Scoundrel Of Dunborough. Margaret Moore

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СКАЧАТЬ could that possibly be true, with all the fine and costly garments upstairs?

      The men blushed and neither one would meet her gaze.

      “Did Audrey owe you money?” she repeated.

      “As a matter of fact, Sister,” Ewald began, after darting another angry look at Norbert, “she did. I’m sorry to say there are likely a few other merchants who will be looking to you to pay her debts. But the house alone—”

      “If Audrey was in debt, I will repay all that she owed,” Celeste interrupted. “Any debts she left will be honored once I sell the house.” Or find our father’s wealth. “Now if you’ll please excuse me, I do have things to do.”

      Mercifully, or perhaps because he understood her tone of voice, Ewald gave a brisk nod and headed out the door. “Good day, Sister.”

      Norbert looked as if he was about to refuse. Once Ewald had gone, however, he likewise nodded and with a hasty “Good day” mercifully took his leave.

      Flushing as red as a holly berry, Lewis was the last to go. “I’m sorry, Sister,” he said quietly, his expression one of genuine sympathy, “but I’m afraid it’s true about your sister. She left many debts.”

      Sorrow and dismay washed over Celeste and she leaned against the wall.

      “Can I get you anything?” the youth asked anxiously. “Some wine perhaps?”

      “Lewis!” his father shouted from outside.

      “No, no, I’m all right,” she assured the kindhearted young man, even though she’d been shaken to the core. “You should go.”

      Lewis gave her a last pitying look, then hurried away, softly closing the door behind him.

      “Oh, Audrey,” Celeste murmured as she slowly made her way to the kitchen, “what did you do?”

      * * *

      Some time later, Celeste was in the storeroom looking for any signs of a hiding place when she heard a tentative knock on the kitchen door. She hurried from the room, grabbed the veil and wimple lying on the kitchen table and swiftly put them on. “One moment!”

      Going to the door, she tucked in any stray wisps of hair that might have escaped, then pushed down the rolled-up sleeves of her tunic. “Who is it?” she asked, dreading another creditor.

      People had been coming to the house ever since Norbert and Ewald had left, making it difficult for her to search, and adding to her worries. Apparently Audrey owed money to the butcher, the shoemaker, the smith for repairs to a kettle and some pots, the alewife, the wine merchant and the miller. Indeed, Celeste was beginning to think there was no tradesman in Dunborough to whom she did not owe money.

      “It’s me, Sister. Lizabet, from the hall.”

      Celeste let out her breath slowly and opened the door, to find the young woman standing on the threshold. Instead of a cloak, she wore a large and colorful shawl and a kerchief over her dark hair. Her gown was of thick wool and she had an apron over that.

      Despite her heavy clothing, her nose was red with cold and she had her hands tucked in her shawl to warm them.

      “Please, come inside,” Celeste said at once.

      “No, thank you, Sister,” Lizabet replied, her teeth starting to chatter. “I can’t stay. I came to tell you that it’s nearly time for the evening meal.”

      Celeste’s brows contracted. If it was a busy time at the castle, why had she...?

      “It’s nearly time for the evening meal,” Lizabet repeated more firmly, as if she thought Celeste hadn’t heard her. “You’re a guest of Dunborough.”

      With sudden understanding, Celeste replied, “Only for last night. I should have made it clear that I had no intention of imposing on Gerrard’s hospitality for any longer than that.”

      The maidservant frowned with concern, or possibly dismay.

      Celeste gave the young woman her most pleasant, placid smile. “Please convey my thanks to Gerrard for the invitation, as well as my assurances that I’m quite content to remain in my family’s house while I’m here.”

      “If you say so, Sister,” she hesitantly replied.

      “I do. Now you’d best be off before you catch a chill.”

      Lizabet did as she was told and, thinking Gerrard would likely be as glad of her absence as she was relieved not to see him again, Celeste went back to searching the larder for any sign of money hidden there.

      Albeit with a heavy sigh.

      * * *

      The sun was setting when Gerrard and his men returned from their patrol. There was no reason for them to go so far that frigid day except that Gerrard wasn’t eager to return to Dunborough.

      This time, though, it wasn’t his irate, cruel father he was reluctant to see. It was a nun.

      He handed the reins of his horse to a stable boy and went to the hall. A few of the hounds trotted toward him, eager for a pat and a good word. The trestle tables had been set up for the evening meal and the servants and soldiers not on duty or seeing to the horses and other tasks were already assembled.

      Gerrard removed his cloak and hung it on a peg beside the door, then scanned the hall.

      He scanned it again, thinking he must be mistaken.

      He was not.

      Celeste—Sister Augustine—was not there.

      Gerrard sighed with relief, then frowned. It would look bad to the soldiers and servants if she kept to her room a second night, and rumors would start circulating in the castle and probably the village, too, that she refused to have anything to do with him.

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