Sanctuary of Roses by Colleen Gleason Read Free Book Online Page A

things, for
Lord Mal Verne does not intend to be kept waiting.”
    When she had collected those few items she
intended to take with her, Madelyne gave one last sweep of the
small room with her gaze. Would she ever see this cell again, kneel
at the worn prie dieu , sleep on the feather-stuffed bed?
    Squaring her shoulders, she pulled the bag
made of loose cloth that held her few personal belongings. She
adjusted her veil and smoothed her skirt, uncertain how she
looked—for there was no mirror in her cell—and left the room for
the last time.
    Outside, in the bailey, the rest of the sisters had
gathered to bid her farewell. Lord Mal Verne and his men-at-arms
stood a discreet distance away, and ’though he watched her
steadily, he did not speak as she and Patricka embraced their
friends.
    Only Anne did not appear, and for this,
Madelyne was grateful. She had said a brief farewell to her mother
after speaking with Bertilde, and that leave-taking had been
fraught with tears and sobs. They could not risk the chance that
Anne would be seen or recognized by the men.
    Thus, the last arms to hold her, and the
last face to be kissed, was that of Mother Bertilde. She pulled
Madelyne tightly to her and whispered, “God be with you, my child.
Our prayers follow you wherever you go. May you have the strength
and peace to accept that which is your future.”
    Madelyne’s face was wet with tears when at
last she began to walk across the bailey to join Mal Verne and his
men. Tricky followed, leaving a sea of red-eyed women behind.
    She approached Mal Verne, who continued to
watch with stony eyes, and whose gaze flickered to Patricka as they
walked closer. “I am ready to accompany you now, my lord. This is
Patricka, my maid, who will accompany me.”
    A twinge of satisfaction settled over her
when she saw the disconcertion in his eyes. “Your maid? Nuns do not
have maids.”
    “Patricka is my maid, and she does accompany
me whither I go. I trust that you will be able to accommodate one
extra female.”
    His mouth tightened ever so slightly—just
enough for her to see that she had irked him with her cool
response—and he turned abruptly, calling to one of his men. “Clem,
the maid will ride with you.” He started toward the small herd of
mounts gathered near the stable.
    Madelyne took that as a silent command to
follow him, and she gathered up the hem of her gown to do so. Some
of the men were mounted, and others stood in a small cluster,
holding the reins of whuffling, stamping destriers.
    At the sight of the huge warhorses,
Madelyne’s bravery deserted her.
    The mounts stood many hands taller than she,
with large heads and round eyes and huge, snorting noses. The
hooves that fidgeted in the dirt or stamped in impatience were
bigger than her face, and looked powerful enough to flatten a heavy
oaken door with one thrust. Madelyne froze, unable to make herself
move closer to the fierce creatures.
    Mal Verne turned when he reached one of the
larger, more spirited stallions, and frowned when he saw her
standing aback. “Come, my lady,” he bid her impatiently as he
struggled to calm the vigorous horse. “You ride with me.”
    Madelyne’s throat dried, and she didn’t know
if ’twas more from fear of getting close enough to the ferocious
creature to sit upon it, or that she would be in such proximity to
Mal Verne. It took every ounce of will to force to take a step
forward, and then another, before the destrier reared slightly. His
hooves slammed into the ground with a hollow sound, and Madelyne
jerked backward, hand clutching at her throat.
    “What ails you, lady?” Annoyance strained
Mal Verne’s voice as he gave off the reins to one of his companions
and started toward her.
    “I…do not ride, my lord,” she managed to say
steadily as he approached her.
    “I did not think that you did,” he said
dismissively, continuing to look at her as if she were daft.
    Madelyne felt the necessity to explain
further. “I…do not