Giles felt the blood rush away from his head. He’d not even considered that Fayth might know where the Saxon lord was now. How much of a fool had she played him for?
A very large fool was the answer.
‘Can I offer you hospitality this night, my lord?’ he asked, forcing himself not to call out her name to ask her to make the necessary arrangements.
‘I would like that. If I am to answer the duke’s questions, I must dig a little deeper than simply confirming one part of these complaints, my lord. Expect that I will accept your hospitality for several days at least.’ The bishop stood. ‘Did I see that you have a chapel here? Do you have a priest as well or should I plan to say the Mass tomorrow?’
Giles turned and looked at him then, surprised at such an offer. He’d known many clerics in service to nobles, but never had he known one who was actually pious, other than Father Henry. ‘Father Henry sees to the souls of Taerford, my lord.’
‘I serve God first. I still think of myself as a man of God, then a servant of the duke’s.’ Bishop Obert smiled then. ‘I would visit with him, if you do not mind? Does he stay here?’
‘Lucien will show you to the chapel and get Father Henry for you. His room adjoins it.’
Giles stood there as the bishop and two of the duke’s soldiers left. Roger returned after placing a guard at Fayth’s door and took the other soldiers outside where they could wait for the bishop’s further orders.
All the while he fought the urge to go to her and either beg for the truth or throttle her for keeping it from him. Until he knew which course he would take, he decided it was best to stay away from her.
She saw no one for the rest of the day or that night.
Other than Ardith sent with a meal, no one entered the room. Alone, she sat while everything in the chamber, even the chamber itself, mocked her for her stupidity and lack of trust. The bed where they’d spent hours in pleasure and companionship. The chair where she sat while reading to him. The belt that had been his gift to her, made by his mother and kept for the woman he married, the morning after she’d…they’d….
Damn her stupidity!
Brice had warned her that day in the village that there would be a reckoning and it was here now. Her lack of trust in her husband had brought this on them.
She just needed to speak with Giles. If she could explain her actions, he would see her reasons were valid. But, in spite of her sending requests to him with any servant she heard passing her door, he would not come to her.
That he did not spend the night with her was not a surprise, but it did hurt. How could they settle this if he did not speak to her? Or mayhap he did not plan to? Would he put her aside now?
She paced the room once more, looking out of the window and then listening at the door. Fayth had been up at sunrise and, after washing and getting dressed, she stood at the window once more, letting the gusting winds of late November blow on her. She had not really noticed the cold until Roger spoke of it from the doorway.
‘My lady? The bishop asked if you would like to hear Mass this morning,’ Roger asked.
‘Will my husband be there, Roger?’ she asked.
‘Aye, my lady. Though it was your Father Henry’s suggestion to the bishop that brought it about.’ He nodded to her cloak. ‘I am to take you to the chapel if you want to go.’
Fayth grabbed her cloak and Roger helped her place it around her shoulders. She followed him down the stairs, through the hall and out into the yard. The winds were brisk and she held her veil in place as they walked. When they reached the chapel, he escorted her to her place in the front and stayed at her side.
In spite of trying to be discreet, she looked for Giles there. The bishop was to say the Mass, a great honour for a holding as small as theirs, and Father Henry assisted him on the altar. By the time the Mass ended, she’d still not seen him. It was only as the others filed out before them that she saw him standing at the door.
He stepped in front of her before she walked out.
Fayth almost did not dare to look at his face; she could imagine the rage she would find there. He allowed Roger to pass them and she heard the door close behind him.
‘The bishop and Father Henry trust I will not harm you here in the chapel and thought it the best place to talk,’ he said.
She wanted to believe his words were meant in jest, but when she did dare a glance at him, the grave expression told her otherwise. She followed him away from the door and waited for his righteous fury to strike. The question, when it came, was said plainly and softly.
‘Why?’ he asked, staring not at her but off into the corner of the chapel as though he could not bear to look upon her.
Fayth was not certain of his question. She’d betrayed him in ways he knew—and some he didn’t—and she could not think of how to answer. He turned to face her and it was not anger, but devastation that filled his eyes. He held his arms at his sides, opening and clenching his fists.
‘I understand why you did not reveal his true name in the chapel. I would have killed him then without hesitation,’ he said. ‘But later…later…when things were settled between us, why did you not tell me the truth then, lady?’
‘I did not think you would find out, Giles. Once he left, I did not hope to ever see him again. The pieces of news I learned about the effects of the invasion and the chances of Saxon victory convinced me he was gone.’
‘But when you saw him?’
