tight band constricted around her chest. “Where are your robes?” she demanded, half in a panic. She could not be expected to travel any distance with a man of such obviously forward appetites.
He raised a slender eyebrow but replied good-naturedly. “They are in my bags. I would no risk being recognized as we leave the village. The people here know me only through my connection with the abbey.”
The morose Adrian Hailsworth snorted. “And Brother Valentine certainly could not be seen associating with a young lady.”
Mary frowned through her blush at the implication of Adrian Hailsworth’s comment. This was not going at all the way she had planned, but she could not determine if the surprises were of the better or disastrous sort.
Before she could ask any further questions, a monk so pale as to be almost transparent brought Alesander’s horse to him, already laden with satchels. The Spaniard took the reins and swung easily onto the beast, and Father Victor put his blessing upon them while the albino monk disappeared without a word into the blackness of an archway.
The sky was lightening. Pale gray, the clouds overhead rippled like steam.
“Well, then,” Constantine Gerard said and then turned to Mary, giving her a shallow bow. “God’s speed, my lady.” He shook hands with Alesander. “Remember, you have our lives in your hands yet again.”
“I shall do my best,” Alesander vowed.
Adrian Hailsworth clasped hands with him next, quickly and stiffly. “Good-bye.” He inclined his head toward Mary once more but said nothing, and then limped off into the shadows alone.
Roman was the last to wish them farewell, and he held his friend’s wrist longer than the others. “Come back to us, Val,” Roman said. “I shall not be able to endure Brother Wyn without you.”
“It would be a long time to hold your breath,” Alesander replied with a smile. “Give the villagers my love should they miss me.”
“I’m certain they shall.” Roman laughed. He released his friend and stepped away, bowing to Mary. “My lady.”
Father Victor had already slipped away on his quiet monk’s feet; Constantine Gerard and Roman Berg moved back into the shadows. From the corner of her eye, Mary saw one-half of Melk’s wide gate open slowly—that was where the abbot had gone, she realized as she saw his long, bell-like shadow.
She turned to Alesander and discovered that he was regarding her with a charming grin. She wondered if he had any other expression.
“Shall we, my lady?”
“I’m afraid I’m not at all sure,” Mary blurted out.
Valentine Alesander threw back his head and laughed, the merry sound filling the abbey’s bailey. Then his eyes seemed to sparkle even more brightly as he met her gaze and kicked at his horse’s sides.
“Vamanos!”
Valentine took a deep breath of the cool, humid air wafting up from the Danube as if he had never smelled it before. Indeed, it was different air—air he would not breathe again for months, perhaps. He leaned back in the saddle as his horse started down the narrow path toward the growing dawn and the crossroads of the village, Mary Beckham following along behind him.
“We don’t dare go into the village,” she called out.
“Of course no,” he assured her, unable to keep the smile from his mouth. The day was just so . . . fine.
He urged his horse to the left of the path, cutting through a sloped field of tall grass that abutted the abbey’s steeper motte, and headed north toward a small tributary of the river.
“How long will it take us to reach Vienna?” she called out again.
“Three days. Perhaps four,” he answered.
“Four days?” she repeated. “To the east?”
“Mmm,” Valentine confirmed. Could she not simply relax and enjoy this time?
Apparently not, for he heard the clip-clop of her horse’s hooves as she urged the animal alongside his.
“That’s too long,” she said. “Too long, in the wrong direction. If it takes us four
He raised a slender eyebrow but replied good-naturedly. “They are in my bags. I would no risk being recognized as we leave the village. The people here know me only through my connection with the abbey.”
The morose Adrian Hailsworth snorted. “And Brother Valentine certainly could not be seen associating with a young lady.”
Mary frowned through her blush at the implication of Adrian Hailsworth’s comment. This was not going at all the way she had planned, but she could not determine if the surprises were of the better or disastrous sort.
Before she could ask any further questions, a monk so pale as to be almost transparent brought Alesander’s horse to him, already laden with satchels. The Spaniard took the reins and swung easily onto the beast, and Father Victor put his blessing upon them while the albino monk disappeared without a word into the blackness of an archway.
The sky was lightening. Pale gray, the clouds overhead rippled like steam.
“Well, then,” Constantine Gerard said and then turned to Mary, giving her a shallow bow. “God’s speed, my lady.” He shook hands with Alesander. “Remember, you have our lives in your hands yet again.”
“I shall do my best,” Alesander vowed.
Adrian Hailsworth clasped hands with him next, quickly and stiffly. “Good-bye.” He inclined his head toward Mary once more but said nothing, and then limped off into the shadows alone.
Roman was the last to wish them farewell, and he held his friend’s wrist longer than the others. “Come back to us, Val,” Roman said. “I shall not be able to endure Brother Wyn without you.”
“It would be a long time to hold your breath,” Alesander replied with a smile. “Give the villagers my love should they miss me.”
“I’m certain they shall.” Roman laughed. He released his friend and stepped away, bowing to Mary. “My lady.”
Father Victor had already slipped away on his quiet monk’s feet; Constantine Gerard and Roman Berg moved back into the shadows. From the corner of her eye, Mary saw one-half of Melk’s wide gate open slowly—that was where the abbot had gone, she realized as she saw his long, bell-like shadow.
She turned to Alesander and discovered that he was regarding her with a charming grin. She wondered if he had any other expression.
“Shall we, my lady?”
“I’m afraid I’m not at all sure,” Mary blurted out.
Valentine Alesander threw back his head and laughed, the merry sound filling the abbey’s bailey. Then his eyes seemed to sparkle even more brightly as he met her gaze and kicked at his horse’s sides.
“Vamanos!”
Valentine took a deep breath of the cool, humid air wafting up from the Danube as if he had never smelled it before. Indeed, it was different air—air he would not breathe again for months, perhaps. He leaned back in the saddle as his horse started down the narrow path toward the growing dawn and the crossroads of the village, Mary Beckham following along behind him.
“We don’t dare go into the village,” she called out.
“Of course no,” he assured her, unable to keep the smile from his mouth. The day was just so . . . fine.
He urged his horse to the left of the path, cutting through a sloped field of tall grass that abutted the abbey’s steeper motte, and headed north toward a small tributary of the river.
“How long will it take us to reach Vienna?” she called out again.
“Three days. Perhaps four,” he answered.
“Four days?” she repeated. “To the east?”
“Mmm,” Valentine confirmed. Could she not simply relax and enjoy this time?
Apparently not, for he heard the clip-clop of her horse’s hooves as she urged the animal alongside his.
“That’s too long,” she said. “Too long, in the wrong direction. If it takes us four
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