A Cruel Courtship by Candace Robb Read Free Book Online Page A

Alexander of Scotland, whose untimely death without a male heir had led to the present troubles. Andrew did not need memory tricks to remember Sir Simon.
    Indeed he knew his instinct had been correct that these were all important men and he doubtedhe would forget meeting any of them. It made him even more fearful for his life and he cursed Master Thomas for inviting him to sup with them. Fortunately, they did not need him to carry the conversation at the table.
    But after dinner the Englishmen gathered round him to ask what he had seen on his journey. A hard rain as they’d departed Holyrood Abbey had forced Andrew to keep his hood up, blocking his peripheral vision, and he’d been so closely watched by his English escort that he’d noticed little once they rode out of the storm. But even with so little to report, by the time Andrew had broken free of them Father Obert had departed.
    Again that night he’d surrendered to a deep sleep despite his unease. But in the months following he’d spent the bulk of his nights pacing back and forth in his room until his body insisted on rest.
    Father Obert had suggested the pacing as an aid to sleep. ‘I prefer brandywine, but that is in such short supply it is not even given to those lying bleeding in the infirmary – only the landed nobility are its beneficiaries – and Master Thomas, of course.’ As always, his sarcasm was softened by a mischievous grin, but Andrew knew the words trumped the genial mask.
    Determined to continue his interview with Obert, convinced that the priest had hinted at a disaffection with the English that might make himan unlooked-for ally, Andrew had hounded him for a few days, shadowing his pale, halting presence, until the elderly priest invited him to dine in his chamber.
    ‘I see that you’ll accomplish nothing until we clear your mind,’ said Obert after the servant had withdrawn. ‘I begin to imagine that Abbot Adam was glad to be rid of you if this is how you behaved with him.’
    ‘I avoided him,’ said Andrew. ‘Our parting lacked affection.’
    ‘That is interesting,’ said Obert as he thrust his knife into a piece of meat. He sat back, chewing it thoughtfully.
    Andrew fell to the food. The meat was tough, overcooked, but the stew of vegetables was well seasoned and tasty, and good for softening the brown bread. He’d noticed the absence of oatcakes on the first night – in deference to the English, he supposed.
    ‘So there is a rift between the abbot and his secretary?’ Obert asked, breaking into Andrew’s reverie.
    Andrew grabbed his cup and washed down a mouthful of bread and vegetables.
    Obert chuckled. ‘There is no need to hasten through your meal. I’ll not send you off before you are satisfied.’ He was smiling when Andrew met his eyes. ‘Faith, I am most curious to hear what you are so driven to tell me.’ The pale eyebrows joinedbriefly, then separated as the old priest smoothed his brow and smiled genially.
    Now that he held Obert’s attention Andrew found himself choked with doubt. Suddenly it seemed absurd that this venerable priest would wish to hear of his remorse and his resolve to help his people. Indeed, Andrew questioned the wisdom in confiding in Obert, doubting the perception that had drawn him to desire to do so.
    Apparently sensing Andrew’s confusion, Obert busied himself with some food and ale.
    Andrew was relieved that Abbot Adam apparently had not told Master Thomas of Andrew’s disobedience. It permitted him some dignity and made it possible for him to be accepted as a trustworthy confessor, which might eventually allow him to help his people with information. But that hope would be dashed if he was wrong about trusting Father Obert. Yet as he considered the pale old man Andrew sensed God shining through Obert, and the more he watched him, the more convinced he became.
    Obert sat back in his seat, patting his belly, his hunger apparently satisfied. ‘Well? Have you found your voice, Father