Part 32 (1/2)
”How long were you at the abbey?”
”Three years.”
Fayth tried, without success, to imagine Alex in the flowing robes of priesthood, hair short and tonsured. ”I didn't think it took that long to become a monk... or is it different, being a priest?”
”Oh, aye, it's different. But I failed at both. Most are novitiates for but a year... mine obviously went on much longer. The abbot said I lacked humility.”
”That's all you lacked?”
Alex quirked a brow at her, as if to determine whether the question was sincere or sarcastic, then said, ”There are twelve degrees of humility. I couldn't quite grasp them. But you're right, I failed in other ways. According to the abbot, I am unable to refrain from the desires of the flesh. I cannot banish evil and impure thoughts-thoughts of revenge. I drink too much wine, I talk too much, I laugh too much-and too loudly-I tell coa.r.s.e stories that are deemed inappropriate for chaste ears, and,” he grinned wickedly at her, ”I simply canna love chast.i.ty.”
”I see,” she said, trying to look thoughtful, though her cheeks were heating up, vaguely remembering a fever-induced kiss that had been far from chaste. She forced the memory away and tried to imagine Alex in a monastery, drinking and laughing while the other monks frowned reprovingly. She smothered the smile threatening to form.
”What happened?” she asked.
”I didn't want to be a priest... I tried, for my mother... It was her deepest desire to have a son in the Church. Rob was heir and Patrick... well, it was clear from the start there wasna a pious bone in Patrick's body. That left me.”
”Was your mother... disappointed?”
Alex became very solemn. ”Aye.” He inhaled deeply, thoughtfully. ”She taught me all I knew of G.o.d, afore the abbey. Her vision of the Lord was a good one and I thought it was a worthy thing to serve Him. I lied to her, told her it was what I wanted.” He shrugged one shoulder. ”I thought it would be easy to conform and be a good priest. But my mum's G.o.d was not at the abbey. Oh, they were strict and chaste and verra good men, in their own manner, upholding what they believed to be G.o.d's will in the most literal sense.” He sighed. ”But I didn't see G.o.d there. And now I must wonder, if He's not there, where indeed, is He at all?”
He didn't seem inclined to say more. She watched him twist the cup in his hands, not drinking. His words troubled her. Was it blasphemy he uttered? She didn't know, not being well churched herself.
He glanced up, following her gaze. ”Here.” He offered her the cup.
”Oh, no.” She shook her head. ”You must drink it. It will make you better.”
To her chagrin, he stood with little effort and sat beside her. ”You should drink it, too.”
She could feel the heat from his body. He was like a fire, blazing nearby, and she was so cold. His arm brushed against hers. She had the urge to press herself to his heat, let it engulf her.
She took the cup for something to do with her hands and sipped at it. She handed it back. ”Thank you.”
He watched her intently and finally she met his gaze with a challenge. ”What?”
”I'm making you uneasy.”
”No,” she lied, shaking her head a bit too vigorously. ”Not at all.”
”You know not what to think anymore, eh? Now that you no longer hate me.”
”How presumptuous of you.”
”So you do still hate me?”
She refused to look at him. She must hate him. And yet, in her heart, she knew he was right, the hate had faded, replaced by something new, something she cared not at all to examine. But it was wrong that it should die! Jack's murder was still unavenged and she sat here sharing a cup of swill with his murderer.
”Do you hate me or not? It's a simple question.”
Why couldn't she answer him? She tried to force herself to say, Yes, I despise you. But it was such an untruth she couldn't force it past her lips.