Betrayal in the Tudor Court (33 page)

“Oh, James!” Mirabella cried, rising and disengaging from him, grateful for the distraction. “He’s here! He’s really here!”

Ignoring the hurt lighting James’s eyes, she hurried past him, following Harry to the courtyard.

This talk of marriage could wait.

Mirabella found her father and the children congregated in the courtyard. All were dressed for the celebration, Hal in a fine orange velvet doublet and hose. The children were attired in their best as well and little Kristina wore a russet gown to offset the waves of blond hair worn in plaits across her shoulders. The excitement was contagious, and though the little girl didn’t know who they were expecting, she was caught up in it regardless. Hal rested his hands on her shoulders to contain her from bouncing about in restless anticipation.

James caught up to them as well, but Mirabella shifted her gaze from him to Father Alec, who had dismounted and was making long strides toward them, a smile broad across his face.

The children surrounded him first, Harry offering a bow and Kristina tugging at his sleeve. “I am Kristina! You have not met me yet, but I am far smarter than my brother and I know more, too!”

“Well, I am sure I will learn much from you,” Father Alec said in indulgent tones as he took the child’s hand.

“She’s a liar, anyway,” Harry told him. “I am the oldest, the strongest, and the smartest!”

Father Alec laughed. “Well, then perhaps you have no need of a tutor? Shall I return to London directly?”

“No!” both children cried at once. “We still need a tutor,” Kristina added. “Harry has to learn how to be a gentleman, besides. It should take him a proper lifetime.”

“Ah, then there’s no danger of me going out of work,” Father Alec commented with a smile as he approached the rest of the family.

He offered his hand to Hal, only to be taken into his arms in a great bear hug. “My dear friend!” Hal said. “I feared we would not see you again.” He pulled away. “So much has happened.” His eyes misted over. “But there’s time for that kind of talk later. Now there’s but to celebrate your homecoming and reacquaint you with Sumerton.”

“My deepest sympathies for your loss, my lord,” Father Alec said in soft tones. “And I thank you for allowing me to return.”

Hal pursed his lips, as though warding off tears as he waved him off. “Of course, man, you’d be daft to think we’d refuse you!”

After introducing James, who remained quiet throughout, Mirabella lowered into a curtsy. “Father.” Her voice was tremulous with reverence.

Father Alec smiled, taking her hands. “I am glad to see you, Mistress Mirabella. It seems Sumerton has had a healing effect on you after all.”

Mirabella felt her cheeks burn. “Yes, in some ways,” she told him. His hands enveloped hers, warm and steady. She did not want to let go.

At once Father Alec’s eyes fixed on a point beyond her. His mouth parted. He stood stock still, as though frozen by a force greater than he. His hands went limp in hers. Mirabella turned. Cecily stood on the stone steps in the entrance of the castle mid-stride, caught in similar estate. She was dressed in a pale yellow gown that accentuated her delicacy, and her hair was in a loose twist, wound about a simple gold circlet. Rose-gold tendrils framed her face. She regarded Father Alec with the same wide-eyed expression with which he beheld her. Both seemed suspended in time.

Mirabella bit her lip. She understood well this exchange. This helpless exchange that conveyed far more than words ever could. Mirabella snatched her hands away from Father Alec. The movement seemed to jar him to his senses once more and he offered a small laugh.

“Lady Cecily,” he said. “You look well.”

Cecily’s smile was forced. “I have done very well these past years. My lord and I have a wonderful family.” With this she found Kristina and seized her hand as though desperate to illustrate this.

“I look forward to being a part of it.” His tone was soft.

“We will make a merry time of it,” Hal said as he slapped Father Alec on the back. “It will be as though you never left us.”

As they made their way into the courtyard, Mirabella kept shifting her gaze from Father Alec to Cecily. Maybe she was being uncharitable. It had been years since the two saw each other and it was normal to register a certain surprise in seeing each other again.

And yet Mirabella’s gut lurched with a strange foreboding.

She almost wished he had not returned.

Almost.

Father Alec wanted to deny what he felt upon seeing Cecily again, how his heart raced, how his face burned, and how enslaved he became under those strange teal eyes. As the evening commenced the two skilfully avoided each other. Father Alec made a show of acquainting himself with the children, giving them his undivided attention. He tried not to allow his gaze to wander toward the girl who had grown into such a beautiful and poised woman. He cursed himself. Could it be that this was what possessed Archbishop Cranmer to go against doctrine and marry? He longed for his friend now; no doubt he would offer sound advice without Father Alec ever having to ask.

It would pass, he decided. It must. Cecily was married to Hal and he was a priest. No stronger argument existed against further development of these foreign feelings than these two constraints. Yet was this a foreign feeling? Years ago when Father Alec objected to Hal marrying the girl, was it indeed because he found her too young or had there been something more? He did not want to explore it. He would surround himself with the children, he would do what he came to do and count down the days till his release.

Never had he thought he would liken Sumerton to a prison.

Cecily had no right to the stirrings in her heart. She was married; she was in love. Hal had been everything to her these years past. He had given her children, he had given her a life beyond what she dreamed possible. But the love she bore Hal and the strange sensation Father Alec evoked were two different things. It must be lust, she decided, her gut churning in guilt. The years had been kind to him, after all, the only testament to his age being the subtle streaks of silver through his chestnut hair and the lines that crinkled around his soft hazel eyes when he smiled. He was still in fine form; he emanated strength and confidence, and though Hal was a handsome man, there was just something about Father Alec. … Yet she could not say it was all looks with Father Alec. She had always cherished his manner. He was kind, straightforward, and gentle in his counsel. She admired him. Perhaps it was simply that. She had placed him on a sort of pedestal since childhood, and seeing him again renewed those feelings of awe. It was all foolishness regardless.

As Father Alec settled into life at Sumerton, Cecily invented every reason to evade him. The children adored him and he kept company with them even when he wasn’t tutoring. He took them riding and exploring and stargazing, occupying them with the same pastimes he had entertained her, Mirabella and Brey with as children. She was grateful for the easy rapport they established.

The counsel she had longed for she did not seek. His presence alone distracted her from her own tragedy, and though she would never be at peace with it, she could at least keep it in perspective. She never ceased praying for the soul of her little one, but beyond that, there was nothing else to be done.

If Cecily was avoiding the priest, so he was avoiding her, and she was grateful for that as well. And if Hal noted a difference in their exchanges, or lack thereof, he had the grace to leave it be.

Only Mirabella seemed to sense that something was amiss. She conveyed it in a pointed gaze that caused Cecily to avert her eyes and bow her head. She cursed the guilt Mirabella evoked. She had done nothing wrong and she wouldn’t.

Mirabella’s eyes told her otherwise. It was as though she was condemning and challenging her at once.

Whereas Cecily kept her distance, Mirabella sought out the company of Father Alec, and together they spent many a long hour discussing the True Faith, reforms, and the philosophy of the fledgling Church of England. No one stimulated her mind like Father Alec and she cherished their conversations. He was a good companion, a good friend, and she didn’t mind that they disagreed on almost everything. The banter was good natured, and both left each debate with as much respect as they had when beginning it.

“And if your Cranmer gets his way, priests will no longer have to be celibate, will they?” Mirabella asked as the two took to riding through the forest one crisp spring day.

Father Alec slowed his horse. “This speculating on possible reforms is considered heretical, Mistress Mirabella. You must not fault me for being cautious when discussing them.”

“Do you not trust me, Father?” Mirabella asked, her tone betraying her hurt.

“You are a former novitiate nun,” Father Alec told her. “You were, as I remember, a supporter of the Pilgrimage of Grace and a practitioner of what you call the ‘True Faith’. ” He turned, raising a brow and smiling. “So, my friend, what do you think?”

Mirabella bowed her head. “I suppose not,” she admitted. “But I’d like you to know that we are friends before we are avowed to any creed. You can trust me, Father.” She met his eyes, her heart pounding. “I promise I would never betray you.”

Father Alec reached out, covering her hand with his. Mirabella trembled at his touch. “I appreciate your friendship, mistress. But I would never want to compromise you by sharing views that would burden your heart and leave you torn.”

“My beliefs are my own,” she said. “What I see now is that not everyone will ever agree on a matter as complex as religious doctrine. But maybe there is some way we could coexist and compromise?”

“Then you have grown,” Father Alec observed. “To bend but not to break is a great strength, and if this is truly so, then I respect you all the more.”

“Then?” she prodded, hating the fact that she was baiting him, that she was lying. She knew in her heart it was either the True Faith or the New Learning. There was no compromise, no coexisting. The battle would be long; many casualties would be sacrificed on both sides before it was won.

“Then what?” Father Alec chuckled, withdrawing his hand to urge the horse in a pleasant canter.

“Then what of the celibacy of priests?” Mirabella asked.

“They won’t be encouraged to rove the countryside for ladies of the night, if that is what you’re implying,” he said in light tones. “But the sacrament of marriage would be made open to them, yes.”

“And you, Father?” Mirabella persisted. She chastised herself for her forwardness yet couldn’t contain herself. All self-discipline seemed to be lost with her veil. “Would you marry, had you the choice?”

Father Alec sighed. “It is not good for man to be alone,” he said at length. “And if the flesh burns, it must be contained in the marriage bed.” He paused. “Would I marry? A wise man once told me that permitting priests to marry would allow them a better understanding of the struggles of their fellow man. I cannot say I disagree.” He turned to her, his tone thoughtful. “I suppose it wouldn’t be abhorrent to have a helpmate, to know that someone will come after me when I pass on.” His tone became light. “However, it is all rather moot now, isn’t it? Until then, if then ever comes, I am constrained to my vow of chastity. So chaste I shall remain.”

Mirabella ignored the last statements, latching on to what she considered most valid. He would marry. Her heart quickened. He would marry. …

When Father Alec and Mirabella returned to Castle Sumerton, James Reaves was there to collect the horses.

“Mistress Mirabella, may we have speech?” he asked as he took her hand, helping her dismount.

When she was satisfied Father Alec was out of earshot, she faced him. He kept a firm hold on her hand.

“You have never given me an answer,” he noted. “For months now I have been waiting, hoping you would recall that I asked you to marry me. And yet, still I wait, as though my proposal meant nothing to you.”

Mirabella bowed her head, her face flushing. How could she give him an answer when everything had changed today, when Father Alec admitted there was a chance
he
would marry? How could she give herself to anyone else? Yet Father Alec never said he would marry
her
. And who could anticipate when or if that reform would ever be pushed through? But if it did go through … It made sense that Father Alec would marry her; they challenged each other, they enjoyed each other’s company, she loved him. The last thought startled her, but she could no longer deny it. She loved him. She would have him, no one else.

“I’m sorry, James,” she said in short tones. “I cannot marry you.” She withdrew her hands, turning away from him.

“Then all these years, all the time we have spent together—”

Mirabella whirled toward him. “Have I ever behaved as anything less than a lady? Have I ever indicated any feelings toward you other than friendship? For love of God, James, if you feel you’ve wasted time on me, then perhaps you have!”

“For love of God,” James repeated in quiet tones. “Yes, I rather thought it was the love of God that drew us together. I see now that I am wrong. The love of God does drive you, that is certain, but not toward me.” He shook his head, pity lighting his eyes. “It’s the priest you want, isn’t it?”

It was instinct. She brought her hand across his cheek in a stinging slap that echoed in the stables. From its stall a horse whinnied its disapproval.

James shook his head, unaffected. “You’ll not get what you want from that man. He’s an honourable one, if he’s anything at all. And you’d have to be a blind fool to see that if he were free to love ’t-wouldn’t be you.” He drew in a quavering breath. “It would be the Lady Cecily.”

Hot tears stung Mirabella’s eyes. She shook her head. “You’re wrong, James. Cecily is devoted to my father—”

“That is not in question, is it?” James returned coolly. “I only said who he would choose if both were free to. But they aren’t, are they? Yet you’ll throw your life away on a chance, a slight chance, when before you stands a man ready to give you a life filled with love, children, a home, whatever is in my power to give. But that’s too easy, isn’t it? That’s too safe. You like the risk, the danger. That’s why you stayed on at Sumerton Abbey, that’s why you went to London, and that’s why you throw yourself shamelessly before a man you can’t have. My apologies for being simple. My apologies for not being forbidden.”