and expression an unconscious mirror of Oliver, who was standing by the door with his hand on his sword, his face carefully neutral. She glanced sidelong at the priest. Like the Lady Mary, he seemed genuinely thrown.
‘Isaac . . .’ ventured the priest. ‘Isaac was very devout.’
Whatever he meant by this was lost on Wynter, but Mary closed her eyes in dismay. ‘Oh, Jared,’ she said, ‘no.’
‘You imply, perhaps, that he could not bear the thought of a Musulman on the throne? Is that your thought, Presbyter?’
The priest gazed at Alberon mutely. His eyes flickered to Razi.
‘Would you perhaps have encouraged these opinions?’ hissed Alberon.
The priest’s eyes widened and he stayed silent. Wynter wondered what it was that Alberon expected to hear from this man. A confession? In the priest’s position, Wynter would have had her tongue drawn rather than implicate herself. On the other hand, did Alberon really think it likely that a Midland priest and a devout Midland soldier would be open to the idea of a Musulman heir to the Southland throne? Did he really think it likely that they would have been anything but appalled at the thought? For the priest to deny such feelings would be patently ridiculous.
She stared at the priest’s terrified face and wondered just how much or how little he had had to do with Isaac’s fervent beliefs. She wondered if he would have been willing to compound them, had he known what a terrible death the poor man would face because of it.
‘We did not discuss the Lord Razi,’ whispered the priest at last. ‘It never seemed likely that he would be put in your place. It was so far from possible that your father would have been so—’ The priest cut himself short, but everyone knew what he meant to say. Stupid. It was so far from possible that Jonathon would have been so stupid. Alberon looked the man up and down, and Wynter could see it in his face: like her, Alberon was considering the possibility that Isaac had acted alone, on the spur of the moment, as a violent reaction to Razi’s sudden and unexpected accession to heir.
Razi’s deep voice drew her attention. He was staring at Mary. ‘His Royal Highness told me that Isaac was your squire, Lady Mary.’ His eyes flitted to Mary’s swollen belly. ‘I had not understood . . .’ he said softly.
The lady placed her hands on her stomach, as if to hide it, and drew herself up straighter in her chair. Wynter blushed for her. It must be terrible to have a man see one in that state. The poor woman should have been safely in her confinement by now – happily sequestered from sight, surrounded by her ladies and female relatives, knitting and sewing and preparing in joy for the arrival of her child – not stuck in this Godforsaken backwoods, surrounded by rough men, with not even a beaker of fresh tea to give her comfort.
‘This is my late husband’s child, my Lord,’ she said. ‘Please do not stoop to sully my friendship with Isaac. I could not bear it.’ Her voice was cold, but it trembled, and it was obvious that she was nearing the end of her self-control.
‘I am so sorry,’ said Razi. He leaned forward and squeezed her hand in sympathy. It had the effect of undoing the poor woman’s restraint somewhat, and her eyes overflowed. She shook her head, extricated her hand from Razi’s grip and pressed her fingers to her face until she got herself under control.
‘He was simply my friend,’ she said. ‘He was my friend.’
Razi glanced at the priest. ‘Presbyter, would you like to fetch the lady some tea? Or something to eat?’
The priest stared at him for a moment. He looked at Alberon, then Oliver, then his eyes went to the door. The sun had risen fully, and within the angular shade of the awning, the soldiers’ shadows loomed tall. The priest shook his head, and Wynter felt a small spark of admiration for him. He would not leave his Lady alone under these circumstances.
‘Oliver?’ said Razi. ‘Please arrange something for the lady.’
Oliver remained unmoving, waiting for Alberon to give his orders. Razi sighed, and looked to Alberon. The Prince returned his look with a disapproving shake of his head and crossed to take a seat on the cot instead.
Razi gaped at him. ‘Albi!’ he cried.
‘I shall ask Freeman Garron if he would be so kind,’ murmured Wynter, heading for the door