Page 116 of Bold Angel
The decision was not a difficult one to make. Freedom, the gift she had once craved above all else, meantnothing to her now. Nothing without Ral and the home she had come to love.
“I would return to the sisters.” Mayhap she would find peace of a sort there, discover a way to forgive herself for the deaths of Ral’s men.
He frowned at that, surprised a little by her choice. “You are certain that is your wish?”
“Aye, my lord.”
He stiffened. “Then so be it. Pack your things and make yourself ready to leave. Girart will see you safely to the convent.” He turned away from her then, his back erect, ignoring his cut and bleeding leg as he walked off toward his men.
She watched his tall frame striding away from her, his broad shoulders straight though he was obviously so weary, and knew more love for him in that moment than she had ever felt before.
“Ral…” He stopped, his back going even more rigid, but he did not turn around. “Your leg… I… please… you must let someone tend it. Isolda can—” But he only started walking, his long tired strides carrying him farther away.
She wasn’t sure how long she stood there. Seconds that seemed hours. Minutes that seemed an eternity.
“Come, my pet. We must make ready.” Marta’s bony hands bit into her shoulders, forcing her to move, forcing her to place one foot in front of the other. Caryn said nothing, just let the old woman guide her upstairs, then stood at the window while Marta packed a handful of her belongings. She would need little at the convent.
What she needed most in the world she had already lost.
***
With Girart and two of Ral’s men to lead the way, Caryn rode her small gray palfry along the road to the convent. She remembered little of the journey, seeing thelandscape through a film of tears, crying in silence, her heart breaking into smaller and smaller pieces.
Marta had tried to console her, to convince her that somehow things would work out. Caryn had only stared at her and said things would never work out for her again.
Men were dead because of her. Her husband had been wounded. He had trusted her with his life and those of his people, and she had failed him.
Just as she had failed herself.
“Will you be all right, my lady?” Girart stood at the convent door, the other two men behind him. He had ever been kind to her and she had liked him. She was surprised at his kindness now.
“She will be fine,” said Mother Terese, the stern-faced abbess of the Convent of the Holy Cross. “Her sister, Gweneth, is here and there are others who are her friends. This place was once her home.”
Home?Caryn thought vaguely. The only home she had known in years had been at Braxston Keep. The only place she had felt needed… the only place she had ever really belonged.
“Come, Caryn. We must see to your garments.”
Still she said nothing. She didn’t deserve the beautiful forest green tunic she still wore. Sackcloth and ashes, and hours on her knees in prayer. Even that wasn’t punishment enough.
“You will feel better once you are settled,” the abbess was saying. “God will forgive your sins, even if your husband does not.” They traveled the dreary corridors, even more loathsome than she remembered. Mayhap because this time she knew she would never escape them.
“In a way your arrival is a blessing. In return for our care of you, Lord Raolfe has been generous. ’Twould seem he is a good man and fair. ’Tis a shame you failed him so completely.”
It went unsaid ’twas what the abbess had expectedall along. Caryn had been a misfit in the convent, had plagued them all with her misadventures. She had been a miscreant and a troublemaker. She deserved exactly what she got.
She followed the tall thin abbess into a long narrow cell with a corn husk mattress at one end. This would be her home from now till the end of her years.
Caryn felt rough hands on her forest green tunic, felt the combs being drawn from her hair. Several of the sisters, one she recognized as the hateful Sister Agnes, helped her to pull on a coarse linen shift. A brown woolen tunic followed, then she was once more left alone.
Caryn sank down on the lumpy corn husk mattress. She touched the damp stone wall, rested her cheek against it. It felt damp and cold, just like her heart. Tears leaked from beneath her lashes as she curled up and closed her eyes.
Ral, I love you so. I am sorry that I failed you.She sobbed against the rough gray stone, wondering how everything could have gone so wrong.
***
Ral lifted his head from the table. Around him several knights snored while other men’s ribald laughter echoed against the castle walls.
“’Tis getting late, my lord.” Richard nudged his shoulder. “Mayhap ’tis time you went to bed.”
