Page 15 of Halloween Knight (A Knights Through Time Romance #17)
It took three agonizingly long days for Lucy and the men to travel to Beverley Priory. The monastery boasted a hostelry to provide lodging for visitors, and even better, it wasn’t far from the purported magical well.
Lucy refrained from snorting. Talking to bees, making pilgrimages to holy wells, those were all fine and good, but talk to a raven or be a little different, and people called you a witch, and talked about you behind your back for years.
During their travels, Lucy told them the story she’d made up about how she was having trouble with her eyesight, mainly difficulty seeing close up. Two of the knights had stories to tell of someone they knew who knew someone who had been cured at one of the holy wells after taking the waters.
Beverley was approximately forty-five miles from York, located in the countryside away from the town.
The perfect place for an ambush. The thought had crossed her mind that the letter was a ruse, but the desire to find out was so strong that Lucy had to go, because if it was one of her sisters, she’d never forgive herself if something happened and she hadn’t gone to rescue her sister.
On the morning of the third day of travel, she told Thomas she had heard pilgrims talking at the inn last night and they said there had been bandits spotted in the area of the well preying on unwary travelers.
When he assured her they would be on guard, she figured if her sister was being held captive, then her guards could deal with them.
She read the note again. It wasn’t written in either of her sister’s handwriting, but that wasn’t proof of anything, as a messenger could have written the note for her.
I am the sister you seek. Come to Beverley. I will wait for you at St. John’s Well. Tell no one, for I am in grave danger.
From what Lucy gathered by talking with the women who had made the pilgrimage to the well a day prior, they had visited the well, taken the waters, sure the saint watching over the well would grant them each a child, which made her heart ache for them. She hoped the waters would help them.
They told her that it was a spring with stone around it which marked it as a holy well. The women warned her the path was muddy from the rains and that she should leave an offering to St. John at the well. The clergy from Beverley Minster took care of the well, but no one was there during the day .
A monk would take them from the priory to the well and then he would return, leaving her to her contemplation.
When they arrived at the priory, its simple yet elegant beauty struck Lucy as she stood still for a moment, taking it in. Constructed of grey stone walls with tall arched windows, the priory stood sentinel over the land.
They showed Thomas and the men to a communal room where they would sleep on the floor on straw pallets. There were a couple of stools along with a hearth, and two small windows let in a bit of air.
Luckily, there was a small private room for important guests, so Lucy and Margery would have their own space. Normally Margery would sleep with the other servants, but Lucy wanted her close just in case this whole thing turned into a big ole mess.
“I hope these accommodations are satisfactory, Lady Blackford,” Brother Matthew said. “Should you require anything during your stay here, you need only ask.”
“You are most kind. I am sure we shall be quite comfortable.”
The room was simple but clean, with two small beds, a table, and a window that looked out over the cloister gardens.
Margery followed Brother Matthew out as they had not known to bring their own provisions and bedding. She would go with two of the men to purchase what they needed in town.
As guests, the monks expected them to observe silence and respect the monastery’s rules and routines.
Lucy hoped her fabricated story would be enough to keep trouble at bay, though if trouble found them, she trusted Thomas and her guards with her life.
For now, all she could do was try and relax and be prepared for whatever awaited her at the well tomorrow. Yet despite her fatigue from their journey, she tossed and turned all night.
Come morning, Lucy and the men enjoyed a simple meal of bread, cheese, and ale.
Thomas entered the refectory, a spring in his step at the possibility of facing bandits during their journey.
“The men are ready when you are, my lady. Brother Andrew waits to guide us to the well.”
Lucy nodded, steeling her nerves. “Very good. We shall leave shortly.”
By the time Lucy and Margery joined Thomas outside, Brother Andrew and two other monks waited in a mule-drawn cart.
The journey passed swiftly as they rode, Brother Andrew filling the silence with tales of pilgrims seeking cures and the miraculous healings they had experienced.
At last, the rutted path opened up into a small clearing. Before them stood a ring of stones surrounding a pool of clear water fed by a trickling spring.
Brother Andrew stopped the cart. “I shall go no further to allow you time alone at the well. We shall return for you in a few hours.”
She thanked him, and when he left, Thomas instructed the men to keep watch. Even if her story was fabricated, Lucy appreciated having them nearby, keeping her safe.
Approaching the well, Lucy peered into its depths. According to legend, this sacred water held curative powers for those who sought it with faith. Yet her purpose here today was not to be healed, but to hopefully reunite with the sister she had lost long ago.
Lucy sent up a silent ‘sorry’ before she took the waters in order to keep up the pretense, but she figured that asking for her sister to be safe counted as seeking help from the well.
The grass was damp as she tucked her cloak underneath her and sat, waiting. Surely, whoever had her sister would have a lookout, so they’d know when she arrived? To keep from fidgeting, Lucy tucked her hands in her skirts.
Nervous, she kept glancing around the field and into the woods beyond, searching for any sign of movement. When she didn’t see anyone, she took three small coins from a purse on her belt and cast them into the water. The women had said it was customary to leave an offering.
Hands clasped, Lucy whispered to the water. “Please, let her be here and safe. Help me find my sister.”
Time passed as she waited, but no one appeared, and as the minutes turned to an hour, then two, her hopes dimmed, her heart heavy, that she had been tricked. But why? And by whom?
The field and woods remained silent, aside from birdsong and the whisper of wind through the trees. Deflated, Lucy rose and walked over to Margery and Thomas.
“Come, let us return.”
Margery nodded. “I pray you will be healed, lady.”
The men fell in around them. They mounted the horses and, as they made their way back to the priory, they met Brother Andrew, who was delighted with the donation Lucy gave him.
She fought to contain her disappointment. Who would be so cruel? Her heart felt like a rock in her chest.
Arriving at Beverley Priory by midday, Lucy told Thomas she would be in the chamber, resting.
A short while later, Margery entered, bearing bread, cheese, and a steaming bowl of leek soup, one of Lucy’s favorites. Despite her worry and anger at not only being tricked but putting them all at risk traveling the roads, she found her stomach didn’t care if she felt guilty.
Sleep did not come, no matter how she tossed and turned, so Lucy decided to get up and go for a walk in the hope of settling her thoughts.
Donning her cloak, she quietly made her way along the shadowed cloisters and into the Minster.
In the dim silence of the nave, Lucy lit a candle, thinking again of her sister, wondering if it had all been a ruse or if possibly something had happened to Charlotte or Melinda?
Staring into the flickering flames, she was so absorbed with her thoughts that she did not hear the soft footfalls behind her.
“Lady Blackford...”
Lucy startled at the voice, turning to see a hooded monk approaching.
“My lady, the brothers would like a word to thank you for your generous donation to the monastery.”
She turned and followed him out of the chapel and into a small room. Inside, two other hooded monks stood waiting. As the door shut, the monk who had been kneeling rose, his robe gaping open as she caught the glint of steel.
A hand came from behind, covering her mouth as she struggled frantically, trying to reach the dagger in her boot, but it was no use.
Why hadn’t she kept the other dagger with her, the one that she always carried in her pocket?
Because you’re in a monastery , the voice retorted. You only have the ones in your boots because you forgot they were there.
Stupid, snarky voice.
They gagged her, tied her hands, and tossed a hooded cloak over her.
One man let out a curse when she stomped on his instep.
The blow to her face had her seeing stars as she clawed weakly at the arm holding her, vision dimming as they half-carried, half-dragged her swiftly from the room.
Before everything went black, Lucy slid her ring off her finger, letting it hit the stone and roll into a corner.
In all the commotion, no one heard it fall.