“Indeed, my child.”
“I fear to disappoint my husband.”
“Why would you fear such a situation, my child? He seems most amiable.”
“But I grew up in the company of nuns, Father, and know little of a man’s needs and desires.”
“I am certain that your noble husband will make his expectations clear. You have only to cede to his requests.”
Anna had the urge to grind her teeth. Father Ignatius was also one of the most tolerant and understanding people she knew. Now that she considered the matter, he always counseled patience. She let her voice rise a little higher. “But I know little of administering a secular household, Father. What if I err?”
“But I am certain the nuns taught you of such duties. Did you have no tasks while in their foundation? I know that the sisters of Saint Mary cleave to the rule expecting each to contribute to the welfare of all.”
“I helped in the tending of the gardens, Father,” Anna lied, halfway expecting that some higher authority might smite her for lying to a priest in a chapel.
There was no bolt of lightning.
“And doubtless your husband’s holding will have gardens, too,” Father Ignatius continued in a soothing tone. “You will find solace and familiarity there.”
“But, Father, I am so fearful. I have no one, neither kith nor kin, other than my lord husband. If he turns me aside, what shall I do? Where shall I go?” She tried to sound even more agitated. “What if I anger him, without knowing what I have done? What if I fail to conceive his child? What if I bear him only daughters? Father! I am so afraid!”
The priest laid his warm hand over hers and Anna ensured that her fingers shook. “You have led a sheltered life thus far, my child. It is only reasonable that you should feel trepidation on this change in your circumstances.” He paused for a moment before continuing. “Is your husband cruel to you?”
“Nay, Father. He has been only kind.” Anna could not lie about that. She let her voice tremble. “But still, that could change if I err.”
Father Ignatius gave her fingers a little squeeze. “Let us pray together, my child,” he said with his usual calm confidence.
“I wish I could ask for the aid of a saint,” Anna whispered, hoping she sounded desperate. “The sisters would have let me kiss the finger bone of Saint Mary. Even the prospect of her intercession always soothed my fears.” She shook her head and bent more deeply over her hands, pretending to weep. She could feel the priest watching her.
Anna had time to think that her efforts had been for naught when he abruptly stood up.
One key on his ring proved to open a door set into the wall to the right of the altar. Anna had not even discerned it, for it was so well crafted that it was nigh invisible. She could not see its contents when Father Ignatius opened the door, for his figure blocked her view, but when he turned, she saw something gold in his hands.
It was not small.
It was studded with gems and gleamed in the candlelight.
She ducked her head to hide her astonishment. Was this what Bartholomew’s party had carried? Where had they gotten it?
Was this what Percy had stolen? No wonder it was missed!
“Do you know the legend of Saint Euphemia?” Father Ignatius asked.
Anna shook her head for she did not have to lie. “Nay, Father.”
She peeked to see that he regarded the reliquary with some wonder of his own. “She was a virgin sworn to purity in her love of Christ. At her father’s command, she was tested and tortured, but she refused to worship false gods as he so desired. She died a martyr, but her relics have done wonders. She defends the righteousness of good choices.”
Anna stole a look through her veil as Father Ignatius paused before her.
“This treasure is lately come to us, by some divine design, but perhaps you are the reason why.”
She feared then that he had guessed the truth. “I do not understand, Father,” she said in that high voice.
“That you might ask for her aid, of course. That the saint might give you confidence in your choice of husband. But a day ago, I could not have offered you this solace, my child.” He held the reliquary before Anna. “Perhaps Saint Euphemia will give you strength.”
“I thank you, Father,” Anna whispered. She leaned closer, her eyes downcast, her gaze flying over the marvel before her. She had never seen an item so richly adorned or so precious. It must contain the saint’s head, for it was of the right size.
It was also the right size to account for the bulk of the stolen saddlebag.
