her wish to remain at the Abbey, to her aunt, and she was not sure why. Perhaps she had not wished to distress the sick woman at such a time, and yet she knew that she must do so unless she wished to return to her father’s house. Only the sanctuary of the Abbey could save her from the fate he was planning for her.
Reaching his home, Rob lost no time in entering the house. David, his father’s faithful steward, a man of advanced years, grey in his beard but honest and generous of nature, came hurriedly to greet him and the look in his eyes told him that he was too late.
‘My father?’
‘He died two days ago, Rob,’ David said. ‘Forgive me. I would have sent for you sooner, but he would have it that nothing was wrong.’
Rob felt an overwhelming surge of grief. ‘I should have been here! I should have been with him!’
‘He bid me give you his blessing,’ David said. ‘He told me that he was proud of you because he knew that you would choose the right path in life—and he asked your pardon.’
‘My pardon—for what?’
David’s eyes went to the scar on his face. ‘He blamed himself for what was done to you, because of the quarrel between him and Lord Whitbread.’
‘I have told him that it was none of his doing,’ Rob said. ‘What kind of a man would do this over a piece of land?’
‘I do not believe it was just the land,’ David said. ‘It began long ago, when they were both young…’
Rob frowned, his gaze narrowing. ‘What is this? I have heard nothing of it before. I believed it was that woodland Whitbread coveted?’
‘That came later,’ David said. ‘Do not ask me to tell you what was the source of their anger because I do not know but I believe it may have been a woman.’
‘My mother?’
David shook his head. ‘I can tell you no more. Will you go up and see your father now, Rob? Megan has cared for him, but we waited to bury him until you returned.’
‘You did as you ought,’ Rob said. ‘I shall go up to him now.’
He was thoughtful as he walked up the stairs. What was this quarrel that had led to such hatred between his father and Lord Whitbread? If his father had lived he might have told him. Rob had been young and foolish when he fell in love with the beautiful girl he had seen walking in the meadows by her home. For some weeks he had gone every day to meet her, and their courtship had been sweet—but he had been blinded by his passion and her beauty, for Melissa was obviously as cold and proud as her father.
He would put her from his mind…but what of his heart?
This was no time to be thinking of such things! Rob was angry at himself. He must keep a vigil by his father this night and in the morning Sir Oswald would be laid to rest with all the honour due to the honest, decent man he had been.
Melissa was thoughtful as she walked in the Abbey gardens that evening before it grew dark. It was peaceful here, with the birds singing from the branches of ancient apple trees and a scent of lavender on the air. She had requested another interview with her aunt, but had been told that the Abbess was sleeping.
Would she be content to spend her life here? Melissa wondered. It had been her intention to ask for a dispensation when she left her home that morning, but now she was uncertain. She did not wish to admit it but she had not been able to forget the sweet feeling that had swept through her as she rode through the forest with Robert of Melford’s arms about her. But that was foolish because he hated her! He had loved her once, but she had sent him away and her half brother had done terrible things to him. He must hate her very name!
She was a fool to think of him, but he would not be dismissed from her thoughts. She could not help wondering what he was doing now, and if he had been in time to see his father alive.
A hand shaking her shoulder awakened Melissa. She was deep in sleep, dreaming of a time when she had been happy, walking barefoot in a meadow, and she awoke with a smile on her lips, but the smile left her swiftly as she saw her serving woman’s expression.
‘What is it, Rhona?’
‘Sister Cecile told me to wake you,’ Rhona said. ‘She fears that your aunt has taken a turn for the worse and asks that you join her immediately. The priest has given her the last rites.’
Melissa needed no further bidding as she sprang up from her pallet. Her serving woman had her cloak waiting, slipping it about her shoulders over her flimsy shift. Melissa slid her feet into leather shoes and tossed her hair back from her face. It had tangled as she slept but there was no time to dress it. Her heart was thudding as she left the small cell where she had spent the past few hours in repose, knowing that the nun would not have sent for her if it were not urgent.
She prayed silently that her aunt would be spared as she hurried down the cold and narrow passage, which was only dimly lit by a torch at the far end. By the time she reached her aunt’s chamber, she was shivering, the fear striking deep into her heart. She hesitated outside the door for a moment, and then went in. Tallow candles were burning in their sconces, the smell pungent and adding to the unpleasant odour in the room. Melissa realised that her aunt must have been sick, and she saw Sister Cecile wiping vomit and blood from the lips of the Abbess.
‘Dearest Aunt Beatrice,’ Melissa said, going to her side. The stricken woman held out her hand and she grasped it, but she could see the colour fading from her aunt’s face. ‘God give you peace.…’
‘May God bless and keep you, child,’ the Abbess whispered, and then gave a little cry, her head falling back against the pillows. Her eyes were open and staring, and Sister Cecile closed them, making the sign of the cross on her forehead.
Melissa felt the tears welling inside her as she came forward and bent to kiss her aunt’s cheek. The stench of the vomit was vile and made her gasp and draw back swiftly.
‘What made her be sick like that?’ she asked the nun. ‘Has she done so before?’
‘No, my lady, she has not,’ Cecile said, and looked upset. ‘I had thought she was rallying before you arrived—but this came upon her suddenly. It is not natural…’
‘What do you mean?’ Melissa was startled. ‘Do you suspect…’ She lowered her voice to a hushed whisper. ‘It is not poison?’
‘I do not know,’ the nun said. ‘I say only that I think the manner of her death suspicious.’
‘But who would do such a thing and how?’ Melissa saw the nun’s look and shook her head. ‘You do not suspect me? I swear before God that I did no such thing. I loved her and wished her to live.’
‘I know that you loved her,’ Sister Cecile said. ‘She has spoken of you with fondness and I hold you blameless in this—but your women and you are the only strangers in our midst at this time. No one else has been admitted—and none of the sisters would harm one hair of Mother Abbess’s head for we all love her dearly.’
‘You think that one of my women…’ Melissa shook her head. ‘You must be wrong. Both Rhona and Agnes have served me faithfully all my life. Why would either of them betray me by taking her life? They knew that I hoped…’ Melissa sighed as she realised that she could not stay
