superior kept all the best wine for herself or her favorites. The rest got much cheaper fare.
“It’s been a long time,” Gerrard said after he took a drink of wine, fixing his brown-eyed gaze upon her in a way that made her grateful for the nun’s habit she wore.
“I heard about your father and Broderick,” she said, knowing better than to offer him any sympathy for their demise.
Gerrard gave a little shrug with his right shoulder, as he used to do when they were children. “Then I suppose you know Roland is lord of Dunborough now.”
She was surprised at how calm he sounded. “Yes, I did hear that.”
“And that Roland is married?”
“Yes.”
She had been even more surprised by that news. Audrey had often said Roland would have to marry a statue to find a wife as cold and stern as he, and Celeste had not disagreed.
“He’s not here at the moment. He’s at his wife’s estate recovering from the wounds he got fighting Audrey’s killer.”
Gerrard didn’t sound overly concerned. Nevertheless, she remembered what he’d said at the house, about Audrey’s bodyguard nearly killing Roland. She’d been too overwhelmed by all that he had told her to inquire about Roland’s state then. “So he will recover?”
“Yes. I’m garrison commander in charge of Dunborough until he returns.”
Being the temporary lord was better than nothing, she supposed, although she nevertheless found it hard to believe that Gerrard could be so apparently accepting of his lower status.
“Things are better between us now,” he added.
Much better, it seemed. “So Roland won’t be angry if you drink all the best wine.”
Gerrard laughed softly. As much as she’d remembered, she had forgotten the sound of his laughter and the way it seemed to brighten everything around him.
“It would take years to do that,” he assured her, “even if I drank as much as I used to.”
She had heard that he drank to excess, among other sins, so that was not a surprise. The surprise was that he was willing to admit it.
“Enough of what’s happened here in Dunborough,” he said. “I have some questions of my own to ask.”
The last thing she wanted was to be interrogated by Gerrard. It would be worse than facing the mother superior at her most irate.
Celeste got to her feet. “If you don’t mind, Gerrard, I’m quite tired and would like to rest.”
A flash of irritation crossed his leanly handsome features and she waited for a protest.
Instead, he rose and called to the maidservant who had brought the refreshments. “Lizabet, show Sister Celeste to Roland’s chamber.”
He turned back to regard her with those brilliant dark brown eyes. “Or are you Sister Something Else?”
She kept her composure and silently prayed for forgiveness for the lie she was about to tell, along with her other recent sins. “I am Sister Augustine now.”
“Until later, then, Sister.”
“Yes, until later,” she agreed as she turned to follow the maidservant to the stairs leading to the family chambers.
Despite her answer, though, she had already decided she would not be joining Gerrard in the hall later, or at any time. When she was with him, the past crowded in on her, the memories fresh and vivid, both the good ones and the bad.
Lizabet passed the first door. “That was Sir Blane’s,” she said, her voice hushed as if she thought someone would overhear.
“And that was Broderick’s, the late lord’s eldest son,” she continued as they passed another. “I suppose you heard what happened to him? Killed by a woman! Sir Roland’s wife’s cousin. I can hardly imagine it.”
“A woman?” Celeste repeated, unable to hide her surprise.
Gerrard’s older brother had been a big man and a bully, fierce and cruel. To think that any woman had been able to—”
“Aye, it’s true. He was about to kill the man Lady Mavis’s cousin loved, and Lady Thomasina killed Broderick instead.”
Sister Sylvester once said that a loved one in trouble could give a person great and unforeseen strength. It seemed that she was right. “From what I remember of Broderick, I find it difficult to be sorry, however he met his end.”
Lizabet slid Celeste a questioning glance. “You know the family?”
“In a way. I’m Audrey D’Orleau’s sister.”
The young woman came to a startled halt. “I—I’m sorry, Sister!” she stammered.
She didn’t wait for Celeste to respond, but quickly continued on their way.
“This chamber is Gerrard’s when he sleeps here,” she said, hurrying past another door, “and this is Sir Roland’s.” Lizabet opened the last door in the corridor and stood aside to let Celeste enter.
The room was a far cry from the way she’d imagined any chamber of Roland’s. She’d been expecting bare walls and few amenities, something Spartan in keeping with his cold, stern demeanor. Instead, there were tapestries on the wall, linen shutters as well as wooden ones on the window to keep out the cold, a dressing table and two brightly painted wooden chests for clothing. Against the far wall was the biggest bed Celeste had ever seen, made up with thick blankets and a silken coverlet. The bed curtains were a bright blue damask and there was even a carpet on the floor.
She immediately conjured a vision of a couple in that luxurious bed, a well-built man with shoulder-length hair making love to some faceless naked woman with long, curling brown tresses.
But what price did a woman pay for such luxury?
“Aye, it’s big,” Lizabet said with a smile when she saw where Celeste was looking. “Lady Mavis—Sir Roland’s wife, that is—she asked for a new one the day she got here. Could have heard a cow cough a mile away when she said his bed wasn’t big enough.”
The maidservant blushed and lowered her eyes. “Sorry, Sister. I didn’t mean to offend.”
“It’s all right,” Celeste assured her, turning away to hide her own embarrassed blushes.
“Anything you need, Sister? Other than some warm water to wash?”
“No, that will be enough. Thank you.”
“Then I’ll be back soon with the water and some fresh linen,” Lizabet said, leaving the room.
Celeste immediately removed her cap, veil and constricting wimple. She was relieved to be rid of them and glad to be alone, away from curious people and their stares and whispers, as well as Gerrard and the memories he brought back.
She
