Her cheeks aflame, Celeste regarded him with ire flashing in her eyes. “You think you knew her? She always said you’d never amount to much, and without your family’s name and rank and power, you’d be worth even less.” Celeste jabbed his chest, each poke sharp, as if her finger were a dagger. “You were nothing more than the poor third, the consolation prize, once Broderick and Roland were out of her reach. And what was she to you except a bag of coins to get what you wanted? At least Duncan wanted her.”
This was pointless. Because he had been less than forthright, she saw him as a villain and wanted to believe her sister was as innocent as an angel. Nothing he could say would ever change her mind.
He waved his hand dismissively. “Now that you’ve blackened my name even more, you can go.”
“I will and gladly,” she replied. “I hope I never see you, or Dunborough, ever again.”
As she turned to leave, wincing a little, the doors to the hall opened and another woman swept into the chamber. She wore a black cloak lined with fox fur and a heavy black veil of fine wool over a wimple white as clean fleece. A golden crucifix that hung from her neck glinted in the firelight.
The mother superior of Saint Agatha’s ran an imperious gaze over the two people facing her and, in tones as haughty as her posture, said, “So, Celeste, here you are. This deplorable disobedience is yet more evidence, if I required it, that you are not fit to be a bride of Christ.”
All Celeste’s righteous indignation drained away like water from a bucket with no bottom.
“What’s that you said?” Gerrard asked as he came down from the dais. “Hasn’t she taken her final vows?”
The mother superior ran a scornful gaze over him. “No, and clearly I was wise not to permit it. She is too wanton and disobedient and she’s a thief besides. She stole that habit from Sister Sylvester.”
“She stole it?” Gerrard repeated with an expression both incredulous and amazed.
Celeste blushed with shame, but only for taking Sister Sylvester’s habit without permission. She did not regret disobeying the mother superior’s command to stay in the convent. As for pretending to be a nun, she had done that for safety, even though it was a lie.
“I had a right to come home,” she said, addressing the older woman and trying to ignore Gerrard. “You kept me in ignorance about my sister’s death far too long as it was. And I thought traveling in a nun’s habit would keep me safe.”
“Your sister was a bold hussy and you are little better.”
“While you are cruel and mean-spirited,” Celeste retorted.
The mother superior’s face twisted with rage. “You spawn of Satan, you devil’s—”
Glaring, Gerrard stepped between them. “Watch your tongue, woman,” he said to the mother superior, “or I might forget who and what you are and put you in the stocks.”
Celeste flushed even more, her body hot as a summer’s day. That he should come to her defense after what she had just said to him, the accusations she had made...
“I’ve heard about you, too, young man,” the nun replied. “It is a miracle you haven’t been excommunicated for your scandalous behavior.”
“It’s a miracle to me you are in charge of anything, yet so it is,” Gerrard returned. “You can say what you have to say to Celeste with civility, or you are free to go.”
The silence stretched out for what seemed an eternity before the mother superior waspishly replied, “As you wish.”
“Good.” He gestured toward his chair on the dais. “Won’t you sit?”
Without a word in reply, the nun mounted the dais and sat. Gerrard set out another chair and then came to offer his arm to Celeste. She couldn’t look at his face as she took it and let him lead her, grateful and limping slightly, to the seat. Then he got himself a chair and set it between them.
He regarded the mother superior steadily. “Now then,” he began, “why have you come to Dunborough?”
“To bring Celeste back, of course,” she replied as if he were an idiot.
“Why?”
Chapter Twenty
The single interrogative word hung in the air and Celeste scarcely dared to breathe.
“B-because she should come back,” the mother superior spluttered at last.
“Again, I ask you, why?” Gerrard replied. “It appears to me that you don’t want her there, nor care what happens to her, or you would have sought her long before now. And if she is not, in fact, a nun, you have no right to order her to do anything.”
“I delayed chasing after her because I thought she would come to her senses and return,” the mother superior replied.
She ran another critical gaze over Gerrard, then spoke to Celeste. “I gather I can add the sin of lust to your many faults.”
“No one is without them,” Celeste said in her own defense. “But I don’t pretend otherwise, like others who mete out harsh and unjust punishments for the most minor of infractions while claiming it’s for the good of people’s souls.”
“Your soul is obviously beyond redemption and you’ll never be fit to wear a habit, stolen or otherwise.”
“I will send it back,” Celeste replied, “or pay for another for Sister Sylvester when I’ve gone to a different convent, one where no unjust mother superior will prevent me from taking my final vows.”
The older nun’s lips thinned. “I will see that you are never allowed that privilege. You are willful, stubborn and disobedient. I shall ensure that every nunnery, abbey and convent in England knows the sort of woman you are.”
“Then I shall go abroad!”
“Stop!” Gerrard commanded, rising from his chair. “I have been party to enough arguments in my life.” He addressed the mother superior. “Leave us. I wish to speak with Sister...with Celeste alone.”
“I have no doubt you wish to be alone with her, although I doubt you’ll do much talking!” the woman snapped as she got to her feet with outraged majesty. She said no more before she turned in a swirl of black fabric and jingling chain, then marched down the hall and out into air as cold and dry as she was.
Not sure what to do, Celeste twisted her fingers in her lap, waiting for Gerrard to speak. What could she say? She had lied to him and everyone in Dunborough about being a nun.
He should have told her about his betrothal to Audrey, but he hadn’t denied it when she’d asked. He hadn’t lied, as she had done for days.
For a long time he didn’t speak. He stared at the floor, his expression hard and grim.
Did he hate her now? Celeste couldn’t fault him if he did.
She never should have upbraided him for their intimate encounters, or accused him of seducing Audrey, or cast any blame on him for how her sister died. Celeste knew that now, when it was too late. “I’m sorry I deceived you, Gerrard, and I’m grateful for your defense. Forgive my accusations and please try to think well of me when I’m gone, even if I don’t deserve it.”
He raised his eyes to look at her. “I should have told you what had passed between Audrey and me. Finding out about our plans might have made MacHeath lose his temper and attack her, and I should have told you that, too. But I was too ashamed.” He gave her a sorrowful smile, a ghost of his merry grin. “I wanted you to like me.”
She reached out to take his hand, then drew back. “I do like you, Gerrard. I’ve always liked you.”
And more, so much more. Especially now, when he was lost to her.
His grave eyes studied her features. “Do you really want to be a nun?”
What more could she hope for? “Yes, it’s what I truly desire.”
“Then I’ll likely never see you again.”
So this was how a broken heart felt. “No, I don’t suppose you will. I wish you well, Gerrard.”
“I hope you find peace, Celeste.”
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“And you, too,” she softly replied, before she slowly left the hall of Dunborough and the man she loved.
* * *
It was all Gerrard could do not to run after Celeste and beg her to stay.
She had lied to him about being a nun. She had made him feel guilty and ashamed of his desire. She had tempted and tormented him and chastised him for not being completely honest, while she had been less than truthful herself.
And yet he loved her.
No other woman had come close to touching his heart, while she, with her kind compassion, her tender generosity, her bold defense of those weaker than herself, and yes, her stubbornness, as well as her strength and her passion, had taken possession of his heart long ago.
She was his heart. His conscience. His better self.
Yet for her sake, because of what she wanted, what would make her happy, he must let her go, even though he yearned to plead with her to let him try to show her he would do everything in his power to be a good and honest man if only she would stay.
She had been the first love of his boyish heart and she would be the last.
* * *
Once back at the house, Celeste sank onto a chair and covered her face with her hands. Never again would she consider a broken heart a minor complaint, an affliction of silly girls or foolish women. Losing Gerrard was a painful agony of a sort she’d never experienced before, not even when she’d been sent to the convent or been told of Audrey’s death.
Gerrard had shown her the joys of passion, the thrill of being desired, the sort of happiness a woman beloved by a man could know. She would never again experience the delight she felt in his presence or the way he could lift her heart with a smile and a word.
She would have no one who shared their past, their mutual memories.
She would miss him, and everything about him, for the rest of her life.
“Sister Augustine?”
She looked up to find Lewis standing before her, regarding her with an eager, intense expression she found slightly disconcerting, and holding the ginger cat in his arms.
She’d forgotten she had left him there. By rights, he shouldn’t call her that, but she was too tired and heartsick to tell him so, or why. “Yes?”
He put down Joseph quickly, almost tossing him away. The cat hissed, but he ignored it. “Are you still leaving Dunborough?”
“Yes, Lewis. As soon as I can.”
“Not today, though. It’s too late to travel today.”
“Is it? Is it past the noon?”
“Almost.”
Joseph came toward her and rubbed his face against a chair leg before she bent to pick him up. “Then perhaps not today,” she said with a sigh.
“I’m going with you.”
She stiffened, suddenly alert, and not only because of what he said. It was the fervent, determined way he said it.
“You have a place in the castle,” she replied as she put the cat down.
Joseph sauntered to a corner, where he sat and watched them.
“I don’t want to be a clerk. I hate it! And I hate it here. I’ll hate it more when you’re gone!”
The vehemence in his voice and the feverish look in his eyes made her wish she’d told him to leave before she went to the castle. She thought of Audrey and how she’d either missed or ignored any signs that MacHeath might be dangerous. Had she done the same with Lewis?
“Oh, Lewis, that’s so kind and generous of you!” Celeste exclaimed. She would act the helpless maiden and lie if she must to get him to leave the house. “I’ll feel so much safer with a protector! Do you have a horse? I have Audrey’s mare and riding will make our journey so much easier and more comfortable, don’t you think? She’s at the castle, though.” Or so Celeste assumed, for she had never asked. “I shall have to fetch her.”
“We can take horses from my father’s stable,” he replied. “He owes me for all the years I slaved for him.”
“No, no, let me take Daisy, and perhaps you can buy a horse. Otherwise your father might come after us.”
“Matheus at the Cock’s Crow has one he’ll probably sell.”
“Go and get Daisy from the castle and purchase a horse from Matheus. We’ll begin our journey tomorrow,” Celeste said, although she had no intention of being there.
When Ewald brought the money for the sale, she would ask him to settle Audrey’s debts, send some to Saint Agatha’s to pay for Sister Sylvester’s habit and take what remained for her journey. She’d say she was heading south, then go north to Scotland.
Although gossip traveled among the clergy, too, there must be somewhere she could go and start afresh. It might have to be remote and without many comforts, but she would have peace, at least a little.
“Now that that’s decided,” she went on, “I should prepare some food to take on our journey, and you no doubt have things to prepare, as well.”
She made her way to the door and opened it, signaling that it was time for him to leave.
With a look like an anxious puppy, he came to stand in front of her. “I don’t want to go back to the castle.”
“You can’t stay here. It wouldn’t be proper.”
“I don’t fear gossip.”
“I do. Gossip has a way of following one, and if I’m to go to another convent—”
“You won’t, will you?” he pleaded, reaching out to take her hands in a tight grasp, his gaze more intent. “You wouldn’t do that, would you? You shouldn’t. You’re far too beautiful to shut yourself away.”
She pulled her hands free. “It’s what I want, Lewis.”
“I don’t want you to leave me. I love you!”
“I’m flattered, Lewis, truly,” she began, backing slowly toward the stairs, “but—”
“You’re the most beautiful, wonderful woman in the world and I love you with all my heart!” he declared, following her.
“I’m grateful that you care for me, Lewis, but I wish to be a nun with all my heart. You are young and—”
“I’m not a baby!” he cried, his expression hardening, his eyes glowing with a stronger emotion. “I’m a man!”
God help her, she had been as blind as Audrey! She should have noticed...seen...suspected. But she hadn’t. Now, though, thanks to her sister’s fate, she knew she must persuade Lewis to leave as quickly as possible, then get way from Dunborough before he realized she had gone. Later she would send word to Roland about the chandler’s son and his worrisome behavior.
In the meantime, she must help herself.
She remembered that Sister Sylvester had quieted more than one novice who was overcome with emotions. She must remain calm. Serene. But also firm. “Yes, of course you are a man. And it’s because you are that you cannot stay here tonight. If you were just a boy, it would be different.”
At last Lewis went to the door of the chamber and put his hand on the latch.
Instead of leaving, he shot the bolt home.
“Lewis! What are you—”
“I will stay the night.”
He didn’t sound like a boy or a youth or a love-struck young man. He sounded hard. Ruthless. Determined.
And she was here alone, without a soldier or servant nearby.
Despite her fear and growing panic, she tried to keep her voice level. “I’ve told you why you cannot stay, Lewis. Please go.”
Before she could move away, he crossed the room, grabbed her shoulders and pulled her close. “I love you and I want to be with you! We’re going to be lovers, so why not begin now?”
“No, we are not!” she declared as she twisted free of his grasp and ran to the door despite the pain in her ankle. “I am going to be a nun and you are going to leave.”
“No!” he shouted, getting to the door first. “You love me
as I love you. You came to my aid and defended me from my father.”
She backed against the table and reached for the candleholder. “I didn’t want him to hurt you, and that’s all.”
Lewis smiled, a terrible smile that made her blood run cold. “You think I’m some love-struck boy, the way I thought you were virtuous. But I know what you’re really like. I’ve seen the way you look at Gerrard, that disgusting, debauched reprobate. You’re a whore, the same as your sister, no matter what clothes you wear or vows you’ve taken.”
“No, I’m not,” she retorted. “Now let me go or—”
“Or what? You think Gerrard will come to your aid? He’s leaving.”
“Lewis,” she said, her desperation growing, “if you truly care for me—”
“I’ll let you go?” he scornfully replied. “You’d rather be with Gerrard, I suppose. You’re just like every other woman anxious to spread her legs for him.”
Celeste gripped the candleholder. “You’re wrong.”
“I thought you were different. Now I know otherwise, or you wouldn’t have been so angry when you heard Gerrard was going to marry Audrey, as angry as Duncan was when your sister wouldn’t have him. She saw Roland riding past, and Duncan tried to tell her to forget the lords of Dunborough. I saw the look on his face when she told him she was going to marry Gerrard.”
Celeste gasped. “You were a witness to what happened?”
“I saw and heard everything,” Lewis confirmed with smug satisfaction. “I watched through the window. I often watched her through the window, and you, too. Sometimes I came into the house. It’s easy to open the latch on the kitchen shutters.”
God help her, what kind of twisted...?
“You don’t sleep much, though. And that Lizabet was always bustling about. Not like Martha. She preferred to sit in the kitchen by the fire. Or take her time outside. Nobody even realized I was here when Duncan raped and killed your sister. I saw him beat her, as she deserved,” Lewis finished, his tone boastful and proud.
Celeste could hardly believe what she was hearing. “And you did nothing to help her?”
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