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

suspect this is another relative of yours,” she told him. “And I was worried about how Edgar would react to my family!”
    She turned to Solomon, who had stayed with them.
    “Do you think he’s safe?” Willa asked, gesturing at the man.
    Solomon grinned at her. “Not in the least,” he answered. “So don’t you think we should greet him very politely? From Edgar’s reaction, I feel fairly confident that he’s a friend.”
    Willa wasn’t so sure. She had imagined magical creatures from the woods but they weren’t meant to be so big.
    “What does he eat, do you think?” she asked.
    “Large amounts of meat, most likely,” Solomon answered. “We’ll have to be sure he gets enough, or he may take a bite of you.”
    “Solomon!” Catherine stopped him. “She’s frightened enough!”
    Solomon started to apologize when Edgar came racing back to them.
    “It’s my uncle!” he told them. “Æthelræd, the one I just told you about. Come meet him.”
    He tugged at Catherine, who advanced slowly, Willa hiding behind her. Æthelræd started toward them, then seeing Willa’s frightened face peering around Catherine, he stopped with a laugh.
    “Ic beo manne, swa swa min broðorsunnu, Edgar! Ne forhtiað , cild!”
    Willa clutched Catherine to keep herself from running away. Even Catherine was startled by the sudden rush of alien words. The only one she understood was Edgar’s name. Æthelræd turned to Edgar.
    “What’s wrong with them?” he asked. “Do I reek?”
    “They don’t understand you,” Edgar explained. “French convents don’t give English lessons.”
    He went over to Catherine and took the baby from her arms.
    “Uncle says he’s human, just like me,” he told her. “You don’t need to fear him. He’s big but not dangerous … usually.”
    Not greatly reassured, Catherine still put out her hand in greeting. To her astonishment, Edgar’s uncle bowed like a fine lord and responded in heavily accented Latin.
    “In nomine Christi te saluto.”
    Catherine gave a startled laugh. It was as if a trained bear had spoken. Then she blushed.
    “Please forgive me,” she said hastily, also in Latin. “I wasn’t prepared to be honored with such a greeting. I thank you and greet you also in the name of Our Lord.”
    It was Æthelræd’s turn to be startled. His forehead creased in his effort to follow her fluid speech. Then he grinned at Edgar.
    “My informants told me she was educated,” he said. “But they didn’t say how well. Tell her I haven’t read more than psalms and charters for thirty years and can’t keep up with her refined phrases.”
    Edgar translated and Catherine blushed more deeply. They picked up the bags and continued toward the hostel. As they walked, Æthelræd nudged Edgar.
    “She talk like that in bed, too?” he muttered.
    “You should hear her periphrastics.” Edgar leered.
    Æthelræd gave a deep sigh. “You’re a lucky man, nephew. Eyes like hers and Latin phrases, too.”
     
    Hubert was thinking of Catherine’s Latin phrases at that moment, too. He was remembering how she could decimate pompous underlings, such as the one standing before him, with a few well-chosen insults.
    “I have a right to know who accuses me,” he told the man. “I’ll answer nothing until I can face those who would slander me so and receive restitution from them.”
    The cleric from Notre Dame was a totally nondescript man, the sort one might imagine seeing half a dozen times a day because he looked like everyone else. It wasn’t until he opened his mouth and spoke with his grating Occitan accent that he became an individual.
    “My dear sir.” The cleric waved his hands placatingly. “No accusations have been made, as yet. My Lord Bishop only asked me to investigate a rumor. Undoubtedly false, of course, but with your connections to the abbey of Saint-Denis, one that needs to be refuted completely. Nothing more.”
    “I do refute it,” Hubert said. “No one among my