“May I stay a moment, sir? I would speak with Dame Marguerite.”
Crispin looked from the determined face of his protégé to that of the sedate nun and then back again. What goes on here? He knew the boy seemed to have an infatuation for the girl. Perhaps Jack might get more information from her than he did. It was a guilty thought, because it meant using the boy, and it also meant eavesdropping. But the flush of guilt was only temporary. There was too much at stake. Geoffrey’s innocence for one.
He gave Jack a nod and turned on his heel to walk back up the path. But once Jack turned away from him toward the nun, he made a stealthy journey back behind the hedges to listen, wondering how much of his pride he had to sacrifice for the price of a man’s life.
Jack stood uncertainly for a moment, measuring the garden, the sky, anything it seemed but the nun. He checked the knife at his belt, pulled at the hem of his new coat, straightened his hood, and finally dropped his hands to his sides. “Well,” he said at last in a halting voice. “I am pleased to see you looking so well, Dame.”
She blinked at Jack but said nothing.
Jack shuffled his feet for a bit and raised his eyes again to the spring sky just opening from a lacy cloud cover. “My master is good at what he does, this finding of criminals. Tracker, they call him.” He made a halfhearted chuckle. “And though I know you would not see a murderer hang, surely you would see that he is stopped before he can do harm to another.”
“Is it always so?” she asked.
“Well, in my experience, the murderer does not stop with one. And poor Wilfrid is the proof of it. Surely you would not see murder done again.”
“If it is God’s will.”
“God’s will in murder? That ain’t-isn’t-right, is it?”
Marguerite paused. She shifted on the bench and shook out her veil, raising her face to the bleary sunshine. “I … should ask my prioress such a question. But of course … I cannot.”
Jack edged closer and stealthily found his way to sitting on the bench beside her. He sat quietly for some time.
Crispin clenched his teeth. That boy has too smooth a way about him.
“Aye. Well. That is the problem, ain’t it-isn’t it? She was murdered, wasn’t she? It’s a sore thing to find a murderer. I’ve been with my master for near two years now and it is never an easy thing. There’s danger. Aye, I’ve seen my share, too, I suppose.” He puffed out his chest and squinted an eye toward her, perhaps to see if she noticed.
Crispin put his hand over his mouth to suppress a laugh.
“Aye. My master has me apprenticing to be a Tracker as well. I expect when I come of age I will have learned a goodly amount. He already depends on me. Wouldn’t know what the man would do without me.”
Crispin smiled and shook his head. Jesu, is this what he sounded like at that age?
Jack surveyed the garden again and moved marginally closer to her. “If you will not speak of it…” And he eyed her but she made no appearance that she would. “Well then. I’ll trouble you no more about it.” He edged closer. “What will you do now? Will you go back to your priory?”
“Of course. As soon as your master allows it.”
“But how can you? After what you’ve seen?”
She shook her head as if the question were absurd. “What else would I do? I am a nun.”
“Well now.” Jack rubbed his thighs and looked down at his coat, seeming to remember it was new and how fine he must look in it. He sat straighter. “For a maiden such as you, I would think there were a fair amount of options.”
She cocked her head at him much like a dove.
Jack went on. “You’re an even-tempered lass. There are many prospects. Er … a ladies maid, surely. A chatelaine. Or … maybe…” Crispin saw him squirm and swallow. “Maybe even … a wife. For the right sort of lad, that is.”
Crispin nearly stumbled into the bushes. Good Christ!
But Marguerite seemed none the wiser. She continued to stare uncomprehendingly at Jack, blinking.
Slowly, carefully, as if picking up an injured bird, Jack scooped up her hand and held it in his own. She looked down at her white hand in Jack’s and still said nothing. Jack was breathing heavily, his gaze concentrated on her face. “You see, Dame … That is, Marguerite. The right sort of lad may be right under your nose. That would be a lad who has learning. And a vocation. Maybe his wage isn’t so much, but that will change.” He scooted closer until his thigh rested against hers hidden by her brown woolen gown. “A wage, a wife, and maybe a babe or two is all the happiness some lads need. It’s … all I’d need.”
She stared at the spectacle of her hand in Jack’s but made no attempt to pull it free. “I do not understand you,” she said, voice softer. Crispin had the feeling by the look of her eye that she understood him quite well indeed. “Are you saying that I should look to another vocation?”
“Well. Mayhap. A maid as young as you are. How can you put yourself away in a monastery? It seems a crime! I mean, you’re lovely … if I may say so.”
For the first time, Marguerite seemed to awaken and she blushed.
This seemed to encourage Jack and he scooted closer, bringing her hand to his chest. “I’m a fool, I know it. But when a lad looks upon such beauty he cannot keep it to himself. He must needs tell the world. Or at least the object of that beauty. And so … I am telling you … Marguerite!”
Her face turned fully toward him now, and though Crispin thought she should be appalled, she looked far from it. In fact, he was not so certain that she wasn’t edging closer to Jack. Jack’s attention was on her face alone. The very sky could have collapsed atop him and he would not have noticed. She leaned forward and so did he and suddenly their lips met.
Crispin exploded from his hiding place. “JACK TUCKER!”
17
Jack snapped to his feet, eyes round, face white. He threw Marguerite’s hand aside. “Master Crispin!”
Crispin grabbed his arm and hauled him forward, shaking the limb. “You’ve disgraced yourself! Apologize to Dame Marguerite at once!”
“I … I…”
Marguerite rose slowly. “Master Crispin. Forgive the boy. I certainly do. It was not his fault. It is the fault of Woman. We are temptresses, no matter our vocation.”
“Dame, your charity is exemplary. But it does not excuse his behavior.” He glared at Jack. “Come!”
Dragging the boy back through the kitchens, Crispin smoldered. He’d never been so angry at the lad. He said nothing more until he reached the tavern’s great hall. He tossed him forward toward the hearth and Jack stumbled before righting himself. He straightened his jacket and faced him, his face composed but fearful.
“I ain’t ashamed of what I done. I love her!”
“Tucker, do I have to remind you that she is a holy sister? She has taken vows. Among them is the vow of chastity. What you did was unforgivable.”
“I done what I done, and I’d do it again.”
Crispin lurched forward, his face mere inches from Jack’s. “Harken to me, boy. I am telling you that you will not do this again. I am your master and I am ordering you-” Crispin stared at Jack’s trembling fists, his taut shoulders. Damn the boy! “You will make a confession, do you understand? To Father Gelfridus.”
Jack glared back with all his might, his lips pressed tightly together. He made a feral nod of his head and clasped his arms over his chest.
Just as Crispin was about to say more, footsteps lumbered down the stairs. He jerked his head and spied Gelfridus making his way down the steps. “Father Priest!” he called, but Gelfridus seemed distracted and did not notice his hail. The priest walked carefully over the inn’s plank floor, kicking the dust with his long-pointed shoes. His hand cradled his jaw, and a finger absently stroked the stubble on his cheek.