Bone of Contention Read Online Free Page B

some other accident on the way to Winchester that made him think he had been punished for sinning in her company? She drew a deep breath. Well, if that were so, at least she would not need to quarrel with him over obeying William’s command. Perhaps she should just leave the letter… No, she couldn’t do that! It was full of affection and apology. She must—
    “Magdalene!”
    She had turned toward the outer door but swung back to face Bell when she heard his voice. He was dressed with his usual elegance in footed dark blue chausses cross-gartered in pale green. His tunic, short enough to expose his powerful thighs and give him freedom of movement if fighting became necessary, was also light green, faced and collared with an elaborate multicolor pattern bordered in dark blue. Magdalene’s lips tightened. That embroidery was her work.
    There were new touches to his clothing, however. His broad swordbelt was now decorated with gold wire, although the well-worn grip was still plain wrapped leather as was the hilt of his long fighting poniard, also sheathed on the belt. The eating knife was another story. That was new, it had a chased silver hilt with a semiprecious stone pommel—a typical gift from a woman.
    “Sir Bellamy.” She bowed her head very slightly.
    Her voice had been cold, but he came toward her without reluctance, holding out his hand. “How did you know I had come?”
    “Father Phillipe just told me.”
    “Then what are you doing here?” Now he hesitated, frowning.
    “I find I must leave Southwark for several weeks, so I—”
    “Leave Southwark? To go where? Why?”
    Magdalene widened her eyes as if she were surprised by his questions. The fool. A rent collector would not care where she went or why. She deliberately looked over his shoulder at Father Phillipe, who had also come out of the bishop’s chamber, and then around at the servants and the men-at-arms near the hearth, who were looking toward them.
    She ignored the questions and continued her own sentence as if he had not interrupted. “So I wanted to let you know that there would be no one at the Old Priory Guesthouse to pay the rent. I hope you will allow me to pay it all at once when I return. You know I have never failed to pay—”
    He made an impatient gesture of acceptance. “Yes, of course. I will let the bishop know. But where—” Magdalene shook her head at him, annoyed. Bell was not usually so slow to understand. It was, after all, for his sake, not hers that she acted as if their relationship was only that of tenant and rent collector. She was a known whore and her reputation could not be damaged by association with any man. He was the bishop’s knight, he would not be much criticized for using a whore, but befriending one was another matter entirely.
    Then Magdalene saw that his fair curls were tousled, far more unruly than the ordered waves in which he usually combed his hair, and the skin beneath his blue eyes was dark and bruised looking with lack of sleep. A gleam of hope that it was business rather than indifference that had kept him away lightened the gloom of acceptance of separation, but she suppressed it firmly.
    “You are tired, Sir Bellamy,” she said. “I will not keep you any longer.” And she started to walk away.
    “God damn it, Magdalene!” he roared. “I’m too busy—”
    Something heavy hit the ground. Magdalene hoped Bell hadn’t run into poor Father Phillipe as he attempted to follow her, she repressed a giggle but she didn’t turn around. Perhaps that wasn’t wise. A lowly whoremistress should obey the bishop’s knight, but he hadn’t issued any order, merely expressed his exasperation. Then she heard the door to the bishop’s private room slam and her amusement died. Bell hadn’t been following her.
    She was much tempted to go back to the Old Priory Guesthouse and have a good cry, but the self-pity did not last very long. By the time she had walked from the house to the gate, stepped out