The Promise Page 4

  “Perhaps. Perhaps not.”

  Elena gave Brother Arros a sidelong glance. “Cruelty runs in that family’s blood. It’s no secret. Their servants are not spared the whip or the rod. I pity any and all who enter their gates.”

  “By the sun and stars, I hope I never come across a member of the house of Oto,” Xabi said. “Is there not one among them worthy of respect?”

  Brother Arros said, “Yes. Lady Marguerite. Ramón’s wife.”

  Elena stared. “You never told me he married!”

  “Elena has few enemies, but when she finds one, she drags him behind her on a chain forever.” Brother Arros tossed a weary glance at Xabi. “I find it’s best to speak of Ramón de Oto as little as possible.”

  She shot Brother Arros a dark look.

  “Lady Marguerite cannot help being married to the man,” he pointed out. “It was no choice of hers. She is a good, kind woman. I met her when she was only a child, on her way from Béarn to Castle Oto. I keep up a correspondence with her to this day.”

  “It’s no good to hold her up as a respectable member of the family. She’s not of their blood,” Elena retorted. “She’s only a woman, and Béarnaise besides. Has she birthed any boys?”

  Brother Arros hesitated, glancing away. “No babies yet.”

  “If what the gossips and muleteers say about the house of Oto is true, she’d better give them a son before too long.”

  “That is why I pray for Lady Marguerite each day.”

  Brother Arros excused himself and hurried out the guesthouse door.

  12

  Spring, 1484

  Elena walked with Xabi up the steep switchbacks that led out of the monastery’s narrow valley to the mountains. The dog followed at a short distance. The spring sun was fierce today, the scarlet and gold of early wildflowers already fading.

  It was time for them to separate. Xabi would return to Jaca and hire himself out again to a wealthy sheep rancher. He would join other shepherds and lead the flocks to the high meadows for the summer.

  When they weren’t tending to injured animals and moving the flocks from meadow to meadow, the shepherds would make cheese, mend equipment, and tool leather. At night they would gather under the stars for singing and storytelling. The men would lodge in tiny stone cottages that had weathered untold winters and provided shelter from summer rainstorms.

  “I envy you,” Elena admitted. They stopped in the shade of an oak tree and shared a handful of walnuts that she pulled from a pocket.

  “What do you envy?”

  “Your summertime amusements.”

  Xabi laughed. “I guess I should’ve spent more time telling you about the scrapes I’ve got into with lynx and wolves. The dogs I’ve lost. The time a bear chased half the flock over a cliff. You’d not be so jealous then, I warrant.”

  She chewed reflectively, staring at him. “I suppose you’d be bored without such diversions.”

  He shook his head, smiling. “I’ll miss you, Elena.”

  “And I you.” She moved into the circle of his arms and pressed her head against his chest.

  Two crows cackled at them from a branch overhead. Elena burrowed into Xabi’s warmth, shutting out the sound.

  The idea of life without Xabi made her melancholy. The long days of foraging in the hills around San Juan de la Peña had always brought her pleasure—but solitude would feel different now, she was sure. Of course, there were the forays into Ronzal to visit friends, the summer meeting with its feasting and dancing, the joy she took in helping babies into the world, in healing the sick. She brightened, thinking of that. There was much for her to do while the sun shone on these mountains. Even if Xabi was not by her side.

  “Next winter, we’ll return to your valley together,” he said into her hair, as if he knew her thoughts. “It will be just as it was this time. Only better.”

  Her eyes stung. She closed them, fighting back tears.

  He put a hand on her cheek. “You could come with me, you know.”

  “The other shepherds would want me to cook for them. A woman’s nothing but trouble in the high country.”

  “You’re not like other women.”

  She didn’t reply, just gave him a gentle push. “Off you go. Fetch your flock. Winter’ll be upon us again before we know it.”

  “May the gods watch over you until then,” he said, kissing her one last time.

  “And you.”

  Elena watched Xabi and the dog climb the narrow, winding trail until they disappeared from view in a dense forest of black pines.

  Eyes wet, she started back to the monastery, trying without success to put Xabi out of her mind.

  13

  Summer, 1484

  It was the peak of summer. The moon swelled each evening, nearly full now, casting silvery light over the fields and orchards. Elena would leave tomorrow for the high country, to share the revelry and feasting of the mountain people. Her meager belongings were packed, her dagger sharpened. She was ready.

  Since Xabi left, she had spent most of her time roaming the hills in search of herbs, roots, and honey. She had harvested more butterwort leaves than ever before, on Brother Arros’s request. It was far more than he could use in his infirmary, she’d pointed out, but he muttered vaguely about other plans for the stuff. So she had complied, had filled several ceramic pots with healing ointment and delivered it to him without another word. After all, Elena had never known Brother Arros to be anything but honest and sensible. If he saw a use for her medicines, he could have them. There was nothing she wouldn’t do for the man.

  The monastery bustled with activity this time of year. The kitchen gardens were bursting with vegetables, the barley flourished under the summer sun in the fields beyond the cliffs, and the flocks had been sheared and herded to high meadows. Meanwhile, the busy industry of wool washing and drying went on without cease. It looked like hot, sticky, backbreaking work, and Elena was glad she had never been asked to participate.

  She looked forward to this evening with a thrill of anticipation. Brother Arros had asked her to meet him in the parlor that was normally reserved for high-born visitors. Once, when she was a small child, she had asked to see the room, and now it seemed she was going to get her wish. She smiled. After all these years—Brother Arros had remembered.

  * * *

  “Sit, my dear,” he said when she entered the room. He gestured to the chair across from his own.

  He held up a letter written on linen paper. A red wax seal dangled from it.

  “I have had news from Lady Marguerite,” he said.

  Elena perched on the edge of the chair, staring at the seal. The wax was emblazoned with two circles of different sizes, overcut by a cross. Brother Arros unfurled the letter so she could see the lines of text.

  “Do you forget I cannot read?”

  He ignored her impertinence. “The lady asks for aid. She is in a delicate situation and needs a help-mate. I pity her—I have long worried about how she fares in that castle, so far from her homeland, from her family. She has no one.”

  “She’s got servants upon servants,” Elena scoffed. “How can you say she has no one? What about her husband? What about his parents, the baron and baroness? You said it yourself: she’s part of their family now. Why not ask them for aid?”

  “Ramón is away fighting the Moors in the south. Who knows when—or if—he shall return? Her mother-in-law is...” Brother Arros’s voice trailed off. His eyes darted away from Elena, a slow flush rising on his round cheeks. He shifted in his chair uncomfortably. She had never seen him look so flustered.

  “Her mother-in-law is what?”

  He turned his gaze upon her, finding his composure again. “There is little the woman can do for anyone, I fear. And the baron—well, he is best left out of the matter.”

  Elena crossed her arms over her chest, silent.

  “I can only think of one person who can give Lady Marguerite the aid she needs,” he said.

  “An
d who’s that?”

  “You.”

  The word slammed into Elena like an iron-tipped arrow.

  “Me?”

  He stared at her steadily. “Yes.”

  She sprang from her chair and backed toward the door, a wild fluttering in her chest.

  “Castle Oto? I’d rather crawl into a bear’s cave. You know that as well as I.”

  “Please, Elena. She is with child.”

  She put her hand on the door latch, but did not lift it. “So it’s happened.”

  He nodded.

  Slowly Elena turned to face him. “And you’re determined to do her bidding. To help her.”

  “Yes. As I once helped you.”

  “How can you ask me this? Me, of all people?”

  “So much time has passed. You are a grown woman now. No longer subject to the fears of a child. You have brought countless babies into this world, Elena. What is the harm of helping one more?”

  “You’re ordering me to do this thing?” Her voice shook.

  “No. I would never presume to do that. But consider it, please. For my sake, and for hers.”

  In her head, Elena thought: Never.

  “You leave in the morning for the mountain meeting,” Brother Arros said gently. “Think on it tonight, and bring me your answer before you depart.”

  Elena’s heart pounded crazily against her ribs. She pushed open the door and made her escape.

  * * *

  The next morning at dawn, she left the monastery without giving Brother Arros an answer.

  14

  Summer, 1484

  The meeting of the council leaders was over, the feast was done. Under an ancient oak in the center of the meadow, the sun-warmed stones that served as chairs for the council rapidly cooled in the evening air. Empty leather sacks of wine lay flattened on a round cross-section of oak nearby. Great golden dogs nosed about in the grass for overlooked crusts of bread and the wizened heels of sausages.

  A short distance away, people were gathered around a roaring bonfire. The jangle of a tambourine melded with the insistent beat of a drum. Rhythmic clapping soon broke out. Then a group assembled and began to dance, spurred on by cries of encouragement from onlookers.

  Elena and Thérèse de Luz stood a bit apart from the others, watching the revelry in the gathering dusk.

  “Each summer I journey to this gathering just to be with you,” Elena admitted, slipping an arm around her friend’s swollen waist. “I always thank the gods when I find you and Jorge safe and well. This time, I’ve even more to be thankful for.” With her other hand, she patted Thérèse’s belly.

  Thérèse leaned into her embrace. “I’ll need your wisdom and your sure hands when my baby comes. Can you return to Ronzal with us?”

  Elena took one of Thérèse’s hands and squeezed it reassuringly. “First I must return to the monastery. Brother Arros has asked something of me, and I owe him an answer.”

  Thérèse glanced at her. “What is it?”

  Elena hesitated. It did not feel right to share Lady Marguerite’s news. It was not her place.

  “A favor he wishes to promise to some high-born lady. He wants me to be her help-mate.”

  Thérèse laughed. “Are you sure it was you he asked? Perhaps his sight is going.”

  “Since I was a girl he’s called me a wild thing, worries about me flitting around these mountains getting in scrapes with the beasts that hide in the shadows. He’s right. I am wild. What good does he think I could do locked inside walls of stone, tending to a lady?”

  “He must have a reason,” Thérèse said thoughtfully. “He’s never asked such a thing of you before.”

  “True.”

  “And he’s been a friend and protector to you all your life.”

  “Without his help, I’d be long dead. Though Belarac wasn’t the sanctuary he’d promised. You and Jorge, the other families of the mountain villages who took me in—you’ve been my true protectors.”

  Thérèse turned, an unsettled look on her face. “We’ll always share our hearths with you, my friend. But what you say is not entirely true. You’ve been under Brother Arros’s protection all your life. When he sent you to the abbey, it was only the beginning.”

  Elena stared at her friend in silence, uncomprehending.

  At that moment Jorge de Luz approached, arms outstretched to his wife. “Thérèse! Come, you must dance!”

  Thérèse shook her head. “I’ve barely the energy to walk, let alone dance.”

  Jorge looked at Elena, his warm dark eyes full of genial good humor. “You, then. You’ve been dancing around these fires since you were a girl. You’ve got no baby in your belly, I trust.”

  No baby. The words barreled into her like a kick in the gut, but she forced a smile. “I’m too busy helping other babies into the world to have one of my own. I wouldn’t miss the chance to dance.”

  He reached for her hand. “I’ll deliver her back to you in no time,” he promised his wife. “I know you two. Never run out of things to talk about.”

  * * *

  The two women did not get another chance to talk until the celebration was over. The mountain people lay rolled in their wool cloaks on the meadow, whispering to each other under the moonlight. Red embers glowed like winking eyes from the smoldering bonfire. The scent of crushed grass mingled with the smoke that drifted through the cool night air.

  “Tell me what you began to say earlier.” Elena slid closer to Thérèse, who lay beside her snoring husband.

  Thérèse put her lips to Elena’s ear. “After your mother died, the mountain people grieved. Maria was like a mother to many of us, too. She had healed our parents, our brothers, our sisters, our friends. She helped babies into the world, taught their mothers how to care for them. And when Father Pizarro started calling her a witch, when he turned people against her, we tried to make them see that they were wrong. But it was no use. My own mother was there at the burning, to witness it. She felt helpless—everyone did. There was nothing they could do to stop it.” Thérèse sighed. “At least the gods took pity on Maria and let her die before she was burned. She got that one small bit of grace.”

  Elena’s mouth went dry. If only that were true.

  * * *

  She remembered with utter clarity the fear that had gripped her as she crept through the woods in the dark to deliver a last terrible gift to her mother. And when the priest had found Maria’s corpse behind the iron bars of the holding cell in the church the next morning, he had still tied her body to a stake before a silent crowd of villagers. Elena’s despair at that moment had threatened to engulf her forever.

  But then the thunder of hooves pounded through the woods. The Baron of Oto, his young son Ramón, and their men rode up on sweat-soaked horses, swords clattering, dust rising from the road behind them. How the sight had filled her with hope! Her knees had gone weak with relief. Surely the leader of an ancient noble house would put a stop to such madness. The baron would tell the priest to cut Maria down from the stake, she told herself. He would make order out of chaos.

  Still astride his horse, the baron had remarked upon the fact that Maria was already dead. But when Father Pizarro asked permission to light the pyre anyway, what did the nobleman do? He pulled off his silver helmet and waved a hand dismissively in the priest’s direction.

  “Very well,” he said in a bored tone. “Light the pyre.”

  And then he and his men and his son had watched Maria burn.

  Elena hadn’t been able to look at the flames, had hidden behind the broad back of the blacksmith. She trained her eyes instead on young Ramón. As he watched her mother’s body turn to ash, a luminous smile took hold of his face. It never wavered. He even threw back his head and laughed a few times, his long black hair cascading over his shoulders.

  Hatred boiled in Elena at the memory. Perhaps if that had been her only encounter with him, the intensity of her rage might have lessened over the years. But the gods were angry at her in thos
e days, and they had devised another punishment: they flung the two children together again not long after Maria’s death. That time, there had been no blacksmith to hide behind.

  Elena had the scars to prove it.

  * * *

  A knot of pine burst in the bonfire then, snapping Elena out of her reverie. She forced herself to concentrate on her friend’s words.

  “After Maria’s death,” Thérèse went on, “Brother Arros sent word to Ronzal. He asked us—and all the mountain people who are our friends—to watch out for you, to offer you a place at our hearths, to make sure you were fed and clothed and housed. Though he believed the Abbey of Belarac would be a safe refuge, he understood you well. A wild thing will escape its cage eventually. He knew you’d roam the mountains again, and he wanted our promise that we’d help you. He never dreamed how quickly that day would come.”

  Elena rolled over on her back, stunned into silence. She had always harbored a tiny kernel of anger toward Brother Arros. After her banishment from Belarac, he had not stepped in. She had traveled the mountain valleys alone, finding comfort and protection from families who remembered Maria. It was Maria’s legacy that made her welcome at hearths in every mountain valley.

  Or so she had believed.

  How foolish, how stupid she had been.

  “All these years your kindness to me was done as a favor to him?”

  “Of course not.” Thérèse felt in the dark for Elena’s hand. “You’re as much a sister to me as any of the girls my mother birthed. Any kindness we’ve done, you’ve repaid many times over. If anything, we owe Brother Arros for bringing you into our lives. Think of the babies you’ve helped into the world.” She placed both their hands on her distended belly. “If it weren’t for you, I’d be even more frightened than I already am.”