Overview
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9781504008884 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Open Road Distribution |
| Publication date: | 03/24/2015 |
| Sold by: | Barnes & Noble |
| Format: | eBook |
| Pages: | 401 |
| File size: | 609 KB |
About the Author
Jo Ann Ferguson is a lifelong storyteller and the author of numerous romantic novels. She also writes as Jo Ann Brown and Mary Jo Kim. A former US Army officer, she has served as the president of the national board of the Romance Writers of America and taught creative writing at Brown University. She currently lives in Nevada with her family, which includes one very spoiled cat.
Read an Excerpt
Ride the Night Wind
A Novel
By Jo Ann Ferguson
OPEN ROAD INTEGRATED MEDIA
Copyright © 1995 Jo Ann FergusonAll rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-5040-0888-4
CHAPTER 1
"Sister Audra?"
The young woman, who was surrounded by a half-dozen children, paused in the midst of the story she had been telling and smiled at a plump woman who was hurrying toward her with undue haste. Both women were dressed identically in the drab robes of their religious order, but the slender one's blue eyes brightened her appearance.
She looked up the aisle between the pews in the chapel. Why was Sister Margaret disrupting the children's lesson with such a frantic call? It was too lovely a day to hurry. Sunlight flowed through the uneven panes in the mullioned windows to light the last few pews, but was lost in the smoke of a handful of candles on the altar behind the children. Remnants of incense clung to the air, stifling any hint of freshness from beyond the oak door.
"The abbess wishes to see you," Sister Margaret said, nearly out of breath. "She implores you to hurry."
Sister Audra's smile faltered as she stood, her hand resting a moment on the head of one of the children. Sister Margaret never rushed about on a warm day unless something was horribly amiss. She wondered what might be wrong now. Then she relaxed. The abbess was sure to have an explanation to allay this sudden pulse of dread.
"Stay with the children," Sister Audra said. "Tend them carefully so they cause no mischief."
A grim expression on her round face, Sister Margaret nodded. "Go and return as swiftly as possible."
Sister Audra fought not to smile as she left the chapel at a more decorous pace. Although Sister Margaret had skills to coax vegetables and herbs to grow in the most barren ground, she was discomfited by childish laughter. The same sound filled Sister Audra's heart with wordless joy.
Her soft slippers made no sound in the cavernous gallery. Her rosary beads rattled at the waist of her somber tunic that fell to the floor. Around her face, a novice's wimple concealed all but one curl of her ebony hair. She pushed it beneath the unbleached linen as she looked through one of the windows to admire the flower garden.
It was the most glorious spot in the abbey. Unlike the cool gray tint of the stone walls and the pews, the flowers were a tapestry of colors, each blossom a testament to the beauty that touched the abbey so infrequently. Here, she reminded herself, the splendor must come from within, not from ornaments. Yet she could not help delighting in the flowers' pagan exuberance.
Sister Audra pushed such defiant thoughts aside. They had no place in the head of a novice who was soon to take her vows as a sister of this order. Pausing before the abbess's door, she surrendered to a smile. When she first came to Clarendon abbey, the abbess had frightened her. Tall and imposing like one of the stern statues of the saints, the abbess possessed a heart as enormous as her generous soul. She cared for each of the sisters, novices, and children in the abbey as if they had come from her own body.
Sister Audra pushed the recalcitrant lock of hair back beneath her wimple again when she heard the command to enter through the thick door. The abbess never tolerated dishevelment among her novices. Maybe today was the day Sister Audra had waited for—the day when the abbess deemed it proper for her to take her vows. Although Sister Audra had been ready to speak that pledge for more years than her impatient heart wished to recall, the abbess had quietly told her again and again that the time was not yet right.
The door's leather hinges creaked softly as she opened it. Sunlight was banned from the abbess's office. The single window was almost hidden behind the statue of their patron saint. Shadows claimed each corner and darkened the rushes on the stone floor. A single candle burned on the long table in front of a crucifix.
Crossing to where the abbess sat on a low bench, Sister Audra knelt and kissed the ring on the old woman's withered hand. The abbess stroked her head as gently as Sister Audra had the child's.
"Welcome, dear sister," the woman murmured. Her smile creased her wrinkled face anew.
"You sent for me?" Sister Audra asked.
The abbess rose slowly and motioned to her right, where three men stepped out of the shadows. A gasp caught in Sister Audra's abruptly arid throat. On their dusty surcoats, the men wore the colors of the earl of Bredonmere. Years had passed since she last saw the crisscrossed scarlet and dark blue interspersed with gold, but the design was burned into her soul.
The gray-haired man dropped to his knees before her, and the two younger men followed like well-trained dancers. Taking her hem, the gray-haired man pressed it to his forehead. "Milady, I vow my arm and my life to you as I vowed it to your father and your brothers."
A chill pierced her with the force of a broadsword. This could not be true. No one should be pledging fealty to her. Audra was the least daughter, the one no one had minded doing without when she was sent to Clarendon Abbey. She had a half-dozen brothers and nearly as many sisters older than she. If these men were coming to her, calling her by the title she had never expected to hear spoken to her, that meant her family was dead.
All of them.
"No," she choked as she pulled away. "You must be mistaken."
The abbess put her gnarled hands on Sister Audra's shoulders. "'Tis no mistake. Listen to me, my child. Here you have learned a reverence for God and the obligation of service. Now you must accept that God's will is that you serve elsewhere. Your family's retainers have come to you in need. Can you turn your back on them?"
"This is my home," she whispered. This was all wrong! It must be some grievous error.
"Bredonmere Manor will be your home," the abbess said, her voice firm. "Serve these men and the people they represent as you would have served Clarendon Abbey. Remember the lessons you have been taught. They will guide you."
"You are sending me away?"
"I would send away no one in these dangerous times. If you wish to stay, I would not deny you sanctuary." Holding up her hand to forestall Audra's answer, she added, "Think well before you speak what is in your heart. Think of the reasons that compelled these men to journey so many leagues to you."
Long ago, long before this year of 1350, she had severed all but blood ties with her family and Bredonmere Manor. She could remember little of the manor, which was ruled—which had been ruled—by the earl of Bredonmere. An indistinct image of the room where she had slept with her siblings on pallets wafted into her mind. Not much clearer was the day her mother had told her farewell and sent her to the abbey. She could not picture her mother's face.
Pain clogged her throat. This must be a wicked dream! Surely this was meant to be a test to prove herself worthy of becoming a true sister at the abbey.
She looked at the men who were still kneeling. The gray-haired man's gaze rose to meet hers, and she pressed her hand to the crucifix on her chest. His obvious agony stripped away her foolish hopes. She closed her eyes. No comfort soothed the jagged edges of her tortured soul. Her family ... all of them dead.
"How?" she whispered. She doubted she could speak louder.
The man answered, "'Twas the Black Death that stalks every manor and cottage. Your father, the earl, bless his eternal soul, was taken only after he buried all his sons. More than half of the manor's people are dead." He took her icy hand in his and held it to his forehead in the ancient pose of obedience. "Milady, I beg you to come home. You are the earl's only surviving child. We need you, for you are of the blood, to lead us against the troubles stalking Bredonmere."
Audra wanted to turn away from his fervent plea. She knew that if these men had had another choice, she would have remained forgotten in Clarendon Abbey. They had no other choice.
Nor did she, for obligations of blood must outweigh the longings in her heart.
"I shall come with you to Bredonmere Manor," she said in a muffled voice. "I shall do my best to lead you."
The men's shoulders sagged with relief, but they remained on their knees. Belatedly Sister Audra recalled they were waiting for her permission to rise. Telling them to do so, she wondered how many months would past before she became accustomed to having others await her orders.
"We must not delay long," the leader said gruffly.
"You are—"
"Crandall, your steward." His eyes appraised her with the same candor as his words. He named the youngest man Fleming and the redheaded man Shaw, the commander of the manor's men-at-arms. "We must not delay," he said again.
"Why?"
He looked at the abbess, who had spoken with uncharacteristic sharpness. "With so many dead, the villeins threaten to claim some of the earl's lands for their own. With one of the blood in the manor, we can prevent that."
"You are wise."
"We have learned through cruel lessons."
Sister Audra struggled to think the simplest thought. Her whole family dead! When she saw the abbess nod at Crandall's urging to hurry, Sister Audra reached for the door. A gentle order stayed to her hand.
"Not back to the hall of novices, milady," said the abbess.
Audra stared at her. Exchanging her title as "Sister" for another announced the incredible changes ahead of her. She tried to breathe, but her chest felt as heavy as if an ox trod upon it. "I wish only to tell my sisters good-bye. And the children! They must not think that I have abandoned them."
"Long farewells leave deeper wounds. Let the heat of pain deaden your heart-deep grief. The sisters of this abbey are no longer your sisters. You are Lady Audra Travers, countess of Bredonmere and vassal to His Majesty King Edward III." The abbess motioned for her to kneel. Behind her, Audra heard the men do the same. The abbess murmured a prayer over their heads. "God bless you, my dearest child. Do as you know you must, milady, and never allow anyone to convince you not to follow your heart. It will guide you well."
Crandall stood and said, with obvious impatience, "Milady?"
Audra rose, looking down into the abbess's eyes. When she saw the old woman's sorrow and acceptance, she glanced once more around the room, trying to store the memory of each corner in her heart. Nothing would ease the pain of this parting, but her back was straight beneath the weight of her sorrow as she left the only home she could remember.
Crandall led his lady out into the yard where their horses waited. Her fingers on his hand trembled like caged butterflies, but her face was serene.
He smiled. She was just like the earl. This boded well. Lord Travers had never let another be privy to his thoughts. His strong features were softer on his daughter's face, but her eyes were as blue and, he hoped, as all-seeing. The earl of Bredonmere had observed everything around him and used what he had learned to his advantage. If his daughter was to have even the slightest chance of holding Bredonmere now, she must do the same.
He sobered at the grim thought. After a decade of serving as the earl's steward, only he and the earl and his countess had known where the youngest Travers child was. Never had anyone expected he would need to find her. He shivered as he imagined what would have happened if he had been stricken with the scourge as well. It would have been his final responsibility to pass his knowledge to a trusted man who could bring Lady Audra back to govern the fief.
"We should complete our journey in two days if the weather remains pleasant," he said to fill the awkward silence.
When the slight woman looked at him, he nearly staggered as he saw the depths of her anguish. His respect for her doubled. In the manor, hysterical weeping had announced each death, but his new lady, who had lost more than anyone else, had braved the tidings with quiet courage.
"We may delay a few minutes if you wish to—" He did not know what to say. Life behind convent walls was nothing he understood. It was even possible his lady knew how to read and write, skills her father had not possessed.
"It is the abbess's will that I depart immediately."
His heart threatened to splinter anew. Lady Audra might have her father's face, but her melodious voice was an echo of Lady Sabina's.
"But you are a countess!" blurted Fleming. "You can do as you wish."
Crandall scowled at the young pup. Fleming shifted uneasily, his light brown hair bouncing on the wool cape tied about his shoulders.
"To you, I may be Lady Audra T-T-Travers." She winced, but continued in a stronger voice, "In Clarendon Abbey, as a sister, I relinquished my will to the needs of the abbey."
Crandall said, "That has changed, milady. Your will is ours now."
"I know," she answered softly.
He wondered if she mourned more for her dead family or her dead dreams. Mayhap she did not yet understand the breadth of her legacy. Bredonmere Manor was the most powerful holding in the heart of England. King Edward had often called its earl to court to seek his counsel. William Travers had been with the king when the plague exploded through Bredonmere. After rushing home, he had arrived in time to attend the funerals for his wife and eldest son. Then the earl had sickened and died.
Crandall tried to suppress his misgivings. If he had remained silent, no one would have suspected anyone with Travers's blood remained alive. There had been rumors that King Edward would offer Bredonmere to Gifford deWode. The baron was a distant relative of the Travers family, but his line traced from an illegitimate union. He would have been the perfect choice to hold Bredonmere, save for one thing.
Lady Audra Travers.
Crandall lifted her onto a chestnut horse. Shaw had been vehement that the new countess must arrive at the keep on her father's mount. Handing her the reins, he turned to his own horse. Then he heard a shriek. He whirled, his hand on the broadsword at his waist. Lady Audra was sitting on the ground, astonishment on her pretty face.
"Milady, forgive me," Crandall murmured as he brushed dirt off her cote-hardie. In horror, he pulled his hands away from her dark gown. Never must he forget that she was his countess. "I thought you were well settled in the saddle."
"The beast moved." She winced as she touched her elbow.
"Crandall?" called Fleming softly, and crooked his finger.
Shaw snickered as Fleming described what they had seen. Slowly, Crandall turned to look at his lady. What a witless fool he had been! But how was he to have guessed? Maybe Fleming was wrong.
Crossing the courtyard, Crandall asked, "Milady, do you ride?"
"No." She glared at the horse, which dipped its head to the soft grasses near the wall.
"Milady," he continued, despising the desperate tone that crept into his words, "you must ride. I did not have the foresight to guess you might not be capable of handling a horse." He did not add that her brothers and sisters had been comfortable on their mounts before their fifth birthdays. His lady's new life might be far more difficult than any of them had guessed.
Lady Audra sighed. "I shall do my best to stay atop the beast."
He snapped a leading strap on her horse's halter. When he glowered at Shaw, the redhaired man lowered his eyes, which were crinkled with amusement. Listening to Shaw had been his first mistake. He should have insisted that they bring Lady Sabina's gentle mount.
When he turned the horse to where Lady Audra stood, wide-eyed with dismay, he said, "All you need do is hold on." He hesitated before asking, "Do you think you can do that?"
A flurry of emotions swept across her face. Sickness clawed at his stomach. If this was a portent of what awaited them at Bredonmere, coming to retrieve Lady Audra might prove to be his greatest error.
"I shall do my best to stay atop the beast," Lady Audra repeated quietly.
Crandall nodded. He could ask no more of her. Again he lifted his slender lady to the saddle. Only when he was sure she was balanced on the flat seat did he release her. As he instructed, she gripped the waist-high board at the front of the saddle. Tassels bounced against her legs as he led the horse toward his own.
He looked over his shoulder as he mounted and signaled the others to follow through the abbey's stone gate. He sighed. It was too late to turn back ... even now. Lady Audra must succeed at holding Bredonmere, or every promise Crandall had made by his lord's deathbed would be broken.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from Ride the Night Wind by Jo Ann Ferguson. Copyright © 1995 Jo Ann Ferguson. Excerpted by permission of OPEN ROAD INTEGRATED MEDIA.
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