Free Sorrow Without End by Priscilla Royal

I believe I was alone after I left the village. Those with whom I had journeyed thus far stopped for refreshment and lodgings at the inn. The weather had turned most foul.” He took a deep breath. Should he tell Ralf about his strange feeling that he had been followed? Nay, he decided, for he had no wish to speak of York or his imaginings about the Prince of Darkness.
    Ralf stared up at the bracing of the ceiling like a builder studying his work, then glanced down at Eleanor. “Cuthbert has the corpse tied to his horse, my lady. I was hoping Sister Anne might examine…”
    Eleanor looked first to the sub-infirmarian, then turned to the crowner. “Of course, Ralf, but there are some without who have most pressing need of her attention…”
    “As soon as I have tended to them, my lady, I will be happy to be of whatever small assistance I may be in this case.”
    “Then have your sergeant take the sad burden to the outside entrance of the men’s chapel, Crowner. We will have a trestle table set up so Cuthbert can put the corpse there and cover it for decency’s sake.”
    “I am grateful, my lady,” Ralf replied.
    The prioress smiled, then gestured to Anne, and the two women left.
    Although the crowner bowed his head, Thomas noticed that Ralf’s eyes followed the nuns until they had disappeared from sight around a pillar. When the man still did not move, Thomas coughed.
    Ralf turned red and looked at the monk as if he had forgotten he was there. “Will you come to the hospital chapel, Brother?” he quickly asked. “After Cuthbert lays the corpse on the trestle, I would be grateful if you looked upon the body. Perhaps the man was among those with whom you traveled earlier.”
    “I shall, Crowner,” the monk replied, briefly closing his eyes with weary relief. Would he never be able to forget his time in prison, his body abused and bitten by rats while he lay in his own filth? For the moment at least he had recovered from the horror of old memories, and perhaps he could be of help in this current matter. He shook all thoughts of his past from his mind and accompanied Ralf to the chapel.

Chapter Twelve
    Eleanor spun around. She saw nothing untoward in the murky shadows beyond the hospital entrance. Why then this prickling at the back of her neck, she asked herself? Was she so filled with dark sin that she thought some mocking imp might be prancing behind her?
    She shivered, then continued rushing along the path to her chambers. Sin, indeed! Her body ached, not with the autumn chill but with a longing she had little will to fight. The unexpected sight of Thomas at the hospital had sent shocks through her, reigniting the fires of her passion, causing her knees to weaken, and banishing any hold she might have on rational thought. Angry and humiliated, she was disgusted by her frailty.
    “Get thee behind me,” she growled at whatever frolicking imp might be near. She could not afford this teary lovesickness. Not only must she emerge victorious in her struggle with Brother Matthew, but she now had a murder committed all too near her priory, news that must be handled with both delicacy and firm reason. She could not continue to suffer these hellish agonies whenever she was in Thomas’ presence. Earlier she might have thought she had a choice in this matter of the comely monk. Now she was convinced he must be sent away.
    As she marched along, oblivious to the water she splashed through on the way, she swore that she would remain in command of her reason. If the murderer or murderers did seek shelter here, as Ralf had suggested when he first told her of the crime, she could not indulge in womanly weakness. She was Tyndal’s leader; thus she must have a man’s stomach.
    She felt cold, then glanced at her shoes. They were soaked.
    She walked on. Could these killers have gained a haven at Tyndal’s hospital? If so, she must help the crowner ferret them out. Although she had much confidence in his ability to find the