Master Archer looked the priest levelly in the eye, and Alcuin had to lower his own gaze. But Emma had perceived the poison seeping in the priest’s voice. And she felt afraid of what Alcuin could do. Master Archer was not to blame for Rowena’s transgressions and it was unfair he should bear any kind of penance for her sins.
“Certainly, I am quite willing to confess my sins,” she said in that calm, restrained voice she had schooled herself to use whenever she addressed her uncle or her former husband.
Master Archer glanced upon her, and then finally nodded with a guarded look upon his face. Soon Emma followed the priest to a secluded spot where she could speak of her sins. Her mind was frantically working, because she understood Father Alcuin was not a kind man in spite of the office he fulfilled. Emma knew she could not lie in front of God, so she resolved not to lie. She would confess the sins which plagued her – the lustful thoughts for another woman’s husband, the deceit she’d unwittingly entered, yet she would do it in such a way as not to give the details to the priest which would make him understand she was other then he thought.
But when she found herself closely facing Father Alcuin and bowing her head, Father Alcuin hissed harshly, “You left without a word! Just like the harlot you are. And I… Such a fool I was. A fool over you. Oh, you deceived me so cruelly!”
His voice was low yet filled with such bitterness and malice, that Emma raised her eyes in sheer astonishment.
“You’ve never told him, have you? I forbid you to tell him! I will have you flogged in church as a loose woman if you dare tell him!”
Emma widened her eyes, stunned.
“Pray what?” she found herself muttering.
Father Alcuin cast her a sudden gap-toothed smile which was a mixture of relief and self-satisfaction.
“Oh. So I see you understand. All will be well then and you needn’t fear. Besides, I’ve missed you after all, deceitful though you are. I missed our lessons together,” he cooed, as his gaunt hand touched Emma’s.
Emma hastily withdrew her hand.
“Lessons?”
“And what an apt pupil you were. Not only when it came to the Norman tongue or to ciphers and letters,” Father Alcuin whispered and Emma drew as far away from him as she could, sickened.
Had Rowena lain with the priest in exchange for the lessons she craved? Emma clearly recalled Rowena wished to make herself into a noblewoman. It seemed only too plain she had been using the priest to teach her the Norman way of speech and her letters. But Arthen could well read and cipher, and she’d heard him speak Norman. His Norman was just as fine as his English and Welsh, but Emma understood why Rowena had wished to hide all this from Arthen. She must have already resolved to leave her husband and seek to have a different life for herself. The life her secret sister had.
“Such a wondrous pupil you were. Though you never let me do as much as I wanted,” the priest went on, biting into his parched, bloodied lips. “But now I want what you withheld from me. Because I can demand it now, and you know only too well I can. They’re all aware you are a harlot, and only I can shield you from them!”
Emma suppressed a bitter smile, thinking upon the whole thing with cold clarity. The priest reminded her very much of her late husband and of her betrothed, Lord FitzUrse. He was a man with no regard for others and who thought to fulfil his lust as if a woman was only a dumb beast or a thing he owned.
She laughed harshly, conjuring up everything that the years of her former life had taught her.
“Yet you are in no position to demand anything of me,” she now said in a level tone, speaking Norman in a crisp, high-handed fashion. “Another gave me lessons, as you can see. Far better lessons than you ever could. Do you not like my speech? It was fully taught to me by another. Fine speech – finer than what you taught me. There is another man whose lot in life is far higher than yours and who would receive grievous offence if he knew someonefar lowerthan he is would dare to touch what he now owns.”
She straightened her back in the stiff, regal posture that the harsh lessons from Lady Edith had forced her to adopt whenever she talked to those her family deemed to be beneath her. The priest widened his eyes at her, but soon a sickly pallor seized his countenance.
“So… You now think yourself above me,” he snarled.
“Iamabove you. Strive to remember that,” Emma said, rising. “And you shall see just how much above you I am if you ever dare raise your voice against me or Arthen Archer again.”
She walked away to the place in the church where Master Archer had been left standing, and Father Alcuin had no choice but to follow.
“All done, husband. And now we should away,” she told Arthen in a serene voice.
Arthen glanced at both her and the priest. And to Emma’s relief, Father Alcuin nodded and said in what he strived hard to be a gentle, pious tone.
“She has indeed repented. And God rejoices in repentant sinners.”
He made the sign of the cross over them, and hastily drew away, pretending to mutter a prayer. Master Archer was left to stare after him. Later, as they were leaving the church, Emma had occasion to hear him speak in a voice seeping with bitterness.
“You lay with him, didn’t you?”
And Emma found herself shaking her head with a thumping heart.
“Nay, I did not. I swear upon the Holy Cross. He’s sickening!”
Her face turned scarlet as Master Archer cast her a searching glance. It seemed to her he looked upon her for a long while, and Emma held her breath seized both by the sudden wish to tell him the truth and by the remorse she was still deceiving him. Would she never get to see Robin again if she told Arthen the truth?