from the corner of the small room and faced her. "Lady Isabel, Lord Hubert died in Anjou fighting in a tournament but a month past. When word reached Lord Robert, he began arrangements for your betrothal contract to be transferred to the next in line of that family, to honor the bond made between your father and theirs." Geoffrey, tall and vain; she was to marry Geoffrey. The messenger continued before Geoffrey could root deeply in her thoughts. "Geoffrey fell from his horse eight days ago in a hunting accident; it was a fatal fall, my lady. Lord Robert, believing the original contract sound, wants to keep the alliance between your families. With your father's blessing, it has been arranged for you to marry the next in line of that house."
Isabel remained standing by pure will. She would not faint again, no matter the death on the messenger's lips. No matter the clamor of her guilt. She said nothing. With one deep and trembling breath, she looked at Abbot Godric. Godric, his expression solemn and sympathetic, turned to Anselm.
"Brother Anselm, please inform Brother Richard he is needed here."
* * *
Anselm knew exactly where to find Brother Richard and he was not anxious to go. Not because he was uncomfortable in the scriptorium, which he was not, though he could not read, but because he was uncomfortable with Richard. It should not have been so. All were brothers in the abbey, each called upon by God to serve and pray until the reward of death. All were equal under the care of Father Abbot. It was only that Richard was more equal than most.
Anselm entered the scriptorium quietly, gently. One error with the quill and the manuscript would be worthless; he did not want to startle Richard at his appointed task. He did not want to startle Richard at anything, though Richard was not the sort to become startled. Only a year among them and Brother Richard was the most self-controlled man Anselm had ever encountered; for one so newly introduced to the life of the brotherhood, it was a rare thing. Still, he supposed Richard of Warefeld had come to them with that gift.
He waited until Richard lifted his quill from the vellum before speaking. "The abbot would see you now, Brother Richard. It is a matter of some urgency."
Urgent or no, Richard did not move any more quickly than he had before. He calmly set his quill aside, protected his half-completed manuscript, and turned to face Anselm. Though Anselm predated Richard at the abbey by some twenty-five years, Richard preceded him out of the room. Anselm did not take offense, though it went hard against the Benedictine Rule of precedence. Richard seemed to soar above such earthly rules without effort and certainly without malice.
"We have opened the guest house to someone seeking sanctuary today," Anselm said, hurrying to keep pace with Richard's long-limbed stride.
Richard, in keeping with the Benedictine Rule, did not engage in idle talk. Anselm felt it was not idle since the heaviest portion of the news would concern Richard himself. However, if Richard was ill disposed to speak, there was little Anselm could do without some encouragement.
"I believe you know her," Anselm prompted.
Richard moved inexorably through the golden stone of the abbey corridors, a black and silent silhouette of relentless intent.
"I believe Abbot Godric will have some disturbing news for you, Brother Richard. I would wish you prepared for what you will find when you meet with him," Anselm tried.
"My life is in the hand of God," Richard said without turning his head, his profile sharp against the dressed stone arches. "Let Him do with me what He will."
A most proper answer. Since God had obviously prepared him to marry a beautiful and wealthy woman, Anselm could only wonder at the great mercy and generosity of their Heavenly Father. But a novice monk to marry? The Lord's ways were indeed mysterious.
Richard knocked firmly upon the prior's chamber door, his face resolved and somewhat grim—his
Isabel remained standing by pure will. She would not faint again, no matter the death on the messenger's lips. No matter the clamor of her guilt. She said nothing. With one deep and trembling breath, she looked at Abbot Godric. Godric, his expression solemn and sympathetic, turned to Anselm.
"Brother Anselm, please inform Brother Richard he is needed here."
* * *
Anselm knew exactly where to find Brother Richard and he was not anxious to go. Not because he was uncomfortable in the scriptorium, which he was not, though he could not read, but because he was uncomfortable with Richard. It should not have been so. All were brothers in the abbey, each called upon by God to serve and pray until the reward of death. All were equal under the care of Father Abbot. It was only that Richard was more equal than most.
Anselm entered the scriptorium quietly, gently. One error with the quill and the manuscript would be worthless; he did not want to startle Richard at his appointed task. He did not want to startle Richard at anything, though Richard was not the sort to become startled. Only a year among them and Brother Richard was the most self-controlled man Anselm had ever encountered; for one so newly introduced to the life of the brotherhood, it was a rare thing. Still, he supposed Richard of Warefeld had come to them with that gift.
He waited until Richard lifted his quill from the vellum before speaking. "The abbot would see you now, Brother Richard. It is a matter of some urgency."
Urgent or no, Richard did not move any more quickly than he had before. He calmly set his quill aside, protected his half-completed manuscript, and turned to face Anselm. Though Anselm predated Richard at the abbey by some twenty-five years, Richard preceded him out of the room. Anselm did not take offense, though it went hard against the Benedictine Rule of precedence. Richard seemed to soar above such earthly rules without effort and certainly without malice.
"We have opened the guest house to someone seeking sanctuary today," Anselm said, hurrying to keep pace with Richard's long-limbed stride.
Richard, in keeping with the Benedictine Rule, did not engage in idle talk. Anselm felt it was not idle since the heaviest portion of the news would concern Richard himself. However, if Richard was ill disposed to speak, there was little Anselm could do without some encouragement.
"I believe you know her," Anselm prompted.
Richard moved inexorably through the golden stone of the abbey corridors, a black and silent silhouette of relentless intent.
"I believe Abbot Godric will have some disturbing news for you, Brother Richard. I would wish you prepared for what you will find when you meet with him," Anselm tried.
"My life is in the hand of God," Richard said without turning his head, his profile sharp against the dressed stone arches. "Let Him do with me what He will."
A most proper answer. Since God had obviously prepared him to marry a beautiful and wealthy woman, Anselm could only wonder at the great mercy and generosity of their Heavenly Father. But a novice monk to marry? The Lord's ways were indeed mysterious.
Richard knocked firmly upon the prior's chamber door, his face resolved and somewhat grim—his
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