Kisses like that lead to . . . to other things, things that only married people should do. I could not believe I had said those words to Reagan. Our entire conversation was still replaying itself in my head the next day as I got ready for our meeting in the chapel. He had said that he had been made aware of his reputation in June. What did that mean exactly?
I had been here with Brianna for Summer Session in June. As I recall, he had a girl practically sitting in his lap during supper on the night of our arrival. Now that I thought it over, that was the last time I had seen him with that girl, or any other for that matter. Even while in Aisling he had shown no interest in a particular lady even though there was plenty of interest shown to him. Maybe he had changed.
I shook my head as I strapped the pale yellow bustier over my taupe blouse and skirt. As if the shaking of my head would erase those memories. Our conversation was not the only thing repeating itself in my mind. Now that I was not exhausted from the work load Arlana had placed on me, I had more time to mull over that kiss we had shared in the garden. While I performed simple tasks, my mind would start out with the kiss and with no effort on my part, a fantasy world would open up, one that had me sharing a life and family with Reagan. This could not be healthy.
I arrived at the chapel five minutes before we were scheduled to meet only to find Reagan and an older gentleman sitting on a pew midway in, facing each other while deep in conversation. I assumed this was the preacher we were to meet, and I did not want to interrupt. I quietly made my way down the aisle and sat in the pew behind them.
Reagan immediately turned my way. “This is my good friend, Gwendolyn Alexander, I was telling you about. Gwen, this is . . . I am sorry. Do you prefer parson, preacher, vicar . . . ?”
“Pastor actually.” He held his hand out toward me for a handshake. “Pastor Dunham, Conroy Dunham. Pleased to meet you.”
“What is the difference? I mean, how is a pastor any different than a parson or vicar?” Reagan’s question echoed the one in my head.
“There is no difference, really. It is just a preference on my part to be called pastor. To me, it puts to mind a shepherd and his sheep—a relationship that is referenced many times throughout the Bible. I see myself as the leader of my congregation, and also, I think it sounds more personable, more approachable, if you will. Of course, that is just my own opinion in the matter.”
I had taken the time while he spoke for a closer look at the pastor. He had a head full of silver hair, but there were hardly any wrinkles around his sky-blue eyes. I could now see that he was not as old as he had first appeared to me. He did seem more approachable, though I doubted it had anything to do with his title. He had not seemed the least put out with Reagan’s question and took his time, giving an honest answer. He had a gentle way about him that put you at ease and made you feel that you could come to him with anything.
“I do not want you to think I am gossiping or trying to bring down a man of God, if indeed that is what he was, but the vicar that was here before left a lot to be desired. Whether because of his beliefs or just personal preference, there was never any music in the sanctuary. His sermons put most people to sleep, what few were in attendance. With the absence of a church leader, we have been having singings, and more people have shown up with every passing Sunday. I think I can safely speak for my people in saying we need a more lively service than what we were getting before. What do you think about all of this?”
Reagan’s speech was certainly to the point. I studied the pastor’s profile, anticipating his response. He looked down at the space between him and the prince thoughtfully. He gave a slight laugh before looking back up at Reagan.
“I cannot promise that no one has ever nodded off during one of my services, but I can say that it was not a common occurrence. I guess you could say the church I left behind was a successful one. The pews were always full and there was talk of adding on to the building. I guess you will have to judge my preaching for yourself on Sunday.
“As for the singing, I would welcome good singing as long as it does not take precedence over the preaching of God’s word. Do you have someone in charge of the music?”
“I have not officially appointed anyone for that position because I felt the choice should be yours. There is a man that has fallen in place as leader of his own accord. His name is Galen Ferrell. He is the head gardener here at the castle. I will set up a meeting between the two of you before the day is through.”
“I would appreciate that.”
“Why did you leave your former church if it was doing so well?” Reagan was asking good questions. I felt he had not needed my presence for this meeting at all.
“I left because God said it was time to move on.”
“Will you go back there if things do not work out here?”
“No. I left on good terms with my people. I am positive they would welcome me back, but they understood that God was moving me in another direction. He has not changed his mind.”
Reagan looked as if he were stumped for what to say next. That is when he turned to look at me. “Gwen, do you have any questions for the pastor?”
I had been thinking about the thing I felt was the topic of utmost importance. A verse was already settled in my mind. These words were on a plaque outside our church back home in Aisling, and they were imbedded into my vision as I looked at Pastor Dunham.
“But Paul cried with a loud voice, saying, Do thyself no harm: for we are all here. Then he called for a light, and sprang in, and came trembling, and fell down before Paul and Silas, and brought them out, and said, Sirs, what must I do to be saved?”
I could see the confusion on Reagan’s face from the edge of my vision, but I kept my sight on the pastor. He smiled as he went on with the next verse.
“And they said, Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ, and thou shalt be saved, and thy house. Those verses are from Acts chapter sixteen, verses twenty-eight through thirty-one. Were you testing my memorization skills, or are you asking what I believe concerning salvation?”
“The latter.”
“Young lady, that is the most important question I have been asked all day. I absolutely believe that there is no other way to be saved from eternal damnation and separation from our heavenly Father than through the blood of Jesus Christ. He gave us the free gift of his love and saving grace when He died on the cross to cover our sins. This belief of mine is what makes me and anyone else who believes the same—one of His. Did that answer your question?”
I smiled and nodded. “I believe the same.”
He looked expectantly between me and Reagan. “Any more questions?”
Reagan looked at me, and I shook my head. “I am fresh out of questions for the moment. If you will walk with me to my office, my advisor is waiting there to take you on a tour of the castle and grounds. I wish I could do it myself, but I have other obligations.”
“I understand. You have a kingdom to run, and that is a big responsibility.”
Reagan had a sour look on his face at the pastor’s response. I never knew Brianna’s role as queen to be as much of a burden as the one Reagan seemed to carry. Then I remembered that he was short two advisors.
We made our way to the door of the chapel where we would part ways. I turned and spoke to the pastor as soon as we were in the hallway. “Pastor Dunham, it was nice meeting you, and I look forward to your sermon on Sunday.”
He shook my hand once again. I wondered where he was from. A Gilvarian would never have shaken hands with a woman, and he did not have the flat inflection in his voice of most Aislinians. Judging by his complexion, he had not spent too many winters in the mountains of Dermot either.
“I enjoyed meeting you, Miss Gwen, and I look forward to getting better acquainted in the future.” He seemed sure of his position here. From what I had heard so far, he was probably right to be confident.
“Gwen, I will see you later.” Reagan had not touched me when he spoke as he usually did. I chided myself for noticing. What did it say about me that I had missed it? I was reminded that our friendship was a hidden thing. I had felt so at ease in front of the pastor that I had let it slip my mind. I could not let this happen again.
I was careful to hide my thoughts as I curtsied in front of him. “Your Highness.” I turned and walked away without making further eye contact.
I made my way to the infirmary. Clare was there replenishing our supply of dried herbs. I had only seen her in passing for the last two weeks. We needed time to reconnect and this was the perfect activity. I stepped to the counter beside her to lend a hand.
Her eyes sparkled as she looked at me and grinned. “You are looking better than you have been. I heard the warden released you from your duties.”
She had been secretly calling Arlana the warden for the last couple of weeks. I would hate to think of what might happen should Arlana ever find out. She seemed ready to burst with some bit of information. I thought I could guess what it was.
“I do feel better. So, what is his name?”
“Whose name? What are you talking about?”
“I just thought by the grin on your face that someone special may have taken notice in the last couple of weeks, or maybe you are the one noticing someone else. Could that be it?” I grinned and bumped my shoulder against hers.
Her smile disappeared as she looked down at the task at hand. “No, who would want this fat pig?”
“You are not fat. You should not be so hard on yourself. I am sorry I brought it up.”
We worked in silence for a couple of minutes. Just when I thought my wrong guess had put an end to our conversation, she spoke. “You know the castle is all abuzz with how the prince came to your rescue the other night. I knew he would put a stop to that woman’s evil deeds once he found out what she was doing. She had some nerve putting you of all people through that. She must have some clue how he feels about you. At least it is certain she knows it now.”
The grin was back on her face. No doubt she was hinting that there was more to mine and Reagan’s relationship than just friendship. The kiss we shared in the garden instantly came to mind, but I pushed the image away just as quickly. Whatever happened between us then was the past.
“Prince Reagan and I are just good friends, nothing more. Surely he would have done the same for anyone.”
Her knowing grin did not diminish one bit. “Maybe so, but I heard there was a lot of passion in what he had to say to that witch. Even if he had intervened on someone else’s behalf, it wouldn’t have had the same punch. I’m happy for you.”
“We are just friends.” I did not know how else to dispute her words. She let the subject drop although I could tell she had not wanted to.
After our simple chore was complete, we made our way to the dining hall for dinner. There were covered dishes lining the center of each table along with empty plates, utensils, and pitchers of water. The same dishes were repeated down each section of the tables which eliminated the need to pass food around. As we made our way through the room, I could see that we were having herb roasted chicken, green beans, and new potatoes. My mouth watered in anticipation of the meal. We chose to sit near the end of the least populated table.
Clare poured each of us a cup of water while I uncovered the chicken, placing a couple of pieces on each of our plates. I had noticed that food tasted so much better now that I did not have to work in the kitchen. We were dishing out vegetables onto our plates when Reagan came and sat down across from us.
“Ladies, I hope you do not mind if I join you.”
Clare bumped the table, sloshing water on the tablecloth, in her attempt to stand in order to curtsy. “Your Highness!”
I put my hand on her arm and gently tugged her back into her seat, all the while looking at Reagan. “We would be honored to share a meal with you, Prince Reagan.”
I had grown up with a behind-the-scenes view of royal life. If the prince was condescending to sit with us, he did not expect us to upend the table just to offer him a curtsy. At least I could say with some surety this prince did not expect it.
I had barely gotten the words out of my mouth when we were surrounded by servants who began clearing our section of the table of everything, including mine and Clare’s plates of food. Clare watched with her mouth gaped open and then turned her bewildered look toward me. I discreetly placed my index finger over my lips. She took the hint and her own lips went together so fast, I could hear her teeth pop. She sat up straighter and turned her head forward.
We had gained the attention of most everyone in the room as the table was reset with fresh linens and fine china. Goblets of wine were placed next to chilled glasses of ice water at each setting. A roasted duck was placed on the end of the table and was being sliced by one of the servers while another piled each of our plates with cornbread stuffing, crisp spears of asparagus, and baked sweet potatoes topped with spiced, buttered pecans.
Reagan stared at me with a slight smile on his face the whole time the table was being set. I wondered what was on his mind. As soon as everything was served, he placed both of his hands palm up on the table.
“Let us pray.”
I reached for his hand, and he curled his fingers around mine. Clare looked down at his other hand as if he were holding a snake. He sat patiently until she finally laid her fingertips over his. I do not think I heard one word of his prayer. I was distracted by the sensation caused by him rubbing circles on the back of my hand with his thumb. I peeked to see if the same thing was going on between him and Clare. Her fingertips were clamped between his fingers and thumb as if he expected her to flee at any moment. I had no doubt that she was at least thinking about it.
As soon as the prayer was over, he picked up his fork and looked at Clare. “Has Gwen told you that we will have a leader in our chapel come Sunday?”
She was looking down at her plate but had made no attempt to start eating. “No, Your Highness, she has not.”
I knew he was trying to put her at ease, but it did not seem to be working. “Yes, well, Pastor Dunham will be preaching for us. If everything works out, he will have a permanent position here. From everything he had to say this morning, I believe it will come to pass. What do you think, Gwen?”
“I agree. I was very impressed with what he had to say. I look forward to hearing him preach.”
Clare had picked up her fork, but it looked as if she was just pushing the food around on her plate. I thought maybe if I talked to her, it would put her more at ease. “You see Clare, Prince Reagan asked me to join him in meeting with the pastor this morning because of the wonderful church we have in Aisling. Have you ever visited there?”
She shook her head as she continued to look down into her plate. She was starting to make me nervous. My own words had not come out right. I knew she had most likely never wondered far from this castle. I had probably made things worse.
Her face was pale when she looked at me and then Reagan. “I am sorry, Your Highness, but may I be excused? I am not feeling so well.”
“Of course you can. I hope you are feeling better soon.”
I grabbed her hand as she stood to leave. “I will check on you later.”
She nodded and then curtsied before rushing out of the dining hall.
“That girl is going to have to lighten up if she wants to be the castle healer one day.”
His statement gave me a jolt, but I did not ask him to elaborate. Did he think I would leave my position here anytime soon? “You have to keep in mind that she has held a very lowly position in this castle up until now. She has probably never interacted with royalty before your mother. I will work with her on it.”
“Her brother does not seem to have a problem with it.”
“Her brother?”
“My advisor. Did you not know that Filib is Clare’s brother?”
“No, I did not.”
I had been so caught up, first in the thrill of my new job, and then, in the misery Arlana had put me through that I had neglected to truly be a friend to anyone. I vowed to myself to do better.
We spent the rest of the meal in comfortable conversation. It felt like old times, like it did back when we were in Aisling together. Except every once in a while his smile or the gleam of his eye caused the sensation of butterflies in my stomach. I blamed it on the kiss. Surely things would get back to normal as we reconnected as friends.