Tori Phillips Read Online Free PDF

Brother, I do. ’Tis for the best.”
    Brother Cuthbert raised one eyebrow so high, it nearly lost itself in the mouse-gray fringe encircling his head. “How so?”
    The prior tapped his finger against his nose. “Let us say that I have my suspicions concerning the sincerity of young Cavendish’s vocation.”
    “But surely the lad is sincere. In the garden, in the chapel—he is constantly on his knees!” Cuthbert blustered in a whisper.
    “Peace, good Brother. Time will tell.” The prior smiled at his old friend. They had entered the monastery together as boys, nearly thirty-five years ago. “When you and I took our final vows, we did so with great joy—running to our Lord. I suspect Brother Guy is running away from himself.”

Chapter Three
     
     
    “Y ou sent for me, Aunt Marguerite?” Celeste peered around the heavy wooden door of the guest infirmary.
    Propped against several thick muslin-covered pillows, the older woman smiled and held out her hand to her niece.
    “Come in quickly, Lissa, and shut that door tight behind you. Fah! This damp weather will kill me long before any horse and wagon.” A chuckle softened her words.
    Celeste did as she was told, then drew up a small three-legged stool beside her aunt’s bed. Marguerite’s skin had regained a healthier color, and Celeste could tell by the brightness of her eyes that her aunt’s tart humor had returned to its full strength. The older woman held her niece’s hand as she regarded her by the light of the tallow candle on the bedside table. Celeste glanced at the clay pitcher and cup there.
    “Would you like me to pour you some water?” she offered, making a move to do so. Marguerite merely tightened her grip on Celeste’s fingers.
    “Water? Do I look like a fish? Non, but that know-it-all Brother Cuthbert thinks I am!” She sniffed loudly. “He means to drown me at the first opportunity. But never fear, Lissa. He has met his match!”
    Celeste hid the smile that plucked at the corners of her lips. The unsuspecting brother had indeed encountered a formidable opponent, she feared, and she wished him all the courage he could muster. She suspected that Aunt Marguerite would sorely try the man’s patience, not to mention his sanctity, in the coming months, while she recovered from her injuries.
    “I shall miss you, ma petite, ” Marguerite said with surprising gentleness.
    Celeste swallowed back a tremor of sadness at these words. All afternoon she had tried to push away the idea of continuing on her journey alone. Now, in the depths of the night shadows, the reality of the situation had to be confronted, just as she had faced her fears of ghosts lurking in the dark corners of her home in the Loire valley. Celeste leaned forward and kissed her aunt on the cheek. Her skin felt cool and dry to the touch.
    “And I shall miss your chiding tongue, your scolding frowns and your many instructions concerning my deportment. La! I never thought I would say those words, dear Aunt, but they are true. You are a dear part of me.”
    Celeste banished a small sob that hovered in the back of her throat. She wouldn’t show weakness now. She had many miles to travel, alone in this inhospitable country, and she couldn’t let her aunt know how very frightened she was at that prospect.
    Marguerite squeezed her hand again. “Humphl You, spin a pretty tale by the firelight—almost as farfetched as those romantic ballads you love so much.” Her voice caught. “I believe I will have a sip of that marsh water, after all,” she said, brusquely waving at the pitcher.
    Celeste poured half a cup and held it out.
    The patient took it and sipped in silence. Celeste fidgeted with one of the embroidered roses on her yellow satin skirt. The candle sputtered, a thin wisp of smoke curling back onto itself as it rose toward the low plastered ceiling. After a strained silence, Marguerite handed back the cup.
    “Surely they must have wine in this place. I shall speak to that