A Mortal Bane(140)

Later, when she was less exhausted, she thought she heard Bell’s voice saying her name, and she stirred sensuously in her bed. The call did not come again, however, and she sank back to sleep once more, but less deeply. Still later, she was dimly aware that someone had entered her room and started to force open her eyes, but a soft glow told her it was only Dulcie lighting her night candle. That troubled her, although she did not know why, and she was stirring toward wakening so that when a hand fell on her shoulder, she opened her eyes without shock.

Then she drew breath to scream, but it was too late. The light of the night candle gleamed on a drawn knife blade. A heartbeat later, a sharp prick warned her that the knife was touching her throat. A voice hissed at her.

“Shhh! Quiet! If you cry out, I will kill you. If you tell me what I want to know…we will see.”





Chapter Nineteen



27 April 1139





Old Priory Guesthouse



“Why do you not stay the night?” Sabina asked Master Mainard as his hand slipped out of hers and he reluctantly got out of bed. “The price is the same and you will be very welcome to me.”

“I cannot, my love,” he replied, his voice low with regret; she heard him walk across the room and take his clothes from the chest on which they lay. “I have already lingered far longer than I should. My wife will not be pleased. She will complain over my being late, but if I am away all night, she will make my life hell, even if my guild-fellows lie for me and swear that I was in their sight every moment. She will go to the priest, to the guildmaster, to my friends…. I would not care if she only cursed and accused me, but she insults them and rages at them.”

Sabina sighed. She liked to feel Master Mainard’s strong, warm body beside her. She liked it even more that he talked to her about everyday things, about an order for a special saddle, about the naughtiness of his apprentices, and a quarrel between two journeymen that had nearly come to a battle with wickedly sharp, curved leather knives. It was almost as if she were his wife and he were talking over with her the business of the day. He listened to her also, with grave intensity, when she suggested ways of gently curbing the apprentices and soothing the journeymen.

In the course of the talk, he had told her other things without realizing it. She never acknowledged those slips about troubles increased or fomented, debts incurred, but they had built for her a picture of the personal devil who was his wife. He might stay if she urged him, but he would suffer for it acutely. Sabina sighed again and rose.

She drew on a warm bedrobe, for the nights were still chilly, and opened the door. “Is there only one torchette alight near the door, Master Mainard?”

“Yes, my dear.”

“Then I will let you out the front way because everyone else is gone and the street torches are there. I hope I did not keep you too long. I like to talk to you” —she laughed softly— “and to love you also. It is selfish of me to hold you when I know it might make trouble for you, but I never think of it until too late.”

[page]“If the trouble were only for me, I would not care. You have given me back my life, made me a man again. But others will pay, and I cannot bear that.”

They kissed once more, and Sabina let him out, laying a hand on his arm and allowing him to lead her. That was something else about Mainard that bound her to him—he never seized her and pulled or pushed her; he even let her lead if she wished, never implying that she was helpless or stupid because she could not see.

When they reached the front door, Sabina drew Master Mainard toward her for one last kiss, then reached into the tall basket near the door and pulled out a sturdy stick with a bulge of straw matted with resin and fat at the top. She handed him the torch and stepped aside to allow him to light it at the torchette and open the door. As he closed it behind him, she stood there for a few moments thinking about his repeated offer to make her his mistress. Tonight he had offered her a contract, a legal lease on the apartment above his shop and a monthly stipend, “for services provided.”