Deborah Simmons - My Lady De Burgh

Robin bristled at the insult, but, instead of arguing, he lifted the dead woman’s head, carefully inspecting the wound to see if it matched the marks on the stone. Long ago, he had learned the secret of concentration from his father and his brother Geoffrey, and so he tried to focus solely upon what he was doing, despite the sound of the abbess herding the nuns from the scene.

All of them, that is, except for Sybil. She remained, continuing her complaints, and even though Robin heeded not her words, she definitely was a distraction. How on earth had she come to be a nun? Obviously, this order did not hold to the tenets of silence, Robin decided, even as he heard her voice on the edges of his awareness, tempting him to stop her mouth, preferably with his own.

Loosing a low oath that he hoped might offend a woman of God, or at least make her be quiet, Robin assessed the injury before him. During the studies of his younger years, he had taken an interest in medicine, so the sight did not disturb him. Nor was he likely to faint away as Sybil had suggested. But he did find something interesting.

“You’re right,” he said suddenly, finally putting a stop to the incessant flow of speech from Sybil’s lips. “She was murdered,” he said into the blessed silence. The peace was brief, however.

“What? How do you know?” Sybil asked, and he gently turned Elisa’s upper body onto her side.

“Look here,” he said. When Sybil gamely knelt beside him, Robin tried to ignore the pleasant waft of her scent. She was too near, but there was no help for it. Gritting his teeth, he pointed to a spot on the back of the dead woman’s head. “Another blow.”

Sybil looked at him then, her eyes wide, and he saw that they weren’t just blue, but a light, lovely color surrounded by a rim of darker blue. He felt himself swaying, nearly falling, before he caught himself. Drawing a deep breath, he looked at the dead woman.

“She was struck twice,” he explained in a strained voice. “Obviously, the smaller injury did not kill her, and your murderer was forced to render another blow. If she had simply fallen, she would have been hurt only once.”

“I knew it,” Sybil said beside him, her tone so rife with excitement that it roused an answering clamor within his traitorous body. Against his will, Robin felt alive, as if every humor within him was cavorting and screaming, She’s the One! He had to struggle for breath, taking in a deep draught to steady himself. And although his fingers itched to reach for her, instead he wiped them on the grass and rose to his feet, greeting the returning abbess with no little relief.

“I am sorry, Reverend Abbess, but I fear your worst suspicions were correct. She was killed,” Robin said.

The abbess shook her head sadly, her gaze resting for a long moment upon the dead woman before she returned her attention to Robin. “Then I must trust you to discover who did this foul deed, for we cannot have someone preying upon the good women here.”

Robin nodded his agreement, and the abbess once more inclined her head toward the body. “Now, let us allow the infirmaress to attend Elisa.”

“As you wish,” Robin answered. “I have examined the wounds, but I would like to look around here a bit,” he added, though the garden area was well trampled by those who had come before him. Walking slowly about the body, Robin knelt to inspect the ground several times, and found nothing unusual for his efforts. His keen-eyed brother Dunstan might have been able to make something of the tracks in the grass, but the comings and goings of onlookers had obscured whatever slight impressions might have been here earlier, leaving Robin no trail. Of course, the knowledge that Sybil’s blue gaze followed his every move didn’t help.

Did she feel the attraction between them, or was a nun oblivious to such things? More likely, this one was too shrewish to notice, Robin thought. And he was saddled with her for the duration of his stay here! Suddenly, Robin wondered if he could solve the murder while avoiding Sybil and keeping to his original mission to find out about Vala l’Estrange. It seemed a complex assignment, but Robin was too much of a de Burgh to give in to doubt. He had never failed at anything yet.

Although he had learned nothing in his search, Robin was determined to continue it outside the nearby walls. Rising to his feet, he turned to the abbess. “I would inspect the area on the other side, and I will need to speak with all of the nuns,” he said.

“We will make arrangements to have them meet with you in the hall,” the abbess replied. “And, of course, we will provide you with chambers in the guest house. Sybil can show you to a set of rooms.”

The thought of being alone with the One made Robin’s entire being rouse to alertness again. His gaze immediately transferred to Sybil, though against his will. It was an altogether unsettling sensation. He had always been the master of his fate, but now he sensed an ominous sway in his command. Is this how his brothers had felt, helpless victims of an overpowering something beyond their control? Although seized by lust, more was involved here than mere sex, though how could that be when he hardly knew her, and what he did know of her, he heartily disliked? And yet, he was drawn to her, yearning to discover everything about her, her history, her facets, her secrets.

Robin shook his head to clear it and told himself in a firm, manly, decisive way that this woman held no power over him. But somehow he was still studying her as she hovered over the dead woman, presumably awaiting the approach of the infirmaress and other nuns…other nuns. That knowledge brought Robin a certain comfort, for no matter what her unusual effect upon him, Sybil could not be meant for him.

Obviously, something had gone awry this time, allowing him to escape the curse, for his intended already had answered a higher calling. Safe in that assurance, Robin donned a smug smile as he watched her take charge of the removal of the body, issuing directions that were the province of the infirmaress. Apparently, Sybil made no discrimination, but alienated everyone with whom she came in contact.

Robin might have laughed, if he hadn’t been so exasperated. He turned to the abbess, who now stood beside him. “Rather forceful for a nun, isn’t she?” he commented in a dry tone that did not hide his opinion.

The abbess lifted her brows. “Oh, Sybil is not a member of our order, though she has long dwelt with us. She remains a novice, having never taken her vows. I sometimes fear she is destined for the outside world, with all of its heartaches,” the abbess said, and Robin felt his complacency drop away, along with his grin. Not his world, he thought, with something akin to panic.

Seemingly oblivious to his reaction, the abbess left him to speak with one of the other women, while Robin reached up to tug at the suddenly constricting neck of his tunic. With a scowl, he glared at Sibyl, outraged at what he considered her duplicity. Perhaps she was not a nun, but that didn’t mean he was going to turn around and marry her. It was not as though she could make him, he thought mutinously, for how could she? Hold a knife to his throat? Lure him into a compromising situation? Robin grunted in amusement.

In truth, there was naught she could do, for he was prepared for any tricks. Already, he was one step ahead of his brothers in that he knew what was afoot. Seizing upon that small advantage, Robin felt his innate confidence returning. After all, forewarned was forearmed, and Robin was a master of weapons.

As Sybil stood watching the nuns take away Elise, she clenched her hands at her sides to prevent herself from following. The grief she had set aside momentarily returned, fresh and sharp, making her want to put herself between Elisa and the women who would prepare her for burial, as if she might, by dint of her own fierce will, somehow delay the inevitable or change the events that had transpired.