Doubting Thomas (Tarnished Saints Series) (29 page)

The bells of St. Basil's brought Lord Corbett's attention back to the matter at hand. 

"Wait outside the gates for me," he instructed his squire. "I'll speak with the old mid-wife and we'll be on our way."

"Aye, m'lord." Delwynn backed his horse away, and Corbett ventured inside.

As the gates squeaked closed between them, the cry of his raven cut the moist morning air. The raven's cry was known to all but him as the call of death. He held out his left arm clad in black leather and continued to ride, not wanting to look upward. He'd never quite forgiven God for letting his father die just after being stripped of his title. Nor could he forgive God for the death of his mother at almost the same time. She’d died in childbirth, leaving her newborn twins with the nursemaid who'd stolen them and boarded a ship abroad. The ship sank, and with it the occupants. His siblings never had a chance

But as cruel as God was to him, he at least still had his sister and best friend, Wren. Or so he had thought. When Wren disappeared in the woods years ago, never again to be found, Corbett knew God was still punishing him. The only thing he could do was to right the wrongs of his father.

But he didn't belong anywhere near the place of God nor did he want to be. He felt uncomfortable and resentful inside the monastery's walls. He should have sent a messenger in his place.

But the dream told him he had to come there himself. It had been so vivid. The girl with the long mahogany hair and emerald green eyes had appeared to him again, begging him to find her. One too many times he'd seen her suffer. One too many times she'd reach out and call for his help before she slowly faded and he awoke in a sweat. Last night was different. Last night her surroundings weren't so foggy. This time he recognized Saint Basil's cathedral behind her, staring down at him as if to tell him she was hiding within.

He watched a shadow as it moved along the stone walls of the church and closer to his own heavy heart. The restless voices in his head were almost a comfort to the vow of silence that was strictly enforced inside these holy walls from dawn until dusk. He wondered how his uncle, Brother Ruford, could endure the life of a monk. Ruford was the last living male Blake besides Corbett. A waste as far as he could see. But the man wasn't cut out to be a warrior and Corbett knew inside the monastery's walls was the only place for such a gentle man. Now it was on Corbett's shoulders to carry on the Blake name.

The gliding shadow descended upon him. With a flap of wings, a large raven landed with practiced stealth and made its perch upon his arm. Several monks with scrolls in hand walked the cloistered pathways, scattering out of sight and blessing themselves at the sight of his scavenger bird.

The bells continued to chime as he made his way to the little shack that lay concealed inside the monastery behind walls of its own. She had to be hiding in there. It was the only place he hadn't gone since he ruled as Lord of Steepleton. And the old midwife had to be a part of it all somehow. He could just feel it was true.

Corbett turned his head slightly toward the bird on his arm. "Let's go get her, shall we?"

The bells of St. Basil's were ringing when morning mass was already finished and mid-day prayers didn't start for hours. Devon knew this could only mean one thing. Someone of importance had entered the monastery's walls.

She dropped her basket of herbs and gathered up her cotehardie, running to the old garden wall. Climbing the trellis effortlessly, she poked her head over the top and scanned the cloistered walkways of the monastery with eager eyes.

Clinging to the twisted vines, she tried to see past the columns of stone to the front gates, but couldn't. Inwardly, she cursed the way she'd had to live for the last eight and ten years. Safe inside the walls of the monastery, yet imprisoned from the rest of the world.

The clip clop of hooves on the cobblestone walkways sounding closer, Devon's heart skipped a beat as she thought of life outside those walls. She thought about the marvelous sight of Blake Castle in the distance, and wished she could live like the titled ladies and eat food fit for the king himself. Even the beggars who waited at the castle's gates for the discarded trenchers, old stale crusts of bread, had seen more of the world than she had and even seen what lay inside the castle's walls.

She saw his slight shadow on the ground in the late winter sun before he even rounded the corner. It looked to be a man atop a horse, a bird perched atop his outstretched arm. At first she guessed the visitor to be a falconer or perhaps a traveler, as the monastery provided shelter for those who asked.

The rider emerged and made his way to her own little hut of wattle and daub. Her heart raced as she saw the man’s bird was not a falcon at all, but a raven. This was the lord of Blake Castle, and he rode directly toward her hut as if it were his intent.

She’d heard descriptions of him from the old mid-wife Heartha, and some of the monks, but their words did no justice to his image. The wind blew strands of his long black hair up into the air, and around his chiseled face. His jaw was set and his lips firm and sensual. His back straight, he rode with his head held high. Just as she’d expected a lord to ride.

As he moved closer, she couldn’t help but notice his brilliant blue eyes shining in the sun. Though they had a faraway look about them, she couldn’t help but see mystery beckoning to her as well. His lashes, black as the night, matched the dark bushy brows dipping slightly as if he were concentrating, or perhaps thinking of his destination.

She stifled a gasp as he passed by, so close she could have reached out from the vines that hid her, and touched him. Her pulse raced at the excitement of being so close to him. The muscles of his arm rippled beneath his perched raven, and she could only wonder about the muscles hidden beneath his dark tunic. She couldn’t help but drink in his physique and the way he filled out his tight hose as she let her eyes run the length of his long, sturdy legs. A long black cloak trailed down his back and over his mount majestically, the hilt of a shining sword at his waist clearly visible beneath.

Her head filled with a fantasy, one of her many that kept her sane throughout her sheltered life. She imagined herself sitting atop the battlements - nay, in the tower of a castle - her knight in shining armor approaching to ask for her hand in marriage.

The raucous laughter of the raven brought her back to her senses. Though the lord of Blake Castle was handsome and wealthy, he was said to be heartless and cruel.  His bird turned its dark eyes toward her, its silken black feathers taking on a purplish glow. Then with a flap of its wings it left its master's arm and headed right for her.