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“Get out.” Edlyn spoke softly. She didn’t realize it, but her voice carried the same element of command that characterized Hugh’s. “Get out and don’t come back lest your insolence tempt me to the sin of speaking ill of one of God’s servants.”

“And whom might that be?”

Edlyn walked to the door and pushed it wide. Gesturing to the out of doors, she said, “You.” She watched Adda skitter out the door and up the walk, cackling like an offended chicken all the way.

Then she shut the door with a bang. The noise cleared her head; she had to regain control.

Wharton rose from the corner and brushed the clinging rags off his body. Glowering, he fingered his knife. “I told ye t’ keep them out.”

“And I told you that was impossible.” She stared as he cleared the rags from the long metal-clad problem stretched out on her floor and wished fervently they were anywhere but here. “Remove his armor,” she said. “He needs to rest comfortably, and he can’t do that trapped in a pile of rusty metal.”

“Rusty?” Wharton squawked.

“Pile?” Hugh sounded as insulted as his servant.

Pleased to have offended them, she said, “He needs a gown.” She stared at Wharton. “I don’t suppose you brought one?”

“I beg yer pardon, m’ lady. I forgot it in th’ rush o’ battle.”

Wharton’s weighted sarcasm made her blithe. “It’ll not be easy to find one that’s long enough for him, but I’ll look in the infirmary.” She skipped out of the door before Wharton could stop her, and for the first time since she’d seen that broken latch, the tension that blocked her throat eased.

What had she done in her lifetime to deserve trials such as these? She had hoped the worst was over; she had prayed for tranquillity and a release from the unrelenting grief. Lately, she’d thought God had heard her prayers. Obviously, that had been nothing but false hope.

She stepped from the herb garden and into the large open square on which all the abbey buildings stood. From here she could see the nuns’ dormitory, the infirmary, the barns, and the visitors’ dormitory where she slept. In the center, both spiritually and physically, the church stood, towering over everything, embracing all within its reach.

A flock of the abbey’s sheep nibbled on the grass beside the great stone steps that led up to the sanctuary, and one of the less noble nuns fed three grunting pigs the scraps from the kitchen.

On the far side of the church, across the road and with its own small square, the monks lived and worked as an addendum to the abbey. To the nuns went the traveling nobles and the ill; to the monks went the vagrants and the lepers. Everyone had his place.

Everyone, that was, except Edlyn. She didn’t need Lady Blanche to point that out. She felt the deficit every day, and as she walked across the square, she wished she belonged somewhere. Anywhere. She’d been mistress of her own home for too many years to easily adjust to living under another’s jurisdiction, regardless—

“Lady Edlyn.”

Edlyn spun around at the beloved voice.

“You were far away.” The abbess tucked her hand into the crook of Edlyn’s arm and urged her to walk on toward the infirmary. “Won’t you come back to us? We treasure your gentle wisdom.”

Lady Corliss smiled at Edlyn, and Edlyn’s spasm of guilt almost bent her in half. Lady Corliss didn’t deserve such a betrayal. This lady, so tall, so regal, always sought Edlyn out, always spoke of Edlyn’s expertise with an admiration that soothed the sting in Edlyn’s soul.

“You look so troubled, my dear. Is there something with which I could help you?”

Aye, Edlyn wanted to say. Tell me what to do about a wounded warrior and his hostile manservant.

“If you’re troubled about refusing Lady Blanche the syrup of poppies, pray do not. You were right, and so I told her when she came to me.” Lowering her chin, Lady Corliss looked at Edlyn from below gray brows. “I know you think I don’t see the way Lady Blanche treats you, but I do, and I have taken steps to correct it. She didn’t appreciate my reprimand, of course, and swears she’ll prove your perfidy, but as I told her, Lady Edlyn is an innocent soul, much wronged.”

Edlyn’s guilt gained weight as Lady Corliss spoke. “Not so innocent,” she muttered.

“Your little sins cannot justify the great iniquities that have plagued you.” Lifting her hand, fingers together, Lady Corliss indicated the church. “Of course, who am I to decide? Nevertheless, I have prayed that your burdens be eased and the world shown the truth of your kind and honest ways, and lately I have sensed God’s own grace smiling on you.”

Lady Corliss had been praying, Edlyn had been praying, and their combined prayers had produced a wounded knight hidden in her dispensary. She had sworn not to tell, but Lady Corliss led an abbey of twenty-two noble nuns and their servants with a mixture of diplomacy and insight. What harm would it do to tell her? Edlyn wanted to so badly. “What if…what if I sinned horribly? Would the Lord’s displeasure manifest itself on the whole abbey?” Edlyn waited breathlessly for the reply.

“You’re not a child, Lady Edlyn. You know the Lord doesn’t work like that. He gives to some, takes from others, for no reason we earthly beings can easily comprehend. Yet if one thinks very hard, sometimes one can discern God’s plans.” With a satisfied smile, Lady Corliss said, “Think on it. When Lord Jagger died, may he rest in peace, the income you used to found the abbey and nurse it through its early years ceased abruptly. We had to prove ourselves able to provide food, clothing, medicines. And, praise God and all the saints, we were able to do so. What happened to you was a tragedy, but for us it was a welcome revelation.” She squeezed Edlyn’s arm. “You’ll see. Somehow everything is for the good.”

Edlyn bent her head and scuffled her feet in the dirt. “But this is not like that.”

“Would you feel better if you told me?”

“I have sworn to keep it secret.”