A Mortal Glamour (24 page)

"The Devil has given them to you!” he shouted.

"The Devil then. What is it to me?” She turned on her heel and was about to leave the room when she decided to make one more offer. “I have thought of something. Let me propose this: that my father disown me entirely, and declare that I am without family, and then I will not be a shame for him."

Pierre stared at her in disbelief. “What are you saying?"

"I could live as I wish, then, and my father would not have to bear with what I do or how I do it.” She shrugged. “It's simple, isn't it?"

"You've run mad,” Pierre said with conviction. “You are not some peasant's bitch that can be turned out in the fields to run wild. You're well-born, and that is not the same as the rest of the world.” He pointed at her. “I'll make a bargain with you, girl."

"I am not a merchant: you've just reminded me.” Her color was up again and she glared at him with a fierceness to match his own.

"You will return to that convent and you will remain there for the next three months. I will speak to your father and I will do my utmost to persuade him to reconsider. If he will not, then I will speak to the Cardinal and ask that he find a suitable court for you to enter. My oath upon it."

"But you won't ask for a dispensation to marry me, will you?” She flung this at him like a gauntlet. “You'd rather see me lost to the Devil entirely than your wife."

"God's Nails, will you let be? Even if I wished to, I could not obtain that dispensation. Your father has had two already and the Pope cannot indulge his vidames forever.” He fell silent, studying her. “Well? Will you accept my offer?"

She considered it. “What is to keep my father from ordering me into prison while I wait at the convent? What is to stop him from deciding that he need not abide by what you promised?"

"Oh, come, Aungelique,” he said, almost losing his patience with her again. “Your father does not want bad blood with me. He will accept my oath as his own or he will lose my men-at-arms, and he knows it. Your father is stern, but that does not mean he will throw away everything he has obtained.” He hesitated. “It is not a very long time, Aungelique. At the end of it, you will be free, one way or the other. Won't you accept that, in exchange for the life you say you are made for?"

Aungelique wanted to give him a sharp reply, but that would not permit her to gain his favor again. She rubbed her chin in unthinking imitation of her father. “For three months. If there is any attempt to deny me at the end of that time, I will run away to Rome, I swear it on the Blood of God."

Pierre nodded, shocked by the depth of her feeling. “Three months. That is all."

"Yes; all.” She offered her hand for him to touch. “My word is as binding as yours. Remember that, Pierre.” Then she added a last proviso. “Since I am doing this at your behest, I want proper escort back to Le Tres Saunt Annunciacion. Three men-at-arms and a driver for the wagon."

"As you wish,” he agreed, thankful she had asked for so little.

It was tempting to ask for something more, but for once she held back. With a little discretion, she would be able to please him, and that would be enough to keep him minded to discharge his oath quickly. “I will want another two days here. I have told la Comtesse that I will attend her entertainment tomorrow night. It is not fitting that I decline her invitation, as she has housed me."

"That is reasonable,” he said, being careful to say nothing that might cause her to do something capricious. “I will inform Orienne I will be here, as well."

That made Aungelique frown, but she said nothing more than, “It will be her choice if you do attend."

"I understand that,” he said, knowing full well that Orienne would not refuse him as long as he was obligated to ask about men from Rome. “If she declines, I will find other hosts near here."

Aungelique shrugged, thinking she must find Thibault and persuade him to dance attention on her while Pierre was about. It was time her cousin saw that other men did not find her as repugnant as he appeared to. “Then it is settled,” she said to him, and to herself.

"It is settled.” He touched her hand properly, inclined his head but did not kneel, then almost swaggered from the room more relieved than he had been in days.

Père Guibert looked at Seur Philomine in amazement. “How is it that Mère Léonie has given such instruction?"

"She was so cast down by Seur Aungelique's leaving,” Seur Philomine explained carefully, “that she has spent her time in her cell, in prayer and meditation. None of us has seen her since Seur Aungelique disappeared.” She folded her hands and looked down at them, concentrating on the way her fingers interlaced. “She had said that she is to blame, and for that she must seek to make amends for her sin, and for her failure to be the mother to us that she has promised to be. She has chastised herself for dereliction. She says that Our Lord does not wish to have his nest unguarded."

"Commendable,” Père Guibert muttered, wanting to know more. He dared not enter Mère Léonie's cell to question her, for that would be exceeding his authority to an inexcusable degree. He paced through the courtyard, paying no attention to the mule he had ridden to the convent. “It may be,” he said when he had given the matter some thought, “that in caring so much for the one, she is neglecting the many, and for that, she will have more sins upon her head."

Seur Philomine knew that she could neither agree nor disagree without offending the priest. “Mère Léonie mentioned the Prodigal Son before she closed her door."

"That's entirely different. If that difficult child were not the daughter of Michau d'Ybert, I should have recommended that she be released from her vows more than a year ago.” It was wrong of him to say this, but his temper was growing short. “Mère Léonie has not been a Superior long enough to judge these things as she ought. God teaches us wisdom, in time, if we permit it and have not hardened our hearts to His Words."

"Amen, mon Père.” Seur Philomine went and took the reins of the mule. “I will put him in the stable and see that he is fed. Unless you require something more of me?"

"No; no, you're right, Seur Philomine.” He started toward the inner door, then turned back to her. “How does Seur Lucille do?"

"Alas, her hurts were too grievous. God called her and ended her suffering.” Inwardly, Seur Philomine could not bring herself to grieve, not after she had tended the nun, whose pain could not be stanched even with syrup of poppies and whose flesh had been mortified beyond all healing.

"God is good,” Père Guibert said, crossing himself. “We will have special prayers for her tonight.” He paused. “Did Mère Léonie..."

Seur Philomine guessed his meaning. “No, she did not come out of her cell. Seur Tiennette made the preparations and Seur Elvire led the Mass for her soul."

It was not proper that any nun should do this, but after the Plague had taken so enormous a toll, the Church had become lax in these matters. “I will say another Mass,” Père Guibert informed her.

"Deo gratias,” Seur Philomine murmured, and led the mule away.

Père Guibert shook his head as he entered the corridor leading to the chapel. He had thought there would be trouble with Seur Aungelique again, and had been confident that Mère Léonie was resigned to problems, as well. Now he discovered that the Superior was secluded from guilt and the convent had been left to tend to itself. He would have to speak to Mère Léonie as soon as possible, and do what he might to remedy the situation. He paused at the entrance to the chapel, looking down at the prostate form of Seur Marguerite.

The nun was praying, but at the sound of approaching steps, she paused. Without turning, she said, “For the love of God, my Seur, let me finish before you begin your devotions. My children are dying, and God does not save them."

"Dying?” Père Guibert asked, uncertain what Seur Marguerite meant.

"They come to their hives, and then fall around them. The orchards are empty, and my children ... God must hear me. I am God to them, and I cannot save them. It is cruel and wrong to do this, for they are harmless, my children, and they do nothing that is evil or harmful. I've tried to save them, for they plead with me to help, but it doesn't work, nothing works.” She made the sign of the cross and wept bitterly.

Père Guibert stood still, feeling slightly foolish and inadequate. His expression was harsh because of his confusion, which caused Seur Victoire to think that the priest was angry with Seur Marguerite when she came to the chapel a few moments later.

"Mon Père,” Seur Victoire said when she decided it was all right to speak.

He was grateful for the interruption. “Yes, ma Fille?"

"Seur Tiennette has been told of your arrival and begs a few words with you as soon as you are free to speak with her."

"I will come at once,” he said, hoping that he would learn more of what had caused Mère Léonie to shut herself away from her Sisters in this fashion.

"We have been ... puzzled,” Seur Victoire admitted to Père Guibert as they hurried toward the refectory. “Mère Léonie has not been this way. She is new, of course, but there has been so much bustle here since she came to us that...” Seur Victoire withdrew her hands from the sleeves of her habit to give a gesture of helplessness.

Père Guibert gave a terse answer. “She is still unknown.” It was not appropriate for him to speak in this way of the Superior to one of her nuns, but his aggravation had been increasing steadily and it helped him to speak of it.

"Well, certainly to some of the Sisters. She isn't French, and that troubles a few of us.” She paused, then said, “All of us are worried for Seur Aungelique. Mère Léonie is not the only one who prays for her."

They had reached the refectory door. “I am sure that each of you knows her duty,” Père Guibert said, not eager to hear of this woman's piety.

"Seur Tiennette is waiting,” Seur Victoire announced, standing away from the door so the Père Guibert could enter on his own.

"My thanks,” Père Guibert said as he went into the large, whitewashed room, wishing he had never left Mou Courbet or Fôrlebene.

His kisses were quick and eager, but light, and when she reached to hold him, he stepped out of range and laughed. “Oh, sweeting, are you always so impetuous?"

Two bladder pipes and a hurdy-gurdy thrummed and bleated in the room beyond their retreat, and there was an occasional outburst of laughter.

"Speak softly,” Aungelique ordered, with a swift glance back toward the brightness of the great hall at Un Noveautie.

"They are listening to the music and watching the mummers. They would not notice if ten naked satyrs pranced down the halls.” Thibault looked around the cozy withdrawing room. “No one will find us. And if they should, what matter?"

Aungelique thought of Pierre, who had been glowering at her throughout the evening, and she shuddered at the thoughts his presence conjured. “Let us only be silent."

"And what else?” Thibault inquired, coming toward her again. “Are you still in search of possession, fledgling? Or are you simply amusing yourself until the hour of departure arrives?"

"I'm not amusing myself,” she answered with asperity. “Do you think that is all I care about?"

"You have said that it is. You have said Our Lord makes you wanton,” he reminded her.

"He did,” she agreed. “And until it should please Him to change me, wanton I must be.” She reached out and seized his hand. “Thibault, there will be three long months when all I will do is pray and fast and keep vigils. I would rather feast and love, but it will not happen in the convent. Cannot you help me to have something to remember that will comfort me while I lie on the cold stones and recite prayers?"

His long, slender hands slid over her breasts and cupped them through the beautiful damask of her surcote. “Something like this, perhaps?” His thumbs rubbed her nipples quickly, lightly. “Well?"

Aungelique breathed faster as she felt her nipples harden and grow taut. At the base of her spine something quivered, something like an itch but warmer.

"There are things I could do to you, sweeting, if your cousin were not here. I could take off your clothing, until you were bare as a nymph. Would that please you? Would it please you to give me kiss for kiss and touch for touch?” In the darkness, his ice-blue eyes shone, lit by the distant scented braziers.

"Ah ... more,” Seur Aungelique moaned, fascinated by his voice as much as the intent of his words. “Go on."

His kissed her again, still without passion. “What would you want then? The act, hastily performed and swiftly ended? Or would you prefer more sturdy use? You are not a ewe to be covered by a ram for three heartbeats and released, are you?” His teeth nipped the lobe of her ear.

"N-no.” She leaned against him, hoping that the pressure of her body would banish his light-handed control.

"Then what would you wish? Hours of caresses that the Turks have learned for their luxury?” He had moved his hands and now they slid down her sides to the top of her thighs and back up, hardly touching her but inflaming her as they went.

"Turks,” she whispered, not knowing what she said.

"Or is your desire greater than that? Sweeting? Can you tell me?” He kissed her deeply once, then stepped back, taking hold of her wrists. “Come. The mummers are nearly finished and Pierre is going to start searching for you."

"No. Not yet!” she wailed softly. She could barely bring herself to move; her excitement was intolerable.

"Later, sweeting? In three months, perhaps?” He flicked her cheek with one finger. “Think about me while you are away, will you not, sweeting?” Without waiting for an answer, he led her back into the great hall just as the mummers presented their last tableau.

Pale, her icy eyes intense, her habit impeccably clean, Mère Léonie emerged from her self-imposed isolation the morning after Père Guibert arrived. She entered the refectory where the Sisters had gathered to break their fasts after morning prayers, taking her place at the center of the central table as if nothing had happened.

The nuns stared, and one or two of them murmured to others, but for the most part they were silent as Père Guibert intoned the blessing.