Page 82 of My Hero
Garth was certain guilt was smudged across his forehead like the ashes of Lent for the Abbot to see. Surely the stain upon his soul lay bare to the Abbot’s shrewd eyes. And if the Abbot could sniff outGarth’ssin…
An image of innocent sky-colored eyes and bouncing orange curls flashed through his mind.
Thank God she’d remained in her chamber.
“So you’re content with your position here, Father Garth?” the Abbot asked quietly, picking idly at his trout.
“Aye,” he replied carefully.
“It’s a…splendid keep.”
Garth glanced around the hall. Cream-colored candles flickered golden against the white plaster walls. Painted shields and rich, dark tapestries hung between the narrow windows. Itwassplendid. Nearly as splendid as Castle de Ware. But since his arrival, he’d paid heed to little but Cynthia’s splendor.
“Your quarters are acceptable, I presume?”
“Aye.” Garth shifted in his chair. This type of talk made him restless. There was some motive underlying the Abbot’s words, but he’d be damned if he could name it.
The Abbot gave a pinched sigh through his nose. “It was difficult to leave.”
Garth scanned the faces before him, all of whom he could readily identify now. “They’re good folk.”
The Abbot craned his head toward Garth and gave him a most curious half-smile, as if Garth were some insect he was trying to identify.
“Good folk. Aye.” Then he lifted a tiny morsel of trout to his lips, taking it off the knife with a sucking noise.
Garth glanced at his wine flagon. It was empty. He wished he had a full cup to slug back.
“And how are you coming with that…” That Abbot bent near to whisper low. “That vice for which you took the vow of silence?”
Sudden heat flamed across Garth’s cheeks. Did the Abbot know? Did he know that he lusted after the lady of the castle? Did he know that he’d slaked that lust between her lovely legs mere days ago?
He dared not look up.
“Well,” he replied as evenly as he could. “Very well.”
The Abbot studied him a long while. Then he dabbed at his lips with his napkin.
“Aye. Well, it’s comforting to hear. After all, there is so much more…temptation…away from the monastery.”
Garth held his breath. It would come now. Now the Abbot would close his trap.
“And how do you fare with,” the Abbot murmured, “the poor child?”
“The child?”
“Lady Cynthia.”
He nearly blurted out that Lady Cynthia was no child. But at the last moment, he wisely choked back the words. “Fine.”
The Abbot tapped his eating dagger on the edge of his silver platter. “Fine?”
“Aye.” He knew he should expand on that, but he could think of nothing to say that wouldn’t tighten the noose around his neck.
“Come, come now,” he chided, actually elbowing Garth. “The truth shall set you free.” Then he whispered. “The wench is a hopeless heathen, rife with lust and vulgarity, the handmaiden of the devil himself. For years I tried to bring her to the light, but I’m afraid…I failed miserably. I had hoped that you might…endear yourself to her, show her the error of her ways, instruct the child—”
“She’s not a child,” Garth hissed, unable to listen to more slander. He instantly regretted his words.
“What’s this?” the Abbot asked slyly, bending close enough to ruffle Garth’s hair with his fishy breath. “Has she tried her provocative wiles on you so soon, Father Garth?”
