the Priory, the world is large. Many things can happen.”
“And I plan to write about them so I can remember when I return.” She patted the sack where her precious parchment and quill lay.
“You say that now.” Weary sadness shadowed Sister’s eyes. “Perhaps you will not want to come back.”
“Of course I will.” Even the thought of being abandoned to the world made her long for the comfort of the Priory. “I know every brick in the chapel, every branch on the tree in the garden. It is where I belong.”
Sister Marian blinked as they stepped into the sunshine. She reached up, squaring the scleverin on Dominica’s shoulders. Sister Barbara had stitched the rough gray wool cloak in loving haste, since Dominica’s fingers were better at copying than stitching and Sister Marian said the cloak she wore on pilgrimage five years ago was still perfectly fine and she did not need another.
“Have you ever missed having a mother, Neeca?”
She smiled to hear Sister use her baby name. “Dominica” had been too big for a little girl’s tongue. “I’ve had lots of mothers. You, Sister Barbara, Sister Catherine, Sister Margaret.” She laid her hand atop Sister’s, covering it easily.
Sister shook her head and flashed her dimple. “And none of us has been able to make you stop biting your nails.” The smile faded. “Have you missed having a father?”
“How can I miss something I have never had? Besides, I have our Heavenly Father. And I have promised my hands to Him to spread His holy word.” She raised her face to the sky, eyes closed, letting the sun’s warmth fade the Prioress’s words. “I know what God intends for me. Faith allows no doubts.”
Sister shook her head. “I could not teach you everything. Even the most faithful doubt. Faith is moving ahead in spite of doubt.”
Faith can be dangerous, The Savior had said. She looked back into the chapel where he still knelt, clutching the Earl’s hand. His broad shoulders cast a protective shadow over the pale, fading body.
Fides facit fidem, she answered, silently. “Faith makes faith.”
Garren squeezed William’s clammy palm, as if his own strength could force his friend back to health. William’s very skin was flaking away, his body dissolving to free his soul.
“I will deliver your message without asking why and bring back a feather even though it be a sin,” Garren said, looking over his shoulder. Richard still spoke to the Abbot and the Prioress whispered to the girl and the Sister, too far away to hear him. “But don’t pretend to these people I am some kind of prophet.”
A smile whispered on William’s lips. He seemed in less pain this morning. “Perhaps you are closer to God than you think, my friend.”
“You know better,” Garren said, shaking his head. “If God listened to my prayers, you would be going on this pilgrimage.” Bracing his elbow against William’s, he pushed as if to arm wrestle. The weight of his arm pressed William’s down without effort. “When I get back, we’ll arm wrestle for the palmer’s fee. Winner pays.”
“I thought dice was your game.”
“I won’t leave this win to chance.”
“The palmer’s fee is little enough compared to what you gave up for me.”
“And a pilgrimage is little enough compared to what you did for me.” Anything he had to do to repay him would be worth it. Anything. He blocked out the thought of Dominica humming.
Whatever strength had raised William from his bed had drained away. Pale skin stretched across his broad forehead, tight as on a skull. “Besides, unless you hurry, I shall not be here for you to argue with.”
“You had better be,” Garren said, through clenched teeth. “You’ll want to see the saint’s feather I’m going to bring you.”
William shook his head, muttering against a blasphemous act, but Garren did not listen. He owed William more than he owed God. I’ll do whatever I have to do to get there and back in time to see him again. In time to give back some of what I owe.
He could feel God laughing at his vow.
A soft rustle behind him announced the black robed Prioress. “How good to see you outside your room, Lord Readington. It is an answer to our constant prayers.”
Garren had no doubt that was true. Beneficences from the Readingtons meant their livelihood and Richard was not known as a generous patron.
“Thank you for your prayers, Prioress.” William nodded toward Dominica, lending her arm to the Sister as they walked to the door. “Dominica goes, too?”
Curious. Garren was not even aware William knew her.
“She begged me to let her go, my lord.” The Prioress raised her eyebrows. “We shall see where God leads her as she sees the world for the first time.”
Garren looked at the Prioress in disgust, but she refused his glance. It was not God who would lead the girl astray. “Who is she, William?”
This time, the Prioress threw him a sharp look.
Though William’s eyes had faded like an overwashed tunic, there was still a flash of humor left. “You’ve savored your share of ladies, Garren. Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed this one. Yellow hair. Twilight eyes.”
“It sounds as if you have noticed her yourself,” Garren countered. Framed in the open door, the Sister straightened her cloak. Sunlight stroked her hair. William was wrong. It wasn’t yellow. It was more the color of sweet ale, when the light from the fire shone through it.
“My family is responsible for the Priory and all who dwell there.”
A chill settled on his back. What if William had an interest in the girl? He shrugged off the thought. More likely William would be dead by the time they returned and never know her fate. The thought did not comfort him. “William—” he began.
“Well, my Lord,” the Prioress interrupted, “since you are well enough to leave your room, I have been seeking an audience to ask…”
“Brother, how foolish of you.” Richard rushed over, leaving the Abbot alone, and nearly knocking the Prioress aside with his elbow. “The effort has obviously been too much. Niccolo, come!”
Garren started as the Italian materialized out of the shadows. He wondered how long the man had lurked there.
All nose and lips, Niccolo had been left behind by one of the Lombardy moneylenders. It was their money the King had borrowed to pay mercenaries like himself who fought in France. Richard had given the man a room. No one was quite certain what he did there. Practiced alchemy, Garren suspected. Lead into gold. A fool’s errand.
Richard claimed Niccolo was searching for the right golden elixir to cure William’s wasting illness. Strange how many ills gold could cure.
Niccolo kept his head bowed and his eyes hidden. “Yes, Lord Richard.”
“He should never have been allowed to leave his
