Page 26 of The Herald's Heart
“My thanks for that information.”
“Wat!” Screeching from the man’s wife rose. “Have you been wenching again? I’ll box your ears, you good for nothing ...”
Thank the stars he would never wed such a shrew. The wife Talon had in mind, when the time came, would be a highborn, gently bred damsel. A lady who would bring him both wealthy lands and an honorable name, like his mother. Not a wild, deceiving peasant who played tricks or bloodied a man’s nose.
The shortest track to the abbey led through the woods. Dusk had fallen. If he tried to find her in among the trees at night, she could be an arm’s length away and he’d never see her. Better to take the longer, more visible route to the abbey. Hopefully she was there. If not, he could send for more men, and they would backtrack through the woods by torchlight.
Had she made fools of them all again? His fury at her disappearance had hardened like ice on a river in deepest winter. But beneath that ice ran a hot trickle of fear, not for the woman who faced up to a bully like Wat, but for the woman who could cuddle a mother cat and laugh at her own mistakes. For the woman who labored for the comfort of others, even if she thought some of that labor unjustly assigned. That woman was vulnerable, and not all dangers lumbered like the miller.
Talon was much too familiar with dangers of the other sort. Those were the ones that took advantage of the smallest weakness, like a yearning for a father or a place to belong. Like being offered the world, only to have it snatched away once the trap was sprung. The Earl of Hawksedge was capable of such treachery. His accusations of adultery had killed Talon’s helpless mother as much as any beating or the babe that died with her. The earl’s denial of Talon as a son had nearly crushed his spirit. Only Edward I’s faith in an angry young squire had allowed Talon to regain some manner of respect from himself and from the court. His own skill and dedication gained him the support of his fellow heralds. Of all the things he’d longed for as a child, only his heritage escaped him. But he would find a way to make sure he gained that as well. For now, he must find his wayward liar and complete the tasks his king had set him.
He studied the path as he rode, looking for signs of a pony pulling a cart. Though he doubted it, she might have come this way instead of taking the forest track. But the ground was dry, and he saw no trace of wheels or hooves. He had little choice but to hope he would find her at the abbey.
Pray heaven she was well. She would need all her resources when he found her. After he shook some sense into her, he would keep her so busy she would have no time or energy to frighten him again with escape. Nor would she seek to make ridiculous claims about being Lady Rosham. ’Twas time she understood just what her place was at Hawksedge Keep.
And what was that place? Peasant. She could be naught but a peasant.
The woodland opened upon the carefully tended fields belonging to the abbey. But again, no sign of Larkin or the cart. Talon followed the track that cut through the greening crops and led around the abbey complex.
Attached to the rear wall of the complex was a small building, the anchorage. The solitary window stood open. In the fog of that first encounter with the anchoress, he’d missed its proximity to the abbey. Perhaps he could save time by asking after Larkin there first. Abbeys could be notoriously slow in responding to worldly queries, especially when the abbey was run by nuns and the queries came from a man. However, his first encounter with the anchoress made him pause. How reliable could anything she said be? Nonetheless, he dismounted and tied his steed’s reins to a low bush that guarded the short path leading to the open window set in the chained door.
“Hello,” he called.
A woman’s face appeared in the window as he neared. She peered at him, owl-eyed, until he came within an arm’s span of the opening. Unlike his last approach, when fury and hurt greeted him, this time he felt unaccustomed comfort steal over him like a warm memory.
Her mouth opened, and a terrified scream rent the air. She fled.
What in the name of heaven is wrong with her? Talon walked to the window. Inside, the large room was divided into three areas. One with a Spartan bed for sleeping. Another near the fireplace with cauldron and kettles. Probably where the anchoress cooked and made her candles. The third contained an altar and a small statue of the Virgin. Before the altar, the anchoress lay prostrate mumbling a mad prayer.
“I beseech you, Holy Mother, protect me from the demon you have sent. I have lived all these years as I promised, away from the world and sin. Do not now condemn me, I pray. I have born much sorrow, as you have. I know you will help me to bear this new curse that comes upon me ...”
Talon waited. The prayer did not end but wound on and on in an ever-spiraling litany of fear, regret, and pleading. The woman would be of no help and certainly offered no blessing.
Frustrated, he rode round the abbey to the gate and knocked. The nun who answered knew nothing of Larkin but did take his request to speak with the abbess. He was left standing outside in the darkening gloom, just as on the day he’d been tossed from Hawksedge Keep like so much refuse. No wonder he found himself less concerned about the disappearance of his nominal father than the escape of one lying wench. Where was she?
“Do you often stand sentinel in the dark?”
How dare she calmly sneak up on him while he spent precious time searching for her. He peered at her. “What are you doing afoot and covered in filth?”
Teeth teasing her lower lip, Larkin stared at him from the path that led into the woods. “I came to the abbey to seek shelter for the night, since it was my destination and the pony ran off with my cart.” Dirt, curious as it might be, did not bother him. Walking his horse to where she stood, he bent and extended an arm to her. “Get up behind me. You may explain while I take you home.”
Her eyes narrowed, her mouth firmed, and she planted a fist on each hip. “No.”
He sighed and cast heavenward a quick prayer for patience. “You made your vow to me not to attempt escape. Now you defy me to my face?”
“I have every intention of returning to Hawksedge, so I have broken no vow.”
“So you say.” Was she lying again? He clenched his teeth against the urge to shake the truth from her. “Since I am here now, you will come with me.” He stretched his arm out farther.
“Nay.” She dared to smile.
“Must I force you?”
“Ahem.”
Talon straightened and guided his horse behind Larkin but facing the abbey. A black-robed woman stood in the open gate.
“Mother Clement.” Larkin’s voice was strained and her shoulders jerked.
