Thinking she had not heard properly, Cecily frowned. ‘What?’
‘I’m going north.’ Emma began to speak quickly, her back unyielding. ‘More messengers came, after Maman…after Philip was born. Messengers from Duke William.’
‘Normans? At Fulford Hall?’
A jerky nod. ‘They’ll be there by now.’
Cecily touched Emma’s arm to make her turn, but Emma resisted Cecily’s urging and kept staring at the door. ‘The carrion crows are come already,’ Emma said bitterly. ‘They are efficient, at least, and have not wasted any time seizing our lands. The Duke knows that our father and Cenwulf are dead. In a convoluted message that spoke of King Harold’s perfidy as an oath-breaker, I was informed that I, Thane Edgar’s daughter, have been made a ward of Duke William, and I am to be given in marriage to one of his knights. And not even a man with proper Norman blood in him, like Maman, but some Breton clod with no breeding at all!’
Emma swung round. Her eyes were wild and hard, and the riding crop smacked against her thigh. ‘Cecily, I won’t. I can’t—I won’t do it!’
Cecily caught Emma’s hands between hers. ‘Have you met him?’
Emma heaved in a shuddering breath. ‘The Breton? No. Duke William’s messenger said he would follow shortly, so I left as soon as I might. Cecily, I can’t marry him, so don’t talk to me of duty!’
‘Who am I to do that when I have delayed committing myself to God for so many years?’ Cecily said gently.
Emma’s expression softened. ‘I know. You never asked to be a nun. You follow our father’s will in that. I have often thought it unfair that simply because I was born first I should be the one expected to marry while you, the younger girl, were sacrificed to the Church and a life of contemplation even though you had no vocation.’
‘We both know it was a matter of riches. The Church accepted me with a far smaller dower than any thane or knight ever would. Father could not afford to marry us both well.’
Emma brightened. ‘Think, Cecily. Father is gone; the Church has had your dower, such as it was—what is to prevent your leaving?’
‘Emma!’
‘You were not made to be a nun. I know Father promised you to the Church, but what promise did you ever make?’
‘I swore to try and do his will.’
‘Yes, and that you have done. Four years mewed up in a convent. And look at you.’ Emma’s lip curled as she plucked at the stuff of Cecily’s habit. ‘This grey sackcloth does not become you. I’ll warrant it itches like a plague of lice…’
‘It does, but mortification of the flesh encourages humility—’
‘Rot! You don’t believe that! And look at the state of your hands. Peasant hands—’
‘From gardening.’ Cecily lifted her chin. ‘I work in the herb garden. It’s useful and I enjoy it.’
‘Peasant hands, as I said.’ Emma lowered her voice. ‘Cecily, be bold. You can leave this place.’
Cecily made an exasperated sound. ‘Where would I go? Back to Fulford, to your Breton knight? Be realistic, Emma, what use has this world for a dowerless novice?’ She smiled. ‘Besides, I’m wise to you. You only suggest this as a sop to your conscience.’
Emma stiffened. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Like it or not, Emma, your duty is at Fulford. You are, as you say, the eldest daughter, born to wed. The people at Fulford need you. Who else will speak for them? And what of our new brother? I’ll warrant Duke William doesn’t even know of his existence. How do you think his knight will react when he finds that Fulford has a male heir after all? No, Emma, your duty is plain and you cannot shirk it. You must return to Fulford and wait for the knight Duke William has chosen for you.’
Emma was very pale; her mouth became a thin line. ‘No.’
‘Yes!’
‘No!’
Cecily shook her head, thinking how little she knew her sister now. Emma was more concerned to avoid marriage with the Duke’s man than she was about her baby brother. ‘Emma, please think of our people, and of Philip. What chance does that tiny baby have when his identity becomes known? One of us should be near, to guard him from harm.’
A pleat formed on Emma’s brow, and her eyes lost their warmth. ‘Save your breath for your prayers. I will not submit to a lowborn Breton, especially one whose hands may be stained with our family’s blood. And even if all the saints in heaven were to plead alongside you, I would not move on this.’
‘Not even for Philip’s sake?’ At Emma’s blank look, Cecily sighed. ‘You must marry this knight. Run away, and at best you condemn Philip to a false life as Gudrun’s son. At worst…’ Cecily let the silence spin out, but she could see her words were having little effect. She looked down at the ashes in the hearth, and poked at a charred log with her boot. ‘What would Father wish, Emma? And Maman? Would she have wished her son to lead the life of a house-serf? Besides, where would you run to?’ She looked up as a new possibility dawned on her. ‘You have a sweetheart, don’t you? Someone you—’
‘Don’t be ridiculous!’ Emma clenched her jaw. ‘Since you are so hot to see our brother safe, then you may return—yes, you! Get you back in the real world and see how you like it. Go to Fulford yourself. Marry the Duke’s precious knight. Then you can see that Philip is safe. You are as much his sister as I.’
Stunned, Cecily stared. Her sister’s suggestion that she, a novice, should consider leaving the convent to marry was shocking indeed. And yet…if she were honest…shock warred with a curl of excitement.
What did he look like, this Breton knight?
‘No…no.’ Cecily’s cheeks burned. ‘I…I could not.’
Emma raised an eyebrow, and a small smile appeared, as though she knew that Cecily was tempted.
‘Emma, I couldn’t. What do I know of men and their ways?’ Cecily waved a hand to encompass the convent. ‘Since I was twelve years old all I have known is the company of women. Prayers, chanting, fasting, growing herbs, healing, doing penance for my sins.’ She gave a wry smile. ‘These things I know. But life outside these walls—it’s a mystery.’
Emma shrugged. ‘You are not entirely ignorant. You must remember something of life at Fulford before you came here. You’ve seen the stallion put to our mares…’
Cheeks aflame, Cecily bit her lip and shook her head. ‘Does…does he have a name, this knight Duke William has chosen for you?’
Emma frowned, wearily rubbing her face. ‘Yes, but I forget. No, wait…it’s Wymark, I think. Sir Adam Wymark…And I give him to you, Cecily, for I do not want him.’
As soon as they were clear of the forest, Sir Adam Wymark reined in his chestnut warhorse, Flame. They were a couple of hundred yards short of St Anne’s Convent. Though he’d not come this way before he knew it at once, thanks to the cross that topped the tower of the only stone building in the vicinity. Somewhere, a cock crowed.
With a swirl of blue, Adam tossed his cloak over his shoulder and waved his troop—a dozen mounted men—to a halt behind him. Flame snorted and sidled, churning up the mud. Harness clinked. ‘This must be the place,’ he said, addressing his friend, Sir Richard of Asculf.
Richard grunted assent, and both men took a moment to absorb the lie of the land, eyes narrowed while they assessed the likelihood of the troop being attacked. True, they were armed and mounted to a man, but they were the hated invaders here, and they could