Free Past Present by Secret Narrative Page B

Matthew approved, she would add it to the Falconworth website.
    oOo
    “It’s too dangerous, you shouldn’t be here.”
    “Why? You want me do you not?”
    “Yea, oh my darling girl, yea, you know I do. How could I deny you? Deny us? I think we have been connected from birth. God help me.”
    The priest crossed himself, the rough cloth of his brown robe scratching against his body, and the finger dragged in the sign of the cross. He had not donned the luxurious silk garments he usually wore beneath, both as penance and, God help him, for freedom.”
    “You love me?”
    The girl pressed urgently against him, his cock iron hard, tenting the cassock.
    “I do. God help me. You know I do.”
    “Take me then. Take me, here, take me now. I am yours. I am yours until doom.”
    The girl slid to her knees, at his feet, bare toes, dusty in his expensive, leather sandals.
    “Even your toes are beautiful.”
    He knew it was true. He had heard talk. “Rarely has a finer man walked at Falconworth than Father Mathieu,” opined many. In common with others called to serve God, Father Mathieu enjoyed the trappings of a cosseted life. His servitude to the Lord via the Priesthood had been arranged from birth, being the second son, born into a titled family. However, in following is duty, he had not denied himself the trappings of the wealth he had become accustomed to as he grew from boy to man. Nevertheless, nothing had prepared him for the onslaught of Leonora’s lust, manifested from the moment their eyes met. Shaken to the core, his precarious faith had crumbled away as if it had never existed. Now, when he prayed, all he could see was Leonora, her face, her lovely face and her lips, full, and as perfect a colour as the bloom of the reddest rose. Father Mathieu was lost, forever lost, his lust hardened cock a mockery to his softened resistance. Dragging himself back to the present, looking down at the golden halo of hair presented as she worshiped at his feet.
    “We must find a way to leave this place. I and others see that you have enchanted the young master. If he takes a fancy to pluck you, he will have you. If he wants you, he will have you, and there is naught I can do to protect you. Except turn away from my God and hurry you from here.”
    “Yea, my love, verily.”
    “Sssh, I hear people abroad. Rise now. Come hither. We must part. Fare-the-well, I shall meet you at the boating lake at dusk. Remain in this place, I shall slip out. If I am seen, nothing will seem amiss. The small altar provides every reason for my presence. Hide in the alcove, there, perchance whoever it is may think to look closer yet. Prithee, meet me anon, my darling, anon.”
    Father Mathieu let himself out of the secret room and made his way towards the gallery. Sure enough, coming towards him, he spied Edmund, the Master’s son. Few men crueller in the whole of Falconworth and few men possessed of darker desires. His own soul already lost, the priest dare not meet the other man’s eye as he hurried along, keeping close to the window lined wall while the other walked alongside the tapestries hanging the length of the wall.
    “How now, Father Mathieu? What brings you creeping around the house at this early hour?”
    “Prayers for the village sick. I thought to visit with her ladyship, to beg alms.”
    “I’ll wager you thought so, hmmm.” Edmund’s eyes seemed to bore their way into Father Mathieu’s soul, and the worm of certainty that the young master knew his secret wriggled his veins, twisting his nerves, taut as if to snap.
    “Good morrow to you sir, I shall be on my way,” said Father Mathieu, seeking to hide guilt with a show of indifference.
    “I may say a few prayers myself,” said Edmund, glancing towards the priest’s room.
    “As you wish, and adieu,” replied Father Mathieu. The worm of fear now had a twin, which itself multiplied, the crawling maggot of terror, festered within him as he rushed out into the fresh air. Fully