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Chapter 22

“Will the nuns think ill of us for sleeping in the same chamber?” Cait asked as they

rode up to the abbey, darkness having fallen long ago.

Cait had discovered the greatest enjoyment of her life: teasing Conrad. Although she’d always enjoyed teasing her brothers, this was much, much more rewarding. He did not brood as her brother Terric did at times. Nor did he tease her back so mercilessly, like Rory, that she was forced to call for a truce.

Instead, he remained mostly silent, making Cait wonder at the effect of her words—and deeds—until he gave her one of his simple, intense looks of desire, which told her all she needed to know.

The men rode both ahead and behind them, leaving none to overhear their conversation. Torches from all around the abbey lit the sky ahead, a beautiful sight. Whitlock Abbey had once been a monastery. According to Conrad, it had been built more than five hundred years ago, and the Reverend Mother had been a friend to Licheford since before she served the Church.

“Sister Antonia will be told we are related. And that your chaperone took ill.”

Cait covered her mouth in mock horror.

“You intend to lie to a woman of God? For shame, my lord.”

Conrad scowled at her, or so she imagined. The waning moon offered little light to guide them. If not for the abbey, they’d have stopped long ago.

“Aye, and so will you. I’ll not have her looking at you as the countess did. You have nothing to be ashamed of, but as you say, judgements will be made despite it.”

“And yet, you can keep a mistress”—she’d been wanting to mention this before but had not found an appropriate time—“and none consider it shameful.”

This time, Conrad had no retort.

This time, they both knew she was no longer jesting.

“’Twas the way of it, aye,” he said finally. “Though I did tell her before I left.”

They slowed, approaching the arched stone gateway of the abbey.

“What did you tell her?” she asked, afraid of the answer.

Conrad slowed to a stop.

When the men behind them caught up, Conrad nodded for them to ride ahead. He did not speak until the sound of their horses’ hooves died down, leaving only the sounds of their horses’ breathing and her own heartbeat.

“I thought you had remained behind,” he finally said.

Not precisely an answer.

“What did you tell her?” she repeated.

He’d toldher their relationship was over. That he would marry another.

Even then, Conrad had intended to make this Scotswoman his wife. And yet, he couldn’t bring himself to tell her that he’d meant to forgive her, to embrace her, before learning the truth of why she’d pushed him away.

“Lord Licheford,” one of the men called from the gates.

He would explain later.

Now, he needed to explain their situation to Sister Antonia to ensure they had beds for the night. Kicking his mount forward, Conrad joined the others, surprised to see the Reverend Mother herself standing at the door of the west range. He’d expected a cellarer to greet them at this hour. And she was not alone. A man had stepped up beside her.

Bishop Salerno?

Conrad didn’t hide his surprise. Dismounting, he quickly walked to Cait and assisted her down, noting her narrow-eyed look of displeasure.

As their horses were led to the stables, Conrad approached the abbey and greeted them both, Cait beside him.