Archangel (33 page)

David scratched as his neck casually. “You are a priest. I do not believe you are supposed to discuss confessions with us.”

“You asked.”

“I should not have.  I will have to ask forgiveness when I next go to Confession.”

Jonas chuckled at the man’s quirky humor. “It is not as if everyone in England does not know of her activities. I was not divulging something that was not already common knowledge.”

David fought off a grin. “I hope you do not discuss my confessions with anyone or I could be in a good deal of trouble.”

Jonas flicked a hand towards the manse entry. “Are hordes of the king’s supporters here to burn your home to the ground?”

“Nay.”

“And they shall not be, at least not by my lips. Your confessions are safe with me, my lord. I will take them to my grave.”

As David and the priest snorted at each other, Gart was still riveted to his information about Isabella’s confession. “Do you know of Buckland, Your Grace?”

Jonas nodded and took a long drink of wine. “Again, I am discussing information that is common knowledge. Buckland comes to confession with her. I thought he was simply one of her entourage.  I have heard his confession several times and never once has he mentioned a wife.”

Gart looked at David as if looking to the man for all of the answers.  There had to be some measure of help in all of this information, something they could do that would help Gart’s case.  David’s mind was already working furiously and as an idea began to form, he took the pewter pitcher of wine and topped off the priest’s cup. David was naturally aggressive even though he wasn’t a natural negotiator. That usually came from his brother.  But his brother wasn’t here and David had to act.

“I have been going to Confession since I was old enough to speak,” David said casually, setting the pitcher back down. “Every time I deliver my admissions, the priest tells me what I must do in order to seek God’s forgiveness.”

Jonas drank his wine, a very fine red variety that was delicious. He nodded to David’s statement. “Indeed,” he replied. “It is our obligation to provide guidance.”

David toyed with his cup, watching the priest drink. “You said that Isabella cannot do enough penance for the sins she has committed.”

“That is true.”

“What if there was something she could do?”

Jonas cocked his head. “What do you mean?”

David was calm and controlled as he spoke. “Perhaps you should hear her confession the next time,” he told him. “When it is over, tell her that the only way for her to avoid eternity in hell for all of the misdeeds she has done is to right at least one wrong in her life.  As she cavorts with Buckland, she too is committing adultery, a vile sin.  If Buckland divorces his wife, it will help Isabella’s cause.  She will only have to worry about doing penance for her own marriage and not his.  She must convince Buckland to divorce his wife.”

Jonas lifted his eyebrows, both surprised and intrigued. “Interesting,” he said. “I have never heard of such atonement, but it is an interesting thought.”

David sat forward, his sky blue eyes glittering. “You will tell Buckland the same thing when he comes for Confession,” he lowered his voice. “Make sure he confesses only to you and tell him that he must divorce his wife to erase the sin of adultery.  Tell him if he does not, he will face eternal damnation. You will also tell him that if he ever beats his wife again, there is no penitence strong enough to erase his actions and he will spend a thousand years in purgatory.  Tell him God is displeased with his actions and hell awaits him if he does not comply with all conditions.”

All humor was gone from Jonas’ face. “Are you serious?” he hissed. “But it is not….”

David cut him off. “I will pay for a new roof for St. Bartholomew if you will do this. That place has needed a new roof for years and, as I recall, you have been attempting to raise the money.  I will provide it if you will do this.  Your service will reap my reward. God works in mysterious ways, does he not?”

Jonas stared at him, torn between denial and agreement.  He was adamantly opposed to using the confessional as a manipulation tool, especially as it pertained to a sin such as divorce, but on the other hand, priests had been using the confessional for centuries as a spring board for their own desires and agendas. It was nothing new.  

As he thought on it, what he was asked to do wasn’t meant to be evil in the true sense.  The knight was in love with a woman who was abused and his liege was attempting to help him.  It was not as if Buckland hadn’t violated his marriage vows first.

Jonas set down his chalice of wine, regarding David carefully.  He could see how serious the baron was.  After a moment, his humor returned.

“I fear that I have stepped into a trap,” he grinned.

David relaxed somewhat, sitting back in his chair and reclaiming his wine. “There is no trap,” he said. “But we are speaking of two people who do unspeakable wrong on a daily basis.  Why protect them with God’s laws? Help a poor, defenseless woman break free of the clutches of her evil husband.  Buckland is going to hell anyway. A divorce will not make or break his eternal soul.”

Jonas sighed heavily, finally looking to Gart who looked both apprehensive and hopeful.  He wriggled his eyebrows at the knight.

“Did you tell him to ask this of me?” he demanded lightly.

Gart shook his head. “How could I? I did not know that Buckland and Isabella came to you for confession.”

Jonas knew that but he had asked the question anyway.  His gaze moved back to David, thinking of the new roof they so desperately needed.  He pursed his lips thoughtfully.

“You realize that the entire roof needs repair,” he said.

David nodded. “I do.”

“It will be quite expensive.”

“Gart is a good knight. If you do not do this for him, I will lose him. He will run off with the lady and I will never see him again, and I need him.”

Jonas looked at Gart again, who was gazing steadily in return.  Weighing the good against the bad, the need against the want, Jonas finally nodded his head.  It was a weary, resigned gesture.

“Very well,” he said. “I will do it. But this conversation between the three of us must not leave this room. If I am found out, I will lose all credibility at the very least. Is that clear?”

“Perfectly, Your Grace,” David stood up, extending a hand to the man. “You have my gratitude.”

Jonas stood up, accepting the outstretched hand with some reluctance. “When do we get our new roof?”

“As soon as Buckland makes his appeal for a divorce.”

Jonas sighed heavily and shook his head, already feeling guilty for what he had agreed to. “I will probably need to tell him how to go about it so he does not muck up the process.  The man is an idiot.”

“Aye, he is.  I will have Kevin return you to London now.”

“Nay,” Jonas’ attention turned to Gart. “I would have Gabriel escort me back to London. I would come to know this man for whom I am risking my livelihood for.”

Gart nodded. “It will be my pleasure, Your Grace.”

Jonas eyed Gart for a long moment as if still debating the rightness of what he had agreed to, but in any case, it was too late. He had already done business with the Devil and the bargain was sealed.

On the ride back to St. Bartholomew, Father Jonas and Gart had a very interesting and very long conversation about the moral obligations of a knight.  Moral or not, true love seemed to trump everything.  It was all Gart could talk about.

Chapter Eighteen

Early August

Trelystan Castle

Emberley heard Lord de Lara hooting, suspecting one or more of her children was involved with the origination of the sound before she even saw the man. She was scooting down the exterior stairs of Trelystan castle, coming from the enormous keep that was shaped like a giant square box.   She had Lacy in her arms, searching for her errant sons who had run off when she was dressing the baby.  She had told them not to wander far but, alas, that was too much to ask. Trelystan was a vast place of new discoveries, secret passages and stairs that led to mysterious places, and her boys were determined to explore every inch of it.

As she came off the stairs into the vast, muddy bailey, she could hear more hooting and she followed the sounds.  It had rained the night before and the ground was slippery as she made her way around the keep and ended up in the stable yards, which were upslope on the hill that Trelystan had been built on.  Ahead, she could see her three boys running circles around Lord de Lara, smacking him on the legs and backside with their wooden swords. 

“Misfits!” the old man was crying. “You are hooligans and misfits!”

Emberley gathered the skirt of her surcoat as she picked up the pace. Dressed in a coat of faded dark blue that emphasized her voluptuous figure, the gold tasseled belt swung in rhythm to her quick steps as she rushed towards the scene.

“Boys,” she called. “Stop this instant. I told you what would happen if you assaulted Lord de Lara again.”

The boys came to a confused halt, as did Lord de Lara.  Upon closer inspection, the old man was laughing.  He was enjoying every minute of the roughhousing.

“’Tis of no issue, Lady de Moyon,” he assured her. “The boys are doing no harm.”

Embereley lifted an eyebrow at his graceful lie. In her arms, Lacy squirmed to be set down and she set the little girl carefully onto the muddy ground.

“They were swatting you with their swords,” she looked at the three little faces staring back at her. “They have been warned. Gart told them to behave and they promised.”

“We
are
behaving, Mama,” Orin insisted. “We were playing.”

Emberley gazed reproachfully at her son. “You were hitting Lord de Lara with your sword,” she scolded. “That is not playing.”

“Truly, Lady de Moyon, it was all in fun,” Lord de Lara reiterated. “It has been a long time since children have been at play here at Trelystan and from the way my sons are conducting their lives, who is to say there will ever be children here again? Please do not deny me the joy of it.”

She smiled at the old man. “My lord, you have been an incredibly gracious host but I am not sure that includes allowing yourself to be pummeled by your young guests.”

Lord de Lara’s grin broadened, a vague resemblance to his son. “Kevin and Sean used to rig traps for me to walk in to,” he told her. “I would exit a room and run straight into a noose around my foot. I cannot tell you the times that my sons felled me to the ground with one of their traps.”

Emberley held her up hands to shush him. “Quiet,” she whispered loudly. “If my boys hear that, they will want to make traps, too, and no one will be safe.”

Lord de Lara laughed, as did Emberley.  Bored with standing around, Romney, Orin and Brendt began fighting each other with their toy swords as Lacy toddled after them, screaming because she wanted to play with their toys also.  Emberley stood with Lord de Lara, watching the children play in the muddy yard.

“I want to thank you again for having us at Trelystan,” she said, turning to the man. “Your son was extremely gracious to suggest it and you are extremely gracious to allow it. I am not sure how we can ever repay you but rest assured that we will always be in your debt.”