castle stables, but only one, and they get a loaf of bread to take with them when they go.”
Sir Blane or Broderick would never have done that. “Sir Roland has a generous nature.”
“Oh, that isn’t his doing,” Lizabet said, adding water to the pot. “It’s Gerrard’s. Some say he’s trying to atone for all the sins he’s committed.”
Joseph came out of the shadows in the corner and pushed his head against Celeste’s leg. She picked up the cat and stroked his back and listened to his purring.
If Gerrard was trying to atone, she thought, he was starting well.
She hoped she would be successful at atonement when her time came, for it surely must.
* * *
As the patrol continued on its way, Verdan addressed his brother. “Told you Sister Augustine was something, didn’t I? Did you hear how she spoke to Gerrard?”
“Aye,” Arnhelm replied. He mused for a moment, his hips swaying with his horse’s ambling walk. “She don’t seem much like a nun.”
“Too pretty, aye.”
“Not just that. I thought nuns were supposed to be meek and mild.”
“Aye, there’s that.”
“Reckon Gerrard’ll be glad when she’s gone. No man likes to be dressed down by a woman, and in the market, too.”
Arnhelm grinned. “You mind the time Ma chased you all around the green when you’d stepped on the sheets she’d laid out on the verge to dry?”
“If Gerrard feels half as shamed as I did that day,” Verdan said with certainty, “he’ll be having a celebration when she’s gone.”
* * *
Florian, the cook, looked decidedly less than pleased to have Eua back in his kitchen. No doubt he would have been just as unhappy about it even if she didn’t smell and likely harbor fleas. Peg glanced at the former servant with a combination of disgust and dismay, and Tom the spit boy stared as if she were a witch come to gobble him up for dinner.
“Thank you, Gerrard,” Eua mumbled as he handed her a loaf of bread. “You always were a good boy.”
A good boy she had never really loved, he thought, trying to keep his expression stoic.
“You can stay one night, Eua,” he reminded her, setting down a wooden bowl of stew.
Celeste no doubt thought him cruel, but she didn’t know what Eua had done. The harm she’d caused, the way she’d hurt him, and not only when the truth about Dalfrid had been revealed.
Gerrard would never forget the day he’d realized that Eua’s affection was his so long as he paid for it with compliments and little gifts. He had been six years old when she’d threatened to tell his father that he’d chased the chickens until one dropped dead. He’d begged her not to and she had stood there hard as stone until he’d promised to give her a copper-and-enamel bracelet that had been his mother’s. He’d found it in the grass in the garden, glistening near a rock, and she had discovered it in his little box of treasures. Most were worthless to anyone save him: an interesting stone, a bit of colored glass, the shed skin of a snake, a brass buckle. Nothing except the bracelet had any value.
From that day on, he was aware he had to buy the love he craved.
Eua took a bite from the loaf, then reached out and grasped his hand in her cold, dirty ones. “Thank you, my precious boy.”
He didn’t want her thanks. He wanted her gone, the same way he’d thought he’d wanted Celeste gone, until she’d looked at him with sincere gratitude and thanked him for his help.
She was not a woman he should have anything to do with. She wanted the church, not a man.
“One night,” he repeated firmly, heading for the door. “One night in the stable, Eua, and then you must go.”
Chapter Nine
T he next day the garrison commander of Dunborough stood at the window high in the castle keep, in an upper room his father and brothers used as a solar, and where the records of the estate were kept. From here, he could see over the roofs of the village, all the way to the big house of the D’Orleaus—or he
Sir Blane or Broderick would never have done that. “Sir Roland has a generous nature.”
“Oh, that isn’t his doing,” Lizabet said, adding water to the pot. “It’s Gerrard’s. Some say he’s trying to atone for all the sins he’s committed.”
Joseph came out of the shadows in the corner and pushed his head against Celeste’s leg. She picked up the cat and stroked his back and listened to his purring.
If Gerrard was trying to atone, she thought, he was starting well.
She hoped she would be successful at atonement when her time came, for it surely must.
* * *
As the patrol continued on its way, Verdan addressed his brother. “Told you Sister Augustine was something, didn’t I? Did you hear how she spoke to Gerrard?”
“Aye,” Arnhelm replied. He mused for a moment, his hips swaying with his horse’s ambling walk. “She don’t seem much like a nun.”
“Too pretty, aye.”
“Not just that. I thought nuns were supposed to be meek and mild.”
“Aye, there’s that.”
“Reckon Gerrard’ll be glad when she’s gone. No man likes to be dressed down by a woman, and in the market, too.”
Arnhelm grinned. “You mind the time Ma chased you all around the green when you’d stepped on the sheets she’d laid out on the verge to dry?”
“If Gerrard feels half as shamed as I did that day,” Verdan said with certainty, “he’ll be having a celebration when she’s gone.”
* * *
Florian, the cook, looked decidedly less than pleased to have Eua back in his kitchen. No doubt he would have been just as unhappy about it even if she didn’t smell and likely harbor fleas. Peg glanced at the former servant with a combination of disgust and dismay, and Tom the spit boy stared as if she were a witch come to gobble him up for dinner.
“Thank you, Gerrard,” Eua mumbled as he handed her a loaf of bread. “You always were a good boy.”
A good boy she had never really loved, he thought, trying to keep his expression stoic.
“You can stay one night, Eua,” he reminded her, setting down a wooden bowl of stew.
Celeste no doubt thought him cruel, but she didn’t know what Eua had done. The harm she’d caused, the way she’d hurt him, and not only when the truth about Dalfrid had been revealed.
Gerrard would never forget the day he’d realized that Eua’s affection was his so long as he paid for it with compliments and little gifts. He had been six years old when she’d threatened to tell his father that he’d chased the chickens until one dropped dead. He’d begged her not to and she had stood there hard as stone until he’d promised to give her a copper-and-enamel bracelet that had been his mother’s. He’d found it in the grass in the garden, glistening near a rock, and she had discovered it in his little box of treasures. Most were worthless to anyone save him: an interesting stone, a bit of colored glass, the shed skin of a snake, a brass buckle. Nothing except the bracelet had any value.
From that day on, he was aware he had to buy the love he craved.
Eua took a bite from the loaf, then reached out and grasped his hand in her cold, dirty ones. “Thank you, my precious boy.”
He didn’t want her thanks. He wanted her gone, the same way he’d thought he’d wanted Celeste gone, until she’d looked at him with sincere gratitude and thanked him for his help.
She was not a woman he should have anything to do with. She wanted the church, not a man.
“One night,” he repeated firmly, heading for the door. “One night in the stable, Eua, and then you must go.”
Chapter Nine
T he next day the garrison commander of Dunborough stood at the window high in the castle keep, in an upper room his father and brothers used as a solar, and where the records of the estate were kept. From here, he could see over the roofs of the village, all the way to the big house of the D’Orleaus—or he
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