Though no slight thing, increasingly Honore felt dainty alongside the young woman who accompanied her. Lady Wilma had argued it was time to give Jeannette more knowledge of the world beyond the abbey so she was better informed in deciding her future. Still, Honore had resisted—until the lady suggested Jeannette clothe herself as a man and remain visibly distant during the exchange. The young woman’s accompaniment would make it appear Honore had a protector whilst ensuring Jeannette had space in which to flee if necessary.

Now beneath a three-quarter moon and amid mist so thick they could hardly see their feet, Honore looked sidelong at her charge and felt a flush of pride for all she had become. When she could not have been more than one, she was set out in the wood, either due to illegitimacy, poverty, a drifting eye that frightened the superstitious, or all.

No longer the babe in fouled swaddling clothes whom Honore had hastened to Bairnwood fourteen years past, she stood a half foot taller than her savior’s five and a half feet, was as broad-shouldered as many a man, had a figure surprisingly feminine for one of such proportion, and possessed a fairly pretty face made prettier when she smiled. Not that she smiled often, of such a serious nature was she.

Of further surprise to those who judged her by appearance was her intellect. Her size, wandering eye, and tongue of few words lulled many into believing her simple-minded. She was not. And Abbess Abigail knew it, encouraging Jeannette’s studies beyond writing and reading to include numbers and Latin. The abbess did not say it, but she implied a way could be found for the young woman to become a bride of Christ.

As the two negotiated the wood, Honore wondered if Jeannette would wish to take holy vows were one of common birth given that rare opportunity.

She hoped not and immediately repented for being selfish, then silently explained to the Lord the rescue of foundlings would be much furthered once Jeannette’s studies were completed and she came fully alongside the one who had begun the work ten and four years past.

Honore had help from a few lay servants and kind convent residents, but more could be done. And once alterations to the abbey’s outer wall were completed, as they should have been weeks past, more would need to be done to accommodate a greater number of foundlings. But that was not to ponder at the middling of night in a dark wood and soon to be in close proximity with Finwyn.

Though Honore assured herself the exchange would be over soon, she shuddered.

“Are you afeared, my Honore?”

My Honore, as Jeannette had called her since first she could speak. It was the same as the others coming up after the young woman named the one whose questionable birth denied her the title of lady. But far Honore preferred it over the loftiest title. Ever it reminded her she belonged to someone—many someones.

“A little frightened. The one I meet, hopefully for the last time, is not to be trusted. Thus, do not forget you are to remain distant enough he will not know you for a woman.”

Jeannette’s white teeth flashed in the dim. “I could become accustomed to such garments.” She plucked at tunic and chausses borrowed from a male servant who dwelt outside the abbey. “I feel all held together.”

“Are they truly comfortable?”

“Ever so. I have naught flapping about my legs and feet, naught to hinder my stride.”

A very long stride, though Jeannette patiently kept pace with Honore’s shorter reach.

“Do not tell Abbess Abigail,” Honore said. “She will think it unnatural you are clothed as a man.”

“And sinful?” the girl said wryly.

Were Honore not so tense, she would laugh. “An abbot might name it sinful, but not our abbess, especially considering your mission.”

“Mission,” Jeannette repeated. “I like that.”

Honore wondered, as sometimes she did, why the Lord had not made Jeannette a Jean. Not that she wished it. Had her first foundling been a boy, he would no longer dwell at Bairnwood. As required, males left the community of women upon attainment of their tenth year. Blessedly, thus far all had been placed in good homes before that age.

Fewer females were as fortunate, but as yet there was no great need. As long as Bairnwood—and Honore—could support their numbers, they were welcome to remain. However, that would not always be so, and all the sooner those numbers would become unsupportable once the man who summoned Honore became dispensable. She would have to work harder, but she had naught else to fill her days—and heart.

Returning to the present, Honore instructed Jeannette that if she must converse henceforth, she ought to whisper.

The two crossed a stream, keeping shoes and hems dry by traversing the immense rotten tree that had toppled from one bank to the other long before Honore took her first forbidden walk outside the abbey and found Jeannette. It had been two years before she dared approach the one she had seen set out the little one, but her task had become easier thereafter—until the old man took ill and his grandson determined to make the business more profitable.

However, though Finwyn required greater compensation than had his grandsire, Honore had not been summoned as often since the old man’s passing. Until recently, she had thought it was because the grandson was not as trusted to discreetly dispose of unwanted babes, but the rumor of twins born to a newly widowed villager a year past made her think it could be something else. Were it—

“My Honore?” Jeannette forgot to whisper.

“Quiet now,” Honore rasped. “We are nearly there.”

They continued across the wood until the ground rose before them, then Honore veered to the right. “Remain here. Once I am over the top, follow and place yourself between those trees so the moon is full at your back.” She pointed to the rise where two ancient oaks stood like royals before their lessers. “You have only to stand there,” she repeated what had been told ere they departed the abbey, then tapped the tapered stick tucked beneath Jeannette’s belt. “Hold this to the side, its point down like a sword.”

“I will look a fierce warrior.”

And all the more threatening amid moonlit mist, Honore imagined and hoped it would prevent Finwyn from trespassing as he had done the last time when he wrenched her gorget down.

“No more is required of you,” Honore said. “Now I would have your word that if anything goes afoul, you will run straight to the abbey.”

“Already I gave my word.”

“I would hear it again.”

The young woman sighed. “If anything goes afoul, I shall return to the abbey forthwith. My word I give.”

Honore leaned up and kissed Jeannette’s cheek. “God willing, this night we shall each have a babe to sing to sleep.” She stepped back and lowered her chin. “Almighty,” she prayed, “bless us this eve as we seek to do Your good work. Amen.”

After securing the gorget beneath her nose, Honore lifted her skirts and ascended the rise. Upon reaching the crest, she set her shoulders back and increased her stride.

There was no disguising herself as anything other than a woman, but she refused to appear meek. If Finwyn drew too near again, she would do more than slap him. She touched the stick beneath her belt that was half as long but twice as thick as Jeannette’s. In addition to coin, the knave would depart the wood with lumps and bruises. Or so she told herself, Finwyn being the first and last person she had struck.

I shall do so again if I must, she assured herself and set her eyes on the distant tree, a portion of whose aboveground roots served as a cradle. As the mist rose thicker there, she would have to draw near to confirm the exchange was possible. On occasion it was not, the cradle empty due to a babe’s death.

“Lord, let the wee ones be hale,” she whispered and sent her gaze around the wood in search of movement whilst straining to catch the sound of fitful babes. Were they in the cradle, Finwyn would be watching.

She glanced over her shoulder and saw Jeannette had placed herself as directed. The young woman did present as a warrior—the moon’s glow at her back outlining her hulking figure and what appeared to be a drawn sword. She would not go unnoticed, and Finwyn would know exactly why Honore had not come alone. Hopefully, once more he would honor the agreement made when he assumed his grandsire’s role of one who disposed of unwanted babes. Following her departure, he would collect his coin.

When she was near enough to see the humped roots near the tree’s base, she silently thanked the Lord. Amid the mist, two bundles lay side by side, unmoving as if both babes slept.

Though careful to pick her way amongst the roots extending a dozen feet from the tree, twice she nearly twisted an ankle, causing the coins to clatter.

Once she stood before the bundles, she raised the pouch to show the one watching she paid the price required to save two innocents, then set it in a patch of moss. Hopefully, it would be the last payment she made.

As she straightened, she noticed a rope around the tree. Did Finwyn seek to tell her something? Might this be a threat? Assuring herself the rope was not fashioned into a noose, she nearly laughed at allowing her mind to move in that direction. She did not like the man, but he had never given her cause to fear for her life.

She positioned the sling worn over her short cloak so it draped one shoulder and rested on the opposite hip, then reached for the first bundle.

“There is naught for you there, Woman.”

She stilled. Someone showed himself, and it was not Finwyn who, amid the ring of chain mail, spoke in English more heavily accented than the French of England’s nobility. Heart thinking itself a drum, Honore turned.