Deborah Simmons - My Lady De Burgh

Never had he incited anyone to horror, and Robin didn’t like the feeling. He frowned. Was it because he was a man inside the sheltered world of the nunnery, or was something else involved? With a curt word, he excused her, and as she scurried away, he wondered how the devil he was going to find out anything from women like these.

“They are not accustomed to…knights,” Sybil told him, spitting out the last word as if he were some kind of monster. He was tempted to ask her if he would be more acceptable if he were unable to defend himself and them, but he kept his mouth shut as he mulled over this disturbing development.

He was still lost in thought when Sybil stood to greet the woman at the door. This nun was quite elderly, to the point of deafness, so Robin was forced to nearly shout into her ear. He repeated his questions over and over until Sybil saw fit to point out that the old woman had her own room from which she rarely ventured forth, so saw little of others. Upon receipt of that information, Robin ushered the elderly nun out, while casting a dubious glance over his shoulder at his companion. As he suspected, Sybil appeared to be fighting back her amusement at his discomfiture.

With a scowl, Robin turned his attention back to the nun who was leaning on him and called to a servant passing in the corridor. He asked the girl to escort the elderly woman back to the chapel and to fetch him some paper and quill, so that he might better record the names of those he had already seen. His scholarly brother Geoffrey had often made notes when he was studying, and Robin equated this tedious investigation to a learning experience.

When he again entered the room, Sybil was wearing a look of surprise instead of her usual surly glare. “You can write?” she asked.

“Of course, I can write,” Robin said. “My father, the Earl of Campion, sets great store by learning. Can you not?”

“Of course, I can write! I have been schooled by the nuns since I was very young,” Sybil said.

“Too bad they couldn’t teach you better manners,” Robin observed dryly. When she looked as though she was going to make a sharp retort, he spoke again. “I thought you religious women were supposed to be humble,” he added, his expression all innocence. Was that a tic in her cheek? Robin decided that goading her was far better than fighting with her, and that jesting was better than both. “About that itch…” he began, only to whoop in laughter when she threw something at him.

Luckily, he was blessed with quick reflexes and she with poor aim. He ducked, though it proved unnecessary as her toss went wide. As it sailed by him, Robin saw ’twas only a wooden cup that had been abandoned in the corner, and he watched it fall to the floor, where it rolled across the tiles. His blood up, Robin glanced back at his foe, in anticipation of a lively exchange, but the shocked look on her face told him there would be no more missiles, at least not immediately.

Obviously, such outbursts were new to her, as well as frowned upon in the nunnery, but Robin found himself wanting to hand her another cup, to stand before her and egg her on to release some of whatever it was remained pent up inside her. Robin sensed that behind those novice’s clothes lay a passionate woman, stifled by her surroundings. And suddenly, he wanted to release all that tension in quite another manner entirely.

With a grunt of denial, Robin tugged at the neck of his tunic, caught himself and grimaced. He was becoming far too cozy with the One for his own good. It was none of his business what kind of temperament she possessed or what kind of life she led here or anything else about her. He was better off sparring with her than making such speculations or worse, enjoying himself with her. Robin blanched, the arrival of a servant with his quill the only thing that saved him from incipient panic.

He had just mumbled his thanks when another nun arrived, one who, he soon discovered, disapproved of the whole questioning process. Although she gave him no rebuke, she answered him as shortly as possible, until Robin sat back and ran a hand through his hair in exasperation.

“I’m just trying to find out who killed Elisa, so that no further blood is shed,” he said, his patience already tested this day.

“I hardly think anyone else here will meet such an end,” the nun replied, with a sniff. Robin studied her carefully. Was her disapprobation meant for him or the deceased?

“And why do you say that?” he asked. “Was there some reason why Elisa was targeted when others were not?” The question probed as close to his own suppositions as he dared without revealing them outright. Unfortunately, it resulted in a squawk of protest from Sybil and a demure look from the nun. Sending his companion a caustic glance, Robin wondered whether her presence was a help or a hindrance to him.

Definitely a hindrance, he soon decided, for the nun would say nothing further, finally excusing herself huffily. After she left, Robin pointedly closed the door behind her. “Just what are you doing?” he asked, advancing on the One with nothing but menace on his mind.

“What do you mean?” she asked, rising to her feet, in fearless, foolish challenge. Although he had to admire her pluck, he was in no mood for her posturing.

“You know very well what I mean!” Robin said, his voice silky yet threatening. “If you plan to interfere with my work, then I shall have you removed from the room.”

“You cannot!” she answered. “The abbess told me to—”

Robin cut her off. “The abbess told you to assist me, not impede me!”

“I will not let you speak ill of the dead!” she answered, that tiny tic in her cheek the only evidence that she was not as composed as she would have him believe. Nor as brave. Robin felt the bluster seep out of him.

“Sybil,” he said in a gentler tone. Stepping forward once more, he reached for her, but she winced, seemingly as wary of him as he was of her. However, Robin doubted that it was rooted in the same cause, for she gave no indication that she recognized him as anything other than a boorish knight who was disrupting her existence and maligning her friend. With a sigh, Robin dropped his hand and moved back, wondering how he was going to find out who Elisa’s lover was if he was not allowed to allude to the possibility of there being one.

Another puzzle, perhaps unsolvable, Robin thought, before the moment was shattered by the entrance of one of the nuns. Taking a deep breath, he turned away from Sybil and tried to focus on the task ahead. Graciously seating the woman, he poured on the de Burgh charm, while sending a warning glance to his companion.

To her credit, she did not protest again, but neither did he make any headway. The older nuns claimed to have had little contact with Elisa, while the younger ones professed ignorance of her personal life. Surely, within the small confines of this community, someone must have heard something! Although Sybil informed him that gossip was proscribed by the bishop, Robin did not believe that the good women, no matter how devoted, had given it up entirely.

He was so frustrated by the end of the day that he began to wonder if he was going to have to begin the questioning all over again—alone. Obviously, Sybil had been a friend to the deceased, and, as such, put a damper on any revelations the other women might provide about her. With mixed feelings, Robin considered asking the abbess to assign Sybil some other task. It would be better for him, too, if he were rid of her, he thought, quelling an unruly objection somewhere in his body. Presumably, it lodged in his nether regions, yet it seemed to be higher up in his chest, which held his yearning for the family life he had no more.

With a frown, Robin realized that despite her tart tongue and surly behavior, he was going to miss the One, not just immediately, but maybe forever.

Despite his feelings, or perhaps because of them, Robin abruptly rose to his feet, determined to leave the room and seek out the abbess. Indeed, he went so far as to open the door, only to be faced with the formidable Maud, who stood just outside the threshold. Had she been listening or spying? Robin didn’t see how she could learn much through the nunnery’s thick walls and doors, yet who knew what kind of intrigues went on in the cloister? Certainly, these women had little enough to entertain them.

Recovering quickly, Robin greeted the nun with feigned warmth. Although he might have denied it, he was only too eager to postpone—mayhap indefinitely—his plans to dismiss Sybil and latch on to Maud. After all, here was someone who wasn’t afraid to speak her mind or gossip malevolently. Indeed, Maud looked as if she had made plenty of enemies and would be happy to add more to her collection. Ushering her inside, Robin donned his best smile, though it appeared to have little effect. Maud soon made it obvious that she had returned only under duress.

“The abbess insisted that I come, though I have no idea why since I know nothing of this business,” she said, with a pinched expression that dared Robin to argue with her.

“Although pleased as I am, as always, to do the Reverend Abbess’s bidding, I do not see what right she has to be here,” Maud added, looking pointedly at Sybil. “I hardly think I can speak freely when I know that my words might be misconstrued or bandied about later by others. Perhaps, if she were to leave the room…” Maud suggested.

Although Robin had just considered the same course, he found he didn’t care for the notion quite so well when Maud proposed it. Logic warred with unfounded emotion for an instant, until reason prevailed and he bowed his head graciously toward the harridan. “If you would feel more comfortable—” he began, only to be cut off by Sybil’s protest.

“The abbess told me to remain with Lord de Burgh,” she said, in a voice that brooked no dispute, and Robin couldn’t help admiring her courage.

“Indeed?” Maud replied, lifting one eyebrow in a manner that managed to insinuate all sorts of things, none of them complimentary, especially to a novice. Robin felt his blood churn in response, urging him to Sybil’s defense, but he kept his face expressionless.

“Indeed,” Sybil replied firmly, giving no indication that the barbs had struck her at all.

Whether Maud sensed his annoyance or Sybil’s stubbornness or only had been issuing an idle threat, Robin didn’t know, but she conceded with a scowl. “Very well, then, but I warn you not to interfere with my speech or repeat anything that I say,” she said, glaring at the younger woman.

Sybil dropped her head in a gesture of submission that didn’t fool Robin one bit, and he wondered if Maud had planned to speak in front of her all along, perhaps even to taunt her with gossip. The older woman reminded him of a spider, hatching plots and tossing webs around the hapless nuns. Whatever she might say, Robin knew he must keep the focus on Elisa and not worry about Sybil, who seemed more than capable of holding her own anyway.

“I assure you that you may speak freely,” Robin said, smiling at Maud. “Indeed, I was hoping that you would do so as I fear that the other nuns have not been of any assistance to me at all, but you…” Robin trailed off, inclining his head respectfully. “You appear to be far more knowledgeable and observant. Surely, you must have an idea as to the culprit.”

Ignoring a choked sound from Sybil, Robin gave the harridan an encouraging smile, and she acknowledged his flattery with a lofty look. “Naturally, I am more perceptive than most of these flibbertigibbets who neglect their duties,” Maud said, raising her bulky body until she sat arrow-straight upon the bench. “However, ’tis not really my place to comment.”