“What? You thought you could just have your wicked way with me without buying the cow?” he asked indignantly as he started walking again, carrying her through the entry and starting upstairs to the second floor.
Holly laughed and shook her head. “You’re crazy.”
“About you,” he agreed, stepping off the stairs and starting across a large open loft. “By the way, did I mention that while I haven’t done much decorating, I did buy a bed?”
“Oh,” Holly sighed. “You are a clever man.”
“Your clever man,” he assured her and she nodded.
“Yes, my clever old man,” she teased and Justin groaned as he carried her into the bedroom.
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Lady Adela, abbess of Godstow, frowned down the length of the table at the nuns all seated for the nooning meal. Sister Clarice, Sister Eustice, and Lady Rosamunde were missing. It was not unusual for Sister Clarice to be late. The woman was late for everything. Most likely she had forgotten to fetch the incense for the mass that would take place after the meal, and had gone to retrieve it. Sister Clarice always forgot the incense.
As for Sister Eustice and Lady Rosamunde, however, the two were always punctual, as a rule. However, they had not been at the morning meal either. Come to that, they had not been at matins, lauds, or prime. At Godstow, it took an emergency to keep a nun from mass, and this would be no exception. Sister Eustice and Lady Rosamunde had been in the stables through the night and well into the morning, working over a mare who was having difficulty birthing her foal.
But surely they were not still at that! she fretted, then glanced sharply toward Sister Beatrice, who had stumbled over the passage she was reading. Seeing that Beatrice along with all the other women were peering up the table at her, Lady Adela arched an eyebrow questioningly. Sister Margaret, the nun seated on her right, made a motion with her hands. Margaret held one hand up, the fingers fisted but for the baby finger, which hung down like the udder of a cow. With her other hand, she imitated the motion of milking.
Adela blinked, then realized that she had picked up the pitcher of milk and held on to it, thoughtlessly, as she worried about the missing women.
Passing the pitcher to Sister Margaret, the abbess gestured to the others to continue with their meal, then rose and moved to the door. She had barely stepped into the hall when she spotted Sister Clarice hurrying down the corridor, a slightly guilty flush on her face. Unable to speak during mealtime, Lady Adela once again arched an eyebrow, demanding an explanation of the woman’s tardiness.
Sighing, Clarice raised her hand and propped two fingers upward until they were inserted in her nostrils, somehow managing an apologetic look as she did so.
The action was a pantomime to announce that she had forgotten to provide incense for mass—-as Adela had suspected. Shaking her head, the abbess gestured for Clarice to continue on to her meal; then she made her way out to the stables.
The building was silent but for the faint rustle of hay as various animals shifted and glanced curiously toward her as Adela entered. Gathering the hem of her skirt close to avoid trailing it through anything unpleasant, she made her way down the rows of stalls until she reached the last one. There, Sister Eustice and Lady Rosamunde were kneeling by a panting mare. She stood for a moment, peering affectionately at their bent backs as they toiled over the laboring beast; then her mouth dropped with dismay as Sis Eustice shifted and she could see exactly how Lady Rosamunde was toiling.
“What in God’s name are you doing?”
Rosamunde stiffened at that horrified exclamation from behind, her head whipping briefly around to see the abbess gaping at her with dismay. Then she swiftly whirled back to soothe the mare as the animal whinnied, its muscles shifting around her hands.
Leaping to her feet, Eustice ushered the horrified Adela a few steps away, babbling explanations as they moved. “The mare was having difficulty. She labored for hours before we realized that the foal was backward. Lady Rosamunde is trying to help.”
“She has her hands inside the mare!” Adela pointed out with horror.
“She is trying to turn the foal,” Eustice explained quickly.
“But—-”
“Is it not the nooning hour?” Rosamunde whispered with exasperation, removing the hand she had been holding the foal’s feet with to pat the mare’s rump soothingly. The animal was becoming distressed by the tone of voice the abbess was using.
“This is an emergency. God will forgive our breaking silence during mealtime if ’tis an emergency,” Adela responded promptly.
“Aye, well, let us hope our mare does,” Rosamunde muttered, shifting swiftly out of the way as the horse began kicking its legs in a panicked attempt to regain its feet.