“Marshal,” said Hugh quietly, looking bored, “may we finish? I haven’t the leisure to stand here all day.”
Ivar grimaced, blushing, and made a fist with his right hand, but Hanna grabbed him by the wrist and led him back to the inn. That he went unresistingly was marked by the crowd, which had gotten an extra bit of drama out of the morning. Liudolf sighed again and made a great show of tallying up the coin and barter gained from the sale of Da’s possessions.
“How much remains?” demanded Hugh.
“Two gold nomias, or sceattas of equal worth.”
“It’s a shame,” muttered someone in the crowd.
“The price of the books,” whispered Liath.
Without blinking, Hugh handed two coins to the marshal. She stared, trying to get a look at them, but Liudolf closed his hand over the coins quickly, a startled expression on his face which made Liath wonder if he had ever seen a nomia either. Hugh turned to Liath. “Will you come? Or must I drag you?”
Da always said to let them think you knew something they did not. Liath spared a glance for Hanna and Ivar, who were standing together under the eaves of the inn, watching her. Hanna was pale, Ivar flushed. Liath nodded toward them, hoping her expression was calm. She began to walk toward the church, which lay down the road from the common. Hugh was caught off guard by her abrupt acquiescence, and he had to hurry to catch up. That gave her some small satisfaction.
He grabbed her arm at the elbow and with that grip walked out of the village and to the chapel, going inside and all the way along the nave and past it into the little warren of chambers behind. All the way to the small chamber where his bed stood.
“Here.” He held onto her tightly. This room was rather more luxurious than Liath expected. Frater Robert, who had ministered here before Hugh, had slept on a cot in the nave. The chamber held a finely carved table and chair and a wooden chest inlaid with bright gems and enameling. On the table sat parchment, three quills, and a stoppered bottle of ink. A thick rug covered the floor, an expensive carpet woven with eight-pointed stars. Liath knew better than to let Hugh realize she recognized the pattern as an Arethousan design. A featherbed and a feather quilt lay heaped on the bed. “Here is where you sleep,” he said.
“Never.”
“Then with the pigs.”
“Gladly, as long as it spares me from you.”
He slapped her. Then, while her skin still stung from the blow, he pulled her hard against him and kissed her on the mouth. She got a hand in between them and shoved him away.
He laughed, wild and a little breathlessly. “You fool. My mother has promised me the abbacy of Firsebarg as soon as the old abbot dies. With the abbacy I will have entry into King Henry’s progress, if I wish it. And in a year or five more, there will be a presbyter’s crosier in my hands and I will walk among those who advise the skopos herself. Only give me the book and show me what your father taught you, and there is nothing you and I could not accomplish.”
“You took his books already. You stole them. They would have matched the debt. I would have been free.”
His expression chilled her. “You will never be free, Liath. Where is the other book?”
“You murdered Da.”
He laughed. “Of course I didn’t. Died of a bad heart, that’s what Marshal Liudolf said. If you think otherwise, my beauty, then perhaps you ought to confide in me. Another season and your father would have taken me into his confidence. You know it’s true.”
It was true. Da was lonely, and Hugh, whatever else he might be, could be charming. Da had liked him, had liked his quick mind, his curiosity, even his arrogance, since Hugh had the odd habit of treating Da as if he were his equal in social standing. But Da seemed to expect that.
“Da never had any sense in his friends,” she said recklessly, to shake off these distracting thoughts.
“I know you’ve never liked me, Liath, although I can’t imagine why. I’ve never offered you an insult.” He placed two fingers under her chin and tilted her face up, forcing her to look at him. “Indeed, there isn’t another woman in the village, in this whole frozen wasteland, that I’d ever think of offering my bed, and I’ve slept with a duchess and refused a queen. Once I’m abbot of Firsebarg you’ll have your own house, servants, whatever you wish. A horse. And I don’t intend to stop my whole life at Firsebarg. I have plans.”
“If you have plans, then they must be treasonous.” She twisted out of his grasp. “King Henry and the skopos have never tolerated sorcery. Only the Lady Sabella welcomes heretics into her company.”
