The Other Side of Heaven by Morgan O'Neill Read Free Book Online

reconcile that behavior with how the men had acted since.
    She hazarded a look around the camp. Some of the soldiers stood sentry, others tended to the horses and gear, while several sat together, eating and drinking. Father Warinus and Lord Alberto, however, kept to themselves in close conversation. She studied the pair, lit by the glow of the fire, trying to understand what sort of men they were.
    Father Warinus was middle-aged, his hair thin and graying at the temples. Short and slim, he wore a cowl with a russet tunic over it. Neither of his garments had a hood; instead, he’d sported a rather shapeless, felt hat, which was put aside, for now.
    He seemed wise, calm. A good man. Maybe he could be trusted.
    Her gaze shifted to Alberto. A tall man, his long legs seemed to stretch on forever toward the campfire. His black hair was pushed away from his face and fell in lazy curls to his shoulders. In the firelight, Gwen could see silver strands scattered evenly throughout. Odd for a man probably no older than she, but the effect was perfection. She let her gaze roam on, to his jaw, his lips, recalling her sight of them as he’d dressed her wounds. Serious expression, bordering on moody, yet a sensual mouth…
    Suddenly, she could feel his touch on her skin again, feel the heat his fingers had caused, and she longed to study him more closely. But she was still unwilling to look him in the eye. Now, more than ever, she felt as if every thought she possessed, every secret, would be uncovered as soon as they exchanged that first glance. It was illogical, because he hardly seemed to take notice of her and treated her like a nuisance when he did.
    Don’t be an ass! He’s not paying attention to you, not like that.
    Gwen forced herself to look higher, to find his eyes, and was instantly aware of the long, slow departure of breath from her lungs. Beneath the dark slash of brows, his eyes were black pools, mysterious, endless. She felt drawn to them, as though she could dive in and never hit bottom.
    Captivated, Gwen wondered what he was like in an unguarded moment. Did he like to smile, or was he always serious? Did he ever laugh?
    She doubted it. Still, she felt unable to look away. He seemed wiser than his years, more careworn, as though he’d lived a thousand lives to her one. The strength and control on his face stood in stark contrast to the softness of his hair. She sensed Lord Alberto was a man of deep passions.
    She continued to watch as he leaned back on one elbow, still deep in conversation with the priest. But, when Alberto’s penetrating gaze leapt across the fire toward her, she looked away, terrified.
    When she ventured to peek again, she saw a watchful man, a grave man, always on guard, his eyes constantly roving around the campsite, assessing, but no longer turning her way.
    The men’s voices grew stronger, and both rose to their feet.
    “I do not doubt Berengar poisoned King Lothaire,” Alberto said. “You will never convince me otherwise.”
    “I understand, my lord,” Father Warinus said, “but since I come as an official emissary from Pope Agapetus, to advise and mediate between the factions, I cannot in the absence of proof do anything but accept Berengar’s protestations of innocence. I must hasten to Pavia, to Queen Adelaide, and from there call for a parley. We must pray Berengar may yet see reason.”
    The two men spent a moment more together, and then parted, each to his bedroll.
    Gwen could only stare. Had she heard right? Lothaire? Adelaide? Pope Agapetus?
    “No,” she whispered, stunned. “No! They… Agapetus… he was pope… in the Middle Ages!”
    *
    What little sleep Gwen got that night was fitful. Mostly, she watched the constellations walk a slow course across the night sky, remembering astronomy nights at Griffith Observatory in LA. She used to have issues with her life, but now she realized how good she had it – heaven compared to this. Was that life gone? Was it her imagination,