Peter turned toward Mort and started to laugh. He couldn’t believe the temerity of the wench. When he started to laugh, he realized he couldn’t stop. It felt good to laugh. Too good. It felt better than…damn was he hysterical then? Mort had a concerned look on his face. Peter fought to get himself under control and finally coughed his way to silence.
“Shall I see to these two, my lord?” Mort was serious. He could certainly handle them both and the innkeeper, if he felt so inclined as to get involved. Peter wasn’t worried about that but something she’d said alarmed him. The priest? His body tensed in response to the sudden threat. Did she mean the one at the Priory?
Peter yanked her toward him by the front of her dress. He pulled her close to his face. Mort held the two men at bay with his blade. “What are you saying? What priest?”
He saw her start gathering spit again, so he squeezed her gown tighter in his hand. “Don’t try it again.” His tone was menacing. Her eyes widened in response. “Give me an answer.”
“The priest from the Priory. Father Tinsley.”
That couldn’t be. They were celibate. That would be the only way they could be locked up with all those young women and not be taking advantage—Damn. He shoved her away from him and gave his orders. “She’s in danger. Stay here.”
Mort moved toward the outraged men, ready to make quick work of them. Peter could not wait and headed out the door. He just hoped he would not be too late.
The sweat dripped down the side of Brighit’s face. It was stifling hot in the kitchen with the enormous fire. Heavy, iron pots were arranged both in the ash and hanging from a pole. Keeping the soup from burning despite its closeness to the huge flames was her job.
“Are you sure we couldn’t raise the pot a little higher?” Brighit asked for the third time.
Martha smiled. “Just keep to your job, Mary.”
The transformation of this woman had been like night and day. As soon as the men were gone, she relaxed into easy conversation with Brighit, content to answer her many questions.
This job seemed to be a sort of test of her obedience. No one else in the room was required to remain so near the heat as her. Perhaps they waited to see if she ignited into flames. She wiped her dampened sleeve across her cheek. The soup should be nearly ready.
“Would you care to taste the soup?”
Martha paused and came nearer to her. “Hot work?”
Brighit fought the urge to roll her eyes. “A bit.”
“Then it’s not quite done yet.”
That observation made no sense but the woman moved away before Brighit could question her further. A door slammed in the distance. The other women in the room jumped at the sound. All except Ruth who continued to chop the root vegetables in front of her. Martha glanced between the two.
“Will you see to her?” Martha wiped her hands on a cloth and directed the question to Ruth. The younger woman glanced up, smiled, and nodded.
Martha led the rest of the women out the door in a single file. They moved as if approaching a death sentence. There were seven women in all at the Priory. Brighit had met them. Martha was the oldest. Ruth was the only one who was with child.
“Was that Father Tinsley we heard come in?”
Ruth rubbed her swollen stomach with long, gentle strokes. “Yes. He has returned.”
Brighit stepped away from the fire. She expected to be brought to him as soon as he arrived. The few comments she’s heard assured her he was very particular about where the women were and what they were doing.
“Do you think I should meet with him now?”
Ruth looked up, a surprised expression. “Dear Mary,” Brighit cringed at the name she’d been given, “hewill come and findyouwhen he is ready.”
Brighit returned to stirring the soup. It certainly sounded ominous. Fear was making its way into its favorite spot in her stomach. Swallowing became difficult.
“I was surprised he did not make it to vespers.”
Ruth’s brows darted down. “It’s best if you keep to your work and not worry yourself about Father’s whereabouts. You won’t be able to avoid him if he’s searching you out.” She changed the direction of the circles she rubbed along her abdomen. “Prayer is always a safe endeavor.”
Brighit opened her mouth to ask what she was talking about but the door to the kitchen burst open. A tiny, young woman, Esther, stood in the doorway. She had wide set eyes that made her constantly look as if she were petrified.
“Father Tinsley wants to meet you,” Esther said.
Ruth stilled her hand. Her lips took on the shape of an “oh” but she said nothing. No one moved.
