Free The Miracle Thief by Iris Anthony Page B

that would keep me from the Dane.
    â€œA sign?”
    â€œI do not want to act in disobedience, to do something contrary to God’s will.” I feared that possibility even more than I feared wedding the Dane. To do so would bring swift and certain punishment. “I simply wish to know it is the right thing to do.” The archbishop had placed the future of Christendom upon my shoulders, and it seemed too weighty a burden to bear. But if this destiny was indeed the design of Providence, then what else could I do but make my peace with it?
    â€œBut…how could it not be God’s will? Think of it, Gisele. The conversion of an entire people!”
    â€œWould you give me leave to inquire of Saint Catherine? At the abbey in Rochemont?”
    His frown deepened.
    â€œJust to ease my mind, so I may be certain?” God himself might not deign to reveal His will to me, but Saint Catherine might. “What harm could there be in my going?”
    â€œWhy Saint Catherine? Why that abbey?”
    â€œI just wish…” I wished, for the first time in my memory, that I was not a king’s daughter, that I was not a princess, and that my mother had taken me with her when she had fled the court. I wished I was exactly as the ignominy of my birth should have decreed: I wished I was no one at all. But how could I say that without sounding ungrateful or offending my father, the king? “The abbey is my dower.” It was the only thing of value I possessed. “And if I marry the pagan…”
    He sighed as his frown eased.
    If I married the pagan, I had little hope I would ever be allowed to go there again.
    I had traveled there once before. In that place of lofty heights and quiet contemplation, I had known a peace I had never felt before. There, I could pray to Saint Catherine and kiss her relic, she of a noble and pure heart who never ceased to advocate on behalf of maidens and those who died a sudden death. But more than that, I was almost certain if I could just talk to one of the nuns again—not the abbess herself, but the nun who tended the relic—she could calm this fear, soothe this panic that threatened to undo me. Had she not done so before? Had she not had just the right words when I had entertained hopes of abandoning the court? And whether I ought to remain a virgin or sacrifice myself to the heathen, Saint Catherine would not fail to tell me what to do. After that, I would pray for the strength to accept whatever my future held.
    â€œWhy could you not just pray at the cathedral in Rouen?”
    â€œBecause I want to pray to Saint Catherine.” I had cried enough tears the night before. How could I possess still more? And why could I not keep them from staining my voice? “Even if…” Even if. Even if it meant a long journey to the east and the south. Even if the archbishop would not like it. Even if, in the end, it would change nothing. I took in a great breath and tried once more. “The Danes have asked for a three-month truce. Surely I could make it there and back by then.”
    â€œIt’s far too late in the year—” A servant was approaching. Father accepted a cup of wine from him.
    I held my breath as he took a drink.
    â€œBut then why should you not be allowed to ease your mind?”
    Praise God and all His angels!
    â€œI am to meet the chieftain this morning.” He took another sip. “You will come with me and—”
    â€œWhy must I—”
    â€œBecause I say so!”
    I took a step backward, away from his wrath.
    He closed his eyes for a long moment. When he opened them, he looked even more wearied and worn than he had before. “Because I say so, and it is I who wear the crown and I who sit on the throne of this kingdom. Will no one obey me simply because it is their duty? Must I always and forever explain myself? What other king has ruled a people so stubborn and stiff-necked as these!”
    I