Free The Illuminator by Brenda Rickman Vantrease Page A

Traveling with his daughter made dalliance difficult. The doxies who offered themselves smelled of the hovels they lived in, and their bodies were infestedwith lice. Even in the brothels run by the bishops, there was still the danger of catching the pox.
    Finn became aware that his companions had fallen silent and were looking at him expectantly. The rotund little monk was leaning across the table, shouting in his direction.
    â€œDo you not agree, Master Illuminator?”
    â€œI’m sorry, I didn’t—”
    â€œBrother Joseph, please. Have another sweet?” Lady Kathryn beckoned to the server. “Agnes made the custard tarts especially for tonight.”
    The monk held his spoon at ready and his eyes lit up in anticipation, his inquisition forgotten.
    Whatever the question, it was obvious to Finn that his hostess had not trusted his answer. She was cunning. He remembered her reaction when the sheriff brought the priest’s body, the too-straight way she’d denied seeing the priest. What involvement could be there? Whatever it was, it was none of his affair. He had his daughter to think of. The murder of a priest was a dangerous thing to know about.
    Alarm bells in Finn’s head pulled him back from his reverie. A different voice this time, coming from his left, hushed, intimate, “I could show you the best place for drawing—a little inlet overlooking the sea.”
    He recognized the tone of the jackanapes beside him, whose red head was bent much too near his daughter’s. Their lips were almost touching.
    Finn spoke loudly enough to pull Alfred away from his amorous pursuit. “Inlet by the sea, you say. Rose and I will be glad to see it, won’t we, Rose?”
    Alfred hummed and hawed after the manner of a thief caught with his hand in the herring barrel. His daughter blushed, anger at her father sparking in her beautiful eyes. A harmless flirtation, perhaps; still, the boy needed warning that he was being watched.
    The meal dragged on interminably. What a relief when his hostess rose. Now he could excuse himself and retire to the pleasant quarters she had provided. He said a polite good night to the others, saluted Lady Kathryn once again for her hospitality, and pulled his daughter from the clutches of her ardent admirer. But before he could make good his retreat, a servant approached him and handed him a scrap of sealed parchment. “This message came for you, sir. I was instructed to give it into your hand.”
    The seal was not familiar, but the holy cross embossed upon it gavesome clue to its origin. Probably some afterthought instructions from his patron.
    â€œDid the messenger wait for an answer?”
    The sheriff had stopped talking and was taking a noticeable interest in this exchange. This rankled him, just as Sir Guy’s earlier probe into the nature of his commission had rankled.
    â€œNo, sir,” the page said. “The messenger said to tell you something else, though. He said to tell you ‘Half-Tom pays his debts.’”
    The dwarf. But why would he bring a message from the abbey in Broomholm? The abbey was in Bacton Wood, several miles east of Aylsham, and that through forest. And Blackingham was miles out of his way—at least twelve miles north of Norwich. Half-Tom was from the edge of the fens, west of Norwich. The question could be cleared up easily enough by opening the dispatch, and he had started to do just that when the sheriff stood up and, crossing behind him, peered over his shoulder. Nosy bastard. Instead of breaking the seal, Finn tapped Rose on the sleeve with the folded parchment, then gently shoved Alfred aside and took his daughter’s arm.
    â€œCome, daughter. It’s time to retire to our quarters. Let Lady Kathryn take leave of her guests in privacy.” He nodded at the Benedictine. “Good night, Brother Joseph. You may assure Father Abbot when you return to him on the morrow that his