Page 93 of The Saxon Lord's Unwanted Bride
Agatha rushed toward Eloise, but she waved her away.
“I’m anxious to see the garden, Agatha.”
“It’s too cold.”
“Please, Agatha—the walls are closing in around me.”
The nun nodded, understanding and pity in her eyes. “Let me help you dress.” She reached for a robe—the owner of which must have been almost a head taller than Eloise. Once dressed, she let Agatha lead her out into the winter air, taking care not to trip on the hem.
The garden was as she remembered it—though the plants were covered in a soft dusting of frost, painted by the icy brush of winter.
Eloise followed Agatha through the garden, stopping several times to pause for breath. She closed her eyes and tipped her head skyward, letting the heat from the watery sun caress her face. The light permeated through her eyelids, casting a soft pink glow.
“Lady Patroness!” an excited voice broke through the quiet. Violette rushed towards her, Irene in her wake.
“Take care, child!” the novice cried, “Lady Eloise has been ill.”
Eloise opened her arms to receive the child. Violette ran into her with such force, she would have fallen back, were it not for Agatha’s steadying hand on her shoulder.
“Violette…” Agatha chided.
“Nay, Agatha,” Eloise said, her voice muffled as she buried her face in Violette’s hair. “The best healing you can give me is to let me hold this precious child in my arms.”
“I’ve been helping take care of you,” Violette said, her voice full of pride. “Irene let me stir the broth—and even the lord helped.”
“The lord?”
“She means the Almighty.” Agatha spoke sternly. “You mustn’t speak of such things, Violette. Remember your promise.”
Eloise focused her attention on the child—the soft little body which had once been a part of her. What would she think of her, when she knew the truth?
At length, she released Violette and struggled to her feet.
“Shall we walk, child?” she asked. “I have something I wish to tell you.”
“Is that wise?” Agatha asked.
“Harboring secrets has only caused pain,” Eloise replied. “I must make my confession to the one who deserves it most.”
“Very well,” Agatha said. “I’ll remain close at hand. Call, if you have need of me.”
Agatha had no need to explain her words…
Call me, if Violette cannot forgive your sins.
Violette took Eloise’s hand, and they entered the herb garden. The child maintained a slow pace, recognizing Eloise’s slight limp. Extraordinarily perceptive, Violette seemed to know when Eloise was tiring, even before Eloise realized it herself. The precious, precious child—how she loved her! The fear that Violette might turn from her in revulsion, almost prevented Eloise from speaking the truth. But she deserved to know.
Violette led Eloise to a bench and helped her to sit.
“Will you be comfortable, lady patroness?” she asked. “I can ask Irene to bring a fur.”
“I am well my love,” Eloise said. She held out her hand. “Sit with me. I have something to tell you.”
Violette took her hand, interlocking their fingers, and she nestled beside Eloise, her warm little body giving her so much comfort. Would this be the last time she embraced her?
Eloise summoned her courage. “Do you remember, Violette,” she said, “what I told you about your mother and father?”
The child nodded. “You said that they loved each other, and are united in heaven.”
