The Knave and the Maiden. Blythe Gifford

she moved on, The Savior knelt beside the Earl, clasping the dying man’s shoulder in a gesture that might have been called tender. Sir Garren will hurry, she thought, relieved. We’ll be there in time for The Blessed Larina to save him.

      With Sister, Dominica circled back to the altar rail, kneeling for a final blessing from the Prioress. She wanted words that would keep her company until she was safe at home again. But instead of a kiss of peace, the Prioress hissed at her, too softly for anyone else to hear. “Remember, any hint of trouble and you will have no home with us.” Then, she turned her back, murmuring to Sister Marian in Latin.

      Dominica gripped her staff. A knot in the wood scraped her palm. No home at the Priory meant she had no home at all.

      Her own blessing complete, Sister Marian leaned on her staff and straightened her reluctant knees. She was not more than two score years, but copying had made her body old and chanting had kept her voice young.

      Dominica, still shaking from Mother Julian’s words, offered her arm. Together, she and Sister shared slow steps toward the chapel door. Cool tears blurred her fellow pilgrims into a lumpy, gray cloud in the middle of the sunny courtyard. Surely God would not let the Prioress stand in the way of His plan for her life.

      As they paused in the doorway, she swiped the one tear that escaped.

      “What is the matter, child?” Sister patted Dominica’s arm with stiff fingers. “Why do you cry? Have you changed your mind? Do you want to stay here?”

      More than anything, she thought, forcing a smile. No reason to disturb Sister Marian with words not meant for her. She shook her head and wiped the back of her hand against the scratchy wool. “Of course I want to stay here. That’s why I am going away, so I need never leave again.”

      “Outside the Priory, the world is large. Many things can happen.”

      “And I plan to write about them so I can remember when I return.” She patted the sack where her precious parchment and quill lay.

      “You say that now.” Weary sadness shadowed Sister’s eyes. “Perhaps you will not want to come back.”

      “Of course I will.” Even the thought of being abandoned to the world made her long for the comfort of the Priory. “I know every brick in the chapel, every branch on the tree in the garden. It is where I belong.”

      Sister Marian blinked as they stepped into the sunshine. She reached up, squaring the scleverin on Dominica’s shoulders. Sister Barbara had stitched the rough gray wool cloak in loving haste, since Dominica’s fingers were better at copying than stitching and Sister Marian said the cloak she wore on pilgrimage five years ago was still perfectly fine and she did not need another.

      “Have you ever missed having a mother, Neeca?”

      She smiled to hear Sister use her baby name. “Dominica” had been too big for a little girl’s tongue. “I’ve had lots of mothers. You, Sister Barbara, Sister Catherine, Sister Margaret.” She laid her hand atop Sister’s, covering it easily.

      Sister shook her head and flashed her dimple. “And none of us has been able to make you stop biting your nails.” The smile faded. “Have you missed having a father?”

      “How can I miss something I have never had? Besides, I have our Heavenly Father. And I have promised my hands to Him to spread His holy word.” She raised her face to the sky, eyes closed, letting the sun’s warmth fade the Prioress’s words. “I know what God intends for me. Faith allows no doubts.”

      Sister shook her head. “I could not teach you everything. Even the most faithful doubt. Faith is moving ahead in spite of doubt.”

      Faith can be dangerous, The Savior had said. She looked back into the chapel where he still knelt, clutching the Earl’s hand. His broad shoulders cast a protective shadow over the pale, fading body.

      Fides facit fidem, she answered, silently. “Faith makes faith.”

      Garren squeezed William’s clammy palm, as if his own strength could force his friend back to health. William’s very skin was flaking away, his body dissolving to free his soul.

      “I will deliver your message without asking why and bring back a feather even though it be a sin,” Garren said, looking over his shoulder. Richard still spoke to the Abbot and the Prioress whispered to the girl and the Sister, too far away to hear him. “But don’t pretend to these people I am some kind of prophet.”

      A smile whispered on William’s lips. He seemed in less pain this morning. “Perhaps you are closer to God than you think, my friend.”

      “You know better,” Garren said, shaking his head. “If God listened to my prayers, you would be going on this pilgrimage.” Bracing his elbow against William’s, he pushed as if to arm wrestle. The weight of his arm pressed William’s down without effort. “When I get back, we’ll arm wrestle for the palmer’s fee. Winner pays.”

      “I thought dice was your game.”

      “I won’t leave this win to chance.”

      “The palmer’s fee is little enough compared to what you gave up for me.”

      “And a pilgrimage is little enough compared to what you did for me.” Anything he had to do to repay him would be worth it. Anything. He blocked out the thought of Dominica humming.

      Whatever strength had raised William from his bed had drained away. Pale skin stretched across his broad forehead, tight as on a skull. “Besides, unless you hurry, I shall not be here for you to argue with.”

      “You had better be,” Garren said, through clenched teeth. “You’ll want to see the saint’s feather I’m going to bring you.”

      William shook his head, muttering against a blasphemous act, but Garren did not listen. He owed William more than he owed God. I’ll do whatever I have to do to get there and back in time to see him again. In time to give back some of what I owe.

      He could feel God laughing at his vow.

      A soft rustle behind him announced the black robed Prioress. “How good to see you outside your room, Lord Readington. It is an answer to our constant prayers.”

      Garren had no doubt that was true. Beneficences from the Readingtons meant their livelihood and Richard was not known as a generous patron.

      “Thank you for your prayers, Prioress.” William nodded toward Dominica, lending her arm to the Sister as they walked to the door. “Dominica goes, too?”

      Curious. Garren was not even aware William knew her.

      “She begged me to let her go, my lord.” The Prioress raised her eyebrows. “We shall see where God leads her as she sees the world for the first time.”

      Garren looked at the Prioress in disgust, but she refused his glance. It was not God who would lead the girl astray. “Who is she, William?”

      This time, the Prioress threw him a sharp look.

      Though William’s eyes had faded like an overwashed tunic, there was still a flash of humor left. “You’ve savored your share of ladies, Garren. Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed this one. Yellow hair. Twilight eyes.”

      “It sounds as if you have noticed her yourself,” Garren countered. Framed in the open door, the Sister straightened her cloak. Sunlight stroked her hair. William was wrong. It wasn’t yellow. It was more the color of sweet ale, when the light from the fire shone through it.

      “My family is responsible for the Priory and all who dwell there.”

      A chill settled on his back. What if William had an interest in the girl? He shrugged off the thought. More likely William would be dead by the time they returned and never know her fate. The thought did not comfort him. “William—” he began.

      “Well, my Lord,” the Prioress interrupted, “since you are well enough to leave your room, I have been seeking an audience to