Page 32 of The Forsaken
“That I can explain,” Gabe said as he swung the car onto the southbound carriageway. “My ancestors were tight-fisted sods who decided to build on the old foundation to save on costs. They built upward, but no one had any reason to dig below the foundation, and when they laid the pipes, they avoided the grave by sheer coincidence.”
“Which would suggest that there was only one grave,” Quinn said softly, so as not to frighten Emma.
“Perhaps there was more than one, but we’d have to demolish that entire section of the house to find the others.”
“So, it is possible that our man got a Christian burial after all. The de Rosels might have had a priest who celebrated Mass at their private chapel and would have performed a funeral service.”
“Yes, it’s possible,” Gabe agreed. “And that changes all our previous assumptions.”
“For now,” Quinn replied. “We’ve yet to see what happened to him.”
With that, they dropped the topic because Emma was getting restless in the back seat. That usually meant she needed the toilet, or more likely, wanted to stop under the pretense of using the toilet to wheedle a snack and a drink from the rest area.
TWENTY
APRIL 1461
Belford, Northumberland
Kate drew up her legs and rested her forehead on her knees as hot tears spilled down her cheeks. She had no notion of what to do. Her father had evicted her and Hugh had abandoned her at the first opportunity, having taken her innocence and her honor. He’d spoken to her of marriage to silence her protests, thinking that in her gratitude she wouldn’t object to him bedding her. He hadn’t been rough or abusive, as her mother had predicted, but he had taken what he wanted all the same, sugarcoating his actions with words of love and devotion. His ardor had lasted only as long as it took him to destroy any future prospects she might have. He was probably halfway to Berwick by now, the promises of last night forgotten.
Now she’d have to fend for herself, but she had nothing of value, save her rosary, and she’d never part with it, not for all the world. Kate momentarily considered returning to the priory, but that was no longer an option, not when her thighs were smeared with Hugh’s seed. More than anything in the world, she wanted her mother, but the woman who’d loved and cherished her was locked in a prison of suffering, unable to leave her sickbed. Anne would have reasoned with her husband last night and convinced him that Kate was innocent of any wrongdoing, but now there was no one left to champion her, not even the abbess. She was completely on her own and utterly bereft.
Kate angrily wiped the tears with her sleeve and looked around. She had to keep a cool head. The first thing she had to do was remove all traces of Hugh from her body. She felt disgusted and ashamed, and soiled. The water in the pitcher was cold, but Kate didn’t mind. At the priory, they always washed with cold water, even on the most frigid days of the year. She found a linentowel and went to work, starting with her hands and face and moving downward. She grimaced with distaste when she washed between her legs and hastened to complete the task. Once clean, she dressed and plaited her hair. She didn’t even have a hairbrush, or a spare chemise. The only thing she had in the world was Marie de Rosel’s gown and the gray cloak she’d been issued at the priory. She also had her horse, if Hugh hadn’t taken it.
Kate stilled when a soft knock sounded on the door. “Come,” she called. A dark-haired girl of about eleven poked her head in the door.
“I hope I haven’t disturbed ye, me lady, but Master de Rosel bid me bring ye something to break yer fast when the church bell struck the hour.”
“Thank you,” Kate said and beckoned the girl into the room.
The girl set a plate of bread and cheese on a small table and placed a cup of small ale beside it, then curtsied awkwardly.
“When did Master de Rosel go out?” Kate asked.
“’Bout an hour since. He left this for ye,” the girl added, taking a note from her pocket. She’d clearly forgotten all about the note and would have walked off with it had Kate not enquired about Hugh.
Kate unfolded the small square of paper. Hugh’s handwriting was elegant, but his message brief.
Dearest Catherine,
Gone to the Grange to speak to your father. Will return before noon. Be ready to leave.
Your devoted Hugh
The girl looked on with interest as Kate read the note and stowed it in the pocket of her gown after refolding it.
“Bad news, me lady?” she asked, her eyes dancing with curiosity. She probably would have liked nothing more than to stay for a little chat to avoid whatever duties awaited her downstairs, but Kate wasn’t about to discuss her situation with a child, no matter how much she longed to talk to someone.
“No. All’s well.”
“I’ll leave ye to it then,” the girl said, and backed out of the room.
Kate sat down and took a sip of the bitter ale. No, it wasn’t bad news that Hugh hadn’t deserted her, but she wasn’t convinced it was good news either. At this stage, she wasn’t sure what would constitute good news. Her life was irrevocably altered, and now that she was no longer at the priory she needed the protection of a man, be it her father or a husband. A woman on her own was helpless and vulnerable, and ultimately doomed to a life of poverty and deprivation. The only thing Kate was certain of was that she’d never resort to whoring to survive. So she either had to go begging to her father—who wasn’t a forgiving man by nature, so appealing to him would be pointless given his harsh treatment of her—or agree to marry Hugh, if he still wanted her.
Kate finished her meal, grabbed her cloak, and headed for the door. She had some time before Hugh returned, so she would go to church. She needed guidance, and since she couldn’t talk to her own mother or the abbess, she would speak to Father Phillip, who’d known her since she was born. Father Phillip had baptized her and watched her grow. He would be kind, understanding, and truthful.
Kate walked the short distance to All Saints’ and pushed open the heavy door. The interior of the church was dim and cool, and for a second Kate thought it was empty, but then she saw Father Phillip emerge from the apse and head toward her down the nave. Father Phillip was in his sixties, gaunt, stooped, and gray. He walked slowly, as if in pain, but when he recognized her, his eyes lit with the warmth Kate had longed to see in the eyes of her own father, and a smile of welcome lit up his weathered face.
