that her aunt had vomited. ‘There is something I wish to read.’ Melissa knew that she was fortunate that she had been taught to read, because many women were not. It was not always thought necessary, but in this at least, Lord Whitbread had been generous.
‘As you wish, my lady.’ Rhona took a thick candle from their saddlebag and brought it near, striking tinder. As it flared to life, she lit the candle and set it upon the stool for the only pieces of furniture the cell contained were a stool and the straw pallet. ‘Is there light enough or shall I bring another?’
‘I can see if I kneel on the pallet,’ Melissa said, and took the letter from her pouch, breaking the seal. She read the words her aunt had written, gasping as she realised what they meant. ‘No, it cannot be…’
‘Is something wrong, my lady?’
‘Go to your own bed, Rhona,’ Melissa said. ‘I would be alone.’
As the woman left her, Melissa held the letter closer to the candle, reading it once more. She had thought that she must have imagined its contents, but the words had not changed.
The Abbess had accused Lord Whitbread of murdering his wife!
It is certain that your mother did not die in childbed. I received a letter from her to say that you were born and asking me to be your godmother. I could not give that promise, but as you know I have always taken an interest in you, my dearest child. When I heard that your mother had died I believed it from a fever, for your father wrote that it was so—but some weeks later your mother’s kinswoman, Alanna Davies, came to see me.
She swore to me that her cousin had been well when she was sent on an errand and when she returned she was not allowed to see her. For some days she was barred from Lady Whitbread’s chamber and then she was told that her cousin had died, but she says it is a lie. She heard screaming in the night and she believes that Lord Whitbread killed his wife for she saw him coming from her chamber and there was blood on his clothes.
I made discreet inquiries but nothing could be proved, though I incurred your father’s lifelong hatred for it. I can tell you no more, Melissa, but if you are in danger go to Alanna Davies for she would help you. She resides with Morgan of Hywell and has influential relatives or I doubt not that she too would have met her death.
If you are reading this then I am dead. Know that I have loved you beyond what was permitted me. I have revealed my secret only because I wish you to be aware of Lord Whitbread’s nature. If you should cross him I dare not think what he might do. Live well and kindly, my dear child, and think only that I loved you. Your Aunt Beatrice—Abbess of the Church of Saint Mark and the order of the Sisters of Mercy.
Melissa folded the paper and returned it to her pouch. Her hands were trembling and for some minutes she could only sit and stare at the shadows on the wall. Her father had not been kind to her but she could never have imagined that he could be guilty of the murder of his own wife. It was a wicked crime, yet she could not be certain of his guilt for there was no proof against him. He had sworn that his wife had died of a fever that came upon her after the birth of her child, and Melissa had seen her mother’s tomb in the family crypt.
There was only the word of her mother’s kinswoman to give the lie to his story. Melissa began to pace the confines of her cell, her mind reeling with the horror of what had been revealed to her. She had no doubt that her aunt had believed it true for she had not wished to reveal her secret until after her death.
Had she been threatened with dire consequences if she revealed what she knew? Or was it merely that she had given a promise to someone? Melissa would never be sure. She could not even know whether Alanna Davies had lied to the Abbess, but she was certain of one thing—she did not wish to live beneath her father’s roof again.
Yet where could she go? Melissa raised her head, pride and anger raising her spirit as she realised the truth. There was no one she could turn to for help. She had no alternative but to return to her father’s home, but she would refuse to marry the man he had chosen for her—and she would demand the truth of him!
Chapter Two
Rob turned away from the graveside, walking back through the peace of the old churchyard, the song of a missel thrush bringing some joy to a sorrowing heart.
Seeing David anxiously waiting for him, he brought his mind to the business in hand. He had given his word that he would rouse as many men in the Earl of Richmond’s cause as he could, and he must begin immediately.
‘We have work to do, David,’ he told his father’s steward. ‘I have promised there will be at least two hundred men ready to join Henry Tudor when he comes to wrest the Crown from King Richard.’
‘I know that the Stourtons will come in when you give the word. The Davies of Wroxham have pledged their affinity to your cause, Rob. As for their cousins, the Davies of Shorely, I have no word of their intentions, but if they come they will bring in twenty others.’
‘Then I think I must make them my first call,’ Rob said. ‘If I can win them to our side we shall have others flocking to our standard.’
‘Aye, Rob,’ David said. ‘These Plantagenets are a quarrelsome brood. It would be good to see the throne of England under stable rule again, though I like not war. We have seen too much bloodshed these past thirty years.’
Rob touched the old man’s shoulder in sympathy. ‘There are times when a man must stand for what he believes in. No matter what it may cost.’
Melissa visited Owain in the infirmary the next morning. He had recovered his senses, but was deep in a fever, tossing restlessly from side to side. She bent over him, laying a hand on his brow, which was hot and damp to the touch.
‘My dearest friend,’ she said. ‘Forgive me for what I have done to you. You were right, I should not have come for it has all come to nothing.’ She turned anxiously to the monk who was hovering nearby. ‘Will he recover?’
‘It is in God’s hands,’ the man said. ‘We shall tend him and pray for his soul—there is no more we can do.’
‘Thank you for what you have done,’ Melissa said, and bent over Owain again. He opened his eyes and looked at her and for a moment he smiled.
‘Elspeth…’ he said. ‘You have come.…’
‘No, Owain, it is her daughter,’ Melissa said, and bent to kiss his forehead. ‘Rest now, my dear friend. I shall add my prayers to those of the good monks.’
‘My lady,’ one of the brothers had come up to her. ‘I have been asked if I will send someone to escort you to your home. Are you ready to leave?’
‘Yes, thank you,’ Melissa said. ‘It was kind of you to offer to send one of your servants to accompany us, sir.’
‘We are simple people and serve God,’ the monk told her. ‘You came here at a sad time and I am sorry that you have not been offered better hospitality.’
‘It is no matter,’ Melissa said. ‘Sister Cecile has her reasons for asking us to leave.’ It was obvious to her that the nun believed one of their party was responsible for the Abbess’s death and wanted them gone.
She followed the monk to the gates of the Abbey, where Rhona was waiting together with the horses and a tall, burly-looking servant who worked in the stables and was not one of the order. The monks employed only a handful of such men and it was good of them to spare him to her. She smiled at him, but he did not respond, merely giving her his hand to help her mount her palfrey.
‘Do you know the path we must follow through the forest, sir?’
He inclined his head but still spoke no word to her. Melissa sat her horse proudly and glanced at her serving woman.
‘Is there still no sign of Agnes?’
‘No, my lady. It is strange, is it not?’
‘Very