Lionheart A Novel - By Sharon Kay Penman Page 0,6

killed in a French tournament. And this summer my elder sister Tilda died of a fever. Indeed, I only learned of her death a few weeks ago.” Joanna bit her lip, for the shock of Tilda’s death had yet to abate; her sister had been just thirty-three.

Alicia regarded her solemnly. “You said the hurt never goes away. Will I grieve for Arnaud to the end of my days?” She was reassured when Joanna gave her the same straightforward answer, telling her the truth rather than what she wanted to hear. “Did you love your brothers?”

“Very much, Alicia. They were all older than me, except for my brother Johnny, and they spoiled me outrageously, as I imagine Arnaud did with you.”

“No . . .” Alicia hesitated, but with gentle encouragement, she continued and eventually Joanna learned the history of this woebegone orphan. She came from Champagne, where her father had served as steward for one of the count’s vassals. He’d died that past spring, leaving Alicia and two older brothers, Odo, his eldest and heir, and Arnaud, who’d been long gone from their lives, serving God in distant lands. Odo had not wanted to be burdened with her, she confided to Joanna, and he and his wife had arranged to marry her off to a neighbor, a widower who was willing to overlook her lack of a marriage portion. She had not wanted to wed him, for his breath reeked and he was very old, “even older than my papa! And I did not think I was ready to be a wife. Odo and Yvette paid me no heed, though, and were making ready to post the banns when Arnaud arrived from Paris.”

Arnaud had been outraged by the match, and he quarreled bitterly with Odo, demanding that he provide a marriage portion so they could find her a suitable husband when she was of a proper age to wed. But Odo had turned a deaf ear. Arnaud knew Odo would wed her to the neighbor as soon as he was gone, and so he took her with him. “I think he had a nunnery in mind. He promised, though, to look after me, to make sure that I was always safe. . . .”

Tears had begun to well in Alicia’s eyes, the first she’d shed since that awful day on the beach. Joanna gathered the child into her arms and held Alicia as she wept. But she had a practical streak, too, and glancing over Alicia’s heaving shoulder, she caught the nun’s eye and mouthed a silent command to fetch food from the abbey kitchen. Sister Heloise gladly obeyed, first hastening to find the abbess and give her the good news that the Lady Joanna had succeeded where everyone else had failed. She’d coaxed this unhappy child from the shadows back into the light.

AFTER A FORTNIGHT in bed, Alicia was surprised by how weak she felt when she first ventured outside. Tiring quickly, she sank down on a bench in the cloisters, taking pleasure in the warmth of the Sicilian sun upon her face. Brightly colored birds flitted from bush to bush and she tracked their passage with interest. It helped, she had discovered, to focus only upon the moment, and she resolutely refused to let herself dwell upon her fears, to think of the future she so dreaded. For now, the kindness of the nuns and her beautiful benefactor was enough.

Growing drowsy, she stretched out on the bench and soon fell asleep. When she awoke, she got hastily to her feet and greeted the abbess in the deferential manner that she’d copied from the nuns. Smiling, Blanche bade her sit back down again, saying she needed to regain her strength for the journey, and Alicia went suddenly cold. “A journey?” she whispered. “I am leaving here?”

“In two days’ time. I do not suppose you can ride a mule? No matter, I am sure Lady Joanna can provide a horse litter for you. Her lord husband has already returned to Palermo, but she remained behind, waiting till you were well enough to travel.”

Alicia didn’t understand. “Why is she taking me to Palermo?”

“Well, that is where she and Lord William live, child. They have a palace here in Messina, too, but their favorite home is in Palermo.”

“Am I . . . am I to live with her?” That seemed too much to hope for, though. “Why would she want me?”

That was a question some of Blanche’s nuns had been asking, too. But