Innocent trotted at her feet, a safe distance from the horse’s hooves.
Between the castle and the Priory, the fields rolled yellow and green and familiar in every direction. West, beyond the Priory, each step carried her farther from all she had known. Widow Cropton’s drone tickled her ear, drowning out the lark’s song, as she described every detail of her past pilgrimages. By midafternoon, she had described the journey across the Channel to Calais. Dominica felt as if she, too, had traveled as far as France, for she no longer recognized the land around them.
Her thighs already ached and she envied Roucoud’s muscles, bunching and flexing beneath his reddish coat with every powerful step. She peeked around him. The Savior moved as powerfully as his horse, one step following another.
She silently mouthed several words of thanks she might say to him, wishing she could write them instead, but she had brought barely enough parchment to record the journey. Finally satisfied, she repeated them in rhythm with each step. She would not say them aloud until she could be alone with him and Sister could not hear. Sister never liked being fussed over.
Beneath her gray wool cloak, Dominica steamed like Cook’s baked bread by the time The Savior called a stop. When he lifted Sister Marian off Roucoud, Dominica saw damp stains under his arms. He’s hot, she thought, surprised. She had not expected a near saint to have a sinful body that sweated just as hers did.
She watched, surreptitiously, as he disappeared into the woods. He must have bodily needs, too. The shocking picture of The Savior relieving himself popped unbidden into her mind. More than the sun heated her cheeks and she held the wicked image a moment longer than she should have before begging God’s forgiveness.
After he returned and Sister went into the woods, Dominica walked over to him, ready to speak. She tilted her head back. She could meet many a man’s eye, but he was taller than the Abbot. Almost as tall as Lord William.
Taking a deep breath, she said the words she memorized. “Thank you for persuading Sister Marian to ride. In even this small way, you are a savior.”
“I am no one’s savior!” he said, through clenched teeth, glancing toward the other pilgrims. Only strong will, she thought, held back his shout. “Stop telling people I am.”
“But you saved Lord William!” She had practiced no more words, so the ones she had been told tumbled out. “At Poitiers, where our glorious Black Prince triumphed with God’s help.”
“Only if God created all Frenchmen cowards.” A scowl clung to his face like morning fog. She always seemed to make him angry.
“But it was a miracle!” She was sure that’s what she had been told about the glorious victory. “We were outnumbered, surrounded, and yet the French forces were scattered as if by an unseen hand.”
“I believe only in hands I can see.” He thrust his hands before her face. Large, square hands. Callused. And, she knew, oddly gentle. “These hands carried Readington home, not God’s.”
Dominica had pictured a white-gowned wraith, floating a few inches above the ground, stretching thin fingers toward Lord William, who simply rose and walked. This man hoisted Lord William over his shoulder like a sack of the Miller brothers’ flour.
“Carried him with God’s help.” Her hands made the sign of the cross. “Everyone knows that!”
He dropped his hands to his side, sighing with exasperation. “Everyone knows nothing. I did no more for him than he did for me.”
She blinked. “Lord William brought you back from the dead?” The Earl was strong and kind and God had certainly protected his people from the Death when many others were taken, but she had never heard rumors Lord William might bring them back to life. “I thought he gave you a horse.”
The man was silent, then, as if he had slipped into the past. “He gave me a new life.”
Wondering whether she should risk asking what he meant, she ignored Innocent’s bark until he ran in front of her, short legs churning, chasing a scampering rabbit across the road and into a field. The waving green wheat swallowed the rabbit, as well as Innocent’s plump, shaggy black haunches.
“Come back,” Dominica cried, lifting her skirts to run after him.
The Savior grabbed her arm. “He’s a terrier. You can’t run after him every time every time he runs after a rabbit.” A smile tugged at The Savior’s lips.
“He’ll get lost! He’s never been outside the convent before.” She did not even know where she was. How would Innocent find his way back? Less than a day away from home and the world suddenly seemed a frightening place.
Innocent’s bark faded.
The Widow called from behind her, laughing. “Tell him to bring back our dinner.”
“But he likes turnips,” she cried, thinking how many times she had pulled his dirt-covered nose out of her garden. She bit her lip. What if he didn’t come back? “Where will he find turnips if he runs away?”
The Savior’s fingers still curled around her wrist, warm on her skin. “Let him enjoy the chase.”
“What if he never comes back? How will he take care of himself?” She wished Sister would come back. Sister would understand.
“Any dog missing one ear has seen something of life,” he answered, not letting go of her arm. Her skin pulsed beneath his fingers.
His other ear made up for it, she thought. It stood up like a perky little unicorn’s horn and then flopped over at the top, bouncing when he chased his tail as she had taught him. Using turnips. And if he never came back she didn’t know how she would bear it.
She poured out the story to Sister, as The Savior lifted her back on the horse. “God will guide him back to us, if it is meant to be. Have you prayed?”
Dominica shook her head, ashamed she had not, but not at all certain that God had time to look for lost dogs.
Sneering at Dominica as he strode past her, the squire faced The Savior, chest to chest, close enough to prove he was a fighting man, too. Perhaps he feels he has something to prove, she thought, for he was beautiful as a blond, painted angel. “Sir Garren, let’s go. We’re not going to stay here waiting for a dog, are we?”
Sir Garren, though it was hard to think of him that way, smiled with the patience he seemed to show everyone but her. “We are going to stay here until I say it’s time to leave.” There was steel in his voice. Enough to remind Simon, to remind all of them, that he was the leader and accustomed to command. “Why don’t you check the woods to make sure we are all here, young Simon?”
The young squire’s ears turned red, but he stalked off into the woods.
Before Simon returned, Innocent, pink tongue panting between shaggy black whiskers, poked his nose out from the young wheat. Trotting back to her, he started to chase his tail, as if to cajole her forgiveness. Dominica snatched him up, squeezing him tight, comforted by the heaving bellows of his warm little chest against hers. “Bad dog.”
Sister scratched behind his good ear.
“Don’t reward him for running away! Next time he might not come back.”
“You
