mean my life—"
"Nay, Gunnor, talk not of such things. ‘Twas little enough I could do." Melyssan planted a kiss on the lady's round, dimpled cheek. "I only pray we meet again in happier times."
She hugged Gunnor one more time, then drew away, saying, "Now you must hurry. I vow your cousin waxes impatient."
She glanced down at the darkened waterway, where Sir Hugh had just lifted his son to a tall man seated in a small wherry. The knight mounted the stone steps made slick by the lapping water and held out his hand to help his wife down. With a misty-eyed smile, Gunnor carefully descended to the lightly rocking boat.
Sir Hugh turned to Melyssan. "Thank you again, Lady Melyssan. I hope that our stay here has caused no discord between you and the earl."
Truthfully Melyssan could assure him it had not, since Jaufre as yet remained in ignorance of the true identity of his guests and she hoped that he would remain so. Sir Hugh saluted her hand with his lips, then leapt down to join his family.
Huddling in the warm folds of her mantle, she watched until the boat was rowed under the arched gateway and became naught but a dim shadow on the river beyond.
Master Galvan hustled to lower the iron portcullis, grumbling to himself, "Pilgrimages in the middle of the night. Pilgrimages to the devil, I say. Good riddance!"
Although she would not have expressed it the same way, Melyssan shared the guard's relief. She limped back to where Father Andrew stood, holding the candle, waiting to guide her back to her room.
"Well, we did it, Father." She smiled. "Sir Hugh and his lady are safely away from Winterbourne."
"Aye," the priest agreed, his gaunt face still lined with anxiety. "But I would feel better if we had got you safely away as well."
"I will be all right," Melyssan said, for the first believing it herself, that she had weathered the worst of Jaufre's stormy temper and come through the experience untouched.
No, she deceived herself if she thought that. Although she was a maiden still, Jaufre's kiss, his fierce embrace, had touched her, shattered her calm forever, awakening in her a longing to know what it was like to be loved by a man. One man… the lord of Winterbourne.
She became aware that the old priest regarded her through troubled eyes almost as if she'd spoken aloud, as if Jaufre's caress had left some visible mark on her countenance. A telltale blush mounted her cheeks, and she said, "You must not worry about me, Father."
"I have worried about you ever since that day I perjured myself before the king, telling him 'twas I who married you and Lord Jaufre. Now I fear I may not have helped save your honor after all. When—when His Lordship carried you from the great hall…"
"Nay, Father, 'tis not as it seemed. Although Lord Jaufre was exceedingly wroth with me, I swear to you I am unharmed."
"I am glad to hear that, my daughter," the priest said as if he still reserved some doubt. "Even so, I wish you were far away from this place."
"As I surely will be soon. On my way to St. Clare." She felt even less joy than usual at the thought of the convent. "In any case, I would not have gone without Whitney. How fared he after I left the hall?"
Father Andrew frowned. "He took no physical hurt. But his own meekness, his inability to defend you, gave him much spiritual pain. He went off with some of my lord's knights and I fear drank himself into the same condition as Father…" The priest's lips tightened as he corrected himself. "I mean Hubert LeVis."
"My poor gentle Whitney." Melyssan sighed. "If only he were not an only son, if only he had your choice, Father."
"The priesthood was not meant to be an escape from the problems of this world," Father Andrew said sternly. "Any more than a convent is. Now come, child. 'Tis time you returned to your bed."
He walked on ahead, illuminating the treacherous curved steps. Melyssan followed, pondering what the priest had said. Were his remarks meant for her as well as Whitney?
"Nay, Gunnor, talk not of such things. ‘Twas little enough I could do." Melyssan planted a kiss on the lady's round, dimpled cheek. "I only pray we meet again in happier times."
She hugged Gunnor one more time, then drew away, saying, "Now you must hurry. I vow your cousin waxes impatient."
She glanced down at the darkened waterway, where Sir Hugh had just lifted his son to a tall man seated in a small wherry. The knight mounted the stone steps made slick by the lapping water and held out his hand to help his wife down. With a misty-eyed smile, Gunnor carefully descended to the lightly rocking boat.
Sir Hugh turned to Melyssan. "Thank you again, Lady Melyssan. I hope that our stay here has caused no discord between you and the earl."
Truthfully Melyssan could assure him it had not, since Jaufre as yet remained in ignorance of the true identity of his guests and she hoped that he would remain so. Sir Hugh saluted her hand with his lips, then leapt down to join his family.
Huddling in the warm folds of her mantle, she watched until the boat was rowed under the arched gateway and became naught but a dim shadow on the river beyond.
Master Galvan hustled to lower the iron portcullis, grumbling to himself, "Pilgrimages in the middle of the night. Pilgrimages to the devil, I say. Good riddance!"
Although she would not have expressed it the same way, Melyssan shared the guard's relief. She limped back to where Father Andrew stood, holding the candle, waiting to guide her back to her room.
"Well, we did it, Father." She smiled. "Sir Hugh and his lady are safely away from Winterbourne."
"Aye," the priest agreed, his gaunt face still lined with anxiety. "But I would feel better if we had got you safely away as well."
"I will be all right," Melyssan said, for the first believing it herself, that she had weathered the worst of Jaufre's stormy temper and come through the experience untouched.
No, she deceived herself if she thought that. Although she was a maiden still, Jaufre's kiss, his fierce embrace, had touched her, shattered her calm forever, awakening in her a longing to know what it was like to be loved by a man. One man… the lord of Winterbourne.
She became aware that the old priest regarded her through troubled eyes almost as if she'd spoken aloud, as if Jaufre's caress had left some visible mark on her countenance. A telltale blush mounted her cheeks, and she said, "You must not worry about me, Father."
"I have worried about you ever since that day I perjured myself before the king, telling him 'twas I who married you and Lord Jaufre. Now I fear I may not have helped save your honor after all. When—when His Lordship carried you from the great hall…"
"Nay, Father, 'tis not as it seemed. Although Lord Jaufre was exceedingly wroth with me, I swear to you I am unharmed."
"I am glad to hear that, my daughter," the priest said as if he still reserved some doubt. "Even so, I wish you were far away from this place."
"As I surely will be soon. On my way to St. Clare." She felt even less joy than usual at the thought of the convent. "In any case, I would not have gone without Whitney. How fared he after I left the hall?"
Father Andrew frowned. "He took no physical hurt. But his own meekness, his inability to defend you, gave him much spiritual pain. He went off with some of my lord's knights and I fear drank himself into the same condition as Father…" The priest's lips tightened as he corrected himself. "I mean Hubert LeVis."
"My poor gentle Whitney." Melyssan sighed. "If only he were not an only son, if only he had your choice, Father."
"The priesthood was not meant to be an escape from the problems of this world," Father Andrew said sternly. "Any more than a convent is. Now come, child. 'Tis time you returned to your bed."
He walked on ahead, illuminating the treacherous curved steps. Melyssan followed, pondering what the priest had said. Were his remarks meant for her as well as Whitney?
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