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With a creak, it swung open, and Father Benedict entered with a tray of food. He and the abbot were the only two souls in the abbey who knew of my visit.
And now Tuck too, my second side hummed happily.
Thank goodness for that. He was much better company.
“Good evening, miss,” Father Benedict murmured.
I nodded, making space on the table. “Good evening.”
He looked at the books I moved aside, nodding at one in approval. “Ah, one of our newest titles. Hildegard of Bingen’s Physica. A most appropriate choice.”
Ha. I’d placed it there exactly for that purpose. Every time the man entered, I had the feeling he was alert for every detail. Physica was a medical tome — one of the few topics deemed appropriate for a noble lady such as myself.
Next, he held up Peter Lombard’s The Sentences - Book 2, an exceedingly dull treatise on God’s reasons for creation, among other heady topics.
“I’m on Distinctions 12–15,” I bluffed. “Fascinating.”
Not really, but it suited my purpose.
“Excellent choice, miss. Excellent choice,” Benedict hummed.
A good thing he didn’t notice the volume I’d hidden under the table: Deeds of the Franks and the other pilgrims to Jerusalem, a memoir of the First Crusade. I’d been saving it for Tuck’s next visit.
Benedict lifted a ceramic cover, revealing a steaming plate of potatoes and a slice of ham.
“We eat quite simply here, I’m afraid.”
He said that every day, even when the meals weren’t as simple as I’d assumed a monastery’s would be. I made a mental note to ask Tuck what he’d been served. Was I getting special treatment, or was this an indication of how Benedict ate?
“It’s perfect, thank you.”
I stood stiffly by the table as he moved around the library, snooping. His eyes fell on my bag…my needlepoint…the bed…my boots…
I tensed as he inspected them. A good thing I’d cleaned them after my outing.
“I hope the potatoes are cooked to your liking,” he murmured.
I couldn’t have cared less, but it seemed polite to sample them before answering. I sat, took a bite, then said, “Delicious. Thank you.”
Something rasped, and I turned just in time to see Benedict shove something into his pocket. He flashed a fake grin and hurried to the main door.
“Enjoy your meal,” he called, stepping outside before I could react.
For a moment, I sat rooted in place, suspicious, though not sure of what exactly. Then I ran to the door — too late. The lock turned from the other side.
I shoved the door hard, but it didn’t budge. Then I slid open the peephole cover.
“What is the meaning of this?” I demanded.
Benedict smirked. “For your own protection, dear lady.”
A good thing for him that peephole wasn’t big enough for my fist.
“I’m a guest here, not a prisoner!”
God, I could have clawed his eyeballs out in that moment.
“Indeed, you are a guest. And we take our guests’ safety very seriously.”
