Unfortunately, Magdalena didn’t have a chance to ask her Bambi what in heaven and hell’s name he was talking about. Her princeling chose that inopportune moment to come. He came hard, came loudly, and then passed out, as was his wont to do. She sent for Delphina to show their guest to his room, while she cleaned up the princeling and put him to bed with a little kiss on his forehead and a “Good puppy.”
She strode the stone halls to the guest wing, which once housed novice monks and now would be the temporary home of a veteran priest. Without knocking, she opened the door to the room and found Marcus sitting in the blue velvet armchair in front of the fireplace. It came as no surprise to find a cat perched on his lap.
“Who’s this one?” he asked, glancing up as she came into the room and stood by the fire. One downside of owning a converted monastery was that monks wore heavy wool robes for a reason—drafty hallways. She burned up in the rooms and froze in the hallways.
“Lucrezia,” she said, nodding toward the sleek black and orange cat on his thigh. “I’m convinced all cats are descended from the Borgias, this one especially. I’ve never had a better mouser. Funny, she usually avoids our male guests, but I can’t say I’m surprised she’s taking a liking to you. You do attract dangerous females, don’t you?”
“Why is that, do you think?”
“Dangerous ladies like dangerous men. They can talk shop.”
He smiled, stroking Lucrezia under her chin. The cat twisted her head this way and that to give him better access to every inch of her head.
“I apologize for turning up unannounced,” he said. “Thank you for the room.”
Politeness. Very suspicious.
Magdalena decided to play along.
“You’re welcome,” she said. “Although the Benedictines are long gone, I try to keep up their practice of hospitality.”
“Yes, well, Delphina offered to let me give her a pelvic exam if I so desired.”
“We have our own definition of hospitality here.”
“I’ve noticed.” He smiled contentedly, still stroking the cat.
“Why are you here, Bambi?”
He glanced at her, returned his attention to Lucrezia’s chin. “Would you believe me if I said I wasn’t sure why?”
“Yes,” she said. “But you must have a theory or two. When you were in seminary, you practically lived here. But once you moved to the States, you only ever come to see me when things are falling apart. What was it the last time? Oh yes, your Little One ran off and left you after you proposed marriage, you beautiful fool.”
“Seven years ago.”
“That was the worst I’ve ever seen you, and I’ve seen you at your worst.”
He nodded. “Only fair,” he said, “that you see me at my best every now and then.”
“You’re happy.”
“An understatement. The understatement of the century.” He dropped his hand to the arm of the chair. The cat lightly leapt off his thigh and sauntered to the rug in front of the fireplace, turned two circles and laid down into a ball.
“If he’s hers because you talked her into it, I may put a sword through your guts. Then again, if he’s not hers, I may do it anyway.”
“He’s not Eleanor’s. I wouldn’t do that to her.”
“But you would betray her with another woman.”
“It wasn’t a betrayal. Eleanor would tell you that herself. She sent Grace to me.”
“Grace. That’s her name?”
“Yes. She was instrumental in saving my life and Eleanor’s during a very difficult ordeal.”
“A feat that is usually rewarded with flowers, or perhaps a medal of valor, not a child.”
He leaned back and gave her the most arrogant smile she’d ever seen a man wear.
“She didn’t want a medal.”
Magdalena raised her hand, shook her finger at him. “I forget you’re a man sometimes. Then you remind me.”
“That didn’t sound like a compliment.”
“It wasn’t.”
“Do you even want to know his name?”
“No.”
“Fionn,” he said. “After Fionn Mac Cumhaill.”
“The Irish mythical hero.”
“The blond Irish mythical hero. Grace is half-Irish.”
“Do you have a picture?”
“Of Grace or Fionn?”
“Fionn.”
“Not yet. I only found out about him two days ago. Although, I confess…I had hoped. Not hoped…that’s too strong of a word. Wished. Wished and didn’t let myself believe it would come true.”
“Yet it did.”
“It did. You don’t seem happy for me.”
“I’m not.”
He surprised her by looking momentarily wounded. She wasn’t used to seeing such a human expression on his face. She wasn’t moved by it, not a bit.
“You are still a priest, are you not?”
“I am.”
“Your son will either grow up as a scandal or without a father, and I’m supposed to congratulate you?”
“He is a child, not a scandal. And he has a father. Grace is happily married.”
“Better and better. Now it’s adultery.”
“I didn’t realize you’d gotten so moralistic in your old age.”
“One of us has to be, you smug bastard.”
He glared at her.
She gave her best nonchalant wave of her hand. “You had a rough day and you fucked a married woman to make yourself feel better. She got pregnant, had the baby, and now you want me to pat you on your head and call you a good boy? If you insist.”
She walked over to him, held out her hand as if to pat him on the head. Before she could, he grasped her by the wrist and held it, firmly. Not firmly enough to hurt her, but firmly enough.
“Good boy,” she said.
“I truly don’t know why I come to you for anything,” he said. “Except that you’re so incredibly sadistic you make me feel almost vanilla in comparison.”
She laughed softly. He released her wrist. Now free to do what she wanted with her hand, she brought it to his face and stroked his cheek. He still had the smooth skin of a much younger man, but his eyes were ancient. They’d always been ancient, as if he’d lived a thousand lives before and carried what he’d seen in all those lives into every incarnation. He wouldn’t have liked that theory of hers. Catholics didn’t believe in reincarnation.
“It’s not fair. How do you stay so handsome? Must be a deal with the devil. It certainly isn’t, as they say, clean living and a clear conscience.”
“Are you finished insulting me yet?”
“No.” She sighed wistfully. “Why didn’t I seduce you when I had the chance?”
“Because you never had the chance.” He smiled. Too cruel. It was times like this she really wished she had taken him to bed. Ah, perhaps in their next lives.
“It’s good to know I still despise you,” she said. “I thought I was getting soft in my old age.”
“Shall I go?” he asked.
“Not until you tell me why you’ve come.”
“I told you, I don’t know. I thought, perhaps, I wanted to tell you my good news. There aren’t many people I can tell. But I should have known better than to think you’d care.”
“Yes, you should have. Which is why I don’t think that’s why you came.”
“Then you tell me, Magda. Why did I come here?”
“The same reason you always come to me. Pain. Either to give it or because you’re in it. And you’ve already given it and you’re still here…so what’s left?”
“I’m not in pain. I’ve never felt better in my life.”
“Then why, pray tell,” she said, tapping him under the chin, “do you look so scared?”
His eyes widened and he glanced away once at the fire—she saw the reflection of it dancing in his eyes—then back up at her.
“Because I’m terrified.”
Good. Good, she thought. Now they were getting somewhere.
“Come with me. I want to show you something.”