Read Online The Illuminator by Brenda Rickman Vantrease - Free Book Online Page B

Brother Joseph eyed the generous portion before him, his shock at the illuminator’s heretical words forgotten in anticipation. “My lady’s loss is my gain,” he said. “I’ll see it does not go to waste.”
    As if anything were ever wasted at Blackingham, she thought. The servers with hungry mouths at home would see to that, as he well knew. Still, it was amusing to watch the monk’s exceeding pleasure. His little round belly testified that he did not consider gluttony the deadliest sin.
    â€œBy the by, milady, I’ve brought you something from our apothecary foryour headaches,” he said between mouthfuls, “ground peony root with oil of roses.” He reached inside the deep pockets of his habit and produced a small blue phial.
    â€œHow kind, Brother Joseph. Please give my thanks to your apothecary as well.”
    And she meant it. Hard to believe this gentle man who took such care to assuage her pain was the same firebrand who a few moments ago had anticipated the burning of a fellow human being with the same enthusiasm with which he now attacked his food. And all in the name of God. Well, no matter. She was glad for the medicine. She would have need of it, if this dinner did not end soon. Thankfully, the talk had settled to more mundane things. Colin talked in Brother Joseph’s ear of the guild pageants he’d seen at Eastertide in Norwich. Sir Guy interrogated the illuminator about the nature of his commission.
    But no sooner was one fire put out than here was another. Alfred had moved closer to the illuminator’s daughter and leaned forward to whisper something in her ear. The light from the tallow candles on the wall behind him sparked fire in his red hair. Lady Kathryn heard his familiar, merry laugh and saw the girl’s olive skin turn pink like the blush on a peach.
    The illuminator had introduced her simply as his daughter, Rose—not Margaret, or Anna or Elizabeth. Just Rose. Like the flower. A strange name for a Christian child, she had thought at the time. It was after the priest’s body had been removed, after her sons had wandered in, summoned by the commotion in the courtyard. As soon as she saw the look in Alfred’s blue eyes and recognized it for what it was, she decided what her course of action should be. Now, she was more sure of her decision than ever.
    Finn inclined his head and spoke low in his daughter’s ear, scolding, Kathryn deduced, from the fleeting frown that turned down the corners of Rose’s mouth before she lowered her gaze. Her fingers fidgeted with the pendant at her throat, fingering it like a talisman. Kathryn would attend the girl tonight, but she could not play nursemaid forever. Tomorrow she would have to tell Alfred of her decision.

    Finn also found himself distracted as he sat at table in the great hall. He had noted the irritation in the voice of his hostess, who sat at his right, and soresolved to make no more political statements. He did not want Brother Joseph carrying tales back to the abbot at Broomholm that the abbey had a heretic in its employ. He had already called undue attention to himself by confronting the bishop of Norwich and confessing to killing his sow. He had tried to be deferential to the impudent stripling of a bishop—even offered to pay for the pig and her suckling—but deference didn’t come easily to Finn, and he feared he’d botched it. But by taking the blame on himself, he had saved the dwarf from the stocks or worse.
    He hoped the abbot would forget any indiscretion on the part of his new employee when he saw the carpet pages for the manuscript. They would be glorious. On the journey to Aylsham from Broomholm, Finn had had plenty of time to think about the end-papers, the pages that would precede the beginning of Saint John’s Gospel. The background would be the rich red of the mulberry sauce soaking into the bread of his trencher and smothering the