LITMIR.BIZ

Скачать книгу

      “Mules are the only mounts you’ll find here at the abbey.”

      “Until I can mount a mule, then.” Ranulf grinned. “I haven’t been on one since I was a page, but I won’t disdain the beast if it will take me to where I can outfit myself anew.”

      “They are steady creatures, I’m told, though I haven’t been on one myself. I keep meaning to give it a try.”

      Ranulf bit back a laugh at the picture of the rotund little monk on top of a mule. “Perhaps we’ll go seek the maid together—when I’m well enough.”

      “Perhaps,” Francis said with a nervous smile. “Now, sleep. The sooner you regain your strength, the sooner you can be back on your journey.”

      Ranulf nodded and settled back on his cot. The monk seemed anxious to be rid of him, and even more anxious to avoid his questions about the beautiful woman who had come at least twice to his bedside. There was something odd about the monk’s story of a village maid, and it had been night when she had visited him. He was sure of it. He didn’t understand why they were being so evasive, but he was determined to find out. He was anxious to begin his inquiries about Dragon, but his brother had been missing for three years—the quest could wait another day or two while he solved the riddle of his mysterious angel healer.

      It was good to feel the sunshine on his face, Ranulf thought, especially considering how close he’d come to never feeling anything ever again.

      “So where is this magnificent mule you’ve promised me, Brother?” he asked Francis as they walked across the courtyard toward the barn.

      The monk smiled. “Are you sure you’re ready to try riding? Your wound is still fresh.”

      “Aye, but my brain is like to rot from the inside out if I don’t get away from that cell for a while. I’ll just give it a try, and see how it feels again to be up on a mount—any mount,” he added with a rueful twist of his mouth. He’d brought Thunder, his big gray stallion, all the way across the Channel only to have him taken by his assailants. The loss hurt more than his head wound.

      “At least our mules will give you no trouble. They’re old and lazy. They had other names once, but for years now they’ve been called Tortoise and Snail.”

      Ranulf joined in the round monk’s hearty laugh as they reached the open barn doors and went inside. The mules faced each other in stalls on opposite sides just inside the entryway.

      “Which is which?” he asked.

      Francis started to answer, then stopped as a scurrying sound caused both men to turn their heads toward the back door of the barn. Ranulf’s eyes had not adjusted to the dim interior, but as he looked toward the patch of daylight coming through the small rear entry, he saw a slim shape dash around the edge of the door and disappear.

      Francis cleared his throat loudly. “This is Tortoise,” he said, taking Ranulf’s shoulder and turning him toward the right-hand stall.

      Ranulf twisted his head to look back toward the far door. He was almost sure that the figure he’d seen slipping through it had been a woman.

      “Has my nurse come to visit from her town?” he asked Francis.

      The monk shook his head. “Nay. She’ll not return now that you’re well.”

      “I thought I saw—” He nodded toward the rear of the barn.

      “The stable boy? He comes to muck the stables every few days.”

      Ranulf frowned. “I thought you said the monks did all their own work here.”

      “Aye, except for—except for this, er, stable boy. He lives on a farm nearby, from a poor family, he needed the work….”

      In Ranulf’s experience, men who had taken holy vows were invariably honest, but once again he had the feeling that the congenial Francis was trying to deceive him. He’d caught only a glimpse of the figure in the barn, but he was now almost certain that it had been the young woman he was seeking.

      He listened absentmindedly as Francis introduced him to the two mules, who, while not Thunder, were not the sorry creatures he’d feared. Either one would do to get him as far as a town where he could purchase a new mount and weapons.

      He reeled with a wave of dizziness as he swung up onto the back of the one they called Snail, but soon recovered his balance. A short walk around the barn was all he needed to see that he was perfectly capable of riding once again, though he did tire quickly.

      He’d give himself a day or two more to recover, he decided, handing the animal back over to Francis. In the meantime, he’d try to discover why the monk was lying to him about his beautiful midnight nurse.

      Bridget raced around the back of the abbey buildings and darted inside the kitchen, breathing heavily. It had been a narrow escape. She’d promised to stay safely hidden while the stranger was still at St. Gabriel, but she’d come seconds away from running smack into him.

      “How was I to know Francis would bring him wandering around the barn?” she asked aloud to the abbey cat who lay curled beside the fire. The tawny animal gave a delicate yawn and went back to its nap.

      At first, Bridget had thought the man was another of the monks. He still wore the habit she’d dressed him in that first night. But it had taken only moments for her to realize her mistake. Even in the rough habit, you could see the visiting knight’s broad shoulders and powerful arms. And the robe ended well above his ankles, since he was taller than every brother in the abbey, with the possible exception of Ebert.

      Bridget lifted the stone jug from the table and poured herself a cup of ale. She was hot and irritated. She knew that the monks were right to keep her from the visitor, but she hated having to run away like a frightened rabbit.

      “What would be the harm in a few minutes of conversation with the man?” she asked the cat, who raised its head again with an expression of annoyance. “He’ll ride away soon and forget he ever saw me here. Would it be the end of the world or the end of St. Gabriel to have one person from the outside learn of my presence here?”

      The cat’s only answer was the continued stare of its big black eyes. It appeared to be waiting to see if there would be further interruptions of its mid-morning slumber. When Bridget remained silent, the big furry animal stretched out its front paws and lay back down to sleep.

      The monks of St. Gabriel had a schedule of duty—kitchen, garden, repair, animals—that they rotated to give everyone a fair turn. Bridget had devised the system. Until she had taken charge, work had been performed haphazardly. She participated in much of the work herself, but caring for the animals was not among her assigned tasks. She did, however, make it a practice to check the barn daily to be sure that everything had been done properly.

      Any lapses would not be due to laziness or lack of will. But more than once a monk who was engrossed in testing a new method for making gates open by themselves would forget that he had left a cow unmilked or the pigs with no feed.

      The sudden arrival of Francis and Ranulf had prevented her from making her normal morning rounds. Missing a day would make little difference, but when she finished cleaning up after the evening meal, she decided to give the barn a quick walk-through before she retired to her little house.

      The long spring twilight was fading as she opened the heavy barn doors. Patches of pink sky showed through two openings in the roof of the big building, but the interior was dimmer than during her usual visiting hours. She should have brought a lantern, she thought. A gust of wind through the doors at her back made her shiver.

      The barn was quieter than in the daytime. Some of the animals had already nestled down for sleep. The two mules tossed their heads as she passed, but quickly lost interest when they saw that her hands were empty of the carrots she occasionally brought them.

      She moved along the center aisle, her eyes skimming over the three cows, the coop full of chickens. Everything seemed in order, and the sky above her was growing

Скачать книгу