She didn’t move to go. “But—”
“Leave me,” he barked, raking his hand through his hair with a vengeance.
When he was alone with his thoughts, he wished she had stayed. He was not fit company tonight, not even for himself.
Lily woke. A vague feeling of something not being right was her first awareness, and then she remembered. She knew he would be gone already.
The familiar emptiness lodged in her breast, and she felt close to tears. It was silly, she should be glad he was gone. But it was always this way after his visits. When he was here, it was almost agony to be near him, to have him hold her, yet still keep so much from her. But when he was gone, it was worse. A terrible sense of failure pressed down on her like the weight of the world.
A slight stirring beside her caused her to start and made her aware of the press of a small body against her back. Turning, she saw Lizzie’s eyes flutter open and a sleepy smile spread across her face.
“I had a nightmare,” she said.
“Did you? What was it?” Lily shifted and gathered the small, warm body into her arms.
“I don’ ’member.”
“Well, it is over now, and the sun is up. Nightmares are not real, remember that. Dreams cannot hurt you.”
The irony of her words hit her, and she buried her face in the clean, sweet smell of the girl’s freshly washed hair. She had lied. Dreams can hurt.
Chapter Eighteen
Andrew cringed at the sight of the house. He had forgotten just how gloomy it was, such a dim, dingy place. He wondered how the little flower fared here. Just the thought of her set his heart to racing with doubt. Was he being a fool? That is what Rogan would have said.
That weird servant, Thomas, came to take his horse and instructed him that he could find the mistress in the great room. Hitching his packet over his shoulder, Andrew headed indoors.
Lily sat alone in a corner, curled up by the small fireplace with a pile of sewing on her lap. He had to stop to let his reaction settle. He was uneasy enough without such a scene as this. She looked so lonely, so much the outcast. It was exactly as Rogan had intended, and he himself, God help him, had agreed.
But then, much had changed for him since the beginning of all this. It was nothing anyone would notice from the outside, but his soul was slowly undergoing a transformation. And at the heart of it was the distinct guilt over Lily.
He had prayed for answers and found none save a sudden urge to come to his sister-in-law. And a purpose, though he hardly understood it, became imperative.
Well, he had better hope it was divine direction, for if it were anything less it would be trouble if Rogan ever caught him. His brother had made it clear no one was to interfere with Lily, and Andrew doubted his offhand comment about tending to Lily’s spiritual needs meant he would be pleased to find Andrew here.
Drawing a steadying breath, he started over to Lily. The sound of his footfalls brought her head up, and she seemed startled to find him standing before her. She rose, a fluid movement, and stood as if braced for some bad news. Watching him warily, she nodded a careful greeting. “Andrew.”
“Relax, my lady,” he said, moving forward to take the seat opposite her. “I come not as your brother but as a priest.”
“A priest?” Her tone was mildly disbelieving.
“I am one, you know, although I have not much acted like it. To be truthful, I never much cared for any of it. But lately, I have become aware, rather belatedly, of the responsibilities of my calling.”
“And so you have come here to be my priest?”
The unworldly color of her eyes flashed. She more than likely thought him sporting with her. After another sigh, he explained, “I was promised to the church at birth, not such a strange thing. It is the normal custom, to pledge certain children to the priesthood or to a nunnery. Except I had no inclination to go, you see. I rather preferred hunting with my brothers and the secular life I was used to. But, money can buy anything, and so it was easy to secure a relatively unhindered existence with my family, living much as I did before. It never bothered me, my lack of attention to my profession. Until now. It seems I cannot abide the fact that you have been made to live here without benefit of spiritual…guidance.”
She sat, perching on the edge of her chair like a bird poised for flight. “And what makes you think I am in need?”
“We all have spiritual needs, my lady.” Lifting his bag, he began to remove its contents. “I will use that trestle over there,” he said, indicating a table near the wall. With reverent hands, he removed the altar cloth, candles, chalice, cross and Bible.
Lily watched impassively as he set up the makeshift altar. When he was finished, she asked, “Does Rogan know you are here?”
“No.”
“Why should I believe you? You were as much a part of all of this as he.”
“You have absolutely no cause to trust me, I know. Except that I am vested.”
“I know many priests whose spiritual loyalty is much impaired by their human nature. You are still Rogan’s brother.”
“True. But I am, if you do not know this already, an honest man. And I have never followed Rogan with blind loyalty.”
“So, Rogan did not send you.” She nodded, then gave him a slanting look. “God did?”
Andrew smiled and spread his hands out in silent apology.
“So, what is it you want?”
“I will say mass. I shall eat luncheon before that, but otherwise, I will be unoccupied. I will be available for confession.”
She stood bolt upright, feet planted apart as she faced him like an inflamed fury. “Is that what this is about? You will have my confession. I suppose you are eager to hear how I betrayed my husband, how I laughed with my family after we thought him dead. What a disappointment, I should think, that I will tell you none of these things.”
She spun on her heel and was about to stalk off when Andrew reached for her arm. “Lily, listen to me. I told you I came here as your priest, not Rogan’s man, and I meant that. You know I am forbidden to speak of another’s solemn penance. Nothing you will say shall go beyond the two of us.
“Even more, I cannot allow anything you tell me to affect me as a person. If you do speak of guilt, then I must forget I heard that admission from your lips. And if you are innocent, I can do nothing to aid you in your present situation.”
He saw she was listening. “Lily, I cannot help you with Rogan, that is not why I am here. But I cannot hurt you, either. Nothing you tell me in the sacrament of confession can make any difference, except to God.”
“You believe me,” she said suddenly, and her lips trembled as her eyes filled with tears. “You know the truth.”
He released her, turning away. “I told you, that is not why I am here.”
“But you do!”
He looked at her again, forcing himself to view that shining hope light her face. Did he believe that ingenuous expression hid a cold and calculating heart? “Very well, I admit it. I thought Rogan was right at first. But you have been steadfast in the face of Rogan’s vengeance, with a nobility of spirit that has persuaded me we were wrong to accuse you.”
With a gut-wrenching cry, she flung herself into his arms. He recovered quickly from the surprise of it, holding her and feeling an odd kind of peace as she clung to him like a drowning woman who has just been saved from the clutches of the sea.
“Now,” he said softly as her outburst subsided, “go and reflect on your sins, and I will hear your confession when you are ready.”
Disentangling himself, he retreated to the small chamber on the second level that had been his. He hoped she would take a while, for he needed much time to pray.
A mild breeze wafted pleasantly through the hall of Brenton Castle, stirring the many candle flames into jangling points of illumination. Shadows flickered along the high stone walls in a grotesque dance of dark images. Catherine Marshand Craven narrowed her eyes at the playful specters as her husband belch
ed.
“Damnation!” he exclaimed, wiping the back of his hand across his lips. The other hand rubbed the roundness of his belly.
Catherine gave him a withering look, of which he took no notice.
“Fine meal,” he commented to no one. One of his sycophants, a wiry fellow with a gaping hole in his smile, laughed in an annoying high-pitched manner.
In disgust, Catherine threw her meat onto her trencher and stood. Sagramore Craven, Earl of Brenton, gazed up at his wife, his bloodshot eyes taking a moment to focus on her. “Off to bed, my love?”
“Yes,” Catherine answered tightly. Her eyes lifted, peering over her husband’s head for the one she sought. Phillippe nodded in answer to her silent signal.
“Perhaps I’ll join you,” Craven said, hoisting himself up from the chair. Beside him, his toothless crony giggled in salacious glee.
“I was going to walk a bit in the garden first,” Catherine said quickly, knowing how Sagramore hated exercise.
“Humph,” Craven grunted, falling back into his seat. “In that case, I’ll have another ale.”
Catherine hurried away, weaving among the people seated on the trestles with a rage smoldering in her chest. Darting her eyes over to Phillippe, she saw he was already making his way out of the room.
“Madam,” a voice said, cutting into her awareness.
Catherine’s head snapped around.
“Someone to see you,” a young servant said. “He’s waitin’ over there.”
Catherine’s gaze followed the direction indicated. A dark, rangy man stood by an arched alcove. Dorvis. A trill of excitement rippled through her.
Motioning for Dorvis to follow, she turned and quit the hall. By the time she reached the corridor, Phillippe was already waiting.
“Ah, chérie, you—”
Catherine held up her hand for silence. Behind her, the stranger stepped through the threshold.
“Lady Catherine,” he said, and smiled, showing a row of pointed teeth that were badly stained a brownish yellow.
“You have some news?” she demanded.
“Lord Rogan remains at Kensmouth. The Lady Lily is still secreted away.”
Catherine smiled. “Ah. Good.” She paused a moment, as if savoring the great news. Casting her eyes to Phillippe, she said, “Is it not delicious? Imagine their misery.”
“So you will leave them be?” Phillippe was surprised.
“For now,” Catherine purred. “But not forever. I must plan carefully. I was too rushed before. This time, I shall plot at my leisure, and act in due course.” She turned to Dorvis. “Return to Kensmouth and wait there. If anything of interest comes about, report to me immediately.”
The man bowed and headed out the door. Phillippe lowered his mouth to Catherine’s ear. “What do you have in mind, ma petite?”
Her eyes glittered coldly as she stared after Dorvis. “I do not yet know, Phillippe. But when I do, be certain it will be glorious.”
“Bless me, father, for I have sinned.”
Lily knelt before Andrew, her head bowed and hands clasped before her. She dragged in a long breath and began, “I almost did grievous injury to a trio of innocent children who needed me. I am ashamed at how cruel I was to them at first. I have been unkind to Rogan. I have had evil thoughts, fantasies, of revenge. I know that he oppresses me, but he thinks himself just. If I were guilty of the betrayal he believes of me, I would deserve all he does and more. But I do not deserve it at all. I have tried to understand, to excuse him, but sometimes I…”
She paused. “I want his forgiveness, and I want what existed between us before the treachery of my family destroyed it all. There is something inside me that rails against the injustice. A quiet rage. Sometimes it is directed at him, sometimes at myself. Sometimes—and please forgive this!—I am so angry at God for letting this happen. A saint, as we are all called to be, would accept their lot and live in holiness no matter what their circumstances. But I cannot.”
Lily again paused. Andrew sat unmoving before her, head bowed. She finished her confession. “I am weak, and prone to self-pity. I am ungenerous. And I have bullied Sybilla.”
When she paused, Andrew murmured, “Is that all, Lily?”
“For these and all my sins, I am heartily sorry.”
There was a long silence as Lily awaited her penance. She had not realized how much she had needed the cleansing of mind and soul until she had knelt down and begun talking. She feared Andrew would rebuke her. And if he did, was it God’s wrath he would be speaking, or pure human disgust?
Andrew reached out and took her folded hands in his. His expression was so kind, so full of pity that the well of emotion that had formed her words burst like a swollen river flooding its shores.
“Hush,” he said softly, “you have made a good confession. But, Lily, I cannot do anything as a man to help you. I am bound, as I told you before, to keep the sacrament in secrecy.”
“I know,” Lily sniffed, “but you have already helped me. Having no one to talk to, no one to share my thoughts with, it made everything confused and…jumbled up inside. Now, I understand, at least myself, much better.”
Looking down at their intertwined hands, Andrew thought for a long moment. “I am going beyond my duties as priest, but if that is a sin, then I will answer for it. Lily, listen to me for I will give you some advice.” When he looked up at her, his boyish face was composed in grim lines. “Do not stop fighting. For yourself, and for my brother. Never accept the guilt that is not yours, but also show my brother, by your actions, the kind of woman you are. Make him doubt himself.”
“I cannot,” she protested. “He will not allow me to speak of it.”
“Keep loving him, and be patient. But be strong.” He smiled at her. “You are, you know. Very strong. Accept what he has done to you, but strive to move past it. And take everything he gives, then press for more.”
Lily shook her head. “It sounds like a riddle. I do not know what you are asking of me.”
Letting his hands fall away, his shoulders slumped. “I do not know, either. I suppose the truth is there is nothing I can say to make a difference.” Andrew sighed, his jaw working in agitation. After a moment, he said, “For your penance, make a sincere act of contrition and pray the Lord’s Prayer thrice each night.”
It was a heavy penance, and Lily gave him a startled look. “Not as punishment,” he explained. “For strength. For God to help you.”
“My thoughts precisely,” Rogan’s voice cut in. “I was just saying to myself, God help these two.”
Lily saw Andrew stiffen just before they both turned to face the angry visage of her husband. His eyes, burning like twin beds of white-hot ash, contained all one needed to know of his mood. She had never seen him look so dangerous. That first night on the ship, perhaps. It had cowed her then, but this time, strengthened by her confession and the knowledge of Andrew’s support, she felt no intimidation.
“I do not suppose you wish an explanation?” Andrew said.
“On the contrary, I am looking forward to it. But you I will hear from later. For now, leave my wife and I alone.”
Andrew hesitated, seeming reluctant to do so. Lily smiled, silently reassuring him. Nodding, he said, “I will be just down the hall. And Rogan, keep in mind that it was I who came to Lily. The fault, if there is one here, lies with me.”
Rogan glared silently until Andrew had gone. Turning back to Lily, he said quietly, “I could kill you right now.”
“I am sure you are quite put out,” Lily shrugged. “It must be simply galling to have others acting outside of your sovereign will.”
His expression changed from shock to amazement. “Are you scolding me?” he asked incredulously.
Andrew’s advice had settled inside her, making a difference, somehow, as she faced the man whom she had both loved and feared for so long. “You surprise me with your foolishness, Rogan. You waste your strength on this pointless quest to make me pay for what I never did—”<
br />
“I have told you,” he growled, “I never want to hear those lies from your lips again.”
“Then you ask the impossible, for I can either lie or I can speak my innocence, but I cannot do both. You are so accustomed to bullying your way into victory, you have lost your appreciation for the truth. You are not Almighty, Rogan. You can not insist on your will and have the stars and sun line up in accordance to it. Neither can you insist on your beliefs and make them facts. So, instead of telling me how you wish to murder me, for whatever reason you are convinced is adequate, why do you not simply ask me what it was Andrew and I were doing? You may find it enlightening.”
“Have you formulated a lie so quickly?”
“You are a sad man,” she said, and sighed. “You have let this hate consume you.”
Like a wolf, he lunged forward, snarling, “A hate nurtured and grown from your family’s good teaching.”
Again, as so many times before when he wished to physically intimidate her, he loomed over her, bringing his face within a hairbreadth of hers. This time, however, Lily did not cringe. Instead, she reached out her hand and laid her palm against his cheek. “I know.”
It was as if the power of that touch drained him, for his fierce mien faded and he stared back, pain flooding his eyes. “And you betrayed me.”
“No, Rogan. I never did.”
“And now you have taken Andrew from me.”
That startled her. “What?”
A sad, bitter smile played on his sensuous mouth. “Must you always play the innocent? Could you just not once admit your perfidity?”
“What did you mean—take Andrew from you?”
“I find you practically in his arms, alone, and you have the nerve—”
“Well, had you come but an hour earlier, you would have seen me actually in his arms. He came here as a priest.”
His snort of derision communicated his disbelief. “My brother was never much of a priest.”
The Flower And The Sword Page 16
