Silent Knight. Tori Phillips

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      Guy swallowed with difficulty. “Aye, Father, but...”

      The prior held up his hand for silence. Guy bowed his head, though he could feel his heart thumping uncomfortably under his robe.

      “Lady Celeste has already experienced a most difficult journey. In faith, I am tempted to return her to her home, but the lady won’t hear of it.”

      Guy looked up, raising one brow in question. Obviously, the girl hadn’t a sensible bone in her body.

      “She tells me that her family’s honor demands that she go on, come rack or ruin—which I fear may happen at the rate she is proceeding.”

      “But, Father...”

      The prior continued as if he hadn’t heard Guy’s disrespectful interruption. “Now that her aunt must stay behind, Lady Celeste needs some sort of chaperon, and that, Brother Guy, you will provide. No one will think it amiss if they see her traveling in the company of a priest.”

      “Priest!” Guy erupted. He had never intended to take holy orders. He wasn’t worthy—not after the hell-bent life he had led. “Father, I am the furthest thing from the priesthood.”

      Father Jocelyn gently shook his head in silent reproof. “It matters not what you truly are, so long as you are what you seem to be. To the world you are a man of God, and therefore above reproach.”

      “And the lady—?” Guy tried not to think of her voice, like exotic incense, and her hair, the color of silken midnight.

      “Lady Celeste will be none the wiser.” The prior’s lips curled at the corners. “Your virtue will be safe with her.”

      Safe? Those liquid violet eyes and those lush lips, like satin rosebuds, promised scant safety to any mortal man. The prior had no idea what he was asking. Guy dropped to his knees. “Do not make me bear this cross, Father.” Hearing his own words, Guy realized he sounded a little overblown, but perhaps the prior would be moved by his biblical plea.

      Father Jocelyn stood and slid his hands into the wide folds of his sleeves. “When you joined our community six months ago, Brother Guy, you promised obedience in all things.”

      “Aye, Father.” Guy bowed his head and shut his eyes, trying to blot out what he knew was coming.

      “Now I am commanding you to escort the Lady Celeste de Montcalm and her men safety to Sir Roger Ormond of Snape Castle, near Morpeth, in Northumberland. There she will wed Sir Roger’s son, Walter. After the ceremony, you will return here. Do I make myself clear in this matter, Brother Guy?”

      “You do, Father.” Guy tried to control the tremor that shivered down his spine. Walter Ormond of Snape? Sweet Jesu! Nay! ’Twould be flinging a gentle dove into the talons of a hawk.

      “Excellent!” Father Jocelyn nodded in satisfaction. Brother Cuthbert merely sucked in his breath.

      Guy wet his lips. “But, Father, I fear for my soul to travel in the company of such a...such a lady as that.” He bit back the urge to bellow at his superior.

      The prior chuckled. “I admit she is a most beauteous lady, Brother Guy. I am glad to see you have not lost your keen perception. As to your soul, I will lay on you one further commandment.” He paused as he glanced at Brother Cuthbert.

      Guy waited tensely. The uneven flagstones bit deeper into his knees. He again licked his dry lips. He had a feeling he wasn’t going to like whatever the prior had in mind.

      “At vespers tonight, you will make a solemn vow of silence. Henceforth, you will not speak, nor utter a sound, until Lady Celeste’s wedding day,” Father Jocelyn pronounced over him. A note of humor softened the tone of his voice.

      Guy lifted his chin with firm resolve. “Aye, I will, Father Jocelyn.” If he couldn’t speak to her, there was a chance he could evade her wiles and snares. “And tonight, for my penance—”

      “What penance do you think you need now, my son?” A warm twinkle danced in the prior’s eyes. “You were up all last night at prayer. You need your rest tonight, for you will depart with the lady at first light. Her wagon is repaired, and time is of the essence. The good weather will not hold for long.”

      “Perhaps I could wear a hair shirt?” Guy suggested. Pain. He needed pain to keep his thoughts from wandering down the path of sweet perdition.

      “That is hardly necessary, Brother Guy. I think riding astride Daisy for several weeks will be penance enough for even the worst of sins.” Before Guy could make a further suggestion, Father Jocelyn traced the sign of the cross over him. “Go in peace, my son.”

      Guy rose, bowed to both the prior and his assistant, then let himself out the door. A myriad of thoughts tumbled through him as he fled for the silence of the chapel. By the rood! How was he going to survive the next month? Though the words of his prayers poured from his lips, he saw in his mind the beguiling beauty of Lady Celeste de Montcalm—and the well-remembered sneer of Walter Ormond.

      

      From the side door of the chapel, the two Franciscans watched their newest novice wrestle with himself.

      “Do you truly think it wise to send young Guy off with the lady?” Cuthbert murmured in an undertone.

      Father Jocelyn nodded slowly, his eyes never leaving the kneeling form praying before the sanctuary. “Aye, Brother, I do. ’Tis for the best.”

      Brother Cuthbert raised one eyebrow so high, it nearly lost itself in the mouse-gray fringe encircling his head. “How so?”

      The prior tapped his finger against his nose. “Let us say that I have my suspicions concerning the sincerity of young Cavendish’s vocation.”

      “But surely the lad is sincere. In the garden, in the chapel—he is constantly on his knees!” Cuthbert blustered in a whisper.

      “Peace, good Brother. Time will tell.” The prior smiled at his old friend. They had entered the monastery together as boys, nearly thirty-five years ago. “When you and I took our final vows, we did so with great joy—running to our Lord. I suspect Brother Guy is running away from himself.”

      Chapter Three

      

      

      “You sent for me, Aunt Marguerite?” Celeste peered around the heavy wooden door of the guest infirmary.

      Propped against several thick muslin-covered pillows, the older woman smiled and held out her hand to her niece.

      “Come in quickly, Lissa, and shut that door tight behind you. Fah! This damp weather will kill me long before any horse and wagon.” A chuckle softened her words.

      Celeste did as she was told, then drew up a small three-legged stool beside her aunt’s bed. Marguerite’s skin had regained a healthier color, and Celeste could tell by the brightness of her eyes that her aunt’s tart humor had returned to its full strength. The older woman held her СКАЧАТЬ