Free The Sharp Hook of Love by Sherry Jones Page B

golden.”
    â€œYes, that is how I remember her. As warm and golden as the sun. And her voice—ah! She sang like the angels. Do you sing, Heloise?”
    â€œHer voice puts the angels to shame—to shame,” Fulbert said. “Even the birds stop their song to hear my niece. She is her mother’s daughter to the very core.”
    â€œAnd now you would follow in her path.”
    That phrase again. “Mother wished me to take my vows at Fontevraud, yes, and to be of service to you. It is my uncle’s desire, also.”
    â€œMy sister hoped that Heloise might become your abbess someday, or grand prioress,” Fulbert said.
    Robert drew his brows together. “I have not replaced Hersende, for to do so seems impossible. Petronille of Chemillé hopes to be chosen, and indeed I should have appointed her by now. Together, she and Hersende built Fontevraud.”
    â€œMy sister always enjoyed being in command.” My uncle, who often said this with bitterness, smiled as though he had lived to obey her.
    â€œGod gave her a talent for it, as well as beauty, grace, intelligence, and virtue. If I have not replaced her, it is because there is no replacement. No one on Earth compares to Hersende. Until now.” The years fell away with his smile, transforming him. His eyes flashed. “We return to Fontevraud tomorrow. Come with us.”
    I caught my breath. Abelard had feared the preacher might take me with him, and I had dismissed his concern. My mother had left me behind; no one had wanted me since. Now I found myself torn between two men. My heart began to race—toward Abelard.
    â€œDid you hear that, my dear girl?” my uncle said. “He wants you now. You can go, and I shall send your things along—”
    â€œ Non ,” I blurted.
    Uncle scowled. “You don’t—”
    â€œI cannot, Uncle. Please! Not now. Not yet.”
    â€œIf the abbot desires you to join him now, then now you shall go. No arguments. It is your time—your time!”
    I would never see Abelard again. My only chance at love, gone. And although Robert of Arbrissel would surely tell memuch about Mother, I still needed to know about my father—about myself, who I was, from where I came. I would never find the truth from within the walls of an abbey.
    â€œ Non! I cannot go with you now. I—I am sorry.”
    Uncle Fulbert’s face colored and he eyed me with suspicion. Abelard . The name perched on my tongue but I knew better than to utter it.
    â€œMust I leave you so soon, Uncle? I beg to remain in Paris a little while longer. I have only lived in my uncle’s home for a short time,” I said to Robert. “He is my only family, now that my mother is gone.” Robert’s gaze turned inward; he was remembering Mother, while I had forgotten even the sound of her voice.
    â€œUncle Fulbert and I have become very close, haven’t we, Uncle?”
    My uncle grunted. He licked his lips, thirsting, I knew, for his evening flagon.
    â€œPlease, Uncle, allow me a few more months with you. Can’t I stay until—until next spring? That would give me time to finish my studies in dialectic.”
    â€œDialectic is a fine course of study for an abbess,” Robert said.
    â€œAnd with none other than Petrus Abaelardus as her teacher,” Uncle said.
    I dropped my gaze, hiding my thrill at the very sound of his name.
    â€œPierre Abelard, the headmaster? That is most impressive.”
    â€œShe is his finest scholar—his finest,” my uncle said.
    â€œBy all means you must complete your schooling with him. Learn what you can of dialectic and debate, then bring your skills to me. I will introduce you to the richest, most parsimonious men in the realm, and you may convince them to fund the new oratory I want to build for the meretrices who have come to us.But—when will you join us, Heloise?” Robert held my gaze, searching my soul,