“Thank God you were!” Oliver choked. He still directed his gaze to the floor, and Cecily saw the muscles along his jaw bulge.
Cecily frowned and glanced at him, as her hands worked to liberate the faded trim from her cloak. “Lord Bellecote?”
At last he looked at her, and Cecily was taken aback by the raw anger she saw in his face. “My brother, August—he ... it was the same manner of accident that took his life. Only there was no one there to care for him. Certainly not I.” He looked away again.
Cecily could no longer resist. She tossed the scraps of her cloak away and then went to her knees once more, only a large, ragged square of cloth in her hands now. “Lord Bellecote, your brother broke his neck in his fall. There was no help for him.”
Oliver shook his head absently. “He didn’t die immediately though, did Sybilla not tell you?” His eyes—piercing, full of pain—went to her face.
Cecily shook her head as she folded the material into a triangle and worked two ends into a knot. “No. How could anyone know that?” She motioned him to lean forward and then slipped the makeshift sling over his head, helping him to seat his injured arm.
“Thank you.” Oliver leaned his back against the stones and closed his eyes. “It’s too gruesome. You’ve had enough forced upon you.”
“Tell me,” Cecily insisted. “I am not made of glass, Lord Bellecote.”
His throat convulsed as he swallowed. He did not open his eyes. “The way he landed. Face down in a wide ditch. It was obvious that he had been paralyzed by the way his limbs remained pinned beneath him. But his face—” Oliver broke off as his voice went rough. “His face was turned upward, toward the sky. I will never know the effort that took, to turn his face in such a manner. No one save our mother and I knew, but August was frightened of the dark. He lay there alone, helpless. Staring hungrily toward the daylight even as night fell around him. Then he died.”
Cecily swallowed and blinked away the stinging in her eyes. This was a side of Oliver Bellecote that she had never even guessed existed, much less witnessed herself.
She thought instantly of the hateful things she’d said about him, thought about him, only the night before at the feast. Things she’d said to Sybilla, August’s lover, who had known the details of the man’s death. And then Cecily combined it with the memories she had of the way Oliver had loved her, so fiercely, so passionately.
And she knew a shiver of discontent in her heart.
“I was to meet with him that day,” he continued. “I had only just returned from France, and he had wanted to speak to me of family business. I was late for our appointment, and August was already gone from his rooms when I arrived. I was impatient to be reunited with my friends, and did not inquire of him. I didn’t care what had transpired at Bellemont in my absence. It mattered not to me, any of it. His man, Argo, fetched me from my bed, still half drunk.” He paused and his voice grew wistful. “And now he is gone, and Bellemont is mine.
And I do not want it
.”
Cecily swallowed again. “I am sorry for the loss of your brother, Lord Bellecote.”
Oliver chuckled. “Each time someone addresses me as Lord Bellecote, I think that August must be in the room.” He opened his eyes, his head still tilted back against the stones, and looked at Cecily down the length of his nose. “Any matter, I thank God for your foolishness, Lady Cecily. I believe it is only through His grace that you were there last night. You saved me.”
Cecily shook her head. “I didn’t. Don’t martyr me, Oliver.”
“Saint Cecily,” he sighed, and closed his eyes again. “So sweet. So forgiving. Indeed, I should witness at your beatification.”
Cecily’s cheeks burned. “You’re tired, in pain. Rest a while,” she suggested.
His eyes snapped open and he frowned slightly.
“What is it?” she asked.
“I believe we are about to be rescued.”
Cecily turned her face toward the jagged stone doorway and indeed, heard the sound of riders approaching. She gave a short sigh and a frown that matched Oliver’s.
Now, she would know the beginning of the rumors. Perhaps then ...
“I’ll wave them over,” Cecily said, and prepared to rise. But before she could gain her feet, Oliver Bellecote seized her wrist.
“Forgive my boldness in touching you,” he said. “But I swear to you now, no matter who is without, I will not allow a whisper of scandal to touch you. Any who speaks against you will answer to me.”
Cecily tried to smile and gave him a pathetic nod. “I do not fear idle talk, Lord Bellecote.”
He released her and chuckled again. “Of course not. Mere words cannot shake you, can they?”
“I’ll be right back,” she said, and then rose before he could see her cross frown.
She marched to the doorway and swept from the ruin. Did no one think her capable of human error? Not even the man she’d slept with the previous night?
And then all her questions of rumor were laid to rest and her heart shriveled up and fled to her stomach as she saw the riders approaching. Sybilla, racing toward the Foxe Ring, leading the party upon the wild Octavian; Alys and her husband, Piers, each of them leading a riderless horse.
And, almost as a spiteful afterthought, Joan Barleg rode behind them all.
Chapter 8
After leaving Oliver Bellecote, Cecily first went to the kitchens, where she returned the tray and then spoke briefly with a maid regarding the preparation of a hearty meal for the lord when he awoke, as well as the manner of inquiring as to the discomfort of his broken ribs. Oliver likely expected Cecily to return to his chamber this evening, and should she receive word that his ribs needed binding, she would see to it as she had promised. The very thought of seeing him again caused her heart to pound with anticipation.
She didn’t seem to know who she was when she was in his presence.
After quitting the humid and smoky kitchens through the open double doors in the back of the annex, Cecily crossed to the nearby chapel. She glanced up at the sky, remembering for an instant the last time she’d had intentions of visiting this place of prayer and had instead wound up at the Foxe Ring. No starry blanket crowded the sky now, only low clouds, appearing disgruntled and as if they were contemplating a shower out of spite. Or perhaps boredom. Cecily loosened the scarf from around her waist and tied it over her hair before pushing one side of the heavy doors open just far enough to slip through as thunder stirred from far away.
The chapel was empty, save for the fleeting and nearly invisible appearance of the old, stooped maid who tended the church and Father Perry’s quarters. The servant bobbed her head and raised a gnarled old hand within the gloomy shadows at Cecily’s arrival, and then disappeared through a black doorway with a hitching shuffle, her small brush broom riding her back like an emaciated child.
Cecily took a deep breath, feeling a slight release in the tension between her shoulder blades. The smell of old incense permeated every surface inside the chapel, and the subtle, leftover perfume of it was truly a comfort. She stood just inside the doors for several moments, her eyes fixed on the altar ahead, and felt a foreign bloom of hesitation. The chapel was her home, the place she felt the most comfortable, even more so than Fallstowe. And yet she knew the sins she had committed—they shouted inside her head to make their presence known: lust, acedia, wrath, envy, pride. She dared not reveal these particular failings to her most trusted counsel. He would know it was she, certainly—what other unmarried young lady at Fallstowe was contemplating the religious life, and had also rescued Oliver Bellecote after his accident?
And then slept with him?
She knew that she could be forgiven outside confession by being in a state of perfect contrition; the problem was, Cecily was unsure whether she was contrite at all, let alone perfectly.
She took a deep breath of the perfumed air and let it out before clasping her hands at her chest and walking down the aisle.
She knelt at the altar railing and made the sign of the cross.
She raised her face to gaze upon the crucifix above the altar.
Her mind went completely blank.
Cecily’s brows knitted downward into a frown.
All right,
she told herself.
I shall just start simply.
She recited six different prayers from memory, hoping they would purge her mind of the block that was preventing the easing of her conscience, her knees already singing from the hardness of the stone beneath them. But even after the last
amen,
she could not force an original phrase from her mouth.
“Do you not
want
my confession?”
she whispered crossly.
“What is it, then? I
am
sorry that I’m not sorry about the proper things. I don’t know what else to do—this has always worked before!”
She laid her forehead atop her folded hands with a sigh.
Her head rose abruptly at the familiar scraping of the chapel door behind her, and then Father Perry’s mellow voice in midsentence.
“—you see that we are outfitted quite splendidly despite our isolated location, and—” He broke off abruptly, and Cecily surmised that he was not expecting the chapel to be occupied at that particular time of day.
Cecily made the sign of the cross once more and rose, prepared to greet Father Perry and his guest. She turned and watched the two men walking toward her, one short and slight and clothed in the familiar uniform of Fallstowe’s priest, the other of slightly taller height and clothed in the garb of a wealthy nobleman. The stranger had dark blond hair that fell in one length to just above his shoulders where the hood of his fine cloak lay in soft folds. The front-most lock of his hair was caught behind his ear thoughtlessly, as if in a habit to keep it from hindering his vision. His face was lean and square, and even in the shadows of the dim chapel, his blue eyes shone like chips of aquamarine.
“Lady Cecily,” Father Perry said, his voice rich with obvious delight. “I’d hoped we’d find you, although I would not begrudge you a day’s rest after the trying evening I’ve heard tell of.”
“Good day, Father,” Cecily said, forcing her eyes from the handsome stranger. Funny, but she could not recall ever having taken marked notice of members of the opposite sex before. “Prayer is a balm for many things, and I have found my need of it to be far greater than rest of late.”
“Of course, of course!” Father Perry beamed at her and then looked up at the man next to him. “Vicar John,
this
is Lady Cecily Foxe.” Father Perry looked to Cecily once more. “Lady Cecily, the Most Reverend John Grey, of Hallowshire Abbey.”
Cecily’s stomach did a little flip.
Hallowshire.
Beyond the thick walls of the chapel, the thunder rumbled more ominously now.
The striking man gave a bow, but his eyes never left Cecily’s face. “Lady Cecily Foxe,” he said, rising. “Just the woman I was looking for.”
Father Perry had dismissed Cecily and John Grey with a smile and a wave, refusing each’s offer to assist the priest with the preparations for the next hour. The vicar had led the way back down the aisle to the chapel doors, but once outside, he’d extended a long arm, indicating that Cecily should precede him.
“We could talk in the stables if you like,” Cecily offered, untying her scarf and slipping it from her head now, and noticing John Grey’s eyes flitting admiringly over her hair. She felt her cheeks tingle. “It will give us a bit of privacy, and Fallstowe does boast of an obnoxious number of fine specimens.”
“As you wish.” The vicar inclined his head. “I must confess a love of good breeding, in the realm of animals. My father keeps a stable also of the obnoxious caliber, and I find myself pining for the old smell.”
“This way, then.” Cecily started to walk toward the long, large structure that housed Fallstowe’s mounts. She glanced up at the sky, which seemed ready to burst at any moment. Her heart pounded in her chest, her breathing was shallow.
Why was someone—especially a man—from Hallowshire looking for Cecily? They walked through the wide doorway of the stables just as fat, cold raindrops began to splatter noisily on the packed dirt of the yard.
“I reckon you’re wondering why I’ve come,” John Grey said, and the coincidence of it caused Cecily to frown.
She stopped and turned toward him, her hands clasped tightly in front of her. “I was unaware that Hallowshire had gained a new priest,” was her only reply.
“Oh, I’m not a priest,” John Grey said with a slightly embarrassed grin. “Not yet, any matter.”
“But Father Perry referred to you as a vicar.”
“It’s more of a courtesy title than anything, really.” John Grey walked leisurely to a nearby stall and grasped the muzzle of one of Sybilla’s hunting horses. The bay snorted and blew and pushed into the man’s hand. “Hello there, big boy. I’ve been studying the last two years at Coddington. My father and the bishop are old friends, and as there seems to be a shortage of priests in the area, well, he sent me to ascertain the health of Hallowshire.”
“That’s quite an honor,” Cecily said lightly. “How are you finding the abbey?”
“Not well, I’m afraid.” John Grey patted the bay soundly on its neck and then turned to face Cecily once more. “Mother is in poor health, as are the abbey’s coffers. The sisters there have grown unruly, with no strong female leadership. They’ve begun taking in paying travelers for board. The ministry is suffering.”
Cecily frowned. “That’s ... that’s terrible! Surely it cannot have changed so much since last I visited.” Cecily’s mind went briefly to the small, happy stone abbey, filled with peaceful women whose days consisted of prayer and crops and industry. She remembered vividly the small inner courtyard, the fountain, the beautiful flowers planted around the statues. Cecily had spoken at length in that garden with Mother, and it had been then that she had decided to one day make Hallowshire her home.
One day ...
John Grey’s eyebrows raised. “Really? How long has it been since you were at the abbey, Lady Cecily?”
Cecily frowned, and then felt her face heating. Had it really been that long? “Well, I guess it must be nearly three years.”
John Grey said nothing, but the small smile still played about his lips.
“You said you came here specifically to see me,” Cecily prompted, feeling slightly unnerved by the way the handsome man regarded her. Not lewdly, but intently, as if he could look into her eyes long enough to catch a glimpse of her soul.
“Yes.” He moved to the stall across the aisle, where Sybilla’s pet, a small black mare, stamped impatiently in a bid for John Grey’s attention. “Mother spoke longingly of you. She has begun to wonder if you have changed your mind about Hallowshire. Perhaps she has sound reason?”
“I have been thinking on it very deeply of late,” Cecily admitted. “Fallstowe has a guest in my care at the moment. A noble friend of my sister’s. He was injured only last night, and it is my responsibility to tend him.”
“Fortunate man,” John Grey said, glancing over his shoulder briefly, his grin widening. “But perhaps I might be so bold as to suggest that Hallowshire needs you more, Lady Cecily. Not only the purse you would bring, but your dedication, your leadership.”
“Leadership? Vicar, I would never presume—I am not yet even a oblate!”
“One need not take vows to be an example,” John Grey said, almost musingly. “I have been mulling that idea ’round in my own head while on my mission from the bishop. Laypeople have been at the heart of many a religious institution for hundreds of years. Everyone in the land knows of your dedication and good works, Lady Cecily. Even the bishop himself waits with bated breath for your decision. Should Hallowshire not receive the help it needs, and very soon, it will likely be dissolved.”
Cecily’s heart fluttered with dread. The
bishop
knew of her? This was much worse than she feared. “So you have come to collect me?” Cecily challenged him.
“Not at all, not at all,” John Grey said mildly. “Only to inquire as to your intentions.”
Cecily swallowed. For some insane reason, the image of Oliver Bellecote, lying abed in the castle beyond the stable walls, rose up through the murky confusion in her mind. “As I said before, I am under obligation at this time, Vicar. I—”
“I’ve not come in an attempt to sway you, either way, Lady Cecily.” John Grey stepped away from the little black mare and came to stand facing her, perhaps only three paces away. He looked into her eyes again. “Although an alliance with the bishop may also benefit your sister.”
He was speaking of the king’s stalking of Fallstowe, Cecily knew.
John Grey cocked his head slightly. “You’re unsure yet, are you not?” he asked gently.
“Very,” Cecily admitted honestly, although she hadn’t intended to be so quick about it.
“I understand,” the vicar said. “More than you could likely know.” He stepped toward her and held out his hand.
Cecily looked down at it for a moment, and then placed her fingers in his palm. It was cool and smooth. She looked up at him.
“I will be at Hallowshire for the next several weeks, assisting Mother and trying as I might to bring the sisters back to heel. I would be honored if you would allow me to be your counsel during that time.”
“Counsel?” Cecily asked.
John Grey looked at her again, his teeth flashing white in the shadows of the stable. It seemed very quiet around them. “Perhaps you might confide in me about your misgivings concerning devoting yourself to Hallowshire. I promise you, I will not try to sway you one way or the other. If, by the time I am through with my obligations at the abbey, you discern your vocation is at Hallowshire, I will escort you there with a glad heart. If not ... ?” He shrugged.
Cecily’s eyebrows rose. “You will simply let it alone?”
He squeezed her fingers and then released them, speaking as he walked to the stable doors. “Well, I
may
be pressed to ask your sister for a small donation.” He crossed his arms over his chest and looked up through the doorway at the sky. It had stopped raining.
Cecily smiled at his back. “Small donation” in the bishop’s mind usually meant a very large donation. She walked to stand next to him, looking up at the sky in much the same manner. The clouds were no longer thoroughly gray, only at their bottoms now, and the edges of them were fluffy and white like snow, parting sporadically to reveal the lightest shade of blue afternoon sky beyond. A trio of golden beams played over the rain-darkened dirt of the yard, and the bailey was unusually still.