The Beautiful Pretender (A Medieval Fairy Tale #2)(18)
The margrave called Irma over. “Take this book and place it in Lady Dorothea’s chamber. Then you may come back and join us.”
Avelina could just imagine Irma’s consternation over having to go back up to the second floor, then come back down all those steps again. But Irma took the book, curtsied to Lord Thornbeck, and hurried off.
“Let us continue. Shall we?” The margrave held out his arm to her.
Was that a smile and nod of approval from Odette? It was so slight, Avelina may have imagined it.
She placed her hand lightly on his arm, and they moved from the library through the corridor. “The chapel is worth seeing, I believe,” Lord Thornbeck said. “The fortifications, the guards’ rooms, and the defense towers are on the other side, as well as the west wing.” His mouth pursed tighter, his jaw hardening when he mentioned the west wing. “But I don’t think you would be interested in any of that.”
They moved through a narrow corridor and through a wooden door to a chapel with stained-glass windows that illuminated the room with brilliant colors.
Thornbeck Castle’s chapel was twice as large as the one at Plimmwald Castle, which had no windows at all and was dark and soot covered, lighted only by torches. This chapel featured an ornate altar with a rood screen that was covered in wood and ivory carvings, along with many lighted candles and an altar cross made of gold.
But the enormous stained-glass windows surrounding the chancel were what took her breath away. They were twice as tall as she was and brighter and more colorful than any rainbow. Truly, whoever built this chapel was quite wealthy. Perhaps they wished to pay penance by lavishing so much expense on the chapel. But those riches might have been put to better use helping the people in Plimmwald who barely had enough food to keep themselves alive.
A pang shot through her stomach. Judging other people’s piety and the amount of money they spent on a holy chapel was surely a grave sin. Wishing to have their money for another purpose was perhaps even worse.
“You may come here any time you wish to pray.” Inside the sanctuary, Lord Thornbeck’s voice was hushed and even deeper. His suppressed tone sent a tremor through her. “The priest is available to you any time you might wish to speak to him, and he performs all the services of a cathedral priest. On Sundays everyone is expected to attend.”
“Of course.”
As they were turning to leave, Irma arrived at the door, a few wisps of hair hanging out of her wimple and her face red.
“Odette,” Lord Thornbeck said, “I shall escort Lady Dorothea back to her chamber if you will show her servant around the kitchen and lower rooms.”
Odette curtsied and left with Irma just behind her.
Avelina placed her hand once again on Lord Thornbeck’s arm. Being in such proximity, and suddenly alone with him, her stomach fluttered. He walked slowly, his walking stick making regular thumping noises on the floor.
She should probably say something. His face was set in its usual serious expression, as if he’d forgotten about her as he looked straight ahead.
She only had to keep from revealing that she was Lady Dorothea’s servant. But something made her want to talk to him, to discover his thoughts. It was a peculiar curiosity, borne of knowing she would never have the opportunity to talk to this handsome, intriguing young margrave again when these two weeks were over.
“There you are.” Lady Fronicka came down the corridor toward them. “And this must be Lady Dorothea of Plimmwald.” Fronicka barely glanced at Avelina before directing her smile toward Lord Thornbeck. “How kind you are to show her about the castle, Lord Thornbeck, especially since she was so late to arrive.”
Fronicka fell into step beside them—on Lord Thornbeck’s side. “When will we go on our hunt? I am very accomplished with a crossbow. At home I once shot three deer and a wild boar in one day.”
Avelina nodded, smiling, but her insides were churning, remembering what Magdalen had said about Fronicka’s determination to marry Lord Thornbeck. As long as she didn’t see Avelina as a threat, she had nothing to worry about. But the fact that Lord Thornbeck had chosen to accompany her on this tour would certainly displease Fronicka.
“Did you see Thornbeck’s beautiful chapel?” Fronicka seemed to address Avelina but did not give her time to respond, and she kept her eyes on Lord Thornbeck. “I have always thought you could tell how much piety a man has by the place where he worships. Geitbart Cathedral has a crucifix made of ivory and an altar of gold. I could never worship at a wooden altar. Can you imagine?”
Fronicka chattered on, not requiring any reply.
What did it matter if one worshipped at a gold altar or a wooden one, so long as one’s heart and mind were focused on God? She recalled their own modest church in Plimmwald. The chapel where Avelina sometimes prayed was certainly less ornate than Thornbeck’s.
“Are you intending to say,” Avelina interrupted Fronicka, “that poor people are less pious than the wealthy because they worship at a wooden altar and not a gold-and-ivory one?”
Fronicka stared at her with her mouth hanging open.
“I’m just curious. Do you think a God who sent His Son to be born in a lowly stable to poor people, announced to shepherds in a field, could care about gold and ivory and jewels? Perhaps God cares about our hearts, not our wealth.” Avelina smiled very innocently.
Lord Thornbeck’s lips were slightly parted as he stared at her.