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two marble slabs below the altar top. She made certain it was hidden from view and protected from damage. Then she said another quick prayer, genuflected, and walked down the aisle. She opened the door to go outside.
    The conversation between Father MacKechnie and Kelmet immediately stopped.
    The sight of Lady Johanna still affected the priest, and he acknowledged the truth without feeling a qualm of guilt. MacKechnie didn’t consider himself caught by the sin of lust because he noticed the shimmer in her hair or stared a bit longer than necessary at her lovely face. In his mind, Johanna was simply one of God’s creatures, a magnificent example, to be sure, of the Lord’s ability to create perfection.
    She was Saxon through and through with her high cheekbones and fair coloring. She was a little shorter in stature than others, for she was of only medium height, but she appeared taller to the priest because of the queenly way she held herself.
    Aye, her appearance pleased the priest, and he was certain she pleased her God as well, as she truly possessed a kind and gentle heart.
    MacKechnie was a compassionate man. He ached over the cruel blow the dear lady had already been given. A barren woman served no purpose in this kingdom. Her very reason for existing had been snatched away. The burden she carried, knowing of her own inferiority, was surely the reason he’d never seen her smile.
    And now they were about to give her another cruel blow. “Might we have a word with you, m’lady?” Kelmet asked.
    The steward’s tone of voice must have alerted her that something was amiss. A guarded look came into her eyes, and her hands became fists at her sides. She nodded and slowly turned to go back inside.
    The two men followed. Lady Johanna turned to face them when she’d reached the center of the aisle between the rows of wooden pews. The altar was directly behind her. Four candles provided the only light inside the chapel. The flames flickered inside their round glass globes spaced a hand’s length apart on top of the long marble altar top.
    Lady Johanna straightened her shoulders, folded her hands together, and kept her gaze firmly on the steward. She seemed to be bracing herself for foul news. Her voice was whisper soft, devoid of all emotion. “Has my husband returned home?”
    “Nay, m’lady,” Kelmet answered. He glanced over at the priest, received his encouraging nod, and then blurted out, “Two messengers have just arrived from London. They bring terrible news. Your husband is dead.”
    A full minute of silence followed the announcement. Kelmet began to clasp and unclasp his hands while he waited for the news to take root. His mistress didn’t show any outward reaction, and he began to think she hadn’t understood what he’d just said.
    “It’s true, m’lady. Baron Raulf is dead,” he repeated in a hoarse whisper.
    And still he saw no response. The priest and the steward shared a worried look, then looked back at Lady Johanna.
    Tears suddenly gathered in her eyes. Father MacKechnie almost let out a sigh of relief. She understood the news.
    He waited for her denial next, for in all his considerable years of consoling the bereaved, he’d seen most people use denial in order to cheat the truth a little longer.
    Her own denial was swift and violent. “No!” she screamed. She shook her head so forcefully her long braid caught over her shoulder. “I will not listen to this lie. I will not.”
    “Kelmet has spoken the truth,” Father MacKechnie insisted, his voice low and soothing.
    She shook her head at him. “This must be trickery. He cannot be dead. Kelmet, you must hunt down the truth. Who would tell you such a lie?”
    The priest took a quick step forward to put his arm around the distressed woman. The anguish in her voice made him want to weep himself.
    She wouldn’t allow comfort. She backed up a space, gripped her hands together, and demanded, “Is this a cruel trick?”
    “Nay, m’lady,”