An Uncertain Choice

I gave a soft laugh. “Even if a month was sufficient time for falling in love — ?which it is not — ?I have no suitors. There haven’t been any in years.”


“’Tis no matter,” he replied. “For I have brought you three of the finest knights in all the realm. They’ve proven themselves to be the strongest, bravest, most accomplished warriors.”

Surprise and then embarrassment sifted through me. I couldn’t keep from glancing outside to the knights now tending to their belongings. Even through their layers of armor, a certain nobility set them apart from the others. What would it be like to actually have a conversation with such a man and receive his romantic attentions?

Warmth curled through me. But I quickly shook my head. “Why would I have reason to break my heart or that of another if I’m destined to become a nun?”

“You aren’t destined.”

“Then why didn’t the abbot tell me of this exception?”

“It’s likely he didn’t know.”

At the mention of the abbot, my wise counselor burst through the open front doors at a run, his plain habit flapping behind him like wings. He was breathing hard, and his bald spot glistened with sweat. The narrow line of gray hair that ringed his head was damp.

For a moment, I could only blink in surprise. I couldn’t remember a time when I’d ever seen the abbot run. He always moved at the slowest, most devote speed — ?a pace he required of all his monks, a pace he claimed facilitated prayer and reflection on God. Whatever had happened to cause such uncharacteristic haste? Had he run all the way from the walled convent that sat on a hilltop a short distance from the town?

At the sight of the duke, the abbot came to an abrupt halt. He grasped his side and sucked in a deep breath. James walked out of the Great Hall and bowed to him, almost as if he’d been awaiting the abbot’s arrival.

“James,” the abbot quietly rebuked, “you should have called me sooner.”

James kept his bald head bent. “I sent a messenger as soon as I could.”

I stepped forward, acutely aware of the great breach in etiquette the abbot was making with the duke. “Father Abbot,” I said, waving my hand toward our esteemed guest, “surely you remember the Noblest Knight? The Duke of Rivenshire?”

At my words, the abbot’s face transformed into the calm, peaceful expression to which I was accustomed. He nodded at the duke. “Your Grace, how good of you to delight us with your presence after so long an absence.”

“Happy Midsummer’s Eve to you, Abbot Francis Michael.” The duke bowed in respect to the man of God. “We were just speaking of you.”

“Oh?” the abbot said, working to control his heavy breathing. Standing next to the muscular and bronzed knight, he looked like a tall, pale sapling that would snap with the slightest breeze. “I’m only sorry I wasn’t here to greet you properly when you arrived.”

“Lady Rosemarie’s sweet greeting is all I needed,” the duke replied.

The abbot tucked his hands under his long, flowing sleeves and met the knight’s probing gaze. Something seemed to pass between them that I didn’t understand.

“We were just discussing her parents’ vow,” the duke continued. “And I was telling Rosemarie about an exception to the Ancient Vow.”

“There is no exception,” the abbot said matter-of-factly without looking away from the knight. “The Ancient Vow of Hannah stipulates that Lady Rosemarie is to enter the convent on her eighteenth birthday and live her life in service to God.”

“Unless she finds true love and gets married first.”

“Nonsense,” the abbot said. “How dare you come here and fill Lady Rosemarie’s head with such false and dangerous notions —?”

“His scribes have found the text that makes such a claim,” I interrupted.

The duke held out the parchment to the abbot.

The abbot read the sheet quickly and then handed it back to the duke. His face was devoid of emotion. If the vow surprised him, he didn’t show it. “You know as well as I do that if she breaks the vow, she’ll die.”

“Not if she finds true love first.” The duke crossed his arms over his broad chest.

The abbot paused for a long moment. From the direction of the kitchen off the Great Hall came the clatter of lids and the shout of my cook, likely yelling at one of the scullion boys.

When the abbot finally spoke again, his tone was calm. “What could be more worthy than Lady Rosemarie honoring the Ancient Vow? Surely you don’t think earthly married life is more desirable than a life set apart in union and service to God himself?”

“Haven’t you puzzled, as I have, why the earl and countess never told Lady Rosemarie about the vow?” the duke asked.

“They would have eventually.”