“Probably very little,” Alys returned without hesitation.
“It could be simple, if you’ll just let it be.”
“Simple for whom?” She did not wait for his answer but gave him her own. “She’s made clear she doesn’t want Benet, and beyond that she’s asked the priory’s protection. I can’t give her over to you or him.”
Reynold leaned forward earnestly. “Alys, be reasonable. If you keep her, there’s going to be trouble when her people and the Fenners find she’s here.”
“And that’s the real way of it, isn’t it? It’s not helping Benet to a bride you’re interested in, so much as doing down the Fenners.” But that was something she could understand and, more than understand, agree with. The Fenners had given the Godfreys trouble more than once over the years. Lord Fenner still held Godfrey property he had seized ten years ago, and neither force of arms nor law had been able to pry him loose from it. “It isn’t what you’ve done but that you’ve caught me in the middle.” She set her goblet down on the chair’s wide arm with exasperated force. “You shouldn’t have brought her here!”
“But I have brought her here.” Reynold spread his hands, appealing to her to see it his way. “Now let’s take the simple way out of it. If she’s fully married to Benet past redress before they find her here, there won’t be any trouble worth mentioning, from the Fenners or her family.”
“But she doesn’t want to marry Benet and I’ve given her the priory’s protection,” Alys repeated with what she meant for him to understand was dangerous quietness.
He did not. “The priory’s protection is yours to give or take as you choose, and what’s her wanting or not wanting Benet have to do with anything? She’s rich, Benet wants her, and if she’s married to him, no Fenner can have her. Give her over to Benet tonight-let your priest even marry them first, if you want-and I warrant you that come the morning, she’ll be thanking you for it.”
Alys’ face probably showed him he had taken the wrong way there because even as she started to open her mouth to answer him, ready to bludgeon such a quantity of stupidity out of his head-with words or otherwise-he rapidly shifted ground, leaned forward, and put his free hand on her knee, his voice dropping into warmth and urging. “Alys, let’s not quarrel over it. That won’t help anything. But what else is there to do? Because I’ve already sworn that she’s not coming out of here until she’s married to him.”
“Let him court her.”
“Court her?” Reynold echoed. He drew slightly back with surprise. “Court her?”
The way you do every woman that crosses your path, even so slight-brained a thing as Katerin, Alys thought but did not say it. “Court her,” she repeated firmly, enjoying his surprise.
Reynold made a short, disbelieving laugh. “Why? Why waste the time? Why not simply let him have her and be done with it?”
“Because I say so.”
They had neither of them ever lacked a temper and Alys could see Reynold’s rousing now, his face darkening with it as he said warningly, “Alys, I can have that girl out of here anytime I choose and there’s no way you can stop me, say what you want to.”
He could, and would care nothing for the consequences. Not her threats of God’s wrath, of fines, penance, episcopal displeasure, even excommunication if she forced him to turn the matter violent enough-and by St. Frideswide’s blessed veil she would before he had the girl that way. Alys had her temper, too, and was only holding it back because she was remembering one thing more than Reynold was. She laid her hand over his knee and squeezed it with what might have been affection but was hard enough to be a warning, too and said, “You could,” she agreed, “but you won’t.” And before he could ask why not, she answered, “Because Aunt Eleanor has taken her in charge, and whatever you might do against me or God, I doubt you’ll do anything against Aunt Eleanor.”
Reynold stopped, his mouth half-open, staring at her. They sat still long enough, in silence deep enough, for a log to pop and roll a little on the fire and Father Henry to grow nervous and clear his throat and Katerin to shuffle a little in the restless way she had when she did not understand what was happening.
Then a smile ticked at the corners of Reynold’s mouth. He tried to hold it in check, but it grew, forcing both his dimples into view, and he gave way to it, grinning openly. “You have me there, my lady. Of all things in the world, I don’t think I would care to go against Aunt Eleanor.” He pulled free his hand and sat back in the chair, still smiling but less widely, with a light frown of thinking between his eyes. More to himself than not, he said, “I wonder what she’s playing at?”
Before Alys could think of an answer, Reynold rose with abrupt grace, turning toward the table and the wine. “All right, then. Benet will come courting. Just don’t be blaming me if her folk and the Fenners come ranting to your gate and nothing has been accomplished. Now, about this mason of yours you’ve been complaining of. Is he still giving you trouble?”
Chapter 5
The morning Mass, like the offices and breakfast before it, was subdued under Domina Alys’ heavy eye, no one caring to chance her humor by unwary move or word. She had not come to Matins and Lauds at midnight but at dawn had carried through at a headlong pace that had warned Father Henry to be no less brisk about the Mass. In the few years since Domina Alys had become prioress, he had managed to efface himself from the priory almost entirely, spending most of his time in the village except for his necessary duties in St. Frideswide’s. This morning he managed the Mass at a pace just short of unseemly, and afterward, while he retreated to the sacristy to divest himself of his vestments, the nuns left the church to go along the cloister walk to the warming room for chapter meeting.
Frevisse walked in huddled haste with them, everyone with chins tucked into their wimples and their hands pushed up their opposite sleeves to hold on to what warmth they had left after the cold time in the church. Domina Alys had not yet given permission for the heavier woolen winter gowns to be put on, and though the day was shining with early light, the sky clear except for little feather wisps of sun-gilded cloud directly overhead-the only sky that could be seen from inside the cloister-the sun was still below the roof ridge and the cloister walk still shivering cold in shadow. Wealthier nunneries had a separate room for the daily chapter meetings, some of them most beautifully made, but at St. Frideswide’s the warming room sufficed, lacking elegance but with a fireplace that on cold mornings such as this one was much to be preferred over chill beauty.
So she was as bitterly disappointed, if not so loud about it as some, to find no fire there as they crowded through the door. Sister Amicia turned on Dame Juliana, who, as cellaress, would have to tell the servants of their failure. “Go tell them now!” she cried.
Dame Juliana shook her head miserably. “I can’t. I had to tell them not to light a fire here this morning. Domina Alys said so.”
“Why?” Sister Johane exclaimed. “It’s not fair!”
“Hush,” Dame Perpetua hissed from near the door. Domina Alys always came in to chapter meeting last and expected to find them standing silently, heads respectfully bowed, waiting for her. Dame Perpetua’s warning was that she was nearly there, and in quick silence they spread out among the low stools, to wait for leave to sit.
Sister Thomasine, as she did even when there was a fire, had already slipped to the farthest place and was standing with her head bowed, hands folded, no sign that her thin body felt the morning’s chill at all. Frevisse wondered if it were a sin to envy her that. For herself, wary of what Domina Alys’ humor might be today, not wanting to be noticed if she could help it, she tried for a place in the midst of the other women, neither too forward nor too back, but found Dame Claire, Dame Perpetua, and Dame Juliana all had the same desire. There was a momentary shifting of skirts and a scraping of stools, then sympathizing glances at each other as they realized they were at matched purposes and settled wherever they were.