Page 35 of Hers To Command
The bishop’s displeasure, however, seemed decidedly more personal as he regarded Sir Henry. “Isthisthe knight of whom your cousin spoke?” he demanded.
Obviously, he knew Sir Henry—and didn’t like him. She got a horrible sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach, as if Ecclesford had slipped from her grasp the moment Sir Henry came through those doors. She tried to salvage the situation, or at least prevent it from becoming any worse, by ignoring the bishop’s animosity. “Yes, this is Sir Henry D’Alton. His brother is a lord in Scotland and his sister—”
“My most excellent and portly bishop, what an expected surprise!” Sir Henry interrupted as he came to a halt and, with a mocking smile, made a sweeping bow. “I never thought to see you in England again. I was sure your ambitions would take you to Rome.”
The bishop’s face reddened. “And I thought your wastrel ways would see you jailed or dead.”
“Yet here we are, both wrong,” Sir Henry genially replied, throwing himself into a chair at the edge of the circle.
Despite his tone and attitude, Mathilde saw the very real animosity in the knight’s eyes, and wondered at its cause.
It could merely be that Henry was a worldly man who lived his life with exuberance and pleasure, and apparently little concern for the future, whereas a clergyman must—or should—lead a more exemplary life and think of his eternal soul.
At least, she hoped that was the source of conflict between them and not something that might cause the bishop to support Roald’s claim. “I didn’t know you were acquainted with Bishop Christophus,” she said to Sir Henry, wanting the bishop to understand that she had been ignorant of any quarrel there might be between them.
“I wouldn’t call us acquaintances,” Sir Henry calmly explained as he plucked a goblet from the tray Faiga held out to him. “It was his son I knew better.”
Hisson?
As Mathilde took in that shocking declaration, the bishop’s cheeks reddened even more. His priestly companions exchanged looks that told her they were both scandalized and thrilled, as if someone had openly spoken of what they all knew to be true, but didn’t dare discuss except in private.
“Sir Roald was correct to question the motives of this man,” the bishop declared.
Sir Henry ran a coolly measuring gaze over the irate clergyman as he set down his wine. “I suspectyourmotives for coming here are not unselfish.”
Ignoring him, the bishop addressed Mathilde. “I suggest, my lady, that you send this fellow on his way. He is a most worldly man and not fit company for ladies who have no male protector.”
Then he rose with haughty majesty and swept his cloak behind him. “We shall return to the abbey at once. Good day to you, my lady.”
This was a disaster! If the bishop decided that her father was too sick to know what he was doing when he made a new will, Roald’s claim to Ecclesford would be strengthened, and theirs…theirs could be totally disregarded.
Mathilde jumped to her feet to ask the bishop to stay, but before she could open her mouth, Sir Henry coolly remarked, “Surely if you’re so concerned for the safety and honor of these ladies, you ought to stay.”
The bishop’s only answer was a disdainful sniff as he started toward the door, trailed by his anxious acolytes.
Mathilde started to go after him.
“Let him leave, my lady,” Sir Henry advised from his seat on the dais. “Once the bishop calms himself, he’ll realize that it would be to his advantage to side with you and not Roald. If you and your sister inherit and marry, he could have two powerful allies instead of one. Trust me, Christophus judges all things by the value to himself.”
Mathilde hesitated, until the last of the bishop’s priests left the hall, the door banging shut behind him like the door of a prison cell, final and condemning.
By the time she reached the door and looked into the yard, the bishop was mounted on his horse, cursing the grooms and stableboys in a most worldly manner, and generally giving every sign that he was far too angry to listen to reason as he turned his horse toward the gate.
Sighing, she closed the door, to find Father Thomas behind her.
“Do not despair, my lady,” the priest said. “God will reward the just. And as Sir Henry says, once the bishop has calmed himself with prayer and meditation, he will surely reason wisely.”
Mathilde doubted Bishop Christophus spent much time in meditation or prayer, or wise reasoning, for that matter.
“At least I will pray to God that it be so,” Father Thomas added, betraying his own doubts.
“Let us hope so, Father,” she fervently replied. She gave him a smile, for he had tried his best to cheer her. “Will you join us for the evening meal?”
“Bless you for asking, my lady, but no. Old Evans is near the end of his time on earth, and I have promised to sit with him tonight.”
“Of course, Father,” she said. “Tell him I shall be praying for him, too, although I am sure there is already a place in heaven prepared for such a kind and generous man.”
Father Thomas smiled. “I will, and he will be glad to hear that you have him in your prayers, I’m sure. God be with you, my lady.”
