by D. L. Bogdan
It would pass, he decided. It must. Cecily was married to Hal and he was a priest. No stronger argument existed against further development of these foreign feelings than these two constraints. Yet was this a foreign feeling? Years ago when Father Alec objected to Hal marrying the girl, was it indeed because he found her too young or had there been something more? He did not want to explore it. He would surround himself with the children, he would do what he came to do and count down the days till his release.
Never had he thought he would liken Sumerton to a prison.
Cecily had no right to the stirrings in her heart. She was married; she was in love. Hal had been everything to her these years past. He had given her children, he had given her a life beyond what she dreamed possible. But the love she bore Hal and the strange sensation Father Alec evoked were two different things. It must be lust, she decided, her gut churning in guilt. The years had been kind to him, after all, the only testament to his age being the subtle streaks of silver through his chestnut hair and the lines that crinkled around his soft hazel eyes when he smiled. He was still in fine form; he emanated strength and confidence, and though Hal was a handsome man, there was just something about Father Alec... . Yet she could not say it was all looks with Father Alec. She had always cherished his manner. He was kind, straightforward, and gentle in his counsel. She admired him. Perhaps it was simply that. She had placed him on a sort of pedestal since childhood, and seeing him again renewed those feelings of awe. It was all foolishness regardless.
As Father Alec settled into life at Sumerton, Cecily invented every reason to evade him. The children adored him and he kept company with them even when he wasn’t tutoring. He took them riding and exploring and stargazing, occupying them with the same pastimes he had entertained her, Mirabella, and Brey with as children. She was grateful for the easy rapport they established.
The counsel she had longed for she did not seek. His presence alone distracted her from her own tragedy, and though she would never be at peace with it, she could at least keep it in perspective. She never ceased praying for the soul of her little one, but beyond that, there was nothing else to be done.
If Cecily was avoiding the priest, so he was avoiding her, and she was grateful for that as well. And if Hal noted a difference in their exchanges, or lack thereof, he had the grace to leave it be.
Only Mirabella seemed to sense that something was amiss. She conveyed it in a pointed gaze that caused Cecily to avert her eyes and bow her head. She cursed the guilt Mirabella evoked. She had done nothing wrong and she wouldn’t.
Mirabella’s eyes told her otherwise. It was as though she was condemning and challenging her at once.
Whereas Cecily kept her distance, Mirabella sought out the company of Father Alec, and together they spent many a long hour discussing the True Faith, reforms, and the philosophy of the fledgling Church of England. No one stimulated her mind like Father Alec and she cherished their conversations. He was a good companion, a good friend, and she didn’t mind that they disagreed on almost everything. The banter was good natured, and both left each debate with as much respect as they had when beginning it.
“And if your Cranmer gets his way, priests will no longer have to be celibate, will they?” Mirabella asked as the two took to riding through the forest one crisp spring day.
Father Alec slowed his horse. “This speculating on possible reforms is considered heretical, Mistress Mirabella. You must not fault me for being cautious when discussing them.”
“Do you not trust me, Father?” Mirabella asked, her tone betraying her hurt.
“You are a former novitiate nun,” Father Alec told her. “You were, as I remember, a supporter of the Pilgrimage of Grace and a practitioner of what you call the ‘True Faith.’ ” He turned, raising a brow and smiling. “So, my friend, what do you think?”
Mirabella bowed her head. “I suppose not,” she admitted. “But I’d like you to know that we are friends before we are avowed to any creed. You can trust me, Father.” She met his eyes, her heart pounding. “I promise I would never betray you.”
Father Alec reached out, covering her hand with his. Mirabella trembled at his touch. “I appreciate your friendship, mistress. But I would never want to compromise you by sharing views that would burden your heart and leave you torn.”
“My beliefs are my own,” she said. “What I see now is that not everyone will ever agree on a matter as complex as religious doctrine. But maybe there is some way we could coexist and compromise?”
“Then you have grown,” Father Alec observed. “To bend but not to break is a great strength, and if this is truly so, then I respect you all the more.”
“Then?” she prodded, hating the fact that she was baiting him, that she was lying. She knew in her heart it was either the True Faith or the New Learning. There was no compromise, no coexisting. The battle would be long; many casualties would be sacrificed on both sides before it was won.
“Then what?” Father Alec chuckled, withdrawing his hand to urge the horse in a pleasant canter.
“Then what of the celibacy of priests?” Mirabella asked.
“They won’t be encouraged to rove the countryside for ladies of the night, if that is what you’re implying,” he said in light tones. “But the sacrament of marriage would be made open to them, yes.”
“And you, Father?” Mirabella persisted. She chastised herself for her forwardness yet couldn’t contain herself. All self-discipline seemed to be lost with her veil. “Would you marry, had you the choice?”
Father Alec sighed. “It is not good for man to be alone,” he said at length. “And if the flesh burns, it must be contained in the marriage bed.” He paused. “Would I marry? A wise man once told me that permitting priests to marry would allow them a better understanding of the struggles of their fellow man. I cannot say I disagree.” He turned to her, his tone thoughtful. “I suppose it wouldn’t be abhorrent to have a helpmate, to know that someone will come after me when I pass on.” His tone became light. “However, it is all rather moot now, isn’t it? Until then, if then ever comes, I am constrained to my vow of chastity. So chaste I shall remain.”
Mirabella ignored the last statements, latching on to what she considered most valid. He would marry. Her heart quickened. He would marry... .
When Father Alec and Mirabella returned to Castle Sumerton, James Reaves was there to collect the horses.
“Mistress Mirabella, may we have speech?” he asked as he took her hand, helping her dismount.
When she was satisfied Father Alec was out of earshot, she faced him. He kept a firm hold on her hand.
“You have never given me an answer,” he noted. “For months now I have been waiting, hoping you would recall that I asked you to marry me. And yet, still I wait, as though my proposal meant nothing to you.”
Mirabella bowed her head, her face flushing. How could she give him an answer when everything had changed today, when Father Alec admitted there was a chance he would marry? How could she give herself to anyone else? Yet Father Alec never said he would marry her. And who could anticipate when or if that reform would ever be pushed through? But if it did go through ... It made sense that Father Alec would marry her; they challenged each other, they enjoyed each other’s company, she loved him. The last thought startled her, but she could no longer deny it. She loved him. She would have him, no one else.
“I’m sorry, James,” she said in short tones. “I cannot marry you.” She withdrew her hands, turning away from him.
“Then all these years, all the time we have spent together—”
Mirabella whirled toward him. “Have I ever behaved as anything less than a lady? Have I ever indicated any feelings toward you other than friendship? For love of God, James, if you feel you’ve wasted time on me, then perhaps you have!”
“For love of God,” James repeated in quiet tones. “Yes, I rather thought it was the love of God that drew us together. I see now that I am wrong. The love of God does
drive you, that is certain, but not toward me.” He shook his head, pity lighting his eyes. “It’s the priest you want, isn’t it?”
It was instinct. She brought her hand across his cheek in a stinging slap that echoed in the stables. From its stall a horse whinnied its disapproval.
James shook his head, unaffected. “You’ll not get what you want from that man. He’s an honorable one, if he’s anything at all. And you’d have to be a blind fool to see that if he were free to love ’twouldn’t be you.” He drew in a quavering breath. “It would be the Lady Cecily.”
Hot tears stung Mirabella’s eyes. She shook her head. “You’re wrong, James. Cecily is devoted to my father—”
“That is not in question, is it?” James returned coolly. “I only said who he would choose if both were free to. But they aren’t, are they? Yet you’ll throw your life away on a chance, a slight chance, when before you stands a man ready to give you a life filled with love, children, a home, whatever is in my power to give. But that’s too easy, isn’t it? That’s too safe. You like the risk, the danger. That’s why you stayed on at Sumerton Abbey, that’s why you went to London, and that’s why you throw yourself shamelessly before a man you can’t have. My apologies for being simple. My apologies for not being forbidden.”
With that, he turned on his heel and quit the stables, his steps brusque with purpose.
Mirabella stood alone, burying her face in her hands and sobbing for herself, for James, and for the fact that he was right.
Father Alec returned to find Hal gone to Lincoln and the children abed. Lady Alice Camden had come calling and was keeping company with Cecily, embroidering in the bower. Father Alec paused outside the door, taking in the scene, his breath caught in his throat. The sun filtering through the bay window created an ethereal glow about Cecily; her hair shone as though it were lit from within. Her skin, bathed in the soft light, radiated with a warm luster. In a peculiar way, Father Alec found himself likening her to the Virgin Mary.
“There is the woman in the woods, you know,” he heard Alice tell her.
Cecily inclined her head. “The witch?”
Father Alec knew it was impolite to eavesdrop; he should withdraw. But he found himself rooted in place, curious at the nature of this conversation.
“I would not call her a witch,” Alice corrected. “A wisewoman to be sure, perhaps like a pagan druid priestess of old ...”
“The law would not discern one from the other if she were caught,” Cecily warned. “Both witches and druid priestesses burn the same.”
The dark statement caused a chill to course up Father Alec’s spine. He edged closer to the door.
Alice expelled a sigh tinged with frustration. “Regardless, Cecily, I’m telling you she may be the answer to your prayers. I have not borne a child since seeing her, thanks be to God. She could do the same for you.”
Cecily’s hands ceased their sewing. She bit her lip. Father Alec noted the beads of perspiration gathering at the base of her throat. “How?”
“Pennyroyal. It’s an herb, administered in very small doses.” Alice’s voice was hushed with the excitement of a conspiracy.
Father Alec had heard of pennyroyal and the damage it could cause. It was an abortifacient. In the worst cases, it could prove lethal to the partaker. His heart raced. No matter the grief of her loss, Cecily could not justify this. A child was a gift from God; she must see that. Basic contraception was one thing, and another difference between Father Alec and the Church of Rome was that he could truly see no harm in regulating the size of one’s family. But this ... this was different. This was dangerous.
He could not bear to see Cecily put herself in any kind of jeopardy.
“All right,” Cecily said, the gaze falling upon Alice pointed. “Procure me some, if you will. But I do not want to see her. Not just now.”
Alice nodded. The two commenced their sewing in silence.
Father Alec slipped away, his heart heavy, his mind restless.
“You mean to say that Master James asked for your hand and you said no?” Cecily asked, gazing at Mirabella’s tear-streaked cheeks, incredulous. “Why?”
They were in Mirabella’s apartments. Cecily had all but chased her down when she saw Mirabella flee to them, head buried in her hands.
Mirabella’s green eyes were emerald fires of indignation. “You would not understand,” she said. “You cannot understand how it feels to know one’s first calling is to God. Can you expect me to abandon my inclination just because I am no longer formally tied to monastic life?”
“I appreciate how difficult that would be for you, Mirabella,” Cecily told her, her tone sincere. “But it has been seven years. You have had time to adjust. And James has been so good to you. He is a kind, honorable man who shares your convictions.”
Mirabella offered a frenzied shake of the head. “I cannot!”
“Mirabella, I understand you have fears,” Cecily went on. “But Master James can give you your own home, your own children, your own life. Don’t you want those things? I often feel for you, watching how wonderful you are with your sister and brother. You deserve to be a mother yourself. Don’t you want your own space?”
Mirabella turned away. “I am happy here,” she said.
“Are you?” Cecily challenged. “Or is it just that it is safe here? Here you can live through others without ever really experiencing anything yourself—”
“Do you want me gone?” Mirabella demanded. “Is that it? I can leave. I can go to my mother’s family in York. I can go to court, to Sumerton Place. If that is it, just say the word.”
“You know that is not it,” Cecily told her, appalled and frustrated that she remained so obstinate, so impossible to reach. “But I worry that you are not really living here, that you are treading water, passing time. I want you to be happy, Mirabella. I know that if you gave Master James the chance, he could provide a great deal of what you are missing now.”
“He is not the one!” Mirabella screamed.
Cecily was silent a long moment. She would not entertain her suspicions. Surely Mirabella was more honorable than that.
Cecily shook her head. “Then who is?” she asked, her voice just above a whisper.
Mirabella said nothing.
Cecily quit the apartments.
Father Alec knew there was no other course but honesty. He sought Cecily out in the stillroom two days later, where she had been gathering lavender to put in the linens.
“Lady Cecily, I must confess that I heard your conversation with Lady Alice,” he told her.
Cecily arched a brow, pursing her lips. “You had no right to conceal your presence,” she said. Her tone was so cold, so formal. Her distance saddened him.
“Then neither of us are right, me for concealing my presence and you for concealing your child.” He drew in a breath.
Cecily’s face contorted as tears lit her teal eyes; they shone brilliant as a moonlit sea. “You do not understand, you cannot understand, what it is to lose a child, what it does to you... . I will not risk it again. And Hal ... he doesn’t deserve any more loss after all he has endured. He cares not if we have other children; Harry is healthy and secured as his heir and Kristina is our hearts’ delight.” She shrugged, returning her gaze to the lavender she arranged and rearranged in its basket. “And I do not want any more children.”
“There are other ways to prevent that,” Father Alec assured her, embarrassed that he should be the one to shed light on such a sensitive subject. “But if you are already with child, you are putting yourself and the child in an incredible amount of danger. Does Lord Hal deserve that tragedy? Do any of us?” he added before he could help it.
Cecily squeezed her eyes shut a long moment, shaking her head. “I am barely gone with child; it is hardly there, hardly there at all! It hasn’t quickened!” She raised her head, her eyes lit with indignation.
Father Alec seized her hands from the lavender, clenching them tight in his. “My lady, I
beg you, consider this with care ... it may be ‘hardly there’ as you say, but when does God place the soul within the body? At conception? When it kicks? At birth? No one can know these mysteries; ergo, no one can be qualified to speculate, to take that risk. Can you honestly say you would want that on your head?”
Cecily’s knees buckled as she dissolved into tears. Father Alec caught her in his arms, pulling her near, stroking the back of her hair. It was like silk against his skin. He trembled as he withdrew, gripping her at the shoulders.
“It is my body, is it not?” she cried.
Alec shook his head, his heart laden with profound sadness. “That may be, my lady, but the body within you belongs to God, just as you do. Is it not for God to decide its fate, not you?”
Cecily lowered her eyes. “God will deal with me as He sees fit. I will answer to Him for my sins and Him alone.” With this she pulled away, running from the room as though her conscience had taken form and was hunting her down.
Father Alec stood alone, staring at the abandoned basket of lavender, dread pooling in his gut, immobilizing him. Now he knew why he loved his time in London; there he was immersed in doctrine, something intangible, without heart, without life. Though the tragedies of the Crown affected him, they were on the periphery. At Sumerton everything was intertwined; the complexities of happiness and pain seemed to be inexorably tied to one person.
Cecily.
Alice delivered the pennyroyal to Cecily in her apartments with her usual nonchalance, infusing it in some mulled wine. Cecily lay abed in her nightclothes, claiming illness. She was unsure as to the effects of the herb and would be grateful for the time alone to recover.
Cecily held the cup in a trembling hand, staring at its contents a long while. Father Alec’s words swirled in her head, persistent as a migraine. She closed her eyes, sighing. She could not say she was unlike Mirabella, that she did take care to fear for her immortal soul. Guilt coursed through her veins. The thought that she was perhaps snuffing out the spark of life before it had a chance to truly ignite frightened her. What kind of person had she become? What would Hal make of her now? Would he see her as a betrayer, a murderess? The thought of her being the cause of any pain lighting his loving blue eyes would break her heart.
