Lady Miracle by Susan King Read Free Book Online

deeply.
    A creaking noise brought his attention to the far end of the room. The two young novices entered and came toward Michael, who hastily wiped her teary eyes and rose to meet them. Diarmid drew back and stayed still. After speaking to the two girls quietly, Michael walked the length of the room and lifted her cloak from a wall peg. She passed by his blackened corner without a glance—he could have touched her sleeve, and smelled the faint scent of roses and mint as she went by. She opened the door and stepped outside into the moonlight.
    He slipped out after her, hoping for an opportunity to meet her as if by chance. But the courtyard was not empty, despite the late hour. A group of monks were on their way to the chapel, and one of them stopped to talk with Michael.
    Diarmid watched from the shadowed overhang of an arcaded walkway. Michael walked quickly past him again and went into the wide doorway of a low building, probably the women’s sleeping quarters. He waited, saw no light, and ran around behind the building, where he saw a candle flame flare in a ground story window.
    He did not like skulking about in shadows. He preferred honesty and a straightforward approach, but he did not wish to cause a scene with her in the middle of the moonlit courtyard.
    The woman had him doing things he never would have dreamed of— begging for miracles and hiding in corners like a lovesick boy, desperate for a chance to speak with her.
    He had spoken his mind to her already, approaching the matter as he generally did, stating his request logically and expecting agreement. Knowing that trait for a fault at times, he was not certain how to summon the tact he needed for this delicate, important task.
    He would just have to blunder ahead and hope for the best.
    Michaelmas felt as if someone watched her, and she spun quickly. The monks had gone on to the chapel, and she saw only vague night shadows beneath a bright moon. As she reached the dormitory which housed the nuns, servants and noblewomen who stayed here, she slipped inside and shut the door, making her way down the dark corridor to her own small cell.
    Sighing loudly, she lit a candle from a glowing coal in the hot brazier and set it on the small table beside her bed. She thought about resting, longed to, but felt too agitated for sleep just now. Too much had happened today. She began to pace the small, square chamber, passing her narrow bed and the carved wooden chest that held her belongings.
    Her skirts swung softly as she went to the window and unlatched the leather loop that held the shutters closed. Blue moonlight and cold air spilled into the room as she looked out over the hospital gardens and the low enclosing wall that surrounded the complex. A chilly breeze ruffled her linen wimple, but the cold felt good, fresh and stirring.
    She sank down upon her flat bed, feeling weary but anxious, wondering if she would be able to sleep at all tonight. She had decided to leave Saint Leonard’s, a decision she should have made long ago, if she had not been so determined to gain her license.
    Now she wondered how soon she could get a message to Gavin. But she would have to know where he was to do that. Kneeling, she opened the lid of her wooden chest and reached inside to find the casket that held her correspondence.
    After Ibrahim’s death, she had sold the house with all of its books and furnishings, and had left Bologna with only this large, carved chest. The smell of cedar reminded her of her home in Italy. She bit her lip against the memories and ran her hands through stacks of folded clothing layered with dried roses, over the casket of her few pieces of jewelry, and over bundles of steel and iron instruments wrapped in silk and wool as she searched for the small silver casket that held her letters and papers.
    Several books filled the bottom of the chest, their leather covers protected by silk cloths. She had read and studied each volume countless times. Touching the