Page 83 of My Hero
It took all his fortitude to turn and face the Abbot straight on, to look him steadily in the eyes and speak a lie. But he did it. For Cynthia.
“Not at all,” he said. “I am a man of God. I’ve made it abundantly clear to her.”
The Abbot’s interested stare diminished after that, dimmed perhaps by disappointment. He hoped so. For Cynthia’s sake, he hoped so.
The Abbot lowered his eyes to the dissected trout spread across his platter. He’d unconsciously arranged the remains in the shape of a cross, something that had become a habit with him. He arranged his cope and sandals thus at night. And the collection of jewels, gifts of his flock, which he took out from time to time. Maybe, he thought with satisfaction, he’d arrange Cynthia in such a fashion when he had her executed…as he knew he would.
Garth’s face had assured him of that. The idiot wore his passions like a banner.
He’d thought it was sheer cunning at first, that Garth had wormed his way into Cynthia’s affections for his own profit. But now he could see it wasn’t artifice at all. The fool was in love with her.
He popped a piece of sugared fig into his mouth and chewed slowly. Usually he hated sweet things, but tonight was cause for celebration.
Condemning Cynthia on the herbs alone would have been tricky. Indeed, there were many noblewomen who practiced the art of healing, and few could stand too close a scrutiny of their cellar.
But this…
Seducing a man of the cloth, enticing him away from God…
For this, she would pay.
All he had to do was catch them in the act.
He’d leave Wendeville tomorrow. By the time he was through enlightening Lord Philip, he was sure the godly man would want to pack up and leave as well. Then there would be nothing to stand in the way of their perfidy, the foolish friar and his unholy mistress.
He’d leave them to their vices. But he wouldn’t stray far. And he’d watch them like a hawk.
Chapter 19
The room spun as Cynthia climbed into the steaming tub, her mug of strong ale still clutched in one hand.
“I don’t care,” she mumbled drunkenly to no one, frowning.
The dizziness was fine. Better by far than the terrible guilt and shame that had tortured her for two weeks, days spent hiding from Garth and Elspeth and the decent man everyone wanted her to take to husband. Everyone but her. Hell—today, according to Elspeth, she’d even managed to hide from the Abbot himself.
She plopped down into the water and let her head nod forward.
“Piss.”
She’d forgotten to take off her linen underdress. It stuck to her like a wet snake’s skin.
“Well, I don’t care.”
She was miserable. For no good reason.
She should be happy. She was healthy. She was rich. Soon she would be wed. The seeds she’d planted were already poking their little green heads up through the soil.
But she felt wretched.
Ale slopped over the side of her mug into the bath, and she quickly righted the cup and then looked for a place to set it. There was none. She scowled.
“Mary!”
The tapestry on the wall swayed as she watched it, and she closed her eyes to stop the nauseating motion. She really shouldn’t be drinking so much, she supposed. Drinking ruined her gift. Of course, the man she was to marry had forbidden her to use it anyway, so she supposed it shouldn’t matter. But ale gave her a horrible headache the next day. And it destroyed her authority over the servants. Why, it had taken her more than an hour just to get the water for her bath.
She slugged back the rest of the cup.
“Mary!”
