property.”
Larkin shivered at the cold fury in the earl’s voice. He served the abbey as landlord and patron, making large donations that the nuns could sore afford to lose. But to order them to stop giving charity seemed especially heartless.
“When she has recovered from her fever, I will consult with Mother Clement. I’m certain she will find a solution that satisfies you.”
“’Tis more than that liar in the infirmary deserves.”
“But a Christian soul would not send a sick woman out to fend for herself.”
The earl blustered as if he wanted to argue. Larkin wished she could see his face. All Northumbria knew the earl believed himself magnanimous, when nothing could be further from the truth. He was a self-serving old hypocrite whose generosity always came with conditions. Until this day, she’d never met him, but she knew from personal experience he was not above using violence to achieve his desires.
