Page 47 of My Hero
Cynthia shook her head.
“What about you, lass? Where’s your husband?”
She stifled a chuckle. Henry Webster looked like he’d be glad to swive her himself if his old bones would allow it.
“You remember, Henry,” she said. “I’m widowed.”
Slowly, the lust drained from the old man’s eyes, and his gaze slipped absently around the room, as if he’d wandered off to another world. A long moment later, as she was about to count him lost, he looked up at her steadily, mildly curious.
“Were you with your man when he died?”
“Aye,” she said, swallowing hard. “He died in my arms.”
Henry turned his head away. “It’s a sweet way to go.”
Cynthia reached out and took his hand in hers. “I’m no golden lass from Araby, but I’ll stay with you, Henry.”
She could see the old man’s mouth working before he clamped it shut. He squeezed her hand gratefully with what little strength a dying man had left.
“I suppose I should be shriven properly,” he sniffed. “My Margaret will be waiting up there in heaven for me somewhere, good wife that she is, saving me a spot.”
“I’ve sent for the Abbot.”
“Truth to tell,” Henry admitted, his speech beginning to thicken, “I’m not looking forward to heaven.”
“And why is that?”
He slowly licked his lips. “There’s no ale there and no harlots.”
She grinned, and her shoulders shook in silent mirth. A ray of sunlight suddenly arced across the room from the opening door as, behind her, someone quietly entered the cottage.
In the next moment, comforting fingers settled upon her shoulders, and she felt the warmth of the visitor close behind her.
“Don’t weep, good woman,” his voice whispered. “Soon his soul will be at peace in heaven.”
“Peace?” she said, giving Henry a conspiratorial wink. “According to Henry, he plans to wreak havoc in heaven, a-wenching all the day.”
Old Henry’s eyes twinkled in answer.
The hands on her shoulders stiffened, then abruptly slid down her arms to wheel her about like an errant warhorse.
She gasped in surprise. He stood before her, so close she could see the gray flecks in his confused eyes, so close she could feel his outraged breath upon her cheek.
“Garth!”
Chapter 12
He looked as astonished as she. “You.” He snatched back his hands as if she were a burning brand.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, her cheeks aglow with chagrin. Lord, what must he think of her?A-wenching in heaven,indeed.
He looked anxiously past her toward the old man.
She rubbed the back of her neck self-consciously. “You’ve…you’ve come in time to give Henry the last rites. I’ve already heard his confession. If you’d like, I can repeat the heart of it for…”
Henry dissolved into a fit of wheezing. Garth made the sign of the cross, stepping around her to the bedside, and began the benediction without delay.
Cynthia took Henry’s hand again and let the Latin syllables fall on her ears like quiet bells. She couldn’t help but wonder how many times Garth would repeat the blessing today for souls who’d meet less timely deaths.
