My Lady Faye by Sarah Hegger Page A

enough to make any father glad, and you have entered the priesthood.” His mother must be mad and, for certain, the only woman alive who would lock such a man away in a monastery.
    He shrugged.
    “What else do you do at the Abbey?” Faye had no clear idea of what monks did, but she had trouble picturing Gregory hunched over parchment. He had too much vigor.
    He gave a short laugh. “I chop a lot of wood.” He stared into the darkness. “Work in the fields, tend the animals and transcribe.”
    At Calder, hours not spent with her had been used in the practice yards. There was no faster or more accurate sword than Gregory’s and tales of his strength and stamina had provided chatter for many a winter evening. She had trouble picturing this more tame existence. Perhaps because she did not want to see him thus. “Tell your story.”
    His head turned toward her. “This is the tale of the wolf in sheep’s clothing.”
    It was a ridiculous beginning to a story. “How can a wolf wear wool?”
    “If you listen, I will tell you.” His deep voice held a trace of laughter. “And I promise, no dragons.”
    Happy to have him closer, she settled to listen.
    “There was a wolf and he could not get enough to eat because the shepherd was so watchful of his flocks.”
    “As he should be.”
    “Indeed.” He nodded. “One night, the wolf found a sheep skin that had been cast aside and forgotten. The wolf dressed himself in the skin and strolled, easy as you please, right into the center of the flock. It was not long before a little lamb followed him about. The wolf led the lamb away from the flock and made a good dinner.”
    “This is a cruel story.”
    “You talk more than Simon.”
    “I beg your pardon.”
    “The following evening, Wolf again donned his sheep’s clothing and mingled with the flock. It so happened, that on this night, the Shepherd had a taste for fine mutton stew. Looking through his sheep, he selected the very largest, picked up his knife and killed the wolf.”
    He fell silent.
    “Is that the end?” She needn’t have bothered getting comfortable.
    “Aye.” He shrugged. “It comes from a group of stories written by a slave. They are older even than Christ. All of them are short, for children to follow.”
    “And what is the meaning of this one? That you should not pretend to be that which you are not.”
    “That is one message, but more that those who do evil are trapped by their own deceit.”
    “It is a good message.”
    “There are many of them. I have only just begun my work with them.”
    Faye didn’t want to hear any more words of wisdom. She would be awake all night if those were all the stories he had to offer. “I think you should tell me one of your dragon tales. Make it a long one.”
    She got lost in the soothing, dark treacle of his voice, the words blurred into a comforting murmur, as she had done some nights at Calder Castle. It was enough to know he was there.
    * * * *
    Gregory woke just before sunrise. In the night, Faye had sought his warmth and lay curled against his side. Dear Lord, she was beautiful with her face relaxed in sleep. Her lashes made dark crescents against the rich creaminess of her skin. Her full mouth pursed as if silently begging to be kissed.
    People moved about the clearing.
    Gregory cursed and edged away from her. He could not be seen cuddling a young ‘boy’. He should have moved away in the night, but after she had fallen asleep, he’d watched her for a long while. Free to look his fill while she was unaware. He must have fallen asleep. As quietly as he could, he grabbed a bucket from the cart. He took it to the well behind the beast pens and drew water.
    Faye still slept.
    He moved his bucket to the side of the cart facing away from the inn and stripped his habit. Garbed only in his braies, the morning air chilled his skin. He plunged his hands into the water, icy cold, straight from the earth. His muscles snapped and surged with energy. Waking up