Free Cursed in the Blood: A Catherine LeVendeur Mystery by Sharan Newman

wondered if there were a place where she and Willa could wash the salt from their hair and find someone to boil James’s swaddling cloths. She was as tired as she could ever remember being and her face was chapped from the wind and spray. Even her nervousness over meeting Edgar’s family was melting under her desire to be in one place, anywhere warm, dry and steady.
    The men took the bundles and led the way as Catherine, holding James in one arm, took Willa’s hand and followed.
    They walked down Briggate, parallel to the river. Catherine looked around. There were shops and even two-story houses. There was a church, although she couldn’t see to which saint. There actually seemed to be more monks in the street than lay people. It didn’t
look so different from home. Not Paris, certainly, but perhaps a village nearby, one dependent upon an abbey. There were more blondes and redheads than she was used to, but none of them wore that silly skirt that the Scottish students in France affected. Well, there were a few, she amended, as a group of men rounded a corner, dressed in nothing but the skirts with their tunics tied by the sleeves around their waists. Willa nudged her and giggled.
    “Hush,” Catherine said. “We may look just as odd to them.”
    But she didn’t believe it.
    Solomon nudged Edgar, but not for the same reason.
    “Uncle was right!” he said excitedly. “We could make a fortune here. The monks are doing tremendous amounts of business. I’ve seen Benedictines, Tironians, Cistercians and some I don’t even recognize. They must need spices and incense and fine silk. Well, not much silk for Cistercians, but the others certainly! Perhaps this journey wasn’t as useless as I thought.”
    “Useless?” Edgar said. “Then why did you come?”
    “To take care of you and Catherine, of course,” Solomon answered. “How else do you think my uncles could have convinced me to leave them? I was also hoping you’d show me the lake with the monster in it.”
    “That’s far north of here,” Edgar said absently. “To take care of us! What sort of cracked-brain idea is that? You can’t even speak English!”
    “What difference does that make?” Solomon replied. “Do you think you’ll talk your enemies to death? I’m here because you can trust me. Is there anyone else in this whole kingdom you can say that of?”
    Robert looked at them quizzically, wanting to know what the argument was about. Edgar smiled an apology, then turned back to Solomon.
    “You plan on being Olivier to my Roland?” he asked. “Thank you. I mean it. You’re right. There are only two men in Britain that I trust completely. No, not even Robert. He’s the best of my brothers, I think, but I’m not positive even of him.”
    “So, who are they?” Solomon wanted to know.
    “Æthelræds, both of them,” Edgar answered. “And both too far away. One is my uncle and the other a friend from when I was a page at King David’s court.”
    Solomon’s eyebrows rose. “It’s always good to have a friend at court.”
    “This is even better.” Edgar grinned. “That Æthelræd has gone to be a white monk, somewhere down near York.”
    “A Cistercian?” Solomon commented. “I hear that they’re almost as powerful in England as in France. Still, York is a long way to call for help.”
    Edgar nodded. “So I’m glad you’re here, in case any is necessary.”
    Just then Robert gave a cry and began running up the street. Edgar gave one look at the man who had just appeared from around a corner and, with a whoop of delight, ran toward him as well. Catherine stopped where he had dropped their baggage.
    Willa bumped into her. She had been gaping at the man now being effusively greeted by her master and his brother.
    “Mistress,” she whispered tremulously, “I don’t think we’re in Paris anymore.”
    Catherine put a protective arm around her. Then she looked down at James, who stared up at her with Edgar’s clear grey eyes.
    “I