Sunder (42 page)

“Yes, Alfredo.  Your daughter told me everything I needed to know.”

For a moment, she stared hard at Alfredo and Gabriel was sure she had another bombshell to let fly for the whole council to hear. But she stayed silent, continuing her staring contest with Alfredo.

“Miss Fitzroy,” Gabriel’s voice was muted. “Please tell the council how you came to meet Isabella.”

Shannan looked down at her feet and was silent for a long while, breathing in and out with a studied rhythm. Was it anger that gave her pause? Gabriel wasn’t sure. As she had been drugged during their initial conversation, he hadn’t been able to get a good grasp of her personality.

But then Gabriel saw it— Shannan wiping her hands on the legs of her trousers. She was scared, not angry. She was scared of losing the one card she had to play to guarantee her safety.

“Shannan,” Alfredo said, the anger in his face falling away. “I have no power here anymore. Please,” he swallowed audibly. “Please tell me what happened to my daughter.”

She raised her head to look up at him, seeming to consider his request. “Actually, I think I’ll let Isabella tell you herself.”

Gabriel knit his eyebrows together, confused.

“What?” Alfredo asked.

“I really do have a message from her. I wasn’t lying about that. Gabri—Councilman Ruiz, May I have the beacon I was wearing when I arrived?”

Gabriel gave a wan smile, appreciating her decorum, and nodded to Julio Guerrero. After escorting Shannan into the room, Julio had melted into the far corner of the room to silently observe. Along with Sergeant Bullock, Commandante Guerrero was one of his most trusted allies here, and Gabriel had insisted he be present for these proceedings.

Julio acknowledged Gabriel’s summoning and strode toward Shannan, retrieving the plastic bag containing the crucifix from one of his cargo pockets. He held out the crucifix to Shannan, standing a little too close to her, as was his custom.

Watching Shannan lean away from Julio, taking the crucifix gently from his hand with an obvious hesitance to touch it, Gabriel sadly noted that, depending on how the vote turned out, her discomfort with Julio could be useful.

A nervous smile on her lips, Shannan fumbled for the button hidden in the pendent. Suddenly, Alfredo stood up, jerking his hand out in a halt gesture.

“I already played the recording from Etienne, Shannan. I don’t want to hear it again.”

At his sudden outburst, Shannan’s entire body jolted, propelling her backwards into Julio, who remained impassive as he slid one gloved hand onto her arm to steady her. Gabriel watched Julio’s eyes slide over Shannan’s neck, where the bruises stood boldly against her fair skin, then up to her face, which had gone even paler. Craning his neck close to her ear, Gabriel saw him whisper something.

As Julio whispered his brief message, whatever it was, Shannan swallowed hard and blushed. “It- it’s not Etienne’s message she wanted you to hear.” Her voice trembled a bit. “The hard drive has plenty of space on it.”

Holding out the crucifix, she placed her fingers over Jesus’ feet and his left arm. “Are you ready?” she asked Alfredo.

He nodded at her, taking in a deep breath as he did so, and though the question had not been directed at him, Gabriel found himself nodding as well.

Shannan nodded back and pressed down on the crucifix. The council was silent as the recording played.

27

The bright late summer sun shone in through the window, spoiling Isabella’s previous plan to sleep in. Groaning in irritation, she rolled over and pulled the covers tightly over her head, only to find the light reflecting off the wall next to her head.
I should move the bed
, she thought to herself. It was not the first time she had considered such a thing, and even as she squinted into the too-bright sunlight, she knew she would never move the bed. Sigbert had placed it there after building this house for her—his need to rise before sunrise necessitating the bed’s placement to catch all the light it could. Though that need had long since passed, Isabella still could not bring herself to move the bed from the sun’s path. 

A bark sounded outside her window, then another.
Well, Simon is awake.
Isabella groaned mightily as she pushed herself out of bed, welcoming the cool morning air. If the last week was any indication, it was going to be another scorching hot day. Her bones creaking, Isabella trudged to the window sill and opened up the shutter, propping it open with a stick. 

“And what do you want, sir?” she asked the mangy hound dog. “I recall I told you I wanted to sleep in today.” 

Simon’s wide eyes brightened at the sight of her and he turned in circles, whining for her to come outside. He was having none of her recent laziness and did not care how much sleep she thought she needed. The dog likely smelled the meat pies being served at the wedding festivities and would be damned if he missed out on the scraps. 

Reaching a hand out through the window, she scratched the dog’s head and smiled at him, making kissy noises with her mouth. “I’ll be right out.” 

Her cane made of knotty, polished elm leaned against the doorframe, beckoning to her as she shuffled across the room to where she had laid her dress out the night before. It was her very best dress, one reserved for special events such as the gathering going on outside the Great Hall. But Isabella would not be going to the wedding, though it pained her to miss it. She had another, long-overdue, appointment to attend.

“Mother Deorca!”

The sudden call was muffled both by distance and by her dress, which had bunched around her head as she tried to pull it down. The damn thing was tighter than her others and the act of wiggling into it caused her shoulder joints to pop. It was a man’s voice that had called to her, likely from the road facing her house, so she gritted her teeth and pulled the dress forcefully over her body while walking toward her door. It wouldn’t do for someone to walk in on her while she changed. Though there was no longer a man living who wanted to see her in a state of undress.

Finally grabbing onto her cane, Isabella opened her door and stepped outside, swatting gently at Simon to keep him from tripping her. The strapping blond man who had called out to her stood across the road from her house, dressed in his very finest.

“My dear Ciaran,” she called, smiling warmly at Saoirse’s eldest son. “Your daughter shall not be pleased to find her father missing during her wedding.”

“My wife has things well in hand.” He smiled back and stepped over to her, dodging the few women who hurried past him. “I knew you would want to know immediately, so I came to tell you.”

“Tell me what, silly boy?” She leaned forward to kiss him on his cheeks.

“The girl you’ve been looking for is here. She stumbled into the wedding party.”

Isabella froze. Her mouth still puckered from the aborted kiss, she whispered, “What girl?”

“The one you told Father about,” he leaned against the window sill and gave her a knowing smile. “The one who would be wearing Selwyn’s medallion. Though you never did say who she was.”

Casting her eyes down at Simon, who unhelpfully wagged his tail back at her, Isabella drew in a deep breath. “Did the girl say anything?”

“That she sought Deorca, the famous woman tanner. She also wanted to know if a man named Selwyn lived in town.”

Of course she did.
Selwyn had hinted, many times over the years, that he would not live to see his student again. Isabella had always assumed he thought he might die in battle. But as it turned out, Selwyn had known all along that even if he escaped death by sword, he would be long gone by the time Shannan came to Shaftesbury. Perhaps he had designed it that way.

“What did you tell her?”

“I directed her to where she might find Selwyn,” Ciaran let his head lean in the direction of the church yard, then reached down to give Simon a pat on the head. “I thought to ask you first ‘ere I brought her to your door.”

“Actually, I think I will go to her.”

Ciaran crinkled his brow at her, concern mingling with a slight disdain.

“Are you certain you want to go there?”

“I’ve been avoiding it, Ciaran. I’ve not been to see my husband or your parents since the day they… brought her back. It’s time.”

“Then I shall go with you.” He reached out his arm to escort her, though the discomfort on his face indicated he would rather dive into a pit of spiders than make this visit with her.

“You shall go back to your daughter’s wedding before your poor wife is overwrought.” She gave him a reassuring pat on his arm and gripped her cane tighter. In addition to her aging joints, the uneven roads were a menace to her ankle. The damn thing never did heal right.

“Will you be long, Mother Deorca? Lord Cædda asked after you.”

Isabella smiled. “You may tell that wretched man he is fully capable of getting through one wedding without me holding his hand.”

Ciaran blanched, the thought of speaking to his venerated lord in such a way turning his stomach. As Cædda’s recognized bastard, Ciaran had risen far above the station of Saoirse and Thorstein, who had lived out their days outside of Shaftesbury’s walls as farmers. Once he turned ten, Cædda had recalled his illegitimate son to Shaftesbury to learn statecraft, leaving Isabella to supply his still-present need for mothering. Even with decades together, Ciaran had never adjusted to the easy manner in which she interacted with the legendary Lord Cædda.

“I jest, my sweet boy. Tell our lord that I will be indisposed with Selwyn the Silent’s bastard daughter for the rest of the day. I will call on him tomorrow.”

“I suspected that was the case,” Ciaran gave a smug smile. “And I will tell him. Shall I help you walk down the road? In case you fall again?”

“If calamity finds me, the dog will alert you.” She gave a whistle and Simon—the fourth of his name—fell into step after her, keeping his nose buried in the road to keep from overtaking her.

She’s finally here
.

Many times through the years, Isabella had dreamed of the girl strolling into Shaftesbury, all curls and big breasts, and she had spent the following days scouring the market for her, convinced the dream was a premonition. But none of them had been premonitions; Isabella’s strange dreams had come to a halt after her marriage to Sigbert. Though danger reared its ugly head from time to time, it seemed there was no more need for Isabella’s mother to notify her in advance. Perhaps Monica had finally moved on to heaven. Considering Isabella had lit enough candles to light a city in prayer for that eventuality, she hoped it was so.

Her elbow had started to smart by the time Isabella reached the church, deserted now as the wedding party had moved up the hill for the reception. The open church doors beckoned her into their comforting embrace, but Isabella determinedly walked past them, ignoring the sweat popping up on her forehead. Whether it was from the exertion of walking, the dread of her errand, or the anticipation of seeing Shannan, she could not tell.

Simon trotted ahead of her and sat down in front of the entrance to the cemetery, knowing he was never allowed to cross the threshold. The dog craned his neck, seemingly nodding at the distant female form at the far end of the cemetery, ensuring his mistress saw the stranger. With a pat on his head, Isabella walked through the gateway.

There she was, Shannan Fitzhugh—or was it Fitzroy? The girl stood perfectly still with her back to Isabella, her hands seemingly clasped in front of her and she spoke quietly to the grave marker in front of her. Even as Isabella allowed herself a chuckle at the girls beautifully coifed hair—the neatness of it a dead giveaway she did not belong here—she acknowledged she was stalling. In order to get to Shannan, to have the talk she had been waiting decades to have, she had to pass the cemetery’s newest grave, the one she had steadfastly avoided for weeks. There at the edge of the cemetery, far from any other nobleman or woman, lay Annis—her completely bare gravestone staring up at Isabella in a perpetual, silent rebuke.

In her few remaining years of life, Hilde had taken the boys to Wimbourne Minster every Easter so they might see their mother, or at least the outline of her through the cloister curtain.  Once he was old enough, Dægberht had taken over the task, escorting his younger brothers through the countryside to see the barest glimpse of their mother, sometimes even talking to her briefly. But then Dægberht had died of a staph infection of all wretched things. His younger brother, Esmund, disliked the annual trips. The youngest, Alfred, did not even remember his mother. To him, Isabella had always been his caretaker and saw no need to travel so far to see the sad nun who said she was his mother.

So Annis had remained alone in the faraway Abbey. Cædda had never once gone to see her. Not when Dægberht died. Not when, years later, Esmund was killed in a nonsensical skirmish with one of the Ealdormen’s pages. Not even when Cædda was raised to be the Ealdorman, making Alfred, his last remaining son, Lord of Shaftesbury. Annis had been left to rot in the Abbey, without so much as a letter from her family.

“Should I write to her?” she had whispered to Sigbert one night before they fell asleep. “Is it my duty to be kind to her when her family is not?”

“Have you forgiven her?” her husband had murmured in her ear.

“No. Thinking about her still makes me angry.”

“Then you should pray for God to take this terrible anger from you. When He does, then you should write to her. Perhaps in the interim, Annis’ anger will also have faded. You cannot truly see her heart when you have anger clouding yours.”

He had always been so wise, so kind in a way she was not. So she waited. Through years of toiling in her tanning shack, years of burying one friend after another, she waited for her hatred of Annis to wane. And, as surely as Sigbert predicted, it had. Three months ago on her sixty-second birthday, Isabella had kneeled for her evening prayers, the first of which was always to forgive Annis, only to find that she already had. So by candlelight she had sought out Sigbert’s quill and parchment and written a letter, cursing the ancient and time-consuming technology with every Latin word she wrote, knowing that if Annis was still illiterate, there would be a priest nearby to read the letter to her.

The response had been quick. Only two weeks later, a courier had arrived from the Abbey, a young monk, with a letter. But not for Isabella. The letter was from the mother superior addressed to Lord Alfred. She told him that Sister Edwina (as Annis was called there) had died of a breathing affliction. The sisters had planned to bury her at Wimbourne Minster, but since they had recently received a letter under Shaftesbury’s seal, they wondered if the lord preferred his mother to be interned in Shaftesbury?

As it happened, Lord Cædda had recently returned to Shaftesbury to enjoy his lands and his grandchildren in his declining years. To the surprise of everyone in the Great Hall, when Lord Alfred looked to his father for advice, the wizened Ealdorman replied, “Bring your mother home.”

And so he had, but it seemed Alfred still bore some animosity for Annis and all he had been told of her. He had her placed on the very edge of the church yard, as if she would taint the other souls resting within, and had decreed her marker would bear no name. Even without the name, everyone knew who was buried there, and not one single flower had been left upon the burial mound. In a world of the common folk being illiterate, their ability to remember solely by word of mouth astonished Isabella. So few living now had been alive when Annis was banished, and only she and Cædda were adults when it happened. How fitting it should be only they who forgave her.

“Greetings!”

The overly formal Saxon greeting broke her silent reverie and Isabella jerked her head up to see Shannan, whose bust line was every bit as impressive as Selwyn described, waving and smiling at her from her distant point in the church yard.

“I seek Deorca Tanner. Are you she?”

Isabella allowed herself a wry smile at the girl’s thick accent.
Is that how my Saxon sounded at first?

“I am,” Isabella called back. “I see you’ve found Selwyn.”

Shannan swayed from side to side, her chest puffing out in preparation to bellow a response, but then she seemed to reconsider, and started a light jog toward Isabella, her cheeks taking on a pink hue with the effort. As she approached, Isabella could see the hydrogen medallion bouncing off her chest with every step.

“You knew Selwyn well?” Shannan bent over slightly as she came to a halt in front of Isabella, catching her breath.

“You mean Daniel?” she asked in English. “Yes, I knew him very well.”

Shannan froze mid-breath. Still in her bent over posture, she raised her eyes up to Isabella’s face, seeming to ponder how to respond.