When the Heavens Fall (14 page)

Lupa walked around him and leaned over to pull his sleeves down. “I can't believe I set this up. It took all our money. I must be losing my mind to trust a man.”

“It's usually not a good idea for a beautiful woman to put her trust in a man.”

Lupa studied Brandon in his new clothes. “You really mean that?”

“Do I mean what?”

“You think I'm beautiful?”

“Never was a question about it, Lupa.”

Fabin laughed. “You lose my money, and I'll mess up your own pretty face, Winslow. Then you won't be so pretty anymore.”

“I won't lose.”

Both Lupa and Fabin were impressed by the calm confidence that Brandon Winslow exhibited. His confidence was like an iron bar, both of them saw. He laughed at their expressions. “I won't lose,” he repeated

Lupa said, “All right. We'll be waiting for you.”

He left, and the two of them watched him go with uncertainty

“He can win,” Rez muttered, “but if he wins, he could leave us here.”

“You think he'd do that?”

“I don't know. He's not like anyone I ever met, but I don't know many lords.” He stared at her, then turned his head to one side. “He doesn't try to bed you. Why is that? Every man I ever saw wanted you.”

The same thought had troubled Lupa, despite Brandon's explanation. “Maybe I'm losing my looks.”

“No. It's not that.”

Lupa shrugged. “Anyway, I swore I'd never trust any man other than you, and here I've done it.” The two stared at each other. Each was troubled

Fabin shrugged, “Well, he's got us, Lupa.”

Lupa did not answer. She paced back and forth, reflecting that it would be hours before Brandon Winslow returned—if he ever did

Fabin had drunk too much wine and was depressed. “He's not coming back. Not this late,” he mumbled

“He'll be back.”

“What makes you think so?”

“I just know,” she repeated. But deep down Lupa was disgusted
with herself, fearing the worst. She had subjected herself to another man, something she swore she'd never do again

Lupa resumed her pacing and Fabin his drinking. Finally they heard steps, then the door opened, and Brandon entered. Seeing the expression on their faces he laughed. “You thought I'd forsaken you?”

“Yes,” Fabin mumbled numbly, obviously shocked by Brandon's return

“You came back,” Lupa said, and found gladness that a man in her life had kept his word

“Well, you gave up on me. I'm disappointed. I told you, Lupa, I won't hurt you. I pay my debts.” He pulled out a heavy leather bag and dropped it on the table. Fabin pounced on it and poured out coins and goods on the table

Lupa picked up one of the rings and looked at it, then at Brandon. “You won all this and you came back?”

Fabin began counting the loot. His eyes were gleaming, and the gold earrings in his ears glittered as he swung his head from side to side. “We'll go to London where the big games are. That's what. We'll get rich!”

Lupa saw that Brandon was amused. “Tell me about how you won it.”

“I'd rather learn Spanish.”

“Then tell me in Spanish.”

He began speaking, and Lupa leaned forward, her eyes fixed on Brandon's face. A faint hope that she had thought long dead stirred in her, and her lips parted as she listened to him tell in halting Spanish how he had succeeded

Heather had seen the rider coming down the road and watched as he stopped in front of Stoneybrook, evidently asking directions. He nodded and then came riding up to the front door of the castle. She saw Stuart come out to meet him. The rider gave Stuart a paper. Stuart gave the rider a coin. The rider turned and rode away

Heather watched as Stuart opened the sealed paper. She could see his face clearly.
Something's troubling him.
The thought saddened her

She waited. She heard his steps, and then the bedroom door opened, and he came in with a sheet of paper in his hand

“Well, I have news, Heather.”

“Good news?”

“I am uncertain.” Stuart had a rather puzzled expression on his face. “It's an invitation for me to come to the royal palace.”

“For what purpose?”

“An audience with Queen Mary next Monday.”

Heather blinked in surprise. “Why would she send for you, I wonder?”

“I have no idea.” Stuart looked up at her, and his expression softened to one of concern. He came over and put his arm around her. “You look tired.”

“I'm alright.”

She knew Stuart was trying to think of some way to comfort her, but they were both sick with fear and disappointment over Brandon's disappearance. He hugged her tightly and said, “Perhaps she simply needs some advice.”

Heather reveled in his embrace. She loved to feel the lean strength of his body. He was fifty-two now, but he had the body of a man much younger. “It's been a troubling time since King Edward died, hasn't it?”

“Yes, it has. People don't know what to expect from a woman as ruler.”

She looked up into his eyes, clear as they had been the first day she had seen him. “You told me once that she's a strong Catholic.”

“Oh, yes. She got that from her mother, Queen Catherine.” Stuart bit his lower lip and added, “She wants me to bring Quentin with me. Now
that
I don't understand. He's never met her that I know of, and I'm sure I would have known it if he had.”

“What could she possibly want with Quentin?”

“Not sure, but he'll have to go, of course.”

Heather frowned. “Would it have anything to do with the fact that he's become quite a popular preacher?”

“I don't believe his Protestant faith—or his popularity—will endanger him,” Stuart said slowly. “But it is puzzling.”

“Will you be gone long?”

“Oh, I don't think so. Probably only for a day or two.” She rested against him and he sighed, “Heather, try not to grieve over Brandon. We must try to remain hopeful.”

“I'm sure you grieve as much as I do, Stuart.”

“I'm not sure about that. A mother's love is somehow stronger than a father's.”

Heather put her hand on Stuart's cheek. “I love you,” she said, “and we've agreed in prayer that God is going to bring our son back to us, and I believe that he will.”

Stuart had been sitting in Christ Church for some time. He and Heather attended as often as possible for they both loved to hear Quentin preach, but today he was troubled by the queen's command to bring Quentin to the palace. And that is what it was, a command. Mary had always said she wanted England to return to the Catholic Church, but over and over she had expressed her desire to do so by invitation and encouragement rather than violence. But then why demand Quentin accompany him? There were rumors . . 

The service began. As always, Stuart drew himself into an attitude of prayer and worship. The splendid music was his brother's doing. Quentin himself was a fine musician, an accomplished singer, and able to play several instruments. The voices seemed to rise to the top of the church and fill the building, and the congregation felt their power

Finally the worship was over, and a cleric stood up and read from Scripture. Quentin glanced around the building, an old church going back to Roman times. He noted also that the church was full and that many of the worshippers were poor men and women worn by toil but with faces alight as they took in the singing and now the reading of the Scripture

Quentin entered the pulpit and greeted the congregation. Stuart had always loved the simplicity of his brother's preaching. Many preachers read from a manuscript, but Quentin seemed to have the Bible memorized and gazed out over the congregation with eyes alight. He had one of William Tyndale's bibles in his study, Stuart knew. Stuart's heart warmed as he thought of the part that he himself had played in smuggling bibles from Europe to England at the behest of the great translator. He remembered Tyndale's death with a pang, and knew that the man would ever be a part of his life

Quentin began to speak and Stuart leaned forward to catch
every nuance of his brother's voice. “Christ views the sinner not as he is in himself but as he is in the purpose of redemption.” Everyone's attention was riveted on Quentin, captured by his abrupt beginning. “His whole head is sick, sayeth Christ, but I can cure him. His whole heart is faint, but I can restore him, and I will do it. His feet have gone astray, his mouth as an open sepulchre, his eyes are windows of lust, his hands are stained with blood; but I will amend all that and make him a new creature meant to be a partaker of the inheritance of the saints in like.”

Total silence, almost palpable, lay on the congregation as Quentin continued, “Jesus looks, you see, not so much to what the sinner is in himself, but to what he can make of him. He sees in every sinner the possibility of making a glorified saint who shall dwell with him forever and ever. He chose you, poor sinner, before all worlds were made and bought you with his blood. He sees you not as you are now but as you shall be when he has perfected you.”

The words flowed from Quentin. Stuart again marveled at the breadth of his brother's knowledge of scripture. And even more he marveled at how simple the sermon was. Quentin's sermons always centered on Christ. Jesus was in almost every sentence, and Quentin's eyes glowed and his whole face lit up as he spoke of the glory of Jesus

“Sinner,” Quentin continued, “thou art so ashamed of thy sin that thou darest not approach a minister, but you can approach Christ. There is no pride in him and no cautious reserve such as we might rightly expect in dealing with him. Though you could not tell your own father about yourself, you can tell it all to Jesus. You could not tell the story of your sin to the wife of your bosom, but you can tell it to Jesus. There's no music that he loves so much as the voice of a sinner confessing his sin. There are no pearls that he prizes so highly as those pearly tears that repentance forms in the eye of the soul that trembles at his
word. Do not imagine that he is hard to please, for he loves sinners. Don't think it's difficult to obtain access to him. Like the father in the parable, he can see a sinner when he's a great way off, and he will run to meet you and give you a hearty reception and a loving welcome.”

Stuart marveled at the passion, the genuine emotion that posessed Quentin as he spoke. Many preachers spoke dryly with no sign of emotion, but not Quentin Winslow! There were actually tears in his eyes as he spoke of what Christ can do with a heart of a sinner who had come to him

As the sermon came to an end, Quentin's voice quivered slightly. “‘Oh, but he would never receive such a sinner as I am!' You might say that, but how do you know? Have you ever tried him? There is not even in hell itself a sinner who will ever dare to say that when he came to Jesus, Jesus refused to receive him. There is not a lost soul in the pit who could look up to God and truthfully say to him, ‘Great God I asked for mercy through the precious blood of Jesus,' but you said, ‘I will not give it to you.' No! That can never be. Neither on earth nor in hell shall there ever be one soul that trusted in Christ and then perished. I beg you, no matter what your sin is, no matter what your life has been, the Lord Jesus Christ is able to make you a new creature. May the Lord bless you and enable you to find your way to his cross and be washed forever in his blood.”