Candace Robb - The Nun's Tale

Owen moved into the lamplight, examined the dagger. The handle was intricately carved with sea serpents. Dark, heavy wood, not metal. It was not a costly weapon. But worn, treasured. Perhaps the owner would return for it? ‘Keep it safe, Brother Henry. It might be of use to us.’

Lucie shook her head at Master Saurian, who was launching into an account of a particularly grisly amputation he had performed at St Leonard’s Hospital. Jasper sat on a stool behind Lucie, ready to reach for jars. Lucie did not wish the boy to overhear anything that might give him nightmares. He had enough of them as it was.

Saurian sniffed. ‘The boy must learn about life, Mistress Wilton. You do him no favour sheltering him.’

‘He knows enough of life for now, Master Saurian.’ She stood poised over the scales on the counter with a jar of spice. ‘How much cardamom did you say?’

Back in the kitchen, the garden door opened and closed. Voices murmured. Owen. Lucie glanced back at Jasper. ‘Go on, now. Owen will be glad of your company.’

Jasper needed no more encouragement. He had begged permission to skip classes today when he had heard of Owen’s return.

Lucie poured the last of the ingredients into a pouch.

Saurian hefted it in his palm as if weighing it. ‘They say you have been to see the resurrected nun.’

‘The prodigal,’ Lucie corrected him. ‘Her death and burial were an act.’

Saurian looked down his long nose. ‘What of the miracles?’

Thank Heaven Jasper was out of the room. ‘I know of none.’

Saurian shook his head. ‘You are a cautious one, Mistress Wilton.’

‘Was there anything else?’ She smiled, but she knew it could not possibly look friendly.

‘No. No, this will do.’ The physician gathered his pouches and departed.

The bead curtain rattled as Owen stepped through from the kitchen. His dark eye had an apologetic cast to it. ‘Bad news?’ Lucie guessed.

Owen squeezed her shoulders. ‘I am off to Leeds in the morning.’

‘But you just arrived. And Sir Robert arrives tomorrow. I hoped you would be here.’ Owen hugged her to him. He smelled of smoke and fresh air and Owen. Lord, she did not want him to leave again so soon.

‘His Grace is set on it,’ he whispered.

Lucie leaned her head against Owen’s shoulder. ‘How vigorously did you protest?’

He held her away from him, lifted her chin so he might see her eyes. ‘Do you think I wish to be away from you so often?’

She shrugged.

‘I miss you all the time I am away. And worry about you.’

‘But you enjoy the adventure.’ She stopped his protest with a finger to his lips. ‘Peace, my love. I do not blame you. I said from the beginning that you would chafe at the bit in the shop. But just now it is particularly hard. With Sir Robert coming. And the child. .’ She looked away as tears welled up. The damnable tears that were so ready to flow these days.

Owen pulled her back into his arms, but the moment was interrupted by the shop bell. More than the moment, Lucie realised with dismay. Sir Robert had arrived a day early.

A house full of dinner guests on Owen’s second and last night home. It seemed he never had time alone with Lucie except in their bedchamber. And it would be worse with children. Owen tried to dismiss the thought, but it persisted. What did he know of children besides what he could remember of being one? He stared at the floor, his leggings half off, pondering. There was Jasper. He enjoyed Jasper. But the boy had joined their household just this year, at the age of nine. What would it be like with infants about?

Lucie bustled in the door, flushed from rushing about supervising Tildy’s cooking, setting up the table, and checking that all was prepared in the extra chamber, where Sir Robert and his squire would sleep. She paused as she caught sight of Owen, shirt discarded, leggings half off. ‘I know that the day is warm, but really, my love, you must do better than that!’ Then, with a worried, almost frightened expression, she asked, ‘What is it? What troubles you?’

It was no time to admit his doubts. Instead, Owen grabbed Lucie and toppled backwards onto the bed with her squealing in his arms. Pulling off her cap, he let her soft hair tumble into his face.

Lucie tried to wriggle away, gasping for breath. ‘No time!’ she managed. ‘Owen, please!’

With a sigh, he helped her sit up. ‘Could we not send word to Lief and Gaspare that your father has arrived, we have no room for so many at table?’

Lucie shook her hair, fluffing it, then went over to the small table where she kept her brushes and hairpins and a small mirror. ‘There would still be Sir Robert and his squire. It is not possible to rid ourselves of them. So I should prefer your friends at least this night. Some cheerful company.’ She began to arrange her hair.

Owen lounged on the bed, watching her lazily. ‘Sir Robert seemed cheerful enough.’

Lucie turned round to Owen, letting the coil of hair in her hands cascade down her back. ‘He is in good spirits.’ She rose, picked up the gown and surcoat Tildy had laid out, considered them, turning them this way and that. ‘Shall I wear this tonight? Or the blue?’

Owen frowned. The gown she held was a soft green, the surcoat gold and green, colours that brought the gold out in her hair. The blue gown — well, it did bring out her blue eyes. And the bodice was low cut. . ‘This one, to be sure. Unless you mean to flirt with my comrades?’

Lucie pressed her thickened middle and laughed. ‘In this state?’

‘Some men think a woman great with child is most delicious.’

‘You are wicked!’ Lucie wriggled into the gown, turned to let Owen lace it for her. Then she spun round. ‘Truly. Am I presentable?’

How could she doubt it? ‘Most enchanting. Too tempting already.’

She kissed him on the forehead.

‘So there is no remedy? I must dress?’

‘Indeed you must. I certainly cannot entertain Lief and Gaspare without you.’

‘I met Joanna Calverley today. She tried to kiss me.’

Lucie sank down on the bed beside him. ‘What had you said to her?’

Owen told Lucie of the incident. ‘Dame Katherine whisked me out of there, much embarrassed.’

Lucie giggled. ‘I can imagine! But truly, what had you done so to delight Joanna?’

‘I was my own charming self.’

Lucie punched his bare chest.

‘Dame Katherine believes Joanna is simple, childlike.’

Lucie shook her head. ‘Not at all. Her escape from St Clement’s took thoughtful planning. No. Not simple, Owen. And not innocent!’

Owen liked the way her hand lingered on his bare chest.

The evening began pleasantly. Sir Robert’s squire assisted Tildy, allowing Lucie to relax and listen to Gaspare and Lief telling tales of their adventures in France. It was not until halfway through the meal, when Lief had gone on for a while about the pleasures of parenthood, that Sir Robert changed the mood.

Lucie’s father had listened quietly to the banter. Owen liked his father-in-law, a retired soldier with a gruff, straightforward manner. When the older man lifted his cup to toast the gathering of friends and family, Owen knew something was up.

‘My steward was in the city a while back and heard that your neighbour John Corbett had died and his house was empty,’ Sir Robert began. He tugged at his fashionably forked beard.

‘Yes,’ Lucie said, sipping her wine, unsuspecting. ‘Poor John fell in the snow on his way to the privy one night. By the time a servant found him, he had frozen to death.’

‘They say ’tis a painless death,’ Lief said. ‘The chill makes you sleepy and you just lie down to sleep.’