“Good. Can you eat?”
“No need. The bishop fed me while I was explaining the whole thing to him.”
“Oh, poor Bell. Over and over.”
He sighed heavily and drank again, but only a sip this time. “At least I was able to tell Winchester about Linley… Ask him, I mean, whether he thought it possible that Linley’s spirit could move his dead hand.” He took a slightly larger sip and shuddered.
“I have no idea what Winchester would say, except that whatever made Sir John fling himself on your knife, it was no fault of yours.”
A faint smile bent Bell’s lips again. “Yes, he said that, and also absolved me of any sin of omission, like looking away from Sir John at the wrong moment so that Linley was murdered.” He sighed again. “I have no idea why it sticks in my mind so. I do not really feel guilty. I would have prevented Linley’s death if I could, although he certainly brought it on himself by enraging Claresta and through her, Spencer…but I keep seeing that dead hand rise and grip Sir John’s ankle…”
Now it was Magdalene who shuddered, very visibly. She was bitterly sorry she had used that suggestion to prevent Bell from thinking about how she could have pushed Sir John onto his knife. Many ghosts must haunt a long-time soldier. She had only one, and she could understand all too well that Bell did not need another.
“Sorry.” Bell patted her hand, misunderstanding what had caused her distress. “I did not mean to raise horrors to trouble you.”
And suddenly a new idea came to Magdalene. “Well, you did,” she said, deliberately shuddering again. “And this is now a night when I do not wish to sleep alone. Come to bed—tomorrow you will know in your heart and head both that what the bishop said is true and the light of day will clear away my terrors.”
Bell stared across the table at her. Slowly he emptied the cup of wine and replaced the cup on the table. “But nothing is changed.”
Magdalene bent her head. “Nothing can change. Twelve years ago, to save my life, I committed a crime. No door but death was open to me, except that of a whore. I became a whore. I am a whore. Nothing can wipe out the past, no wish of mine, no prayer, not even a miracle.”
“You think I will turn on you and call you whore and leave you?”
“Have you not done so once already?”
“And you said you would not have me back.”
Magdalene sighed. “I did. And I tried, but I found that you were rooted deep in my heart. I could not tear you out. Why should I suffer pain and misery now only because I fear that pain and misery in the future? It is better to have a present joy and endure the suffering when it actually comes.”
Bell took the five silver pennies out of his purse and laid them on the table. “I have been carrying these since the day after the bishop sent me here. If you are a whore…I, too, do not wish to sleep alone. Take them.”
“Well, I will,” Magdalene said briskly, scooping the coins off the table; the shock on Bell’s face made her giggle. “The condition you are in tonight, I do not think my usual payment of pleasure and laughter will be forthcoming.”
“I am not so tired as that,” Bell protested.
But Magdalene only laughed and took his hand and pulled him to his feet and then, swordbelt trailing from his free hand, into her chamber. Within, he freed himself and put his sword conveniently to hand by the side of the bed on which he always slept. Then he pulled off his tunic and, seeking the chest on which he laid his clothing, turned to face her. He found that she had tied the five pennies in a wisp of fabric and hung them from the frame that held the oval of polished silver she used as a mirror.
She saw the relief on his face, relief because she had not put his coin with those that her women earned, thus setting it aside from pay for whoring. She grinned broadly. He did not know that the oval of silver had been William’s gift, as were most of the costly things in her chamber. But she said not a word and went swiftly forward to untie the rolled ribbon that held his shirt closed.
“I could not root you out of my heart either,” he murmured, dropping his head to meet the lips she raised to him, “nor this place. My mother and sisters would have a fit if they knew, but to me this is home.”
Copyright © 2006 by Roberta Gellis
Originally published by Five Star (9781594144721)
Electronically published in 2015 by Belgrave House
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
No portion of this book may be reprinted in whole or in part, by printing, faxing, E-mail, copying electronically or by any other means without permission of the publisher. For more
information, contact Belgrave House, 190 Belgrave Avenue, San Francisco, CA 94117-4228
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This is a work of fiction. All names in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to any person living or dead is coincidental.
Chains of Folly Page 29
