Candle in the Window by Christina Dodd Page B

great William is blind.
’Tis so sad, tothink a man has his health
and his teeth and his legs and his wits and is missing one tiny
component.”
    Now he rose, slowly, like a gigantic tidal wave
gathering strength to crash over her indignation and douse it with
his resentment.
    “You’re a nun. You believe resignation
and industry will cure all ills, but nothing can bring my sight
back. Nothing can give me the view of good English foot soldiers
marching into a battle. Nothing can return the satisfaction of
laying siege to an enemy and dispossessing him of his castle.
Nothing can bring me the pleasure of a tempered sword in my hand
and a mêlée before me.” Rising from a reasonable
rumble, his voice gathered strength as he spoke and he snatched at
her, snagging her wrist. “I am a lord. I do the things you
praise me for, because ’tis the work I am required to do. But
I am also required to fight, to defend my villeins and their crops,
to defend my castles, to destroy thieves, and maintain justice. And
that’s my pleasure, my reward.” He shook her wrist.

“Do you understand, little nun?”
    Bula whined in the corner, unable to decide how to
react to such a scene between his master and his mistress.
    “Aye.”
    “You are a nun,
aren’t you?” he sneered. “That display of unholy
temper should have been beaten out of you at the convent. What
order of nuns are you?”
    “I…it doesn’t matter.”
    “Are you ashamed of them? At what age were
you dedicated to our Savior?”
    “Early.”
    “Was your father unable to supply the dowry
for a husband?”
    “Nay. I mean, aye.”
    He cocked his head. “You don’t sound
very positive aboutthis. You don’t know
what order you belong to, when you were dedicated, or if
you’re a nun by virtue or material needs. And uncertainty
drips from your voice.” He shook her again. “Are you
sure, are you sure you’re a bride of Christ?”
    “Aye.”
    “Swear.”
    “My lord!”
    “Swear by your mother’s immortal soul
you’re a nun.”
    Wrestling her arm away from him, she said, “I
am not a nun.”
    “Not?”
    She didn’t know what to make of the tone of
his voice.
    “Not?” he questioned again.
    She would warrant it was relief.
    “Swear.” He reached for her again, but
she slid away. “Swear by your mother’s immortal soul
you are not a nun.”
    “By God, William—”
    “Swear!” he insisted, and the odd note
of his voice swelled with panic.
    “I swear,” she said. “By all that
I hold holy.”
    “Not a nun. Well.” He collapsed back
into his chair and it rocked dangerously back on two legs and then
settled with a thump.
    Hugging her elbows, Saura waited for his reaction.
The guffaw started deep in his chest, growing and amplifying
through the rafters until it was a full belly laugh. Her concern
changed to indignation, then to animosity. “What’s so
funny?”
    “Are there any other little deceptions you
have perpetrated on me?” he wheezed.
    She put her hands on her waist, and blurted,
“Hundreds of them.”
    That sent him into fresh paroxysms of mirth.
“Get you to bed, Saura.”
    “Are you going to drink some more?” she
asked.
    “Nay, no more drinking for me. I just
remembered the other thing that makes me a man. Now, get you to bed
before ’tis too late.”
    Stiffly, she moved to the winding stairway and
stopped.
    “What’s wrong?” he asked.
    “The boys are sleeping in my bed,” she
mumbled. “I’m going to sleep on one of the
benches.”
    “Ah.” He considered. “Take my bed
in the solar. I’ll lie out here with the rest of the
servants. Where is everyone?”
    “I told them to sleep in the barn.”
    He laughed again. “Get you to bed.”
     
    In a dark corner of the gallery, the silent
eavesdropper watched as William picked up his cane and took the
stairs down to the bailey. He noted the strength William gained
from Saura, the affection and mutual respect between them, and in
his twisted mind Saura joined William as a