Heaven's Fire by Patricia Ryan Read Free Book Online Page A

their unquestioning devotion. But instead, I question ceaselessly.”
    “Is that really so wrong?”
    “I didn’t use to think so. Do you know who Peter Abelard was?”
    She shook her head.
    “He was the greatest thinker in Europe, a man of extraordinary brilliance. I studied under him in Paris. He encouraged us to doubt what we were told. He said, ‘It is not because God has said something that we believe it, but because we are convinced that it is so.’”
    “What nonsense,” Constance said.
    Rainulf chuckled incredulously. “What?”
    “Utter nonsense. No wonder you’re miserable, having to struggle to convince yourself of things before you can believe them!”
    “I’m not miserable.”
    “Of course you are. Look at you. I’ve never seen anyone so grim.” She bit her lip, and then said, “Is it so very awful, being a priest who asks questions?”
    He stared into the fire. “Yes, actually. It is. When I returned from pilgrimage six months ago, I went to Paris and immediately petitioned to renounce my vows.”
    Her brow knit. “To stop being a priest?” He nodded. “Can you do that?”
    “No, not... not ordinarily. It’s very rare and exceedingly difficult.”
    “Ah, but not for a cousin of the queen, I’ll wager. Was there royal intercession on your behalf?”
    “There was,” he conceded, amused at her savvy. “But it still wasn’t enough. You have no idea what an outrage it is to ask for release from the priesthood. I had to come up with a better reason than my relation to the queen.”
    “And what was that?”
    He sighed dispiritedly. “I claimed that the bishop who ordained me wasn’t qualified to do so, because he was a heretic.”
    “Was he?”
    Rainulf shrugged. “He was excommunicated for heresy, but only because he had dared to align himself with Abelard. All of Abelard’s supporters were excommunicated after Abelard was condemned as a heretic by the Council of Sens. One of them—Arnold of Brescia—was even burned.”
    “Burned!”
    “That’s the punishment for the most serious forms of heresy. My sister, Martine, was condemned of heretical sorcery a year ago, and sentenced to the stake, merely for being a healer. ‘Tis a miracle that she managed to prove her innocence.”
    “My God!”
    “The bishop who ordained me was luckier. He got away with a flogging and banishment. I was loath to use this poor man’s misfortune to benefit my own ends, but he himself encouraged me to do so. He said his reputation was already ruined—that I could do no more harm than had already been done. Still, I was consumed with guilt over the whole matter. And, of course, my petition has created quite a scandal. I’m a pariah in Paris. I used to teach there, but they’ve asked me not to come back. I knew that would happen, but I had to do it anyway.”
    She yawned and shook her head. “I’m sorry for your troubles.”
    “And I’m sorry for yours.” He rested the back of his hand on her forehead and smiled. “Much better. I believe you’re out of danger.”
    She took hold of his hand and brought it to her mouth, lightly kissing the palm. The warmth of her lips sent delicious shivers up Rainulf’s arm. “Thank you. I think you may have saved my life.”
    He gently disengaged his hand from hers and urged her to lie back down. “You need your strength. Sleep.”
    She closed her eyes, and within moments was sleeping soundly.
    *   *   *
    “What’s this?”
    Rainulf looked up from the open saddlebag in which he was stowing away everything he’d brought. A portly woman stood in the doorway, backlit by a radiant dawn, hands firmly planted on her generous hips, her expression one of wary puzzlement. Her face seemed unnervingly familiar to him, which didn’t make any sense until he realized where he’d seen it before—on one of Constance’s window parchment angels.
    Rainulf put a finger to his lips and tilted his head toward Constance, fast asleep on her pallet. “Don’t wake