Lord of the Manor (Trysts and Treachery Book 5) by Elizabeth Keysian (robert munsch read aloud .txt) 📗

Oath of Supremacy. Some swore, and some hid to avoid doing so but we were all cast out in the end, and everything we’d worked for was stolen from us. The preceptor, one of the most senior monks on site, refused to swear.” Her voice broke.

Allan nodded. The original Act of Supremacy, confirming Henry, not the pope, as head of the Church in England, had tested the loyalty of many of the king’s subjects, including the once favored Thomas More. Allan had been a swaggering lad of fifteen summers when More was executed, and had been too interested in horses, girls and swordplay to be affected by the event. Cecily must have been little more than a child when Henry turned his attention to the Hospitallers, and tore her world asunder.

She continued, her breath forming clouds in the icy air. “I’d been living at the commandery for nine years by then—I’ve already told you part of my story. The brothers had adopted me after my mother’s death and cared for me better than any nameless bastard could hope for.”

“How do you know that you were born out of wedlock?” Though he knew she’d betrayed him, it hurt to hear her refer to herself as a bastard.

“My mother told them, in broken English, that my sire had deserted her. That was about all she managed to say—she was near exhaustion. It was assumed that her family had thrown her out, and she’d been wandering as a beggar.”

It was great-hearted of the monks to take in a pregnant vagrant. If Cecily’s looks were anything to go by, her mother, whether she had started out as a pauper or not, must have been a great beauty.

“As I said—the preceptor refused to take the oath. He was executed for treason. But we heard he was tortured first, to try and make him change his mind.”

Everyone knew the gruesome punishments that awaited traitors and rebels. But the idea of torture was abhorrent. Allan chewed on his lip, struggling to come to terms with these revelations.

They had almost reached the village now, and Cecily had fallen silent.

“Is that all?”

“Essentially, aye.”

“And do you hold secret Masses?”

There was a definite hesitation before she replied. But it wasn’t to answer his question.

“You won’t give us up, will you? We’ve lived so quietly all these years, never harming a soul. The villagers know and, until now, have kept our secret.”

There was an acid sting in the back of Allan’s throat. “And you didn’t think to tell me any of this five months ago? Nor even yesterday, when I shared my most private griefs with you? You didn’t think to tell me before I kissed you? After I’d kissed you? You didn’t see the need to explain after I’d asked you to become my wife?”

He’d found out from Kennett instead, and that was even more galling than if he’d learned the truth from Cecily’s own lips.

“It wasn’t my secret to tell.” He heard tears in her voice. “If they were found out and made to take the oath, they’d refuse it, too. And now everything has become worse with the new king—with the introduction of the English prayer book, services in Latin being forbidden, all icons removed from churches, and priests being allowed to wed. Toleration of Catholics is slipping away, and naught is being done to stop it.”

She ended with a sob. Allan gritted his teeth. Aye, he could feel sympathy for her and her “uncles”—their world had been turned upside down. But she should have told him. Certainly, long before he’d allowed himself to fall in love with her.

He summoned all his strength, tapping into that same resilience that had carried him through the loss of Hannah and their babe. “Don’t think about it now. You have a child to bring into the world. That matters more. You may trust me to say naught—for now. Go.”

He didn’t wait for a proper farewell, didn’t stay to find out if the labor had a successful outcome. He needed to head home and seek solitude. He needed time to think.

As it was, he came to be granted plenty of time to consider his actions, but not in the way he’d planned. Just as he strode through the commandery gateway, he was set upon by at least three huge ruffians. He fought manfully, but being unarmed, was no match for their superior force. Someone swung a heavy implement at his head, sending him to his knees. The last thing he heard before the darkness took him were Kennett’s high-pitched laugh and the words, “How will you keep her safe from me now, Allan, eh? She’ll be mine before the year is out.”

Chapter Seventeen

It took two days for the news of Allan’s arrest to reach Cecily. Her soul had been weary from the momentous events and disclosures at Christmas, and her body exhausted after attending the long labor endured by the baker’s wife. But a lusty baby boy had eventually come forth, and Cecily had retrieved Charlemagne and then stumbled back to her cottage, collapsing onto her bed, shaking with sobs and tears.

While attending on Goodwife Baker, she hadn’t allowed herself time to come to terms with the enormity of what had occurred back at the manor. Had she put her uncles at risk? Had she put dangerous information into the hands of a dyed-in-the-wool Protestant, a man loyal to the king and determined to do his duty to his country? Allan cared for her, evidently, but would that affection be enough to compensate for her betrayal? And how much had she, by concealing the truth, put him at risk from the authorities, too?

Then she learned of the skirmish at the commandery, which had taken place the same day as the birthing. She discovered that Allan had been set upon by Master Wright, the local constable, and two “dutiful citizens”, incited by Master Kennett to arrest a man suspected of harboring Catholic plotters.

Her immediate response to the news was