Chapter Nine

The hall grew silent listening to Aislinn’s haunting song. Karlan accompanied her on his psaltery, and never had the two sounded better, Bridget thought. Candles were guttering over their holders, Father Usrich was snoring, and the earl reclined contentedly in his lord’s chair, stretching out his long legs.

On her own little pedestal seat a few feet over, Bridget stiffened when the muscular knight’s sprawl brought him closer to her. He leaned an elbow upon the near arm of his chair and patted the seat that Aislinn had vacated.

She glanced over. He was waiting expectantly for her to take her sister’s spot.

With a quick roll of her eyes, she shifted from her armless little seat with the thin cushion into Aislinn’s much nicer, armed chair. The lady’s chair. How nice to have a firm, high back to lean against!

Uneasy, she looked around. No one had taken note of her movement.

“This goes well, do you not agree?” the earl asked in tones low enough not to risk disturbing the entertainment.

Askance, she asked, “Aislinn’s song, you mean?”

He smirked at her attempt to deflect. “You interpreting betwixt us.”

She shrugged a shoulder for answer and intensified her observation of the entertainers.

“How is it you speak my language fluently when none other seems to have grasped it so well?”

He would pursue a conversation now? Hoping to quiet him, she leaned and whispered, “Abbot Giles. He came from Rouen, as you mayhap know. When he was installed as abbot, I took to conversing with him daily—” She checked herself. Alas, she’d broached the very topic she’d been hoping to avoid with him, her visiting the abbey. “Well, I am good with tongues,” she finished. Then she scolded herself inwardly for putting it in such a way as to recall their scandalous kiss.

“Indeed,” was his flat reply. She felt his eyes scouring her. After a moment, he continued. “So, Giles approves of your visits to his abbey.”

“I would not visit without his consent.”

There was a length of silence, then he asked, “How is it such a woman as you is bound for the cloister?”

She darted a look his way. Over each of his shoulders peered a fanged beast hewn into the back of the chair, grim sentinels poised to lunge upon whosoever offended their master.

“Such a woman as what?” she asked archly.

“One who visits men alone in the wee hours of morn, and kisses strangers the way you do.”

Heat sprang to her face. “You kissed me!”

“And you kissed me back.”

“I did not!” She balled her fists in her lap. How dare he bring this up—his brash forwardness and her disconcerting receptiveness? Her heart beat so forcefully she could feel it in her cheeks.

“You did, and heaven help good Brother Lefrid should you award him such attentions.”

“Brother Lefrid?” She gaped at him in outrage. What a beastly man! Her brow tingled, and her palms were drenched with moisture. She glanced about to ensure no one heeded their conversation. It appeared those not enraptured by Aislinn’s singing were engrossed in devouring Cook’s delectations and had no interest in trying to follow the rapid exchange in Norman between the new lord and his interpreter.

“You are utterly mistaken about me, lord. Utterly. Or you jest to wound me. As are the brothers, I am devoted to contemplation of spiritual matters. Concerns of the flesh do not interest me.”

His lips twisted. “Your kiss this morn belies you.” He set his gaze upon the crucifix at her breast and nodded toward it. “This is a good cover. None would question your interest in an abbey and the monks therein. However, I know men are men, regardless of their costumes.”

She grasped the holy symbol protectively. “’Tis sacrilege to speak so!”

How odious he was! No different from Samson with his taunting and leering. Samson had called her lumbering and stupid. Of course, with maturity had come wisdom, and she now understood that she hadn’t been lumbering, just…studious, and early to develop the plumper parts of a woman’s body. He’d been the stupid one, never able to grasp reading and writing, and hating her for being so good at it.

FitzHenri’s gaze lingered where her hand clutched the cross. “I shall speak with Abbot Giles,” he said. “You are forbidden henceforth from venturing there.”

Her jaw sagged. “But you can’t—” The glower he fired directly into her eyes curtailed her argument. “But I… But— Brother Lefrid is expecting me back.”

“Brother Lefrid will have to take his vows more seriously in future. You will not go to him.”

She could not credit what he was saying. She glared at him. “You would deny a dying man his final smiles? What kind of—”

“Lady, if his smile is due to your services, yea, I will deny him. ’Tis not safe for you to go there, and I won’t have a member of my family” —his eyes traveled insolently over her—“purveying her charms.”

“Purvey— What?” A nervous, angry protest bubbled up in her as comprehension dawned. “My charms?” Too easily, he made her feel like the awkward, precociously curvy, self-conscious girl she had once been. She had outgrown all of that, but she still couldn’t bear having her body or femaleness the focus of any discussion or male perusal. “My lord, you must be sotted. You cannot think that any man would pay to lie with me. Or that I would agree to such disgusting indignity.”

“Whether coin is exchanged or no, you will visit the abbey no longer.”

“But I cannot break my promise!”

Her plea fell on deaf ears. His lordship sat forward and renewed his interest in the meat heaped upon his trencher, pulling apart the tender grouse remaining there. He inspected the bits of fowl, even bending down to sniff the aroma. Then he abandoned the meat and cleaned his fingers on a clout. His apparent distaste for her favorite dish irked her as much as did the man himself.

“Is the fowl not to your liking, my lord? This is Cook’s most prized preparation.”

“Red meat is my preference. You like it, though. Here, take mine.” He made to slide his silver trencher her way.

Horrified, she put up a hand. “How do you know I like it?”

“You devoured your portion earlier with great relish.”

“Oh.” Bridget glanced away, mortified. Ladies’ appetites were expected to be dainty, not hearty.

Ah, well. She’d never counted herself a real lady. Why start now?

At her rejection of his offer, he moved on to more of the roasted beef. She’d sacrificed Oelwine’s best steer for this meal, hoping for leftovers to amend meals in the hall for several days, but the blasted man was making quick work of devouring it all on his own.

Moments later, his fist pounded upon the table. This startled her, but she soon realized Aislinn’s song had come to an end and this was how the brute applauded. His Norman soldiers did likewise, splashing the contents of their goblets and making wooden bowls knock together. The English clapped hands or stamped feet, as she was accustomed to.

Aislinn, wholly in her element to receive such ovation, smiled and curtsied deeply. She gleamed like starshine in the candlelight.

FitzHenri rose, a serious, appreciative look upon his face. What man wouldn’t be proud to call Aislinn his bride? It wasn’t by error that her family had so readily handed the role of heiress to the second daughter once the first had decided on another life. Aislinn’s beauty had astounded everyone since her swaddling days.

“Another, my lady,” he roared in passable English, at which the denizens of the hall cheered in concurrence.

Her sister and Karlan conferred briefly, squabbling a bit as was their wont, then commenced a new song. The hall quieted once more.

When the earl resumed his place beside her, Bridget instinctively took a deep breath. Sweet St. Hilda, how his nearness drove her pulse racing and her wits scattering. Why, when he was a man like all the others she’d been avoiding much of her life?

She needed to find a way to escape this torture. To get her sister’s betrothal settled, so she might move forward to her life of purity and prayer.

But how?

Suddenly she brightened. Men loved to believe that a beautiful girl like Aislinn admired them. It shouldn’t be too hard to move this project along more quickly, and get FitzHenri out of her life for good.

She just had to embellish his suit a bit, ’twas all.