For now he only wished to whisk away the anger and sadness he’d felt during these last months. He wanted to forget it all, push away all his stirring feelings, and simply enjoy a dance with his beautiful wife. At first, Rowena looked at him in that new, shy and restrained way she’d acquired ever since he had found her in London. Yet soon she was also whisked away by the merry beat of drums and lutes, and regained that dazzling smile upon her face as they danced. They both stopped only when they were breathless and laughing, just as breathless and laughing as Robin and the other children who had been dancing by John and Maggie’s side.
“I’ve always dreamt of this!” his wife called to him, her blue eyes sparkling.
“What?” he asked, uncomprehending.
“This…” she told him, spreading her arms and making him look at the square full of people, children and men and women with their faces radiant with good cheer under the blue sky of the sunny May afternoon.
“I see,” he called, unable to stop from returning her smile.
He glanced upon her, deciding to halt all his thoughts and just drink in her beauty. She’d always been a comely woman, but never had she seemed more lovely than this day. He gazed upon her full, inviting lips. They were wed, weren’t they? And no one would frown upon them sharing a lusty kiss in this day of leisure.
“Master Archer!”
The musicians had paused their tune, taking a bit of respite at this time, and Arthen was able to hear plain and clear the voice who’d called after him. He turned wearily, knowing only too well who’d spoken.
“Father Alcuin…” he said, trying to hide his full displeasure.
The priest’s face had never seemed more hateful. It was sickly pale, as usual, yet splotched with red as the beady eyes were staring upon both him and Rowena.
“I did not see you at Mass! For several full weeks you did not come.”
“We’ve been to Mass,” Arthen made himself retort calmly. “Just not to your church.”
It was the truth. Aunt Royse had wisely advised him to do so, as this way no one could find fault with either him or Rowena for not being good Christians. Arthen had always disliked Father Alcuin and had found he much preferred the new, more remote church they attended and the gentle young priest who held Mass there.
“You’re in my parish!” Father Alcuin countered in a high voice.
The people around them were staring, and Arthen felt Rowena’s hand come upon his shoulder. Had his face looked dark and thunderous when the priest had screeched? It must have. Rowena now spoke in a calm, soothing voice.
“So we are. No one can argue that, can they, husband?”
Arthen bit hard into his lip. Father Alcuin was indeed most spiteful. And it was true both he and Rowena were still his parishioners. Yet he disliked Father Alcuin and his vindictive ways, and it was best to deal with this now rather than later.
“We’ll have a word then, Father. Because it seems plain you wish it so.”
“Aye. In church. Like all good Christians,” Father Alcuin said with a puff of his chest.
Arthen nodded, but then frowned as he saw the priest look pointedly upon his wife. Rowena did not seem flustered though. She only called to Maggie to mind the child for a short while, then seemed ready to follow to where the priest led. Arthen suppressed a curse upon his lips, knowing Alcuin would not letgo of Rowena’s transgressions. And he did not like thinking that Alcuin might think to take the matter to the Court Christian which dealt with loose morals among both lay and ecclesiastical people. Arthen knew only too well that the priest could unearth the truth of Rowena’s deeds if he strived hard to do so. And he wanted to avoid that at all costs. Bracing himself to bear the hateful man’s prying into his life, he went along with Alcuin and Rowena to the church.
He struggled hard not to snarl when Father Alcuin, speaking in a lofty voice, had them kneel in church in front of the altar. It was not kneeling in church that Arthen hated, but rather the priest’s malicious eyes upon them as they did so.
“I still need to find the truth of your wife’s deeds. And you'll not lie in front of the holy altar,” Alcuin said at last in a venomous voice.
It was plain why the priest had brought them to church. Alcuin was indeed intent on finding out the truth of Rowena’s deeds. Yet when Arthen glanced upon Rowena’s face, he saw it was calm and composed, not fearful at all of what she would have to reveal.
“Father, I’m ready to confess,” she said in a level voice which did not sound humble, but fully serene.
Alcuin looked both puzzled and relieved to hear the words, and a triumphant grin spread upon his hateful face. Arthen fought hard the impulse of grabbing the priest by his frock. Rowena might be guilty of serious transgressions, but he would not have a spiteful wretch such as Alcuin rejoice in punishing her. Arthen did not look at all upon Alcuin as a man of God. The way the priest spoke at Mass and the spite with which he rejoiced in his parishioners’ dread was something which had long weighed upon his mind. No man such as Alcuin deserved to masquerade as a man of God. Yet Alcuin was still the priest of their parish.
“I will hear her confession!” Father Alcuin said gleefully, and Emma strove hard not to let her heart flutter in her chest or her face betray any kind of emotion.
She knew she could not lie at confession. It would be a grievous sin to do so. Yet Father Alcuin was bound by his holy vows to keep the secret of her confession.
Master Archer looked from Emma to the priest with a grim look in his fine brown eyes.
“Only if it is her sincere wish to confess her sins at this time.”
“Have a care,” Father Alcuin said sharply. “You well forget you are to blame for the shameful way in which she conducted herself. You’re just as much a sinner as she is!”