Leaping to her feet, Eustice ushered the horrified Adela a few steps away, babbling explanations as they moved. "The mare was having difficulty. She labored for hours before we realized that the foal was backward. Lady Rosamunde is trying to help."
"She has her hands inside the mare!" Adela pointed out with horror.
"She is trying to turn the foal," Eustice explained quickly.
"But--"
"Is it not the nooning hour?" Rosamunde whispered with exasperation, removing the hand she had been holding the foal's feet with to pat the mare's rump soothingly. The animal was becoming distressed by the tone of voice the abbess was using.
"This is an emergency. God will forgive our breaking silence during mealtime if 'tis an emergency," Adela responded promptly.
"Aye, well, let us hope our mare does," Rosamunde muttered, shifting swiftly out of the way as the horse began kicking its legs in a panicked attempt to regain its feet.
Sister Eustice moved at once, hurrying to the horse's head and grabbing it to hold the mare still. She murmured soothing coos at the frightened animal.
Worry almost overcame her, but Adela managed to contain herself as Rosamunde dropped back on to her knees at the rear of the reclining horse. Unlike Sister Eustice, who was garbed in the plain habit of a nun, the girl was decked out in a stable boy's pants and overlarge top, its billowing sleeves rolled back to leave her arms bare. It was the costume the girl usually wore when working in the stables. Rosamunde felt it much more appropriate than a gown, and Adela, despite her better judgment, had done little to sway her from wearing the scandalous garb. She had always been fond of the girl, and there was no one of import around to disapprove anyway. However, she had already explained to the child that she would have to shed the stable-boy clothes for good--along with many other things--once she took the veil and became a nun.
Adela's thoughts fled, her face twisting into a half grimace, half wince as Rosamunde once again eased her hands into the horse, reaching to grasp its foal and try to ease its way into the world.
"Thank the good Lord's graces that your father, the king, is not here to see this," Adela murmured, remembering to keep her voice calm. She did not wish to frighten the horse again.
"To see what?"
All three women stiffened at that deep baritone. Eustice's eyes widened in horror as she peered past the abbess toward the entrance to the stables. Her expression was enough to tell Adela that she had correctly recognized that voice. The Lord, it seemed, was not feeling particularly gracious today. The king had come to see what his daughter had gotten up to under her care.
Straightening her shoulders, Adela turned resignedly toward Henry, hardly noticing the men with him as she forced a smile of greeting to her face. "King Henry. Welcome."
The monarch nodded at the abbess, but his attention was on his daughter. She glanced over her shoulder at him, a bright smile replacing the anxiety on her face.
"Papa!"
Henry started to smile, but ceased as he took in the sight of her. "What the devil are you doing in the stables, girl? And all dressed up like a boy, too." He glared at Adela. "Do I not pay you people enough to hire a stable boy? Do you spite me by putting my daughter to work with the animals?"
"Oh, Papa." Rosamunde laughed, unconcerned by his apparent temper. "You know that it is my choice. We must all work at something--and I prefer the stables to scrubbing the convent floors." The last of her statement was a distracted mutter. She turned back to what she was doing.
Henry's curiosity drew him forward. "What are you doing?"
Rosamunde glanced up, a scowl of anxiety on her face. "This mare has been in labor for more than a day now. She is losing strength. I fear she shall die if we do not help her along, but I cannot get the foal out."
His brows drawn together, Henry peered at where her arms disappeared into the mare at the elbows. Horror covered his face. "Why, you--What--You--"
Sighing at his dismayed stammer, Rosamunde calmly explained. "The foal is backward. I am trying to turn it, but I cannot find its head."
Henry's brows rose at that. "Will it not hurt the mare having you dig about inside her like that?"
"I do not know," she said pragmatically, reaching farther into the animal. "But both mother and foal shall surely die if something is not done."
"Aye . . . well . . ." Frowning at her back, Henry said, "Leave that for . . . er . . ." He peered toward the nun now moving back toward Rosamunde and the horse.
"Sister Eustice," Lady Adela supplied helpfully.
"Aye. Sister Eustice. Leave it for the sister to deal with, daughter. I do not have long here and--"
"Oh, I could not do that, Papa. It would ruin the sleeves of Sister Eustice's gown. This will not take long, I am sure, and then--"
"I do not give a damn about the sister's sleeves," Henry snapped, starting forward to drag her away bodily if need be, but a pleading glance from his daughter made him halt. She did so look like her mother. Henry had found it impossible to refuse the mother anything. Why should their daughter be different?
Sighing, he removed his cloak and handed it to Eustice, then shrugged out of his short surcoat and handed that over as well.
"Who taught you to do this?" he asked gruffly, bending to kneel beside her in the straw.
"No one," she admitted, flashing him a smile that warmed his heart. It immediately made him let go of his impatience and anger. "It just seemed to be the thing to do when I saw the problem. She will die otherwise."
Nodding, he shifted as close to her as he could get and reached his hands inside the mare to help. "It is the head you cannot find?"
Rosamunde nodded. "I have the rear legs, but I cannot--"
"Aha! I have it. It is caught on something." He paused. "There we go."
Rosamunde felt the back legs slip from her grip and shift away. She just managed to tug her hands free of the mare as her father turned the animal within its mother until its head was at the right angle.
"The mare is too weak. You will have to--" even as the words left her mouth, her father tugged on the foal's head and front legs. Seconds later it slid out onto the straw.
"Oh," Rosamunde breathed, peering at the spindly-legged creature as it wriggled on the straw. "Is it not adorable?"
"Aye," Henry agreed gruffly; then he cleared his throat, grabbed her arm, and urged her to her feet. "Come. Time is short. 'Sides, 'tis not fitting for a girl of your position to be participating in such things."
"Oh, Papa." Laughing, Rosamunde turned and threw herself into his arms as she had when she was a child. Henry quickly closed his arms around her and gave up the reprimand as she knew he would.
"So that is the king's daughter."
Aric shifted on his feet, his gaze leaving the girl the king was embracing to glance at his friend. "It would seem so."
"She is lovely."
"Quite," Aric agreed quietly. "Unless my memory fails me, she appears a copy of the fair Rosamunde."
"Your memory fails you not. She is an exact likeness of her mother," Shrewsbury agreed. "Except for the hair. That is wholly her father's. Let us hope she did not inherit his quick temper along with it."
"She has been raised right, my lord Bishop. With all discipline and goodness, and the disobedience worked out of her," the abbess announced staunchly, glaring at Shrewsbury for the very suggestion that the girl might not have been. Then, seeming to regain herself, she forced a smile and in a much more pious tone murmured, "It is most gratifying that His Majesty received my message. We feared, when we heard that he was in Normandy, that he might not receive the news in time to make it back for the ceremony."
Aric exchanged a glance with Robert, then asked carefully, "What ceremony?"
"What ceremony?" Adela echoed with amazement. "Why, Lady Rosamunde takes the veil tomorrow."
There was silence for a moment after that announcement; then Robert murmured, "The king will no doubt be a bit surprised by that."
"What!" Henry's roar dre
w their attention.
"I believe he just learned," Aric muttered. Turning, he found Henry a sight to see. The king's face bore a furious scowl and was so red as to seem almost purple. Even his hair seemed to have picked up some of the fire of his temper and shone more red than gray. He stormed angrily toward them, hands and teeth clenched.
His daughter was hard on his heels, a startled and somewhat bewildered expression on her face. "I thought you knew, Papa. I thought you had received my message and come to witness--" Her words came to an abrupt halt when her father paused in his stride and turned on her in a fury.
"It shall not happen! Do you hear me? You are not, I repeat, not going to be a nun."
"But--"
"Your mother--God rest her soul--insisted on the same thing ere she died, and I could do naught about it. But I can and will do something now. I am your father, and I will not allow you to throw your life away by becoming a nun."
Rosamunde looked briefly stunned at those words; then, seeing the stiff expression on the abbess's face at the insult in her father's words, she allowed her temper free rein. "It is not throwing my life away! 'Tis perfectly acceptable to become a bride of God! I--"
"Will God see you blessed with children?" Henry snarled, interrupting her curt words.
She looked taken aback briefly at that, then regained herself to snap, "Mayhap. He saw Mary blessed with Jesus."
"Jesus?" For a moment it looked as though he might explode, or drop dead. His face was purple with rage.
It was the bishop who intervened, drawing the king's attention with the gentle words, "Your majesty, it is a great honor to become a bride of God. If Rosamunde truly has a calling, it is not well done to force her to--"
"You!" Henry turned on the man. "I will not hear your religious drivel. Thanks to your dillydallying, we nearly did not arrive here in time. If I hadn't chanced to hear of Aric's broken betrothal and saved a day's riding by choosing him as groom instead of Rosshuen, we would have been too late!" Whirling on the abbess, he roared, "Why was I not informed of these plans?"
The abbess blinked at him, taken aback. "We . . . I thought you knew, my liege. It was Rosamunde's mother's wish that she follow in her footsteps and become a nun. She said so on her deathbed. As you had not arranged a betrothal, I thought you agreed."
"I do not agree," he snapped, then added, "And I have been making arrangements. But what I meant was, why was I not informed of the imminent ceremony?"
"Well . . . I do not know, Your Majesty. I did send word. Some time ago, in fact. It should have reached you in plenty of time for you to attend. We hoped you might."
The king turned on Shrewsbury again at that news, eyes narrowed and accusing, but the bishop flushed helplessly and murmured, "We have been moving around quite a bit, my liege. Le Mans, then Chinon . . . Mayhap it arrived after we left. I shall, of course, look into it the moment we return."
Henry glared at him briefly, then turned on his daughter. "You are not taking the veil. You will marry. You are the only child of mine who has not turned against me. I will see grandchildren from you."
"John has never turned against you."
"He has joined with my enemies."
"That is just gossip," she argued with disdain.
"And if 'tis true?"
Rosamunde's mouth thinned at the possibility. Truly, no man in history had suffered so from betrayal as her father. Every one of his legitimate sons, her half brothers, had come to turn on him under the influence of their mother, Queen Eleanor. "There are still William and Geoffrey," she whispered, mentioning Henry's other two bastard children.
His expression turned solemn at that, and he reached out to clasp her by the shoulders. "But they were not born of my fair Rosamunde. The love of my life. I am a selfish old man, child. I would see the fruit of out love grow and bloom and cast its seeds across the land, not be stifled and die here in this convent. I would see you marry."
Rosamunde sighed at that, her shoulders slumping in defeat. "And so I shall. Who is to be my groom?"
Aric stiffened as the king suddenly turned toward him.
"Burkhart." The king gestured for him to step forward, and Aric unconsciously straightened his shoulders as he did so. "My daughter, Rosamunde. Daughter, your husband, Aric of Burkhart"
"How do you do, my lord?" she murmured politely, extending her hand. Then, grimacing apologetically as she saw its less than pristine condition--it was stained with residue from her recent work with the foaling--she retracted it and dropped into a quick curtsy instead. "I regret my apparel, but we were not expecting company today."
Before Aric could even murmur a polite response, the king announced, "You should change."
Her head whipped around. "Change?"
"Aye. You will not wish to be wed looking so."
"The wedding is to take place now?" Dismay was the only word to describe her reaction, and Aric could actually sympathize. It was all a bit dismaying to him as well.
"As soon as you are changed. I must return to Chinon."
"But--"
"See her properly dressed," the king ordered Sister Eustice, then snatched up Adela's arm and urged her out of the building. "I would have a word with the abbess."
Rosamunde gaped after them, then glanced at Eustice with a start when the sister took her arm and urged her to follow. "I am to be married."
"Aye." Eustice glanced worriedly at the girl as they stepped out of the stables. The child was unnaturally pale.
"I thought I was going to be a nun like you."
"Everything will be fine," Eustice murmured reassuringly, directing her through the convent doors and down the hallway to the left. King Henry and Adela were already out of sight.
"Aye," Rosamunde agreed, drawing herself up slightly. "All will be well." Then her shoulders slumped, and she whispered bewilderedly, "But I was to be a nun."
"It would seem you were never truly meant to take the veil."
"Oh, but I was," Rosamunde assured her. "My mother wished it so. She told the abbess. And my father never arranged a betrothal. I was born to be a nun."
"It would seem not," Eustice corrected gently.
"But what if the Lord wants me to take the veil? What if he is angered that I am not to be one?"
" 'Tis more likely the good Lord has his own plans for you, Rosamunde. Else He would have stopped your father from arriving until after it was done. Would He not?"
Frowning, Rosamunde tilted her head to consider that. Sister Eustice continued, "It seems to me that it must have been God Himself who led your father here in time to prevent the ceremony. Were your father even a day later in arriving, the ceremony would have been done by now."
"Aye," Rosamunde murmured uncertainly. "But why would God wish me to marry when there is so much good I might do as a nun?"
"Mayhap He has something more important for you to do as a wife."
"Mayhap," she murmured, but it was obvious by her tone that she was having trouble fathoming that possibility.
Sighing to herself, Eustice urged her into moving along the hall again, managing to get her to the small cell that had been Rosamunde's room since childhood. Ushering the bemused girl inside, Eustice urged her to sit on the side of her tiny, hard bed, then turned to search through the girl's small clothes chest for the dress Rosamunde had made to wear while taking the veil the next day. Coming up empty-handed, she whirled to frown at Rosamunde. "Where is your white gown?"
Rosamunde glanced up distractedly. "White gown? Oh, Sister Margaret offered to hang it for me, to let out any wrinkles."
"Ah." Nodding, Eustice turned toward the door. "Wait here. I shall return directly."
Rosamunde watched the door close behind her friend and mentor, then sank back on the bed with a sigh. She was having difficulty absorbing what was happening. Just that morning, her life had been fixed, her path a comfortable, secure one. Now events had careened out of control, changing the course of her life, and she was not sure it was in a direction in which she
wished to go. It looked as though she had little choice, however. Her father's decisions were final.
So she would be married, to a man she had never met before, a man she had gotten only a fleeting glimpse of moments ago when her father had introduced them. She should have looked at him longer, but had found herself suddenly shy. It was a new sensation for her. But then she had had very little occasion to be in the presence of men during her life. The only men she had ever even met were her father; his servant and constant companion, Bishop Shrewsbury; and Father Abernott, the priest who ministered the Sunday mass at the abbey. The reverend mother said mass the rest of the week.
She had known a stable boy, several years before. But he had not been around long. A week, perhaps; then he had cornered her in a stall, and pressed his lips against hers. Too startled to react at first, Rosamunde had just stood there. By the time she had gotten over her surprise, curiosity and the beginnings of a sort of shivery pleasure had kept her from protesting. Much to her shame, she hadn't even stopped him when he had covered one of her budding breasts with his hand.
Rosamunde had considered stopping him, knowing that anything that felt so wickedly interesting had to be a sin; everything fun did seem to be sinful, according to the sisters. But she did not know if she would have stopped him on her own, for Eustice had come upon them. One minute she had been wrapped in the lad's enthusiastic embrace, and the next he'd been dragged away and was having his ears boxed. Eustice had then dragged Rosamunde off to lecture her: she must never let a man kiss and touch her so again. It was evil. Lips were for speaking, and breasts for milking--and that was that.
The abbess had sent the stable boy away that very day.
"She did not look pleased at the news of her upcoming marriage," Robert murmured.
Shifting on the bench seat where the nuns had seated the men to eat while they waited, Aric turned his gaze from the food he was unable to choke down--despite how delicious it looked--and peered at his friend. "Nay," he agreed dismally.
"Well, mayhap 'tis just a result of surprise."
Aric grunted with little conviction.
"She is quite lovely."
Aric grunted again. He looked far from cheered by the news, and Robert sighed.