“It’s no good, my lady,” he shouted at her. “He’s done this much for you, let him be.” He scooped her up around the waist, ignoring her struggles.
“He’ll kill him.”
“Come.” He picked her up and carried her through the teeming crowd, and she might have been as insignificant as a feather, for all that her struggles affected him. Her sister was waiting at the edge of the rioting crowd, barely controlling her horses.
“No,” Alys cried, as she realized how they expected to get her away from the town.
“Yes,” said Sir Thomas, tossing her up onto the beast’s high back and following after her.
Her struggles were panicking the horses, but she didn’t care. She screamed, fighting like a madwoman, determined not to leave Simon, but clearly Thomas had had enough. She never even saw the blow coming, only the merciful blackness that closed over her.
Chapter Twenty-Five
There had been a time when returning to the Convent of Saint Anne the Demure had been all that Alys wanted. As they rode through the stone gate that surrounded the abbey she tried to summon up some pleasure, but her capacity for it was as dead as her heart. She simply lay back against Thomas du Rhaymer’s strong chest, imprisoned by his arms, astride the huge, monstrous horse that would likely trample her to death if Sir Thomas hadn’t been controlling the creature.
She had gone beyond fear as well as hope. Even the sight of Sister Agnes’s plump, welcoming face was no comfort.
They helped her down from the back of the horse, and she went with them willingly enough, shuddering with stray relief to be away from the creature. A moment later Claire was beside her, drawing her into her arms, weeping with joy.
“He’s dead, Alys!” she said triumphantly. “I saw him fall! He’ll never come near you again.”
Alys froze in sudden despair. “You saw him? Are you certain?” If Simon was dead then she didn’t want to live. It was that sinful and that simple.
“Without question. The blood was everywhere,” she announced in ghoulish delight.
Alys swayed, feeling suddenly faint. “Who killed him?” she managed to gasp.
“That creature you married,” Claire said in a disapproving voice.
Alys looked up at her in shock. “Simon killed himself?”
“Don’t be ridiculous! Simon killed Richard.”
Alys, with true sisterly devotion, grabbed Claire by the tattered tunic and shook her. “I don’t care what happened to Richard!” she shouted furiously. “Where is Simon?”
“My child.” Brother Jerome appeared out of the gathering darkness, gently removing Alys’s grip from her sister’s clothing. “No one knows what happened to him. Word has been flying through the kingdom. According to the witnesses, he disappeared in a puff of smoke.”
“I believe it,” Claire said cynically, as Sister Agnes swiftly crossed herself to ward off a curse.
“He couldn’t have,” Alys said flatly.
“He did,” Brother Jerome assured her. “He’s gone back to the realms of darkness from whence he came. We won’t be seeing him again.”
“He didn’t come from darkness,” Alys said in a cranky voice. “He’s as human as you or I.”
“None of us has the ability to disappear at will. It is said that his withered hand miraculously healed itself at the last minute, and it was with it that he killed Lord Richard.”
“Miraculous,” Alys muttered.
“You must face the truth, my child,” Brother Jerome said solemnly. “He’s well and truly gone.”
She wanted to scream her denial. She wanted to fling herself on the ground and kick in rage and fury. They watched her, all of them, with wary eyes, as if they feared the dreaded sorceror had bewitched her as well.
He was no sorceror. He was a man, with all the strengths and frailties of the beast. She loved him beyond reason, and he was gone.
She summoned up her Good Alys smile, the gentle, obedient expression that had served her well for her twenty years. She could become Good Alys again. Sister Mary Alys, the good nun, the perfect aunt. The lost soul.
She stood silent by her bathed and beautiful sister as Brother Jerome read the marriage vows over Claire and Sir Thomas. She kissed Sir Thomas on his cleanly shaven cheek, hugged Claire, and smiled her Good Alys smile.
They put Thomas and Claire in the room the sisters used to share. They put Alys in the adjoining room, and there was much merriment from the celibate religious as the bridal couple closed the door.
Alys sat by the window, staring out into the moonlit night. Her body ached, but her heart was ripped in half. There was no way she could deny the truth of Brother Jerome’s words. Simon had saved her.
Simon had left her.
She looked down at her flat stomach. Was a child already started? She sensed that it was so, but she was afraid it was merely a vain hope. She wanted his child. Most of all she wanted him.
She heard a crash from the room next door, and the muffled sound of laughter. “Yes, Thomas,” her sister whispered in a husky voice. “There.”
She rose abruptly. There was no way she would sit in that barren room and listen to the sounds of her sister’s joy. She wished them love and happiness and pleasure beyond knowing. She just didn’t want to have to hear it.
The wind had picked up, scudding the dry leaves along the empty courtyard. The good nuns were already asleep in their cells. Brother Jerome was likely resting as well. There were only three people awake in the entire convent, and Thomas and Claire were fully occupied.
A stray, sensual laugh drifted out over the night air, and she moved more swiftly, following the moonlit path to the small clearing by the stream. It had been one of her favorite places to walk to when she was a child, a place of peace and comfort, things she always longed for. Perhaps if she curled up next to the icy stream, her borrowed
