Page 13

Tate

Wynflaed and the others arrived back a week later, although much of the abbey’s treasure remained at Thornchurch until Tate could decide what to do with it. It was simply too tempting a prospect here at the abbey, and the last thing she needed was their purse lightened by a money-hungry William or an acquisitive wolf.

Tate welcomed Wynflaed gratefully and even gave her a hug.

Wynflaed pulled back after they’d embraced, eyes wide. “Tate,” she said. “You just hugged me.”

“It’s been a long two weeks,” said Tate, trying to keep her voice neutral and failing.

And then—horribly—her face crumpled. She felt it happen. She hated it. And yet she couldn’t stop it.

She put her hands to her face and wept harder than she ever had in her life, including after she’d killed Cafnoth, while Wynflaed folded her into her arms.

“It’s all right,” Wynflaed crooned. “I’m here. I’m here.”

Why hadn’t Tate ever let anyone comfort her before? It felt nice. Warm. The loneliness, the heartbreak, and the weight of the abbey’s future receded a little bit. But as she pressed her face in Wynflaed’s shoulder and sobbed, she couldn’t help but wish it was someone else’s shoulder instead. Someone who smelled like metal and grass, whose soft, red hair would tickle her face. Someone who would kiss her—and then bite her. Or the other way around.

She missed Adelais, no matter how foolish it was. And even more foolish was the skip of her heart when she remembered that she would have to see Adelais again if Adelais was their patron and landholder. She’d have to see those gold eyes, those freckles the color of dried blood. That beautiful, lying mouth.

Somehow, unwillingly, Tate found the whole story sliding out. From her first night with the Wolf, to her meeting with King William in the Wolf’s tent. How she started her arrangement with Adelais to keep the abbey safe, and somehow lost her heart instead.

“I only knew her three days,” Tate sniffled, chin still dimpling with tears. “How can it matter so much?”

“We’ve seen people fall in love in less, haven’t we?” Wynflaed soothed, stroking her hair. “After only a day. After only a few hours. Why not you?”

“Because I’m more sensible than that!” Tate protested through wet gulps of air. “Because I know better than to fall in love with a lying Norman who wants to take control of Far Hope!”

“Oh, Tate,” sighed Wynflaed. “We already knew Far Hope was coming to an end eventually. Maybe it’s time to admit that to ourselves and figure out what’s next.”

Tate pulled away, wiping her face. “But it’s not supposed to happen like this,” she said, voice trembling. “I always thought that…well, that the sisters would go one by one and I’d die here alone. Or something. The last one to keep the braziers burning.”

Wynflaed rolled her eyes. “Tate, that’s very songlike and all, but you didn’t think that would actually happen, right? They shut down abbeys left and right these days—because some bishop decides to use the land for some other abbey’s income or because someone founds a new abbey and everyone leaves to join it. They’ll close Far Hope long before you die alone, entombed by ancient secrets or however you want this song of yours to end.”

Tate sniffled again. Now that Wynflaed was saying this, she supposed the image in her head had been rather…dramatic. And maybe she had been clinging to the songlike idea of it because it was all she had left. If she couldn’t hold this abbey together and keep it going, if she was responsible for yet another death, of a sort, then at least it should be a noble one. A stoic one. At least she wouldn’t have made anyone else suffer with her.

Except now she was crying and snotty and not stoic at all.

So what did she have left?

Wynflaed hugged her again. “I bet the pagans here felt the same way when the Christians came, and I bet the Christians who still practiced the old ways felt the same when King Alfred decided to build an abbey here. And yet through all those changes, Far Hope has kept its heart. We must believe Far Hope can do it again.”

Tate nodded against her friend’s arm and started crying even harder, because hope stung so, so much worse than defeat.

Six weeks later, Tate was walking home from Thornchurch, a crown of tightly furled roses in her hand. She visited her childhood home every year for the first of May, and so she’d just come from Beltane, her stomach full of good food and her mood enlivened somewhat by all the dancing and merrymaking. Not that she’d made merry much herself, but it was still nice to be around. Ongoing strife and famine had dried up the slow trickle of Far Hope’s pilgrims entirely; the cave with its quartz ceiling and burning braziers hadn’t been used since Candlemas, in February. Tate’s days were spent praying—matins, lauds, vespers, compline—and working. Cleaning the abbey, gardening, sewing, gathering eggs and milk.

Waiting for the inevitable: when Adelais would return and begin closing William’s fist over the abbey at last.

But when she thought about it—and she did have lots of time to think these days, since her hours were spent kneeling in vegetable beds or gathering fresh rushes for the floor or singing songs she’d sung hundreds and hundreds of times before—it wasn’t entirely fair to blame Adelais for the inevitable end of the abbey, not when even Mother Ardith had seen it coming. They’d opened the cave in February, yes, but before that, it had gone unused since September. When Tate had finally been shown Far Hope’s secrets seven years ago, pilgrims had been taken to the cave two or three times a month. And now it was barely twice a year.

Perhaps King Alfred had only forestalled what had been slowly dying for centuries, had bellowed air into Far Hope’s dying lungs so it could live on for a couple centuries more.

She could not lay that at Adelais’s feet. In truth, she’d rather have Adelais as the abbey’s landholder than anyone else, and maybe that was God’s one blessing to Tate and the sisters now. If it should be anyone, it should be Adelais.

She still wished Adelais had told her the truth. She still wished Adelais had promised to help her make it all better.

She still…well. It didn’t matter that she still loved Adelais, did it? Not when all of this stretched between them. Not when she was a nun and Adelais was William’s wolf. Not when Adelais wasn’t here in the valley at all.

Though the air had grown milder, warmer, the days weren’t to their summer length yet, and the shadows began stretching out while Tate was still a handful of miles from Far Hope. Another hour and it was gloaming, with the pink-orange light getting darker and bluer the farther she walked.

Finally, it was just her in the dark with her crown of roses. She tried not to think of that night on this very same road, of how hard she came. Of how the Wolf’s weight on her felt like an embrace, like the only thing that could set her free. She tried not to think of the Wolf’s honest, vulnerable confessions, the many wolves inside the one copper-haired warrior.

She failed. And with a deep sigh, she let her mind—and her heart—return to memories of Adelais, since memories were all she had now. Adelais hadn’t come to the abbey once since William gave her its lands, and even if she did return, Tate didn’t know what she’d do. She was still angry at Adelais…even as she also wanted Adelais to build a house within sight of the abbey and spend every waking minute with Tate. Ideally in Tate’s bed. Or in between the braziers.

She wanted to see all the different ways Adelais was and could be. She wanted forever, even if she were angry forever.

Which maybe she wouldn’t be. Holding the fading flower crown, alone on the road with only the owls for company, it all seemed so pointless now. The abbey was nearing the end of its days with or without a new landlord. At least she could be grateful that her new landlord was so very pretty to look at.

Footsteps came behind Tate, and she whirled, lifting the heavy stick she’d been using to walk with.

“Stop!” she ordered the fast-moving shape behind her, and to her surprise, the shape stopped.

Tate stared.

“I told you I’d stop whenever you asked me to,” came a low, burned-edges voice. A cloud shifted above, revealing a tall person with scarlet hair and eerie gold eyes.

Tate’s heart leapt—and then crashed.

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

“I saw you on the road, and I thought I’d make sure you got home safe,” Adelais said.

“I’ll be home safe,” Tate said, already forcing herself to turn away. She couldn’t be near Adelais, couldn’t handle the sight of her, not when all she wanted was to fall at her feet and press her face into Adelais’s thighs. “You can go.”

“I’m sorry,” Adelais said quickly. Clumsily. Like it was the first time she’d ever uttered the phrase. When Tate turned back to look at her, she said it again.

Slower now, with her eyes on Tate’s.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you that William was going to gift me with Far Hope. I’m sorry that I wasn’t worthy of the things you showed me.”

Tate searched Adelais’s moon-washed face, stared right into those bright eyes as the apology hung in the sweet spring air. An apology that Tate never thought she’d hear, an apology she’d thought it impossible for this roguish, swaggering soldier to give.

But she had given it—unprompted, unsought. With nothing offered in return.

“And I want to help fix it,” Adelais rushed in, mistaking Tate’s attention for doubt. “I am sorry, and I want to make it right. I want to play fair with you for real now.”

Tate stepped a little closer, still studying her. “You really do mean it?”

A line appeared between Adelais’s brows. “My apology?”

“Yes.”

“Of course I mean it. Knowing that I hurt you felt awful. I should have been honest with you from the beginning.”

Tate closed her eyes, something loosening in her chest. Like when Wynflaed held her as she wept, except even stronger this time. Like her whole body could turn itself into light, into a thousand points of it, like the stars at night.

Maybe this had been what she’d needed all along, since the start of the war, since she killed Cafnoth as a scared young woman. Someone to say I’m sorry this hurts; I’m sorry you’re hurting .

Someone to say I’m sorry and I won’t let you hurt alone.

“Thank you,” Tate murmured. And then she opened her eyes. “I forgive you, Adelais.”

In the moonlight, she could see the new shine of tears in Adelais’s gold eyes, and Tate was filled with so much tenderness, she didn’t know if she could speak.

“Thank you,” Adelais said huskily. “And I meant what I said. About playing fair now. I want to prove it to you, no matter how long it takes.”

“That’s one of the things I love about you,” she managed, and Adelais’s face opened with delight.

“You love things about me?” the Wolf asked, sounding giddy.

“I love you,” Tate said softly, simply, knowing it to be as true as the earth beneath her feet, as true as God himself.

Adelais shifted in place, her hands flexing, and Tate said, “You don’t have to stop anymore. You can come closer.”

Adelais moved fast enough to drive the wind from Tate’s lungs, wrapping her strong arms around Tate and crushing her close.

“I love you too,” whispered the Wolf. “I love you and I can’t think of anyone or anything else. Be mine. Be mine for as long as you want.”

Tate laughed, pressed her forehead to Adelais’s before pulling away to look up at her. “I’m an abbess first, remember? I’m Far Hope’s.”

“What if I’m Far Hope instead?” Adelais asked, and Tate sighed.

“That’s a sweet idea, but?—”

“I have an idea,” Adelais said suddenly. “For the abbey.”

“Please don’t feel like you have to?—”

“What if we made a new Far Hope,” Adelais said. “A new version of it like King Alfred did. Something that looks completely different but has the same heart underneath.”

Tate stilled, unsure of what Adelais was saying.

Adelais bit her full lower lip. It almost looked bashful on the seasoned warrior. “Like me,” she added. “Different Adelais, same heart.”

A ball lodged in Tate’s throat. But a good one, made of something bright and happy . Made of loving her wolf.

“If I’m the lord of Far Hope—in practice, if not in name—then we could keep people coming to the cave.” Adelais went on, excited now, bouncing on the balls of her feet. “We could keep people coming on Christmas and Michaelmas and Martinmas and any other feast day you wanted. They’ll simply be my guests, and no one need be any wiser. It’ll be like how the pilgrimages work now: a truth that disguises the bigger truth. And instead of the abbey closing and not having anyone left to share its secrets—and instead of doing anything to provoke William’s wrath—we’ll turn ourselves into something so common no one pays any attention to them: naughty, misbehaving nobles.”

Tate took Adelais’s hand and squeezed it. “There will be no one to carry it on after we die,” she tried to explain.

“Not true,” Adelais said. “My son will inherit these lands. Perhaps after we die, we’ll arrange to have him told the true nature of the place.”

“That his inheritance is a hidden chamber for holy sex?”

Adelais shrugged. “He’ll have to learn which accounts are overdue and which fields are actually bogs in any event; learning about King Alfred’s favorite sex shrine will be much more interesting.”

Adelais had Tate there.

“It’s supposed to be a sacred place,” Tate finally said. “Set apart from ordinary life. How can a house—even a fine house belonging to a noble—be sacred? Set apart enough that people can be and change in ways they can’t in their daily lives?”

“Didn’t you tell me that you didn’t make those distinctions? Anything we want to be holy can be? We can keep the church open as a local church; we can welcome visitors to the healing spring. You are the pious lifeblood of the abbey, Tate, you and your strength and your belief in this place. You will bring that piety to a new Far Hope too.”

Tate thought.

And thought.

It could work.

But should it? Should a place that had always been different, divine, liminal become something as common and transient as a house ?

It wouldn’t be just any house . It would belong to Adelais of the Maine.

Adelais, who was different and divine all on her own. Adelais, who was ready to play fair, Adelais, who knew more than anyone else how important having a place set apart from the world’s expectations could be.

The breeze blew between them, around them, and Adelais bit Tate’s jaw once, hard. The pain lanced through her chest down to her cunt, and she shivered.

“I suppose we could try…” Tate said slowly, and that mischievous grin returned. “And,” Tate added as the Wolf pulled her close and started rucking up her gown, searching for her nakedness, “we’ll have to have rules. Like we do now at the abbey: rules for working hours, silent hours, for how we get along together. Only for…whatever this will be.”

“Hmm, how about,” Adelais murmured, “no rules at all?” Her fingers searched out Tate’s bare cunt and stroked.

“There have to be rules,” Tate managed to squeak out.

“Fine,” Adelais said, sounding distracted. She slid two fingers inside Tate, and Tate shuddered. She’d give the Wolf anything she wanted right now. Anything at all. “How about: no law but pleasure.”

“I like that,” Tate said as Adelais pressed the heel of her palm to Tate’s clitoris, sending plenty of pleasure through Tate’s body.

“And no limit but acquiescence.” Adelais began fucking Tate hard, which Tate acquiesced to with nods and groans and yeses . It was right to do this here in the dark, on the road where they’d played their game. It was right to match promises with shivers and honesty and short, sharp gasps.

It was right to burn away the last six weeks with these dazzling, searing moments together.

“And,” Tate said breathlessly, “secrecy. We can’t forget that.”

“Of course not, abbess. Spread your legs farther apart.”

Tate did as she was asked and was rewarded for it, with Adelais going deeper and faster, making sure to give her aching bundle of nerves as much attention as it needed.

“It’ll be a little kingdom of our own,” the Wolf promised the abbess as she began to reach a clawing orgasm. “Our own little world.”

“Yes,” panted Tate, racked with the onslaught of her peak. “Yes.”

A smile in the dark before Tate was pushed to her knees and Adelais shoved her hose down to reveal where she wanted Tate’s mouth.

“And it shall be beautiful .”

The end.