The Miracle Thief Read Online Free PDF Page B

there no other names we should consider?” There was an edge to her tone that had not been present before.
    I had told Saint Catherine I would propose my name if she would take care of the rest of it. I was counting on her to persuade God—and the former abbess—that I had no business accepting the position. But if I meant to make good on my entreaties, now was the time. I lifted a hand, though I kept my gaze fixed to the point at which my robes fell at the turn of my knees. “I think…” Why would the words not come? “Perhaps…” A cold sweat had broken out upon my brow as I remembered what had happened the last time I had taken a position for myself, presuming upon the well-wishes of others.
    As I sat there, casting about for words, the sisters stared at me. How could I ever have thought I might be worthy of such a great honor? Why had the abbess even asked it of me? And why had I promised Saint Catherine I would offer myself? “Perhaps…if you would allow me…”
    I will never know what I might have said, for at that moment, the door to the chapterhouse swung open, and a man strode into our midst.
    Tall and broad-shouldered, he wore a tunic of shimmering silk and a finger ring the Queen Mother herself would have envied.
    Sister Clothild stepped toward him. “We are currently holding a chapter meeting. If you take yourself to the hospice, one of the workers there will help you.”
    â€œI am not here to stay. I am the Count of Bresse, come with your new abbess.”
    A gasp rippled through the room.
    He pivoted toward the great doors, gesturing to someone who seemed to be skulking there in the shadows.
    Sister Clothild replied, and rather sharply. “We have no new abbess, my lord. That is why we meet today: to elect one.”
    â€œThere’s no need. I have already spoken to the bishop. My daughter Aldith will take the position.”
    Sister Clothild’s brow folded in alarm as a hiss went up around the room. “It is not open for the taking. By charter, the new abbess is to be elected from our members.”
    But he was not listening. He was striding toward that shadowed figure who had not moved from the threshold. Taking the person by the hand, he pulled her forward, toward us, with a frown. “Now then.”
    The girl was handsome, though still young in years. Her hair fell in waves to her waist, and she wore it uncovered. As we sat, mute with shock, she took us all in through glittering eyes. And then she started toward Sister Clothild.
    If I was not much mistaken, she was not too many years older than my daughter. A vision of my girl, on the day she had stood in the garden, rose in my mind. I kept it always close to heart, and during those times when I despaired of life, of ever being able to attain some measure of righteousness, I reminded myself that I was yet a mother, that I had birthed a girl. A girl who, in so many ways, made me almost glad I could not claim her. Should I ever have that honor, I knew I ran the certain risk of vanity and pride.
    She tipped her chin up. “Is this where I am to stand?” She asked the question of no one in particular, and the vision of my daughter disappeared. The girl reminded me overmuch of all those thoughtless, grasping daughters of nobility I had known at court. And when Sister Clothild did not move, the girl dismissed her with a wave of her hand. “You may be seated.”
    Sister Clothild did not move.
    The count’s daughter pushed past her and sat down in the chair the death of our Reverend Mother had left vacant. She rested her arms on the armrests, caressing the carved ends with her palms. As she looked about the room, her lips crimped in a display of distaste. “I cannot say I like a room as plain as this one, but I suppose it can be remedied.”
    Her father was still standing in our midst.
    She sighed. “I should like some meat and some wine, for I am famished from