The Raven and the Rose by Jo Beverley Read Free Book Online

here—wood, wool and candle wax alongside traces of the incense used by the priests during some services.
    Gledys turned to her favorite meditation—walking the labyrinth painted on the stone floor. The coiling paths, turning back on themselves again and again, allowing no choice but to follow, always soothed her mind and allowed her prayers to flow. She entered at the single opening and immediately felt solace. The chapel was God’s tranquil place, and the labyrinth a path to Him. Here, He would guide her.
    â€œBring peace to this land,” she murmured. “But peace without my having to act.”
    Everything about Sister Wenna’s summoning terrified her, but it was the loss of her knight . . . “Deliver me from temptation. Give me a sign, Lord. Show me the holy way.”
    Nothing happened. Of course. Had she believed for a moment that she was some special instrument of God? Too soon she came back to the entrance, the labyrinth walk completed, but her prayers unanswered. She turned toward the cross and said the dutiful words “Thy will be done.”
    A golden flash startled her. She blinked. It must have been the sun glinting off something on the altar. But what?
    Ah. Nothing miraculous. Simply the chalice, but the precious silver goblet, as old as the chapel, shouldn’t be out except in preparation for a Mass. Of course, no one in Rosewell would steal it, but between Masses, it was locked in the sacristy chest.
    Had it been there all along?
    Wouldn’t she have noticed it?
    Perhaps Sister Thomasine, the sacristan, had come in while she was praying. Had a priest arrived unexpectedly? Were they to have a Mass? That would be a blessed opportunity to drive any devils away.
    She was alone, however.
    She turned toward the small side door, intending to find the sacristan, but it felt wrong to leave the chalice unprotected. She tried a soft call: “Sister Thomasine?”
    No answer. Very well, she’d take the chalice with her into the sacristy. If Sister Thomasine was there, she’d be irritated, but it felt wrong to abandon it. Gledys climbed the three shallow steps to the altar and reached out—but then swiftly drew back her hand.
    There was blood inside the cup! A small pool of blood.
    After a heart-stopped moment, she leaned forward again and saw it wasn’t blood—of course it wasn’t—but a deep red rose petal.
    A deep red rose petal?
    â€œWhat are you doing!”
    The shrill voice made Gledys jump back. She turned to face Sister Thomasine. “Nothing, Sister! I was simply wondering why the chalice was out. Whether I should—”
    â€œYou should do nothing!” snapped the woman, grabbing the vessel and clutching it to her ample chest. She was round in body, but sharp in nature. “Return to your brewhouse, Sister Gledys.”
    Gledys resented the tone of that dismissal, but she bowed and escaped, shaking.
    She hated anger, and it was rare in Rosewell. Gledys had realized almost immediately that the sacristan had left the chalice out and was afraid Gledys would reveal her sin of carelessness.
    She herself was shaken by other things.
    When Sister Thomasine had clutched the chalice to her chest, the bowl had been tilted forward, and it had been empty. There’d been no rose petal inside or on the floor, where it might have tumbled. Of course, it might have fluttered away, being so light, but wouldn’t she have seen that?
    The main fact, however, the thing that had disturbed her before Sister Thomasine’s arrival, was that such a rose petal was impossible. Few roses bloomed as late as August, but more than that, she’d never seen a bloodred rose. Rosewell’s rose gardens were famous, but the blooms were nearly all white, cream and pink. Two that bloomed a deep pink were considered almost miraculous.
    She halted, breath caught.
    She’d asked for a sign. Had she been sent one? During Mass, the wine in the