Scoundrel of Dunborough (12 page)

Gerrard’s cold, dark eyes could have been Roland’s gazing back at her. “I
don’t
believe his motives were completely pure. A priest can lie and you weren’t here. He spent time with your sister to the neglect of others who could have used his ministrations.”

“Just as I’m sure it’s possible that Father Denzail was trying to help her.”

The corners of Gerrard’s mouth rose in that mocking grin. “So speaks a woman who’s lived in a convent for ten years. How many men did you meet there? One or two?”

“Many priests came to visit over the years, enough for me to learn how to tell which ones were lustful, which ones were truly holy and which ones were trying to be virtuous.”

Her companion crossed his arms, leaned his weight on one leg and raised a questioning brow. “Based on this vast experience, where would you place Father Denzail?”

Gerrard’s condescending attitude began to try her patience, as well as his denigration of the clergyman. “He may not be completely virtuous, but he’s not a lecher. Even if the man did lust after Audrey, it would torment him and drive him to fasting and prayer and perhaps a pilgrimage. His pain would go inward, not outward toward another.”

Gerrard shifted and his expression lost its insolence. “You seem very certain.”

“I think we can both agree that I would have a better understanding of priests than you.”

“I think I have a better understanding of men in general.”

“I would agree you likely understand men ruled by their passions better than I.”

“You speak as if passion’s a bad thing.”

“How can it
not
be,” she replied, “when it leads to sin? Look what it drove Duncan MacHeath to do. Look what men governed by their lust for money and power have done in their quest for gain. The lives greed has destroyed. The pain they inflict on their families and all who know them.”

“Like my father. And like yours.”

She hadn’t meant to refer to anyone in particular. Nevertheless, he was right. “Yes, like our fathers.”

“Yet not all desire is evil,” Gerrard replied. “A lust for a better life can be a good thing. Where would we be if all men lacked ambition or a desire to improve their lives or to make their tasks easier?”

He moved closer. “It isn’t passion that’s evil, Celeste,” he said, his voice low and husky. “Neither is desire. It’s a part of love.”

Her heartbeat throbbed in her ears. Her body warmed and excitement surged through her, accompanied by dread. He was too close, his lips mere inches from hers, his dark-eyed gaze seeming to see into her soul.

Her innermost thoughts. Her dreams. Her desires.

She took a step back. “You said you would take me to speak to Audrey’s maidservant.”

“Today?”

“Yes, today!”

Whatever Celeste had seen in Gerrard’s eyes moments before, it was gone now.

“Your wish is my command, Sister,” he said lightly as he bowed. “Wait here while I fetch some horses.”

“Is it so far away that we need to ride?”

“If we’re to get there and back before the sun sets today.”

“Bring them to my house, please. I should finish packing Audrey’s gowns. Bartholemew and Marmaduke have bought them from me.
All
of them,” she couldn’t stop herself from adding.

“Rather a pity, that,” Gerrard replied, his tone bland and nonchalant as he left her in the empty, chilly church.

Chapter Thirteen

S
ir Melvin threw on his cloak and hurried out into the yard to greet the visitor who had arrived in a heavy wooden carriage. “A fine lady!” the stable boy had said, and one look at the tall, regal woman disembarking from the carriage didn’t contradict that description.

Except for one thing.

The woman’s black clothing, dark veil and golden crucifix visible in a small gap between the edges of her cloak lined with red fox fur meant she was a nun.

Her imperious gaze and slightly sneering lips warned that she was no ordinary nun, and given her age, as evidenced by the wrinkles at her eyes and the sides of her mouth, he suspected she must be of high office.

“Greetings!” he declared. “Welcome to my estate. Please, enjoy the hospitality of my hall.”

In spite of his friendly invitation, the woman regarded him as she might a toad. “I am the mother superior of Saint Agatha’s.”

She paused as if expecting a response. All Sir Melvin could think to say was, “Is that so?”

The woman frowned. “Yes, it is so.”

“Won’t you come inside?” Sir Melvin asked. His cloak was not so fine and he was starting to shiver.

She inclined her head and swept past him, leaving him to trot after her like an obedient puppy.

Once in the hall, Sir Melvin waylaid the first servant he saw and urgently whispered, “Tell my wife we have a reverend mother in the hall, and have someone bring wine. The good wine. And some bread if it’s ready. Maybe some cheese, too. Or apples. Both!” he added, before ridding himself of his cloak.

The mother superior still wore hers. Indeed, she’d wrapped it around herself as if to protect herself from contagion.

Rubbing his hands together and feeling a bit more sure of himself in his own hall, Sir Melvin approached her with his usual pleasant smile. “May I take your cloak?”

“Not yet,” she replied.

“Won’t you sit?” he asked with somewhat less good humor, gesturing at the finest chair they owned, drawn up near the fire in the central hearth.

She did and then regarded him with the coldest, blackest eyes he had ever seen. “My servants and I require quarters for the night.”

“Indeed? Yes, of course you’re welcome to stay here. I’m sure my wife and I will be only too—”

“I also require information. I understand a woman in a nun’s habit recently stayed here. She was on her way to Dunborough, I believe.”

“I, um, that is...” Sir Melvin was not a man for subterfuge, for he was honest to the marrow of his bones. Nevertheless, he was not keen to answer, although he was fairly certain he knew to whom this haughty woman was referring. “We often give shelter to people going to and from Dunborough. We had the honor of extending our hospitality to the new lord and his charming bride recently. Sir Roland—perhaps you’ve heard of him? His wife is a lovely woman, lovely! So charming and beautiful! And sweet! Really, he’s a very fortunate man.”

“I have not stopped here to discuss the merits of Sir Roland or his wife,” the mother superior returned. “I wish to know if you did indeed give shelter to a thief pretending to be a nun.”

He’d been thinking the young beauty had been a runaway, and now more than ever he could sympathize with anyone who sought to get away from this horrid woman. A thief, though. That was different.

Yet he still found himself reluctant to answer.

The mother superior rose. “If you did and refuse to tell me, the flames of hell await you.”

“You must forgive my husband, as I’m sure God will,” Lady Viola said as she joined them. “He has a soft heart for all in need.”

Sir Melvin had rarely been so relieved to see his wife, especially when she came face-to-face and nose to nose with their imperious visitor. If anybody could stare down a harpy, it was his Viola.

“What exactly did the girl steal?” she asked.

“That is hardly any business of yours,” the mother superior replied. “Theft is theft, and a sin. She must be found and punished.”

“Well, then it’s unfortunate that we don’t know where she went,” Viola calmly replied.

Sir Melvin nearly choked.

“She said she was going to Dunborough, but I doubt a fleeing thief would go where she claimed. That would be foolish, wouldn’t it?” Viola continued. “And that young woman was no fool.

“She also claimed to be Audrey D’Orleau’s sister. I suppose she must have been lying about that, too. If she were really Audrey’s sister, she would have traveled to Dunborough as soon as she got word of her sister’s death, not weeks after—unless, of course, something or someone had prevented her from learning of her sister’s demise.”

The mother superior’s face was so red, Sir Melvin wanted to applaud. If anyone deserved a set-down, it was surely this horrible woman, who’d no doubt kept the news of her sister’s death from that sweet and beautiful young woman.

The mother superior gathered her cloak about her. “Now that I have the information I sought, I shall be on my way.”

“Oh? You won’t stay the night?” Viola coolly inquired, because hospitality demanded it.

“I most certainly will not!” the mother superior huffed before she marched from the hall. Once she reached the yard, they could hear her calling for her wagon to be made ready
at once
!

One of the maidservants appeared with a tray bearing wine and bread and apples. Sir Melvin reached for a goblet and took a fortifying drink. “God help me, I’m glad she’s gone!”

“God help Sister Augustine, or whatever her name really is,” Viola replied as she joined him at the hearth and took a piece of bread.

“Perhaps we should send word to Dunborough. A swift rider could get there today. Traveling in that wagon, that woman will take another day at least.”

“I daresay our visitor is aware that the mother superior will come after her, or send someone else to find her. I suspect she’s already gone.”

“You’re right as always, my dear.”

“I think a letter to the bishop in charge of Saint Agatha’s might be in order. There’s no excuse for keeping the knowledge of a family member’s death a secret. Nor do I imagine that mother superior is a tender guardian of novices in her care.”

“A fine idea, my dear,” Sir Melvin said, patting his beloved wife’s hand.

* * *

A slight clearing of a throat made Celeste look up. She was packing away the last of Audrey’s gowns, the one of red silk, as well as the tapestry and bed curtains, in the large chest. Once that was done, they would be ready to be taken away, and she would never see them again.

“Lewis is below,” Lizabet said from the doorway, “and wishes to speak with you.”

Not Gerrard, then, Celeste thought as she closed the lid of the chest. She’d been wondering how long it took to get from the church to the castle stables and have two horses saddled. Longer than she’d assumed, apparently.

Unless something had happened at the castle to prevent Gerrard from returning with the horses. Maybe he had decided not to take her to the maidservant after all, or that it was a useless endeavor. Perhaps he thought there wasn’t time to get there and return before the sun set. If so, the least he could do was send word.

“These chests and boxes are ready for Bartholemew and Marmaduke,” Celeste said, straightening, “should they come by later to collect them.”

“Won’t you be here, Sister?”

“Perhaps not. Gerrard and I were planning to see Martha.”

Lizabet’s eyes widened, as if going to see Audrey’s former maidservant was a shocking thing to do.

“Is there some reason I should not?” Celeste inquired.

“I guess it won’t do any harm,” Lizabet replied, “but the poor woman’s not been right since your sister died. She won’t come back to Dunborough for love nor money.”

Celeste was relieved to hear that Lizabet’s hesitation was due to concern for the maidservant and not anything to do with Gerrard.

“I’ll be gentle with her,” Celeste assured Lizabet.

“Is there anything else I should do, Sister?”

“Tidy a bit, if you would, and then start a pottage for later. I’m not sure when we’ll be back,” Celeste replied before she left the room and went to see what had brought Lewis there.

“Good day to you, Sister!” he cried, taking a few steps toward her and smiling shyly. He had a long, thin bundle wrapped in cloth in his hand and he thrust it toward her. “I brought you some candles.”

“How kind!”

She began to unwrap the bundle. “Oh, Lewis, these are too fine to give to me!” she exclaimed when she discovered five well-made beeswax candles.

They were the best candles money could buy, too expensive for her to accept, even if they would burn brighter than a rushlight and aid her searching at night in the short time she had left.

The lad both blushed and beamed with delight. “Not at all, Sister.”

“Please give your father my thanks, too,” she added, certain such a fine gift had to come from both, and suspecting that Norbert sought to gain her favor by giving her a present.

To her surprise, Lewis frowned and did not look pleased. “They’re from me, Sister. My father wouldn’t give anything so nice to anyone.”

She wasn’t quite sure how to respond, except to say, “Then thank
you
, Lewis.”

He looked around the room. “Are you going to sell the furniture, too?”

“Yes. I have to pay Audrey’s debts, including what she owed to your father, and I won’t need furniture when I leave.”

“You’re really going back to the convent, then?”

“Yes.”

Although not Saint Agatha’s, if she couldn’t find her father’s hidden cache, but he didn’t need to know that.

The young man’s gaze grew more intense. “My father wanted to marry your sister. He was angry when she refused him. After she died, he said he wasn’t surprised she was murdered. She had it coming for playing with men’s hearts. He said there wasn’t a man she met she didn’t try to seduce, including Father Denzail.”

This was exactly what Celeste had suspected, that Duncan MacHeath wasn’t the only man in Dunborough with a grudge against her sister. He simply could have been the only one to take violent action. And it seemed Gerrard might have been right about Father Denzail.

“
I’d
never say anything like that, or believe it, either,” Lewis went on.

To give herself time to think, Celeste set one of the candles in the candleholder and put it in the center of the table.

“Ewald wanted to marry her, too, but she said no to him, as well. There were others who asked for her hand, men not worthy enough to touch the hem of her gown.”

Celeste was about to ask him who those men were when an irate Norbert appeared in the doorway.

“Lewis!” he snapped. “What are you doing here?”

The young man jumped as if an arrow had pierced his chest.

Celeste moved to intercept his father, the man who had apparently said such cruel things about Audrey, but who was all sweetness and light to her. “He brought me a gift.”

Norbert’s gaze darted to the candles on the table and the one in the stand. “You gave her—” He took a deep breath, yet despite his efforts to calm down, his flushed face betrayed the extent of his rage, reminding her of the potential for a father’s or a husband’s tyranny.

“I’m most grateful,” Celeste said, trying to pacify him. “Those I don’t use I shall take back to the convent as a gift to the order.”

“Please do,” Norbert said with a weak smile and angry eyes. “Come along, Lewis. We’d best get back to the shop.”

“One moment,” she said. “You never told me how much money Audrey owed you.”

“Ten marks, or thereabouts,” Norbert replied. “Of course, should you sell me the house...”

Never. Never would she sell that man this house. “I don’t have the money yet, but I shall before I leave Dunborough.”

Without a word, an obviously embarrassed Lewis sidled to the door and went out, while Norbert nodded and bade her good day. Then he, too, left her house.

She felt like scrubbing the floor where he had been standing.

That he had dared to think that Audrey should marry him! The only chance he would ever have had with her was if he were a king, and probably not even then, no matter how ambitious Audrey was. Were all men vain and selfish? It seemed so. She would be glad to return to the serenity of a daily life of prayer, contemplation and service in the convent.

A sharp cry of pain came from the yard.

Gathering up her skirts, Celeste ran outside, to find Norbert, his fist upraised, standing over Lewis. The youth was huddled on the ground, his arm thrown over his head to protect it from his father’s blows.

“Stop!” she cried, running toward them.

His face nearly purple with rage, Norbert lowered his arm. “I shouldn’t have to hare after my son,” he said defensively, “and he shouldn’t take things without asking. He didn’t have permission to leave the shop, either. It’s a busy day and he should be there.”

“If the day is so busy, shouldn’t
you
be there?” Celeste demanded as she helped the young man to his feet, disgusted by the violence men could be capable of. Yes, she would be happy to go back to the convent, regardless of any sacrifice that entailed.

By now, Lizabet had come from the house, Celeste’s cloak over her arm. A family on their way to market stopped and stared, and others traveling to and from the town slowed to watch the confrontation in the yard.

Celeste ignored the onlookers and focused on Norbert. “Since Lewis gave me the candles without your knowledge or approval, I will gladly return them, or pay you for them when I make good on Audrey’s debts.”

Norbert glanced at the growing, curious crowd and became contrite. “No, no, Sister, that won’t be necessary. You may keep them, as my gift to you.”

“And Lewis’s,” she added before addressing the young man himself. “Although in future, Lewis, I suggest you ask permission.”

“I did,” the lad unexpectedly declared, “and the miserly old skinflint said no.”

“Why you—” his father cried, raising his hand again.

Celeste swiftly moved to block the blow. It landed hard on her shoulder, sending her down on one knee.

At the same time, Gerrard’s voice rang out across the yard. “Raise your hand to her again and, by God, I’ll cut it off!”