a cowardly urge to quit his company, but it was swiftly overwhelmed by curiosity. And determination. Should this knight find something, she refused to remain ignorant of it. Besides, she was to keep an eye upon him. Although her instincts told her he was not a killer, still she owed it to the abbess to do her duty. And right now her duty was Robin de Burgh.
And so she followed. He did not wait for her, and she cursed his long legs that seemed to eat up the ground as he strode through the passage to the great hall. Oblivious to the stares of those around him, he continued out the main doors and around the building, unerringly heading toward the walls of the herb garden, which looked out over the orchard.
There she found him pacing along the stone barrier, head bent, as if he expected the murderer to have left his mark upon the grass. He paused, here and there, just as he had in the garden, kneeling to inspect the ground, though Sybil could see nothing. Finally, he lifted his head and looked at her, his eyes so beautiful that Sybil nearly swallowed her tongue.
“There’s nothing here,” he said, with a grimace.
Sybil could do no more than stare stupidly at him while she tried to control the sudden trembling in her limbs.
“Have there been any strangers about?” he asked.
Sybil shook her head. She found it difficult to concentrate on his words when his mouth moved. She had torn her attention away from his eyes only to find it engaged by his lips. Out here in the vast expanse of the grounds, he seemed more approachable, more real, as the sunlight dappled his features, and somehow the notion made her heart pound erratically.
Then his mouth moved again. “No one unusual?” he prompted, and his questioning look made Sybil wrest control of herself from whatever forces were affecting her.
“No. None that I am aware of beyond the occasional cleric, but I deal mostly with boarders, not travelers. We should check with Elizabeth, who handles lodging for the poor, pilgrims and others seeking but a night’s stay. And the abbess would have more contact with visitors.”
“And the servants knowledge of packmen and the sort,” Robin mused. Rising to his feet in one graceful motion that almost stopped her breath, he glanced toward Sybil again, and she felt his attention clear down to her toes. He seemed to study her with a wary sort of animosity, that had Sybil wondering just what his complaint was before she realized he probably disliked being paired with a woman.
“If you’re to help, then let us be about questioning these people while their memories are fresh,” he snapped, confirming her suspicions.
Well, she didn’t care to be stuck with him either, Sybil thought, lifting her chin, but the abbess had decreed that they must work together, so she would obey. She could only hope that the killer would be found soon, for once the murder was solved, Robin de Burgh would be on his way.
And Sybil would be glad of it.
Chapter Three
Although Robin didn’t like spending any more time than necessary with the One, she appeared to be not only his assistant as coroner, but his sole contact within the nunnery—unless he wanted to go chasing after the abbess. Striding away from the orchard after an especially long, unsettling glance at her, Robin had to slow his steps for her to catch up with him, even as he tried to avoid looking upon her. It was a nearly impossible task, but he managed it while barking out a request for a messenger.
After all, he couldn’t remain here indefinitely, when no one at Baddersly knew his exact whereabouts. He had promised the solicitous steward there that he would not hare off without a word, as his brother Simon had done before him. God knows he didn’t want Florian to think he was entangled with a female, as Simon had been. And anyway, he needed some clothes and personal effects, more than the few he had brought with him, for he had no idea how long he would be staying.
That thought made him frown. For the sake of the residents here and his own peace of mind, Robin hoped that he could soon find the murderer, ask about Vala, and be on his way—far away from Sybil. In the meantime, however, he had to suffer her to show him a chamber in the guest house; simply following her into the building was an exercise in both restraint and agitation.
Watching the subtle sway of her hips, Robin gritted his teeth in an effort to control his baser impulses, even while he wondered what the abbess was thinking to put someone like Sybil in charge of tenants. No wonder the old woman thought her destined for the world! A beautiful young novice like his One had no business being anywhere near the guests, let alone taking them to their rooms.
If he were running things, Sybil would find herself cloistered as far as she could be from outsiders. Why, he could just imagine some lecherous old nobleman leering at her, or worse, and the thought wrought havoc with his temper. Although he usually took a lighthearted view of nearly everything, Robin suddenly found himself struggling against a fierce surge of possessiveness.
Sybil ought to be protected instead of flaunted before the eyes of any stray man, whether tenants, clergy, servants or whoever. And Robin certainly didn’t trust the nunnery walls to secure her. Indeed, he was surprised that she wasn’t the one lying dead, murdered by some jealous admirer or unwanted suitor. The thought made him suck in a harsh breath, as if someone had kicked him in the gut, and it was all he could do not to reach out and grab her to him, just to keep her safe.
Robin shook his head, struggling to gather his straying wits. In all probability, if he were to touch her, the One would scream her head off, and then she wouldn’t be the only one suspecting him of murder! Deliberately, he backed away, though his whole body seemed to rebel against such a course. Robin tried to reason with it.
Just because he felt this odd sense of recognition in connection with Sybil did not mean that she was his responsibility. Why should it matter to him what happened to her, if she got herself in some kind of trouble or even was involved somehow in the death of the nun? She was not his concern, Robin told himself. Still, he felt atypically disoriented as she led him through the guest house to a private chamber, as if his mind was at war with the rest of him. And losing.
Robin took a deep breath and looked around. It was a well-appointed room, better than the average wayfarer could expect, and he nodded in approval as he dropped his pack upon a low stool. The bed was larger than he had anticipated, and he stared at it long and hard before his gaze swung back toward Sybil. Although the door remained open, the knowledge that they were alone together sent his blood rushing to nether regions.
Along with the surge of lust, Robin felt that curious sense of familiarity, as if he had known this woman forever, that despite her black looks and tart tongue, they were made for one another. For a long moment, he even had the notion that should he hold out his hand, she would take it, joining him eagerly. But instead of extending his fingers toward her, Robin lifted them to the neck of his tunic, where he tugged hard. Tempted as he was by the sight of that bed, he knew that such urges led to madness, or at least to marriage. And with a groan of panic, he hurried from the premises so swiftly that his companion was forced to run after him.
Once back in the main building, they were met by a grim-looking older nun with a coarse complexion. A forbidding creature, she nodded stiffly at them and without a word, led them down the corridor once more to what she called “the day room of the novices,” a spare chamber with little more than a narrow table and benches.
It hardly seemed a cozy place, and for the first time, Robin wondered what kind of life these nuns, even the novices like Sybil, must have. As a de Burgh born into wealth and privilege, he was well used to his comforts, but what comforts did Sybil have? The question disturbed him, and
