Candace Robb - The Lady Chapel

Owen understood what she feared. Was it not what kept him awake, listening for sounds of the man breaking into the house? But Anna was in no condition to travel. "I cannot understand how Anna bore the trip here," Owen said. "To travel again so soon-" He shook his head. "No, you cannot mean it."

"Merciful Heaven, there is no other solution." Cecilia leaned toward Owen, as if with her body she could convince him how serious this was. "You said she needed calming. How can she be calm if she fears he will come take her back there? There is not enough valerian root in all the kingdom to wipe that fear out of her heart."

True enough, and Anna did need to stay calm to heal. A shower of hot needle pricks across his blind eye warned Owen that he was getting too involved in the Ridleys' problems. He lifted a hand to his scar and discovered that he wore no patch. Of course not-he'd thought he was going to sleep. Amazing that Cecilia Ridley could stare at him with such intensity and not wince at the ugly, puckered lid that would not completely close over the sightless eye. The light in the room was not dim enough to conceal it. Owen reached for the patch on the table beside him.

Cecilia Ridley took it as a sign that he was dressing, that he had decided to help. She stood up. "Good. I'll prepare her."

"For pity's sake, I have agreed to nothing. I merely wished to spare you the sight of this eye."

Cecilia sat back down. "But it is just that about you-your scar, your suffering-that made me think you would help. Could you rest anywhere near the person who did that to you?"

"I killed the person who did this to me."

That made her hesitate. She clutched her hands in her lap and studied them for a long moment.

Something in the terrible effort put forth to keep that back so straight, those hands so still, put Owen in mind of Lucie. "You remind me of my wife."

"Oh? And what would Mistress Archer do in my place?"

Owen did not correct the name. He thought it best that Cecilia have no idea of any imperfection in his relationship with Lucie. But what would Lucie do? Owen thought back to the night that Thoresby, Archbishop of York and Lord Chancellor of England, had given Lucie an order and she had refused. She had decided what was best for her husband, Nicholas, and nothing in Heaven or Hell could move her to change her mind. Cecilia Ridley's back looked that stubborn.

"Lucie would confront Scorby with what he has done," Owen said. "Bring him up here to see Anna's condition. No doubt Scorby left right after he'd beaten her. He may not realize how far he'd gone."

Cecilia's eyes opened wide with disbelief. "Are you mad? Anna is terrified. What if he attacks again?"

"I will be there in the room. I will watch his reaction, and I will be ready to protect her. But I suspect that Paul Scorby will go away quietly when he sees his wife's condition. He has nothing to gain by forcing her to travel."

Cecilia shook her head. "No. I cannot put Anna through such an ordeal."

"But you could put her through another journey?"

"Just to St. Clement's Nunnery outside York."

"She cannot travel."

"1 cannot let him near her."

"No matter what you feel, Anna is married to Paul Scorby. He has a right to see her." Owen did not like the pain in the woman's face. He did not like disappointing her. But he must. To take Anna Scorby on horseback through the snow might kill her. But Cecilia Ridley still did not seem convinced. "Do you have any reason to fear Paul Scorby will do more than beat her?" Owen asked.

"Isn't that enough?"

"You misunderstand. I am asking whether you have reason to think Paul means to kill Anna."

Cecilia looked uncertain. "I never thought that. But look how he hurt her. I don't think he can control himself."

"Let us try this, eh? See if being forced to face what he did, and in front of others, might teach him something."

"Perhaps …"

"I am curious. How did the priest let himself get involved?"

"Anna begged him to bring her here, hoping her father would …" Cecilia looked stricken. "Dear God, I had forgotten Gilbert for a moment. How could I?"

Owen took her hands. "You have much to bear right now. You are wonderfully strong."

Cecilia gave Owen a weak smile.

"You know," Owen said, "although I am honored that you offer me the role of champion, I cannot risk it. You must remember that I am here on the business of John Thoresby, Archbishop of York and Lord Chancellor of England. He would not take it well if I were to break the law for you, Mistress Ridley. Neither would my wife."

Cecilia Ridley flushed, withdrew her hands. "I did not think. . No, of course you must not break the law."

Owen nodded. "So when your son-in-law returns in the morning, let him in. 1 shall come upstairs with you."

Cecilia rose, picked up her lamp. "I will do so." She walked slowly to the door, turning just before she reached it. Her eyes were dark in the lamplight. "I pray God you are right, Captain Archer."

With that, she left Owen to toss and turn till just before dawn, when he fell into a fitful sleep.

Owen dreamt of Cecilia. She stood in the doorway of his mother's house, a bowl cradled in one arm, wooden spoon in hand, and asked Owen if he would be home before dark. He retraced his steps and kissed her forehead, then walked away only with a great effort, hating to leave her.

Owen woke confused. Why would he dream of Cecilia as his wife? Did he desire her? Had she suggested in any way that she desired him? The tenderness of the moment when he looked into her eyes and kissed her forehead lingered with him still. He had to admit to himself that Cecilia Ridley's eyes haunted him, her strength impressed him. But that did not explain why he would dream of her as his wife.

Owen dressed and rubbed some salve into his scar before putting on the patch. He told himself that he was tired in mind and body, and this weariness had confused him. He told himself that what the dream really meant was that he missed Lucie.

Nonetheless, Owen wished he could slip away without seeing those dark eyes again.

But that was impossible. He must help Cecilia deal with her son-in-law. Then he must question her some more before he could return to York. Owen left his room reluctantly.

Downstairs, the hall was dark but for a cocoon of golden light near the hearth. Two oil lamps sat on a small table. The fire had been stoked and was burning brightly. A young woman stirred something in a pot.

Cecilia sat at a table set up near the hearth. Her snow white wimple and dark veil lay on the table. Her midnight hair fell in a thick braid down her back. She looked up and greeted Owen with a tired smile, motioning him over. Her hand then dropped to the table, coming to rest on the wimple. "Sarah! My headdress." Cecilia touched her bare head. "Forgive me, Captain Archer."

The servant abandoned the pot and, with an embarrassed nod to Owen, she proceeded to undo her mistress's braid, then loop up the heavy hair, a coil on either side of Cecilia's face.

Owen eased himself onto a bench opposite Cecilia. She managed to lift the pitcher and pour a cup of ale for him without moving her head. The wimple and veil were soon in place.

"Ah," Owen sighed after tasting the ale, "this is welcome this morning." He was glad that her long black hair was now covered. He must not be distracted.

"You could not have gotten much sleep," Cecilia said. "I am sorry for that after your long journey."

Good. A safe topic. "I feel a stiffness in my joints from the ride yesterday. Was a time I would not have noticed it."

The dark eyes watched him with sympathy. "Do you miss your soldiering days? I should think you would miss your companions. My father used to talk about his comrades-in-arms as if they were dearer to him than his brothers."