“Padre Barnabas!” The little girl dropped a deep curtsy to the cleric. Father Barnabas, obviously an old friend, planted a kiss on the top of her head. Mother Margarita tucked the little one under her left arm and held out her right to Nora Haley.
Warm sympathy passed from Mother Margarita to his employer; it needed no translation. She never failed to ask about Robert Beaumont, even though Jamie suspected she had more accurate medical information from her nursing sisters. Her compassion buoyed his employer.
Jamie translated their few words and facilitated an introduction to Mother’s elderly cousin.
Nora colored when the old man warmly took her hand and offered her his blessing. She dipped her head when Jamie translated the words.
On a whisper of black silk they were gone, taking the child with them.
Nora followed Isabella with her longing eyes and spoke without looking at Jamie. “Who was that priest, and what was that about?”
“Her cousin, she said, a visitor. That’s all.” Nora looked skeptical but let it drop. She turned toward the gate.
Jamie didn’t blame her skepticism. He couldn’t shake the feeling they had been inspected. Why the opinion of an elderly monk mattered, he didn’t know.Spies everywhere,he thought.
“It won’t be much longer, now. What will I do then?”
How the hell should I know? Any fool can see this woman longs for a child, and the good Lord knows I am eight kinds of fool.Anyone with eyes can see it.Nora Haley, good English wren, would pull out her own feathers to make a nest for Isabella. Jamie squeezed his eyes shut. It would bring the woman only grief, he knew.They will never let an English widow have the girl.
He couldn’t fix it for her. He owed her two more weeks. He planned to enjoy it in peace.
Nora climbedthe steps two at a time, gasping for air. Her lungs hurt. She had run the entire way from her rented rooms to the major’s as soon as Mother Margarita’s message reached her.
“Major! Wake up! I need you!” she gasped.
She heard the bed creak. She didn’t normally meet him until lunch. The sun still lay low in the sky. She could hear him moving around.
She pounded on his door. She didn’t care how early it was. She needed him.
“Major! I need to speak with you!”
This time she didn’t fall into his arms when he yanked the door open.
“Good morning, Mrs. Haley. Welcome to my palace.” Her shabby major bowed his most ironic obeisance, but not, she noticed, before he scanned the hallway behind her.
“You shouldn’t be here. Reputation, remember?” he whispered.
She ignored him. “Reverend Mother sent word.” She pushed past him into the little room.
“Your brother?” he asked. His face darkened. “Has something happened to Isabella?”
“Fine, both. No, no. Not that.” She gulped for air. “It is Castellimonte. He wishes to see me.”
“Now?” The major began to shrug on his jacket, his face furrowed in thought.
“At two this afternoon.” Nora breathed, wide eyed with fear.
He stopped. “What time is it?”
“Just past nine.”
“Merciful heavens, woman. You have five hours!”
She dipped her head in shame. She wouldn’t spell out her urge to share fear.
He must have been able to read it on her face, as his tone changed. “On the other hand, you have time to prepare,” he said.
“Prepare? How?” she demanded.
