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

her,” he whispered. “Are you”—he struggled to recall the name—”Ella?”
    Ella’s eyebrows rose fractionally. “Aye,” she said quietly. “And you’d be...”
    “Rainulf Fairfax. Father Rainulf Fairfax.”
    Ella inspected his tunic and leggings with ill-concealed suspicion. “You don’t—”
    “Look like much of a priest,” Rainulf finished wearily. He was exhausted, both mentally and physically. All he wanted was to sleep, yet he had to ride back to Oxford as swiftly as possible for an important lecture later that morning. He had just been awaiting Ella’s arrival before he left, so that he’d know Constance would be cared for. “Yet, oddly enough, I am.” As proof, he withdrew his folded stole for her inspection, then tucked it back in. “For the time being, at least.”
    Ella looked decidedly confused for a moment. Then, seeming to shrug him off like a fly, she approached her sleeping friend and squatted down next to her. “The pox have appeared.”
    “Aye.” Rainulf followed her line of sight to the scattering of minuscule red pinpoints on Constance’s cheeks and forehead, soon to be followed by many more.
    Ella executed a solemn sign of the cross. “Pray God she don’t scar.”
    Automatically Rainulf crossed himself as well, his gaze caressing that singular face. He hoped with all his heart that it would be spared. It was a face of such rare humor and intelligence; it would be a grave sadness indeed for it to be ruined.
    “Is she...” Ella hesitated, then looked up at him, grief and hope and fear in her eyes. “Will she...”
    “Will she live?” Ella nodded. “I’m not a physician. But I would think so. Her fever broke during the night, and she seems much better.”
    “Praise God,” Ella breathed, crossing herself again.
    Rainulf slung his saddlebag over his shoulder and looked down upon Constance. “Tell her...”
    Tell her what? That she’s one of the most extraordinary people you’ve ever met? That you can’t bear to think of never seeing her again? That you’ll come back and make sure she’s all right? And then perhaps again, and again...?
    No. It would be very poor judgment indeed to allow himself to form an attachment of any kind with Constance of Cuxham. Attachments in general were something he’d avoided for quite a long time, as he’d retreated further and further into the comforting emotional void of academia. And an attachment to a woman—however innocent—would be particularly unwise, considering his plans should his petition for release from his vows prove successful.
    “Tell her good-bye.” Tearing his gaze from Constance, he strode quickly to the door and stopped, a thought occurring to him. Searching through his saddlebag, he located the tiny silver reliquary, brought it over to Constance, and knelt beside her. He rubbed his thumb over the little pearl-encrusted cross, kissed it, and tucked it into her open hand, closing her fingers firmly around it.
    “God be with you, Constance,” he whispered, and left.
     
     

 
     

Chapter 3
     
     
    Rainulf saw the face in the open shopfront as he passed. Or, rather, he saw the hair, from the back—a swath of fiery copper—and mentally put the befreckled face to it as he walked by. It was that fellow who’d sent him to Cuxham two weeks ago. Pausing, he turned and looked back toward the shop—one of dozens lining narrow Pennyfarthing Street—above which hung a small sign announcing Will Geary, Surgeon . He retraced his steps and opened the door, jarring the bell that dangled overhead.
    The surgeon turned to look over his shoulder as he deftly bandaged the arm of a young man sitting on the edge of a central table. “Well! If it isn’t my poxy priest! Good afternoon, Father. What brings you to my humble shop? I hope you’re not hurt.”
    “Nay. Just passing by, and I saw you in the window. I thought you were a traveling surgeon.”
    “I am, for the most part.” Geary tied off the bandage, and the