The Difficult Saint: A Catherine LeVendeur Mystery by Sharan Newman

from the stain to her father in resignation. That finally calmed him down. If Catherine were so worried about his health that she refused to become angry with him, she must think him very ill indeed.
    “I apologize, ma douz ,” he said. “But I feel fine. Go change into something dry and we’ll discuss this rationally.”
    “There’s no need for futher talk, Hubert,” Edgar said. “I know you love the children as much as we do. If you say it’s safe for them to be in the Jewish quarter of Troyes, then we need no other assurance.”
    Mollified, Hubert allowed Edgar to pour him another bowl of beer while Catherine went up to change and to tell the others of the upcoming journey.
    The two men drank in silence. Hubert held his bowl in both hands and let the sweet herbs and alcohol cool his choler. He noted the ease with which Edgar managed the large bowl with only one hand. He’d never realized before how much bigger Edgar’s hands … hand, that is, was than his. His fingers were long and graceful, like a king’s. Like the nobleman Edgar had been born.
    “Damn it all!” Hubert thought.
    “It is fine workmanship,” he said aloud, gesturing at the pyx.
    “Thank you,” Edgar answered.
    Both men felt that cautious peace had been restored.
     
    Agnes had taken riverboats as far as she could, but they had finally had to use land routes. The women with her had enjoyed the journey so far, flirting openly with the men hired to guard them and dropping more subtle hints to Jehan and Walter, neither of whom showed any interest.
    As the centerpiece in this tableau, Agnes felt it necessary to maintain a certain aloofness. She was, after all, about to be married to a lord. And, she told herself, she might as well get used to being lonely. But it was difficult to endure both Jehan’s reproachful stare and the other women’s enjoyment of the trip.
    Walter of Grancy spent much of his time riding near her. Agnes knew that he was also constantly alert for danger about them. She was reminded of the times in her childhood when her uncle, Roger, would take her from Paris to Saint Denis. She had always felt so safe. But Roger had been dead a long time now and she was no longer a child to be protected from fear.
    Agnes looked at Walter, solid as a fortress. She gave a long sigh that loosened the tightness in her shoulders. Perhaps for a few more days she could pretend she was a little child again.
    Walter noticed her watching him. He smiled.
    “Are you tired, Agnes?” he asked. “We can rest a while here if you like, but it’s not far to the village of Jarny. We can pass the night there and make Metz by tomorrow night. From there we can take the river again, all the way to Trier.”
    “So soon?” The closer they got, the more unsure Agnes became. She had to collect herself. “Tired? No, not at all,” she said. “The
journey has been most pleasant and easy, thanks to your care. I’m surprised that it’s passed so quickly.”
    Walter bowed quite elegantly for a man on horseback.
    “I assure you, it’s my pleasure to be of assistance to you and your family. I owe a great deal to your sister and her husband.”
    “Really?” Agnes stiffened.
    “If not for them, I might still be living under the accusation of murder,” he explained. “It was Catherine who discovered the real miscreant.”
    “Really?” Agnes said in a different tone. “Catherine does insist on following things through. Her curiosity has always been her misfortune.”
    “It was great good fortune to me,” Walter said. “Although she certainly suffered in the course of it. And she and Edgar only just married, too. Yes, an easy trip in spring in the company of a beautiful woman is the least I could do to repay their kindness.”
    He laughed and she joined in a bit shakily. It was a shock to her to think that Catherine’s endless prying into things not her concern could actually have been helpful to anyone.
    Her second thought was almost as shocking. She