Читать книгу Fire Song - Catherine Archer - Страница 7

Roland St. Sebastian, Baron of Kirkland, leaned forward in the front pew of the chapel at Penacre. He was of no mind to appreciate the pattern of rich color that passed through the large stained-glass window behind the altar and lit the well-scrubbed stone floor. Roland was more concerned with watching as it lengthened with the passage of time. He willed himself to hide any sign of his growing irritation as he leaned his chin against his steepled fingers. But he could not completely disguise the impatience and displeasure in his narrowed blue gaze as he surveyed the other two occupants of the long narrow chamber.

Where was his bride?

The aforementioned bride’s father, Hugh Chalmers, Baron of Penacre, a tall slender man with much gray in his dark blond hair stood silent and withdrawn in front of the altar, which was draped in rich red velvet and bore two ornate golden candle holders. Beside him stood the equally richly garbed and clearly uncomfortable priest.

As the priest leaned close to him and murmured a comment, Hugh made only the barest of replies. His lean body was held stiffly in his long blue tunic and a fine damask cyclas of darker blue. But Roland saw his gaze flick to the open door at the end of the room.

It remained vacant.

Obviously Penacre, too, was growing impatient for his daughter to arrive. Roland knew he had not wanted the match, but this waiting served no one.

King John had decreed the marriage would take place. Plainly the king had decided the feuding between the houses of Penacre and Kirkland had gone on long enough when one of Roland’s smaller keeps had been destroyed and many stores with it. The stores were sorely needed in this time of shortage after the wars in the Holy Land.

Roland grimaced, and raked a hand through his black hair. He had even less desire to remind himself of the war in the Holy Land than he did to be married. It had claimed his elder brother, Geoffrey, who should have been the baron on their father’s death. Roland was still not quite easy with his position as his father’s heir, even though he had, in essence, been acting as overlord to the lands for some time before his father’s passing the previous year, in 1200, just one year after King Richard had met his end at Châlus-Chabrol. If not for a series of tragic events he would bear no more exalted title than that of youngest son.

He would concentrate instead on his coming nuptials to Celeste Chalmers. Though the daughter of his enemy and not a bride he would have chosen for himself, she was quite exquisite. He had seen her only once from across the king’s audience chamber, but when John had announced that he felt a marriage was the best solution to their difficulties, Roland had felt that she would do well enough.

Celeste Chalmers was only a means to an end. He wanted peace and prosperity on his lands. Her rich dower would greatly assist him in his efforts to bring the estates back to the abundance they had known before his father’s descent into the hell of drink. Beyond that this wedding would change his life in no great measure. A wife’s place was to do nothing more than warm her husband’s bed and produce a legitimate heir. She would grace his table with her beauty and attend to his needs when he required it.

Roland would not make the mistake of putting all his faith in a woman as his father had. It had been his downfall.

Love was highly overrated. It had driven his father to his knees when his wife left him, and again when he had allowed it to come between himself and his eldest son.

Roland shook his head and straightened. He would not think on these things. Again he looked toward the open door of the chapel with impatience.

Where was the wench and what did she think to keep them waiting so? She need not think her beauty would protect her from obeying Roland once she was his wife. He cast Penacre an assessing glance, saw the older man’s growing frustration in the tight line of his lips. He had thought better of the man than that he would allow a mere slip of a girl to try him thus. Once they set out for Kirkland in the morn she would soon learn her place.

He’d arrived at Penacre’s castle only hours ago with no more than four of his most trusted knights in attendance. Roland had been correct in thinking he would not meet with perfidy. Neither was there any warm welcome, but this he had known as well.

They had been met by Penacre and led to the hall. After a brief time, Roland had been asked to leave his men and come to the chapel where the girl was expected to be waiting.

Penacre had volunteered, as they went to the chapel at the far end of the keep, that his daughter had requested that no one but the bridegroom, her father and the priest attend the ceremony. Roland had thought it odd to coddle the girl so, but he would not tell Penacre what to do in his own household.

As two hours had passed, Roland had grown more and more to wonder if his father-in-law was a weak fool. It amazed him that this was the same man who had been feuding against him with such determination in recent times. The two families had long been enemies, being often on opposing sides of political conflict, but in the past year the vehemence of Penacre’s attacks had seemed almost personal. Only two short months after Roland’s father’s death a man had entered the castle grounds at Kirkland by stealth and managed to steal his father’s favorite horse. They had only discovered that the deed was wrought by Penacre’s own man because he had thrown off his cape as he rode away, displaying Penacre’s colors of yellow and green. That it was his recently deceased father’s horse that had been taken Roland had told himself was mere chance, but the incident had enraged him.

The very thought of it now raised his ire to such a degree that he could no longer sit silent. “I grow tired of waiting. Where is your daughter?” A full hour had passed since the last time Penacre had very calmly sent someone from among the servants who waited outside in the hallway to inquire as to the time of his daughter’s arrival.

Hugh Chalmers, who it seemed, might have finally reached the end of his patience at this prodding from Roland, turned and strode down the aisle. This time he spoke gruffly. “Go and see what on earth is keeping my daughter.”

Meredyth Chalmers looked at the serving man, Max, with regret. “Tell Father I am trying.” She turned to her sister’s closed chamber door. Nothing any of them, not even her sister’s personal maid, Agnes, had done or said in the past hours had drawn Celeste from her room. The door remained bolted.

She took a deep breath. “Celeste, please, you must let me in. I will try my utmost to understand whatever is frightening you.” Meredyth could only think that her sister had been overcome with terror at the thought of marrying this stranger. Mayhap if she would speak of it the fear might ease.

To her utter surprise and relief she heard the bolt slide open with a slight creak. For a long moment, Meredyth simply stood there, unsure now that the opportunity was upon her as to what she would say to her sister. Then taking another breath in an effort to appear calm and patient, Meredyth opened the door.

Her worried gaze quickly found Celeste where she had gone to sit near the window. She was dressed in her wedding gown of ivory. The gold embroidery that decorated the long sleeves and the full skirt glowed in the last dying rays of the sunlight coming through the open window. It shone on the gold veil that covered Celeste’s pale blond hair, which hung loose to her waist. Her face, every feature in perfect harmony with the next, was also outlined in this luminous light. Though Meredyth had lived with her sister her whole life, she found her breath catching in wonder. Celeste was like the angels she had seen on the illuminated pages of religious texts the priest had taught them to read from.

Her loveliness found a perfect setting in the sumptuously furnished chamber, with its thick eastern carpet and richly colored tapestries. The huge dark-stained bed with its heavy sapphire hangings bore a gilt impression of the Penacre griffin, and seemed a fitting place for a creature of such perfection as Celeste to find her rest.

The words Celeste spoke without looking away from her contemplation of her slender white hands drove every other thought from Meredyth’s mind. “I cannot marry Kirkland. I am in love with another.”

Meredyth Chalmers stared at her sister with dawning horror. “You are in love with another? Celeste, who could you be in love with?” A sudden impossible thought occurred to her. “It is not the earl’s son, Orin? He is hardly more than a boy.”

Celeste gazed at her, her guileless blue eyes wide with amazement. “Nay, why ever would you think such a thing? As you say, he is a boy.”

Meredyth felt relief but only in small measure, yet she tried to appear assured. “That eases my mind. His adoration for you is no secret to anyone else with eyes in their head and he gets along with no one other than Sir Giles.” At least Celeste was not so foolish as to return the troubled young man’s feelings. Meredyth rambled on in her agitation. “They are of a pair, those two, in ways I cannot explain. Both make me uncomfortable.”

Her words were met with a heavy silence.

Meredyth looked up, realizing even in her troubled state that her sister seemed to have grown very still at the mention of Sir Giles—too still. Meredyth whispered. “Do not tell me it is…”

Celeste raised pale blue eyes to her sister’s face. “Yes. I am in love with Sir Giles.” For a moment her voice seemed filled with relief at having said the words aloud, before it was again overlaid with sadness. “I thought…hoped he might say something to Father…make some move to halt the marriage to St. Sebastian before it was too late. That he might have changed his mind about…”

Meredyth frowned at this. “Changed his mind?”

Celeste started and for a brief moment, Meredyth thought she saw fear in those blue eyes, but the impression was quickly forgotten as Celeste shook her head fiercely. “I am driven so near madness I know not what I say. Even as you came in just now I prayed it would be word that he…but…What am I to do?” She put her head down and began to cry, great racking sobs that shook her slender frame.

Meredyth ran a nervous hand over her samite-covered midriff, the very feel of her own new cote reminding her that Celeste’s groom awaited her. “Sweet Jesu, Celeste, they are waiting in the chapel. For the second time Father has sent someone to find out what is taking so long. Your reluctance for this marriage has been obvious, but I had not expected this.”

The sobbing only became louder. In the weeks since her father and sister had returned from court Celeste had been extremely reticent But she was always quiet, and she had certainly said nothing to indicate that she was not willing to go through with the marriage. She had simply watched, ever beautiful and remote as her new gowns were fitted and chests of linens and other household goods were prepared. It was true that she had left the choosing of these goods to her younger sister, but Meredyth was accustomed to looking after the majority of domestic tasks at Penacre. Although she was the elder by one year, Celeste had never shown any interest in running the keep.

And she was not required to do so. Her elegant and delicate loveliness, the silver-bell perfection of her voice seemed to please their father more than all Meredyth could do to keep him comfortable, fed and warm. Meredyth wished she, too, would see that light of adoration in their father’s eyes.

Not that Meredyth resented her sister. She loved Celeste. It would be difficult not to. She exuded a gentle sweetness that drew people to her and seemed completely unspoiled by her extraordinary beauty. She was fragile and in need of more care than others, including Meredyth herself.

Suddenly she wondered if Sir Giles, whom Meredyth had not fully trusted since his coming to Penacre some three years past, had taken advantage of her sister’s delicate disposition. Quickly Meredyth told herself that he would surely not go so far, but her unease did not dissipate. There was a burning fire in the tall spare knight’s blue eyes that made her decidedly uncomfortable. Softly, she said, “Celeste, Sir Giles, he has not…forced you?”

Celeste looked up in shock, her blue eyes mirroring her sorrow and another emotion Meredyth did not wish to read as guilt. “He has not.”

Meredyth could hear the distress in her sister’s voice, thus was little relieved by this assurance. Reluctantly she forced herself to go on, though it pained her to think of the delicate Celeste with that hard-natured man. “Does he return your affection?”

The blue eyes were stricken. “Clearly he does not. I had thought that my love was great enough for two, yet…”

Meredyth closed her own lids, unable to bear the raw desolation in that gaze. If this were the way love made one behave, then better that she never have any part of it, she told herself. Not that that seemed likely ever to come about. Her position as chatelaine in her father’s household seemed assured for all time to come.

She pushed aside her own petty concerns to concentrate on her sister. “How could you love a man who does not love you?”

Celeste raised slender hands to her breast. “I only know that I do. Can’t you see that if I marry this man, this Roland St. Sebastian, there is no chance that we will ever be together. And I know that we could be, Meredyth. Giles could love me, if given enough time. He could come to see that there is no other way than for us to be together, that any other scheme is unthinkable.”

Meredyth stood, shaking her head in helpless confusion. Again Celeste’s choice of words seemed odd. Yet Meredyth would not be distracted from the problem at hand. “But you are promised to St. Sebastian.”

Celeste leaped up and leaned against the open sill, her expression wild with grief and determination. “I will throw myself from these heights, Meredyth. I will.”

Her heart thudding with fear, Meredyth whispered, “You cannot do that, Celeste.”

The elder girl’s raised chin showed a stubborn determination that surprised Meredyth. “I cannot marry him.”

“We…will simply have to think of something,” Meredyth said earnestly.

She grew somewhat relieved when Celeste leaned back from the open window, obviously less desperate now that she saw her sister was starting to take her seriously. Yet Meredyth could not stop herself from shaking her head, as she thought aloud. “But what? To not obey the king’s order—what would happen?”

“I do not care, Meredyth. I only know that I love Giles. You do not understand because you have never felt that way about someone. I watch him throughout the days. I burn for him in the darkness of night.”

Meredyth blushed. This talk was far beyond her experience, yet she could not ignore her sister’s distress. “You are correct in saying I have never felt that way but I do have some sympathy for your sorrow. If there was any way I could help you, Celeste, I would. Alas, what can I do?”

Celeste looked at her, some of her anguish seeming to have evaporated as she spoke with unmistakable optimism. “St. Sebastian does not care for me. He weds me only on the king’s decree, to settle the differences between our families.” She paused for a moment, biting her full lower lip thoughtfully as she studied her sister.

Meredyth felt a twinge of unrest as Celeste went on, her voice pleading. “Haps there is something you can do, Meredyth. You said yourself that you care for no one. I do not see why I have to be the one to wed this man. What is required is an alliance between our houses. Who the bride is matters not at all. I am certain King John only chose me because I am the eldest daughter. It is the usual custom for the eldest to marry first, but it is not law.”

Now both hands came up to cover her midriff as Meredyth gasped in shocked amazement “You want me to marry him in your stead? But I cannot do that. This man will not take me in your place. What reason would Father give for asking him to do so? That you love another is unlikely to bear any weight with him. He is Father’s enemy—thus our enemy. He and his men have wreaked havoc on our lands.”

Celeste hesitated for no more than a moment before her expression brightened. “Which is why we will not inform the Baron of Kirkland until it is too late. And we could not tell Father because we would not wish for him to be held responsible.”

Meredyth shook her head in confusion. “Not tell? What can you mean?” She made a sweeping gesture to indicate her own diminutive form. “You cannot imagine that I could be mistaken for you, Celeste. Even if it were not for the difference in our height, look at your own hair and mine.” Meredyth reached back and pulled the weight of her own fiery braid forward over her shoulder. “There can be no hope of succeeding in this.”

Celeste moved toward her, her eyes pleading again. “But we can do it. We must do it, Meredyth. I…I am no virgin, and St. Sebastian would as lief kill as forgive me when he found out. You said yourself that he is our enemy. Think you he would treat me with kindness?”

Meredyth gasped, her mind churning. “But you said…”

“I said he did not force me.” High color rode her creamy cheeks.

Heaven, but this changed all. Meredyth knew that what Celeste said was very likely true. St. Sebastian might well kill her if he learned she was not chaste. “I cannot sit by and allow you to come to such an end, but…this…” She put her hands to her head, trying to think past the shock of what she had just learned and her concern for her sister.

Celeste changed her tone to one of cajoling. “Meredyth, I have seen this man. Even though he is our family’s enemy I could not but see that he is not ill-favored. St. Sebastian is tall and strong and handsome in a fearsome way. I heard other maids at court speak of him with some longing. If I were not in love with another…” She did not meet Meredyth’s gaze.

Meredyth could only stare at her in amazement. “The man’s good appearance or lack of such is the least of my concerns in this matter.”

The elder girl flushed, then pressed on. “Please, you are my only hope.”

When Meredyth made no demur, simply raising tormented eyes to her sister’s face, the blond woman began to remove her wedding gown. She spoke matterof-factly now. “I have a veil that would cover you from head to waist. You shall wear my new cotehardie, and…”

“But we shall be found out. We are not of a height. There must be at least four inches difference between us.” Yet even as she replied Meredyth was unaccountably reminded of her sister’s account of Kirkland—“tall, strong, and fearsome.” Had Celeste really thought to reassure her with that description? And that other maids might find him appealing was of no consequence to her.

Celeste was clearly oblivious to her reaction and did not stop removing her garments as she motioned briefly toward the window. “It has nearly grown dark. In the light of the candles none will guess your identity if you wear my clothing. Men do not take note of such things. It is not in their nature. You know I have asked that none besides the priest, St. Sebastian and Father attend the ceremony. Father is so upset at the marriage that he will not realize. And the baron has only seen me once from across a crowded antechamber. You may be assured that he will not recall any detail of my appearance.”

Meredyth did not believe this for a moment. Any man who once set eyes upon Celeste would certainly remember her. But that knowledge was overridden by the hurtful realization that her father was indeed so distraught over Celeste’s marriage to this man that he might not take heed of what was going on around him.

Even as these thoughts ran through Meredyth’s mind, Celeste dropped the last of her outer garments on the floor. She stepped forward and put her hands to the shoulders of Meredyth’s burgundy damask cotehardie. “Let me help you to change. This is your wedding day.”

Her throat tight and dry with anxiety, Meredyth made her way to the chapel on shaking legs. Everyone she met along the way seemed only relieved to see her finally going there. No one, not even her father himself as she arrived in the entrance to the chapel, appeared to realize that she was Meredyth, not Celeste. He simply hurried down the aisle to urge her forward. It was only after taking a deep breath and forcing herself to recall that she might indeed be saving her sister’s life, that she was able to go on.

Her heart felt painfully large in her chest as she moved down the aisle toward the large shadowy figure of the man she had never even seen before. The man who would be her husband.

Meredyth nearly tripped over the hem of the ivory samite skirt. They had been forced to hike up the skirt with a girdle of gold lengths, and still it was long. Her knee-length hair they had twined around her head, then wrapped in ivory fabric to disguise the color. The carefully piled hair had also served to give her the appearance of more height. And finally, the heavy veil of gold sendal she wore covered her from head to waist, both back and front.

She looked neither right nor left, keeping her mind centered on simply putting one foot in front of the other. When she stopped at the front of the altar, Meredyth was too agitated to even look at the man who stood beside her. She had an impression of height, of immense strength and a simmering unrest

The priest spoke with obvious relief, drawing her gaze to him. “I will light the candles.”

Meredyth took a quick breath, and begged, “Please, do not.” She was almost glad that her throat was so tight, her voice so husky with anxiety that no one would recognize it. “I…”

The man beside her seemed to stiffen even more as he made a gesture of impatience, cutting her off. “Do not bother with the candles, priest. Let us see this done as quickly as possible.”

If she was relieved by his concordance with her own wishes, Meredyth was too far beyond reason to feel it.

Her fear of being discovered kept her from focusing on anything else as the priest led them through their vows. The deep sound of his voice seemed filtered through a dense fog, as did the voice of the man at her side, but she was not completely deaf to the impatience in his tone.

The sound of her pounding heart prevented her from hearing her own whispered replies. It seemed in fact so loud she feared more than once that the man at her side must surely hear it too.

Only when the priest fell silent did Meredyth realize it was over. She had married this man in her sister’s stead.

St. Sebastian reached down with a possessiveness that even she could recognize and took her hand in his warm one. A hot streak of surprise and another unexpected sensation that she could not quite name raced through her. Inexplicably that sensation made her pulse quicken all the more.

Meredyth tried to concentrate as he spoke to her, his deep voice husky with an oddly sensuous note now that the wedding was completed. “Might I not at least look upon my beautiful bride?”

A shiver of apprehension shot down her spine as Meredyth whispered. “Nay, my lord, please. I ask you to understand that I am shy of you…of this marriage.”

He leaned over her, so close that even through the heavy sendal of the veil she could feel his warm breath against her ear as he spoke. “There is no need to fear me, my little bride.”

Again Meredyth shivered but this time it was not totally due to apprehension. She forced herself to think, to ignore the tingling along her nape, and replied in a desperate whisper. “Nonetheless I am frightened.” He would never know what the admission cost her. Never in her life had Meredyth felt so terrified of anyone or anything. Nor would she have admitted it if she had been. Having spent her life with the realization that she would never be adored as was her sister, Meredyth had long ago learned to hide her emotions behind a wall of dignity.

She could not allow him to unmask her here and now. What would he do, this fierce warrior, if the fact that he had taken the wrong bride was made known in this public way?

She and Celeste had been addled to think they would ever succeed in this madness. Somehow she felt her only hope of rectifying the situation was to explain to St. Sebastian that they had made a foolish mistake before anyone else discovered the truth. That meant she must do her utmost to conceal her identity until she had an opportunity to be alone with him. Yet Meredyth knew she would not be alone with him until this very night after the bedding ceremony. The very thought made her nape prickle again.

Desperately she whispered, “Might I ask a boon of you, my lord?”

His breath stirred her veil as he replied, his voice noncommittal. “Aye, and what be that, damsel?”

Her tone softened more at her own temerity even as she realized this was her only hope. “I ask that you forgo the bedding ceremony, as I do not think…that I could go forward with…after everyone had looked at…”

There was a long silence. Then her father’s voice came, the regret in it clear to even her muddled ears. “Celeste, my daughter. I feel for your reticence but you have no right to ask this of your husband—”

St. Sebastian spoke, abruptly interrupting him. “Say no more, Penacre. The woman is now my concern. Methinks I will agree to this strange request. I have seen Celeste and believe I will find no fault with her. I would not have her too agitated to…well…” Meredyth knew he shrugged, though she still did not look up at him. “I would have my wedding night be one to remember.”

Her breath caught at his words. Dear heaven, dear heaven, she thought, fighting down panic and a strange stirring that she could not understand. St. Sebastian made his desire plain enough for even her inexperienced ears. And for some reason his words struck a heretofore long-buried chord within herself. Meredyth had barely allowed herself to think of the “wedding night” and what might occur during it, even in her most secret moments.

Without another word, Meredyth turned and ran. She had no care of what he or her father might think. She simply knew she had to get away, away from his too powerful presence, away from the huskiness of his sensuous voice and the things he had said, away from the things they made her feel.

But as she hurried toward not her own chamber but her sister’s, Meredyth told herself she was reacting like a child. She would not be bedding this man. It would not go so very far as that.

She rubbed damp palms on the skirt of her borrowed gown. In fact, Meredyth realized as she made her way to Celeste’s chamber, they need tell Kirkland nothing. Celeste would simply take the place she had been meant to. Meredyth had married the man using her sister’s name. No one need be the wiser.

As far as Celeste’s unchaste state was concerned…well…surely she must have some idea of what she might do to fool her husband into thinking she was a virgin. Meredyth had heard that such things were possible.

As she reached the door to her sister’s room, Meredyth threw it open in relief, knowing things would soon be set to rights. But she stopped on the threshold. Celeste was not there.

A prickling sense of unease made Meredyth search out her sister’s cloak where it usually lay in the top of her clothing chest. It was not there. She bit her lip, turning to survey the rest of the chamber. It was then that her eyes lit upon a small scrap of parchment on the table near the bed. Hurriedly Meredyth rushed to take it up, and read the words scrawled there in her sister’s childish hand:

I will return on the morrow, when all is done. I have told no one, not even Agnes, and neither must you. My thanks and love. Celeste.

Meredyth crumbled the scrap in her trembling fingers. She had been left to face St. Sebastian alone.

Whatever was she to say to him? “Forgive me, my lord, my sister is in love with another and I took her place.”

’Twas unlikely that any man would be satisfied with such a substitution. Celeste was an acclaimed beauty, known for her grace and lovely voice. Meredyth was, well, simply herself, small, scarlet haired, with a sprinkling of freckles across the bridge of her nose. She was in no way a replacement for a woman like Celeste. Though she did not believe she was completely without charms of her own, no man had ever been able to see far enough beyond her sister to notice.

Just as that thought passed through her mind the door opened and Agnes appeared. She hesitated there, bearing a laden tray. Her gray eyes were filled with concern as she came inside. “I have brought food and wine, my lady.”

Meredyth felt her heart rise up in her throat as she clutched the crumpled note close against her midriff. Her voice was a hoarse whisper. “I have need of nothing.”

The maid scowled with worry. “But you must take something. You have not eaten all this long day.” She moved to place the tray upon the table. Agnes then swung around and pointed toward the nightdress that lay across the foot of the bed. “I will help my lady to disrobe.”

“Nay,” Meredyth cried, stepping backward.

The woman looked closely at her. “Is there something wrong with my lady’s voice? You sound…strange.”

Turning her back as panic gripped her, Meredyth spoke in that low husky tone again. “There is nothing wrong other than the obvious. I have just married Father’s enemy. Please leave me alone. I do not wish to see anyone right now. I will see to my own needs.”

“But…” Agnes started forward, her hand outstretched with sympathy.

Meredyth stopped the maid by swinging to face her with a determined shake of her veiled head. “Nay. I beg you to leave me some small amount of dignity. I will see to myself.”

The maid seemed less than content with this, as her eyes remained filled with concern. Then her shoulders slumped as she moved toward the door. Meredyth was sympathetic to the other’s sadness, knowing how the maid cared for her sister, but she could not relent.

Agnes opened the door then halted for a brief moment. “I will stay by, my lady, in case you have need of me.”

Meredyth nodded, but said nothing. She sighed with abject relief as the door closed behind her, her throat dry with anxiety at the possibility of being discovered. Immediately she went to the table and poured herself a glass of the wine. She drained it quickly. This whole day she had been too occupied to consume more than a cup of water and the wine soothed her tight throat.

That had been too close. She took another cup, this time sipping more slowly as she told herself to think clearly.

Meredyth realized she must pretend to be her sister until she had an opportunity to speak to Kirkland. It was her only hope of making sure that he was the first one to learn what had occurred.

Meredyth squared her shoulders with determination, as she took another long sip of wine. First things first, she told herself, as a feeling of relaxation began to ease her tense muscles. She could not chance another meeting with Agnes. Her gaze came to rest on the new gossamer-thin night rail that had been laid across the end of the bed. She would change into the gown, climb into the bed and wait for St. Sebastian to arrive. That way if Agnes came again she would see that her charge was already abed and she would leave. The discarded wedding clothes would be proof that she needed no assistance.

The idea seemed quite clever even if she did say so herself. Quickly Meredyth began to disrobe.