Deborah Simmons - My Lady De Burgh

Tearing his gaze away from Sybil, he returned it firmly to Maud. “Go on,” he urged. Obviously pleased at gaining his ear while at the same time thwarting her rival, the older woman nodded.

“Well, as we all know, only evil can come of too much association with outsiders,” she said, again looking at Sybil, as if to accuse her of misbehavior or even of being a bad influence upon Elisa.

Robin quickly reclaimed her attention. “Did you notice any strangers about or anyone who might mean Elisa harm?”

Maud lifted her chin imperiously. “Unlike some, I do not have much contact with those who are not of the order. And, as I said, she dealt with all sorts of questionable persons, from those men who work the home farm to the bailiff. I heard that she had a certain male acquaintance in whom she showed an unseemly amount of interest, but not being privy to her personal associations, I cannot tell you more. Perhaps Sybil can elaborate,” Maud suggested, her mouth twisting with the gibe.

Robin was out of his seat, putting himself between the two women before Maud realized how close she had come to reaping the results of her taunts. “Thank you,” he said, while Sybil made incoherent noises behind him. “You have been most helpful.” He led the nun to the door, pouring on the de Burgh charm and promising to seek her out if he thought of any further questions. And when at last she left, as regally as she had entered, Robin shut the door and turned to face Sybil.

One look at her face told him why she had never taken her vows. Although she tried hard to suppress the truth, she was far too volatile for a life of humble devotion. Indeed, she was brimming with life and passion—and fury, which was now directed at him.

“Why did you stop me?” she cried, rushing toward Robin with fists flying. “’Tis long past time someone gave that horrible woman her due!” She struck out at him, raining blows upon his wide chest. Robin let her rage and rant, mostly about the horrible Maud and the poor defamed Elisa, until finally he caught her wrists and held them fast. Then, as if the wind suddenly had turned, letting out her sails, she collapsed against him in a fit of weeping that Robin found far more painful than her fists.

Releasing her hands, he put his arms around her, drawing her close. She buried her face in his tunic, and he held her tightly, trying his best to give the comfort she needed. All thoughts of his position as coroner or hers as novice or even as the One, slipped away, as she released her grief. The most glib of the de Burghs, Robin had no words to give her, only the strength of his body, and despite his initial wariness, he found himself offering it up to her easily.

And when her sobs subsided, Robin became aware of other things, namely, the way she seemed to fit perfectly against him, her head tucked under his chin. Swift on the heels of that discovery came awareness of the press of her form, her soft breasts, the curve of her waist and the heat that warmed him wherever they touched. Drawing a deep breath, Robin felt himself stiffen, his masculine form growing into a telltale bulge against her belly.

Sybil lifted her head, as if startled, and Robin could have cursed himself, but when he looked into those blue eyes, wide and teary, his tongue cleaved to the roof of his mouth. A stray curl had popped free of her wimple, and he saw that it was red, a lively color fit for this woman. Entranced, Robin lifted his fingers to tuck it back into place, but that brought his thumb in contact with the softness of her skin, and he stroked the delicate curve of her cheek in wonder.

He had to taste her. The urge came over him so violently that Robin shuddered with the force of it. He wanted to, needed to kiss her, right here, right now. He felt as if his future, his very life, depended on it. And Sybil gave no demur. Indeed, she stared up silently, her luscious lips parted in a tempting pose, just as though she were as enraptured as he.

Desire rose like a tide, thrumming through his blood, and for long moments, Robin struggled vainly against it, grasping at the wits that seemed to have deserted him. Try though he might to resist, he was weakening fast, and well he might have given in, had it not been for the sound of a knock upon the door jolting him into awareness of his surroundings.

Suddenly, Robin realized that he was embracing the One, and he swallowed in panic even as Sybil gasped, as if she, too, were flustered, or even horrified. They broke apart, backing from each other, and just in time, for they had barely separated when the door opened. It was the abbess who entered, and Robin eyed the good woman with no little alarm. Then, finding the bench against the back of his legs, he sat down hard, while a flush that had nothing to do with his still-excited body rose in his cheeks.

Luckily, the unsuspecting abbess had her head bent, and did not seem to be aware of the undercurrents around her. Of course, the poor woman was mourning in addition to performing the duties of her office, and Robin immediately felt guilty for his misbehavior in her holy house, though he hadn’t really done anything. Yet.

“Has all of the order been here, Sybil?” she asked, turning to the novice. Robin’s gaze followed, and he saw that Sybil appeared strained, her hands clasped before her and her face pale and tearstained. At the sight, Robin felt even more the cur, as if he had failed her somehow, though he knew he had given her comfort as best he could. It was what had nearly happened afterward that bothered him, both the wanting and the wishing her well away, a perverse combination, to be sure.

“And have you learned anything?” the abbess asked, swinging her gaze to Robin. He stared at her stupidly, the only lessons he could recall were those in desire and restraint, and how the blue of Sybil’s eyes remained undimmed by weeping.

She appeared to be recovering more swiftly, however. “Reverend Abbess,” she said, drawing the nun’s attention back to herself, an action for which Robin was inordinately grateful. “Isn’t it true that Maud has long thought herself your closest assistant, perhaps even your favorite?”

The question brought Robin back to his senses quickly enough, for he could see where she was going with that line of inquiry, and he rolled his eyes in frustration. As much as he disliked old Maud, he couldn’t quite picture her killing off her rivals. Why bother when she could torture them indefinitely with her slurs?

The abbess smiled gently. “Maud is very eager, but I can hardly appreciate one of my flock more than another.”

Robin recognized a diplomatically worded answer when he heard it, but Sybil would not be placated. Obviously, her feud with Maud was a long-standing one. “But suppose that someone, believing herself to be in a coveted position, wielded power over others of the order, going so far as to sabotage those who stood in her way?”

The abbess’s expression reflected her concern. “Surely, you are not suggesting that one of our own murdered Elisa?” she asked.

Robin rose to his feet. “We are simply exploring all possibilities, Reverend Abbess,” he explained. “And although we might deem it unlikely, we must remember that not all nuns are as devoted as you are. Although we might wish otherwise, they are afflicted with the same jealousies and passions as laywomen,” he said, with a sidelong glance toward a certain passionate novice.

The abbess frowned, obviously dismayed by his words, but Robin persisted. “Think carefully, and if you can remember any quarrels or suspicious incidents occurring among the residents here, please let me know,” he said.

“I will,” the abbess promised, though she appeared none too pleased by the prospect.

“We appreciate your cooperation,” Robin said to smooth things over. “I would also ask you if you have noticed any strangers about, anyone Elisa would have come in contact with?”