Page 38 of My Hero
His fingers fumbled with, then gripped the iron handle of the door, and relief surged through him as he pulled it open. The contrasting wave of cool air struck his cheek like a sobering slap. He was safe now. He’d return to his quarters and spend the rest of the day praying for forgiveness for…
“It must have been a grave sin indeed to require such a grave penance.”
Satan’s teeth! Was she following him? A quick glance told him the meddlesome wench had secured the door behind her. Worse, she looked for all the world as if she intended to dog him the rest of the day, nettling him with rude questions.
Very well, he decided. If she could dismiss propriety and common courtesy, he’d do the same. He’d ignore her completely, march off as if her chatter were no more than a breeze blowing past his ear.
It worked for three long paces.
Then the chain of his crucifix broke, and the wooden cross slid from around his neck, clattering on the stones at his feet, throwing off his stride.
He whirled. To his horror, Cynthia snatched it up like a prize, closing it in her fist before he could reach it. He glanced at his stolen goods, then clenched his teeth, as tense as a cat about to spring, sorely tempted to pry it from her greedy hands.
Apparently unaffected by the threat sizzling in his eyes, she ran an idle finger along the worn wooden edge of the cross. “I’d venture so far as to say you must have violated one of the seven deadly sins,” she guessed.
The blood left his knuckles as he tightened his fists in the folds of his cassock.
“The seven deadly sins…hmm…” she mused.
He ceased breathing.
“Well, I don’t think it was covetousness. There’s little to covet in a monastery.”
She tapped his cross against her lip, and his jaw dropped. How dare she place her lips where his had pressed a thousand times…
“Nor do I imagine it was envy.”
He stood very still, staring at the crucifix. He wanted it back, very badly. But he could see in her eyes, she wasn’t going to give it to him. Not yet.
“I’m certain it wasn’t sloth, for I can see by your work in the garden you’re not an idle man.”
She’d done it now—come perilously close to the truth and exceeded his tolerance for torment.
He whipped away from her. Never mind his crucifix. It was probably defiled now anyway. He’d get another one.
In the meantime, he’d put up with no more of her taunting. He stalked off with a satisfying snap of his cassock and the longest strides he could manage.
They were apparently not long enough.
“By your fitness,” she said, running to stay at his heels, “it’s definitely not gluttony.”
He felt as tightly wound as a catapult about to fire and as panicked as a novice about to fire it.
“Anger?” she guessed, breathless from the chase. “Maybe. Even now…your fists betray you…clenching and unclenching like that… Hmm. What about lust?”
He halted so abruptly that she collided with his back with an “oof.” Involuntarily, he wrenched his head toward her.
Something in his eyes must have given him away and shocked her terribly, for she suddenly grew clumsy, fumbling with the crucifix, and he knew one instant of grim satisfaction.
“Oh!” She worried the chain while her gaze darted about like a singed moth, uncertain where to alight. “I… I…didn’t,” she mumbled, scarlet chagrin rising in her cheeks. “I’m so…sorry. I thought surely that…that pride was your sin.”
Garth compressed his lips, thoroughly humiliated. Was that admission supposed to comfort him? Pride was the one thing hedidn’thave. Curse the wench! It was bad enough he’d made confession to Prior Thomas. But this, this was unbearable—a woman he hardly knew divining his guilt.
He could hear the gossip already, imagine her glee at spreading it. Father Garth—a monk of four years, a de Ware, sworn to chastity—lusted after women.
He bit the inside of his cheek to quell the shout of fury and shame threatening to explode from him. By God, he wouldn’t let her see his disgrace. He’d hide it if it killed him.
He stretched himself to his full height, concealing his emotions like a knight primed for battle, confronting her with the countenance of a calm but deadly warrior. Now he could face her. With this mask, he could face the devil himself.
