Page 33 of Hers To Command
Whatever she thought of Bishop Christophus, however, she had to be polite and act as befit a woman so, taking a deep breath, she walked out to greet him, gesturing for Father Thomas to join her.
“Greetings, my lord bishop,” she said, bowing low. “Welcome to Ecclesford. I am the lady Mathilde, and this is Father Thomas.”
The bishop took off his glove and presented his ring for her to kiss, which she did. She felt his measuring scrutiny and tried not to betray anything, either shame or anger or dread.
“Bless you, my lady,” Bishop Christophus intoned as she stepped back, his voice deep and soft as ermine.
“I have refreshments awaiting in the hall,” she said, “if you will follow me.”
“With pleasure,” he replied.
Mathilde hurried ahead, chewing her lip and anxiously hoping he wouldn’t find fault with anything. He would undoubtedly realize something was afoot by the commotion in the yard, and the goods that had been stored even in the hall.
His gaze roving over the yard, the buildings, the battlements and the servants, the bishop followed at a more leisurely pace, trailed by the priests who’d arrived with him like so many holy beetles.
Once on the dais, the bishop lowered himself onto her father’s chair with the air of a man used to deference and respect. His holy underlings sat on stools her servants hastened to provide. Father Thomas remained standing to the left of the dais while, at the bishop’s request, Mathilde sat on another chair facing him.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Father Thomas give her an encouraging smile that was quickly squelched by a sharp glance from the bishop.
Faiga, more subdued than Mathilde had ever seen her, arrived bearing a tray with a silver goblet for the bishop, one for Mathilde which she set on the arm of her chair, and several other, smaller vessels for the visiting priests and Father Thomas.
The bishop took his goblet with a regally beneficent smile. “Thank you, my child,” he murmured, putting his hand on Faiga’s head in a way that seemed more like a caress than a blessing.
Faiga seemed to think so, too, judging by the shocked look she gave the bishop before she lowered her eyes and backed away.
After sipping some wine, Bishop Christophus set the goblet on the small table near his chair, steepled his plump fingers and regarded Mathilde over their tips. “We are grieved, my child, very grieved, that there should be any conflict over this estate between you and your noble cousin.”
“If there is a conflict, my lord bishop,” she replied, firmly but politely, “it is Roald who makes it. My father’s wishes regarding his estate were very plain in his will, as I am sure you realized when you read the copy you were sent.”
The bishop laced his fingers together and brought his index fingers to his lips. His gold ring of office with its immense purple stone glistened in the light from the candles on the stand nearby. “Your cousin does not dispute that the will is genuine. However, he is quite certain your father was too ill when he wrote it for it to be valid under the law.”
How did he know what Roald thought? “You have had a message from my cousin regarding our dispute?”
“He came to our abbey and explained his position to me.”
Mathilde silently cursed herself for not foreseeing this and writing to the bishop sooner. Roald was evil, but he wasn’t stupid. “So he may claim, my lord, but Father Thomas will tell you my father was not sick in his head when he changed it.”
The bishop’s glance flicked to Father Thomas. “Sir Roald also told us that Father Thomas is much devoted to your family.”
Mathilde could not, and would not, deny it. “He has ever been a kind and true friend to us, my lord, but he is an honorable man of God who would never lie.”
“Of course,” the bishop smoothly answered. “Father Thomas is a most excellent shepherd of his flock, and kindhearted almost to a fault.”
“He does not support us because he is kindhearted,” Mathilde shot back, forgetting for a moment that she was addressing a bishop and Father Thomas was close by. “He does so because it is right.”
The bishop’s white brows lowered.
“Forgive me,” she said quickly, “but I would not have you think Father Thomas guilty of being less than truthful to help a friend.”
“If he did so, he was misguided by affection, I’m sure,” the bishop replied, his expression serene once again.
Even so, Mathilde knew she had erred. This man expected deference as his due and would not forget her outburst.
Father Thomas gave her another smile, but Mathilde did not have the heart to return it.
The bishop’s expression became less mild and his voice lost its dulcet sweetness. “Your cousin spoke of other things, my lady, things it shocked me to hear. I regret to discover a noble lady could behave so wantonly.”
Mathilde clutched at her skirt, bunching it in her fists as she struggled to remain calm. She should have guessed Roald would make what had happened between them all her lascivious fault. Even so, did the bishop have to speak of it here in the hall, in front of his acolytes? “He is no innocent Adam. He spoke words of love to me and I believed him. It was a proposal of marriage I dreamed of when I went to him, and when I begged him to stop and let me go, he refused until he had satisfied his lust.”
