Читать книгу My Lady De Burgh - Deborah Simmons, Deborah Simmons - Страница 11

Despite his feelings, or perhaps because of them, Robin abruptly rose to his feet, determined to leave the room and seek out the abbess. Indeed, he went so far as to open the door, only to be faced with the formidable Maud, who stood just outside the threshold. Had she been listening or spying? Robin didn’t see how she could learn much through the nunnery’s thick walls and doors, yet who knew what kind of intrigues went on in the cloister? Certainly, these women had little enough to entertain them.

Recovering quickly, Robin greeted the nun with feigned warmth. Although he might have denied it, he was only too eager to postpone—mayhap indefinitely—his plans to dismiss Sybil and latch on to Maud. After all, here was someone who wasn’t afraid to speak her mind or gossip malevolently. Indeed, Maud looked as if she had made plenty of enemies and would be happy to add more to her collection. Ushering her inside, Robin donned his best smile, though it appeared to have little effect. Maud soon made it obvious that she had returned only under duress.

“The abbess insisted that I come, though I have no idea why since I know nothing of this business,” she said, with a pinched expression that dared Robin to argue with her.

“Although pleased as I am, as always, to do the Reverend Abbess’s bidding, I do not see what right she has to be here,” Maud added, looking pointedly at Sybil. “I hardly think I can speak freely when I know that my words might be misconstrued or bandied about later by others. Perhaps, if she were to leave the room…” Maud suggested.

Although Robin had just considered the same course, he found he didn’t care for the notion quite so well when Maud proposed it. Logic warred with unfounded emotion for an instant, until reason prevailed and he bowed his head graciously toward the harridan. “If you would feel more comfortable—” he began, only to be cut off by Sybil’s protest.

“The abbess told me to remain with Lord de Burgh,” she said, in a voice that brooked no dispute, and Robin couldn’t help admiring her courage.

“Indeed?” Maud replied, lifting one eyebrow in a manner that managed to insinuate all sorts of things, none of them complimentary, especially to a novice. Robin felt his blood churn in response, urging him to Sybil’s defense, but he kept his face expressionless.

“Indeed,” Sybil replied firmly, giving no indication that the barbs had struck her at all.

Whether Maud sensed his annoyance or Sybil’s stubbornness or only had been issuing an idle threat, Robin didn’t know, but she conceded with a scowl. “Very well, then, but I warn you not to interfere with my speech or repeat anything that I say,” she said, glaring at the younger woman.

Sybil dropped her head in a gesture of submission that didn’t fool Robin one bit, and he wondered if Maud had planned to speak in front of her all along, perhaps even to taunt her with gossip. The older woman reminded him of a spider, hatching plots and tossing webs around the hapless nuns. Whatever she might say, Robin knew he must keep the focus on Elisa and not worry about Sybil, who seemed more than capable of holding her own anyway.

“I assure you that you may speak freely,” Robin said, smiling at Maud. “Indeed, I was hoping that you would do so as I fear that the other nuns have not been of any assistance to me at all, but you…” Robin trailed off, inclining his head respectfully. “You appear to be far more knowledgeable and observant. Surely, you must have an idea as to the culprit.”

Ignoring a choked sound from Sybil, Robin gave the harridan an encouraging smile, and she acknowledged his flattery with a lofty look. “Naturally, I am more perceptive than most of these flibbertigibbets who neglect their duties,” Maud said, raising her bulky body until she sat arrow-straight upon the bench. “However, ’tis not really my place to comment.”

“Ah, but I cannot finish my work here until I have come to some sort of conclusion,” Robin pointed out.

“Well,” Maud said, making a show of hesitation. “I refuse to pass judgment upon the organization of the order, but in my opinion Elisa was far too young for such a responsible position as treasuress,” Maud said, her jealousy obvious. “Such a post required her to have more contact with the outside world than is wise, what with the submission of bills from tradesmen and servants and clerics and who knows who, let alone all that fraternizing with the bailiff.”

Maud sniffed haughtily. “So I, for one, am not surprised that she came to a bad end.” At her caustic words, Robin shot a glance toward Sybil and nearly groaned. Not only was the tic working in her cheek, but her hands were fisted at her sides, as though she might strike Maud at any moment. However, she was valiantly keeping her mouth shut, and, for that Robin was grateful.

Tearing his gaze away from Sybil, he returned it firmly to Maud. “Go on,” he urged. Obviously pleased at gaining his ear while at the same time thwarting her rival, the older woman nodded.

“Well, as we all know, only evil can come of too much association with outsiders,” she said, again looking at Sybil, as if to accuse her of misbehavior or even of being a bad influence upon Elisa.

Robin quickly reclaimed her attention. “Did you notice any strangers about or anyone who might mean Elisa harm?”

Maud lifted her chin imperiously. “Unlike some, I do not have much contact with those who are not of the order. And, as I said, she dealt with all sorts of questionable persons, from those men who work the home farm to the bailiff. I heard that she had a certain male acquaintance in whom she showed an unseemly amount of interest, but not being privy to her personal associations, I cannot tell you more. Perhaps Sybil can elaborate,” Maud suggested, her mouth twisting with the gibe.

Robin was out of his seat, putting himself between the two women before Maud realized how close she had come to reaping the results of her taunts. “Thank you,” he said, while Sybil made incoherent noises behind him. “You have been most helpful.” He led the nun to the door, pouring on the de Burgh charm and promising to seek her out if he thought of any further questions. And when at last she left, as regally as she had entered, Robin shut the door and turned to face Sybil.

One look at her face told him why she had never taken her vows. Although she tried hard to suppress the truth, she was far too volatile for a life of humble devotion. Indeed, she was brimming with life and passion—and fury, which was now directed at him.

“Why did you stop me?” she cried, rushing toward Robin with fists flying. “’Tis long past time someone gave that horrible woman her due!” She struck out at him, raining blows upon his wide chest. Robin let her rage and rant, mostly about the horrible Maud and the poor defamed Elisa, until finally he caught her wrists and held them fast. Then, as if the wind suddenly had turned, letting out her sails, she collapsed against him in a fit of weeping that Robin found far more painful than her fists.

Releasing her hands, he put his arms around her, drawing her close. She buried her face in his tunic, and he held her tightly, trying his best to give the comfort she needed. All thoughts of his position as coroner or hers as novice or even as the One, slipped away, as she released her grief. The most glib of the de Burghs, Robin had no words to give her, only the strength of his body, and despite his initial wariness, he found himself offering it up to her easily.

And when her sobs subsided, Robin became aware of other things, namely, the way she seemed to fit perfectly against him, her head tucked under his chin. Swift on the heels of that discovery came awareness of the press of her form, her soft breasts, the curve of her waist and the heat that warmed him wherever they touched. Drawing a deep breath, Robin felt himself stiffen, his masculine form growing into a telltale bulge against her belly.

Sybil lifted her head, as if startled, and Robin could have cursed himself, but when he looked into those blue eyes, wide and teary, his tongue cleaved to the roof of his mouth. A stray curl had popped free of her wimple, and he saw that it was red, a lively color fit for this woman. Entranced, Robin lifted his fingers to tuck it back into place, but that brought his thumb in contact with the softness of her skin, and he stroked the delicate curve of her cheek in wonder.

He had to taste her. The urge came over him so violently that Robin shuddered with the force of it. He wanted to, needed to kiss her, right here, right now. He felt as if his future, his very life, depended on it. And Sybil gave no demur. Indeed, she stared up silently, her luscious lips parted in a tempting pose, just as though she were as enraptured as he.

Desire rose like a tide, thrumming through his blood, and for long moments, Robin struggled vainly against it, grasping at the wits that seemed to have deserted him. Try though he might to resist, he was weakening fast, and well he might have given in, had it not been for the sound of a knock upon the door jolting him into awareness of his surroundings.

Suddenly, Robin realized that he was embracing the One, and he swallowed in panic even as Sybil gasped, as if she, too, were flustered, or even horrified. They broke apart, backing from each other, and just in time, for they had barely separated when the door opened. It was the abbess who entered, and Robin eyed the good woman with no little alarm. Then, finding the bench against the back of his legs, he sat down hard, while a flush that had nothing to do with his still-excited body rose in his cheeks.

Luckily, the unsuspecting abbess had her head bent, and did not seem to be aware of the undercurrents around her. Of course, the poor woman was mourning in addition to performing the duties of her office, and Robin immediately felt guilty for his misbehavior in her holy house, though he hadn’t really done anything. Yet.

“Has all of the order been here, Sybil?” she asked, turning to the novice. Robin’s gaze followed, and he saw that Sybil appeared strained, her hands clasped before her and her face pale and tearstained. At the sight, Robin felt even more the cur, as if he had failed her somehow, though he knew he had given her comfort as best he could. It was what had nearly happened afterward that bothered him, both the wanting and the wishing her well away, a perverse combination, to be sure.

“And have you learned anything?” the abbess asked, swinging her gaze to Robin. He stared at her stupidly, the only lessons he could recall were those in desire and restraint, and how the blue of Sybil’s eyes remained undimmed by weeping.

She appeared to be recovering more swiftly, however. “Reverend Abbess,” she said, drawing the nun’s attention back to herself, an action for which Robin was inordinately grateful. “Isn’t it true that Maud has long thought herself your closest assistant, perhaps even your favorite?”

The question brought Robin back to his senses quickly enough, for he could see where she was going with that line of inquiry, and he rolled his eyes in frustration. As much as he disliked old Maud, he couldn’t quite picture her killing off her rivals. Why bother when she could torture them indefinitely with her slurs?

The abbess smiled gently. “Maud is very eager, but I can hardly appreciate one of my flock more than another.”

Robin recognized a diplomatically worded answer when he heard it, but Sybil would not be placated. Obviously, her feud with Maud was a long-standing one. “But suppose that someone, believing herself to be in a coveted position, wielded power over others of the order, going so far as to sabotage those who stood in her way?”

The abbess’s expression reflected her concern. “Surely, you are not suggesting that one of our own murdered Elisa?” she asked.

Robin rose to his feet. “We are simply exploring all possibilities, Reverend Abbess,” he explained. “And although we might deem it unlikely, we must remember that not all nuns are as devoted as you are. Although we might wish otherwise, they are afflicted with the same jealousies and passions as laywomen,” he said, with a sidelong glance toward a certain passionate novice.

The abbess frowned, obviously dismayed by his words, but Robin persisted. “Think carefully, and if you can remember any quarrels or suspicious incidents occurring among the residents here, please let me know,” he said.

“I will,” the abbess promised, though she appeared none too pleased by the prospect.

“We appreciate your cooperation,” Robin said to smooth things over. “I would also ask you if you have noticed any strangers about, anyone Elisa would have come in contact with?”

The abbess paused thoughtfully before answering. “I have met with the usual clerics and freemen and travelers.” She shook her head, as if frustrated. “I fear that we have fallen into lax habits here. The nuns are often asked to make trips to the village and conduct business with those in the area. As I’m sure you realize, although we are a small order, the home farm requires much organization and employs many of the local people.”

“Are there any who might hold a grudge against the nuns or Elisa in particular? Was there someone that she might have seen more of than was usual?” Robin asked, ignoring the low hiss of Sybil’s indrawn breath. But the abbess could only shake her head, uncomprehending of such violence or any lapses on the part of her flock.

Robin spoke gently, hiding his frustration, but he had hoped that the abbess might be able to give him a hint, at least, as to the identity of the killer. So far, none but Maud would even admit that Elisa had had a relationship with a man, and all she could do was refer him to Sybil.

Robin’s eyes narrowed. He had thought Maud’s bitter words a result of the rivalry between them, but he had heard more than once that Sybil and Elisa had been close, had seen it himself, as evidenced by her wild display of grief. And now he glared at the One with new suspicion. All along, he had suffered her presence, allowed her to stifle his questions, to keep the name of her dear departed friend from being sullied, and all along, she probably knew more about the death than anyone.

Biting back a scowl, Robin turned his attention once more to the abbess, but it soon became clear that she could shed no further light upon the murder. Before dismissing her entirely, he asked if he might meet with the servants and people who worked on the lands owned by the nunnery, and she consented. It would be more than he could accomplish this day, of course, but right now Robin wasn’t concerned with the lay residents of the area. His gaze slid to the other occupant of the room in grim anticipation.

First, he had a certain novice to question.

Sybil watched the abbess preparing to leave and had to bite her tongue to stop herself from begging the nun to stay. And when the abbess actually stepped out the door, Sybil felt like running after her. It didn’t matter where she went as long as it was away—far away—from this man who so disturbed her. Sybil took a deep breath, her heart pounding with the revelations of the last hours. To her shame, few had anything to do with Elisa’s death. They had to do with him.

He had a dimple.

It was tucked into his left cheek, and appeared when he smiled just so, Sybil remembered with a kind of stunned surprise. And, not only that, he laughed! And not just any kind of laugh, mind you, but one so rich and deep and joyous that it seemed to melt something inside her. Sybil’s face flamed as she recalled just what this man was capable of doing to her insides, and the rest of her, as well.

She wasn’t sure what was worse, the fact that she had stared up at him like a besotted ninny while he held her in his arms, or that she had willingly gone into them in the first place, pouring out her grief as if a dam had burst. The memory made Sybil feel ashamed, embarrassed, a fool, and yet, she knew she hadn’t thought so at the time. Tucked against that big, hard body, she had felt safe and warm for the first time in her life, as if she were home at last…. Sybil drew a ragged breath and shut her eyes against such nonsensical thoughts, but still the discoveries dismayed her.

He smelled like wood smoke and leather and something indefinable, something that was singularly his, and it was the most wonderful scent Sybil had ever encountered. She wanted to bury her face in his tunic again and just breathe. And this time, she wouldn’t cry, she would wrap her arms around his strong body and…what? Sybil shook her head. She knew even less about men than she knew about murder, but she was learning.

She had learned that this one possessed compassion. Despite all their heated exchanges, snapping at each other like dogs vying for the bone of the killer, when she had lost her composure entirely, he had enfolded her with his body, treated her to a gruff tenderness that made her weep all the more for the lack of it in her life.

Oh, she had vague memories of sweet nuns, of being held in gentle arms, but who here would have helped her this day? The abbess and most of the nuns would have been appalled by her outburst. Some would have been frightened, some pitying, and a few might have stepped forward to try to aid her. But none could have given her what this strange man had offered: his arms and his strength and his comfort.

When he had first arrived, Sybil had resented what Robin de Burgh could do to her; now she was heartily afraid of it. Before, she had had no idea what was lacking in her life, but now she knew, and she yearned for more with a fierceness that made her tremble. ’Twas a most dangerous desire, for comfort was not all that he gave her with his body. To Sybil’s horror, he also had roused in her a certain curiosity for something else in that hushed moment when all the world seemed to dim in the brightness of his being.

His eyes, like some kind of sweet and heady syrup, had held her spellbound, while against her belly she had felt something hard. Sybil had recognized that it was a part of him, and the knowledge had thrilled her, filling her with a power she never knew existed. Her fingers had spread upon the hard expanse of his chest, and she had wanted to rise upon her toes, to somehow make herself closer…

“Perhaps you would allow me the benefit of your knowledge?”

The sound of that deep, harsh, intensely male voice nearly made her jump. “What?” Sybil said, swinging round to face him in stunned surprise. Surely, she had not heard him right! Could he tell what she was thinking?

But the look upon his face was not one to lure her. Indeed, he wore a hard scowl that marred his beautiful features, hiding his dimple and his laughter, but that nevertheless could not mask the goodness in him. “Who was the man Elisa took an unseemly interest in?” he demanded.

Sybil glared at him, revising her opinion, and not to the good. She refused to listen to any slurs upon Elisa’s name, especially an echo of Maud’s horrible slanders! But before she could protest, he stalked across the tiles and grasped her by the shoulders.

“What are you hiding?” he asked, and Sybil knew she ought to spit in his face, but he was touching her, and the heat from his fingers blazed up and down her arms and all through her body until she felt unnaturally weak. Her anger at his insinuations faded away, replaced by a bizarre fascination with his lips. Considering the hard, wide planes of the rest of his face, they appeared soft and a shade lighter than his tanned face. From there her gaze drifted to his cheek, and when she found the spot where his dimple lay hidden, Sybil had to fight against a sudden urge to seek it out with her fingers—or her mouth.

With a low moan that sounded suspiciously like an oath, Robin released her abruptly and turned his head away. “Were you meeting him, too? Is that why you conceal his identity?”

He seemed unaccountably angry, but Sybil could only stare at him dumbfounded. He thought she was seeing a man? She didn’t know whether to laugh or to slap him in outrage.