The Captive Heart

Chapter Fourteen

Alix had been both upset and astounded when Sir Udolf Watteson had appeared in the hall at Dunglais. She wasn't certain that he was mad. But his refusal to accept the reality of his situation was disturbing. Perhaps I should have let Colm kill him when he rescued me from Wulfborn, she thought guiltily. Her husband had told her if Sir Udolf ever again attempted to enter their life and disarrange it he would indeed slay the Englishman. Alix had not protested his words this time. She was angry Sir Udolf had upset Fiona, who was now having nightmares and would wake up crying out for Alix.

The laird would not allow his wife to ride from the keep without a large party of men to guard her. After midsummer Alix refrained from riding at all, pleading her belly, but it was not her pregnancy that prevented her riding out. Taking men from the keep so she might ride endangered Dunglais. And Fiona had become fearful of leaving her home lest Sir Udolf come and take Alix away. Only remaining within the keep did the little girl feel truly safe.

"Look what he has done," Alix railed to her husband. "We cannot remain boxed up forever in our home because of this man."

"I know," the laird answered. "I mean to put an end to it as soon as possible. I will go to the queen and to Bishop Kennedy about the matter. They will straighten it out." He bent and kissed Alix's sweet lips. "If I left you for a few weeks, would you be all right, lambkin? I need only two men to travel with me. Beinn will see that the keep is well defended. And you will have Iver and Fenella in the house."

"If it means this can be over, Colm, then aye! Go! But how do you mean to set the matter straight? Sir Udolf has his dispensation from York. You have seen it."

"Father Donald does not believe the dispensation is legitimate, although certainly Sir Udolf does," the laird told his wife.

"But it came from the archbishop's palace. Father Peter took the request to York himself," Alix replied.

"Monies were exchanged," Colm Scott reminded his wife.

"Monies are always exchanged where the church is concerned," Alix said scornfully. "But I cannot believe York's archbishop would condone a match between me and between Sir Udolf, given our prior relationship."

"We will see, but no matter you are mine, Alix, and I am yours forever," the laird swore to his wife. And several days later, after sending a messenger ahead of him and seeing that his keep would be impregnable, Malcolm Scott rode out with two men-at-arms by his side as he headed north to find the queen and Bishop Kennedy. It was high summer when he reached Ravenscraig Castle, the queen's home and her favorite residence. He was not surprised to find Adam Hepburn there with the queen.

Queen Marie welcomed him graciously, the young king by her side. He thought she did not look as well as she had in the past. But very astute, she was taking advantage of the political confusion still existing in England and making it work to Scotland's best advantage. Bishop Kennedy, having a quarrel with the English bishop of Durham, planned to lay siege to the bishop's castle of Norham. The queen saw no point to this exercise but went along with her bishop in an effort to assuage his anger that her influence in her son's government was perhaps a bit stronger than his.

The Laird of Dunglais bowed to both the young king and his mother. James III was eleven now. He was a tall, slender boy with black hair and amber eyes who resembled his mother more than the Stewarts. "I am pleased to see Your Highness in such good health," Malcolm Scott said to the king.

"How is Mistress Fiona?" the boy asked. "We much enjoyed her visit and hope to see her again soon."

"My daughter is well, Your Highness, though disturbed at the thought of losing her stepmother to whom she is devoted," the laird answered the king.

"Is your wife ill, my lord?" Queen Marie queried the laird.

"We have had some difficulty with her former father-in-law, Sir Udolf Watteson," Malcolm Scott said. "He holds a dispensation from Yorkminster that says he may wed her. He refuses to accept the fact Alix is my wife, the mother of my son and soon to birth a second child for me. At one point he kidnapped her, taking her back into England."

"Adam Hepburn told me," the queen said.

"He came again several weeks ago, but this time openly, to insist I turn my wife over to him as she was his. His priest traveled with him. He brought with him his dispensation from York as well as a letter he claimed came from St. Andrew's backing York and Sir Udolf's claim. My daughter became agitated at the thought of losing Alix. My son was frightened by this man. I put him from my house and warned him that if he came again I would kill him."

"And rightly so," the queen exclaimed. "Is the man mad that he continues to pursue your wife? Or is he just a fool?"

Malcolm Scott smiled slightly. The queen's outrage was oddly comforting. "Perhaps a bit of both, Your Highness," he answered her.

"You have obviously come to us for help," Queen Marie said.

"I have, madame. Sir Udolf's own priest is not certain, and we certainly are not, if this dispensation is legitimate. Monies were exchanged allegedly for the archbishop's Christian work. But did York's archbishop actually receive those monies, and did he approve such a dispensation allowing a father-in-law to wed his deceased son's wife? My own priest says the letter from St. Andrew's is a forgery. I need Bishop Kennedy to confirm that. I need Yorkminster to confirm whether the dispensation is legitimate or nay. And if it is, what action can we take? I have offered Sir Udolf an indemnity for any wrong he feels he has suffered. He will not take it. We are at a loss, Your Highness, as to what to do. But we cannot be harassed forever by this Englishman. Can you help us?"

The queen was thoughtful for several long moments, and then she said, "I can have inquiries made, my lord, through my own private channels. And Bishop Kennedy is here at Ravenscraig. He will search his memory, and also make inquiries at St. Andrew's." She looked to her son, the king. "Your Highness, will you add your name to the correspondence I will have written?"

"Mistress Fiona loves her stepmother," the boy king said. "And you say this Englishman caused her distress, my lord?"

"Aye, Your Highness, he did. So much so that my daughter attacked him, beating him with her fists," the laird responded.

"Oh! I should have liked to have seen that!" the king exclaimed, and he grinned. Then, turning to his mother, he said, "Aye, madame, I will add the weight of my kingship to this matter. If the letter from St. Andrew's was a forgery then certainly the dispensation from Yorkminster must be suspect as well."

Malcolm Scott was surprised by the boy's astuteness. He had been king only two years, and yet he already had an instinct for what was truth and what was not. "Thank you, Your Highness," the laird said, bowing deeply before the king.

"My lord Hepburn," Queen Marie spoke. "Please take the Laird of Dunglais to meet with Bishop Kennedy. We must straighten this matter out as soon as possible."

Adam Hepburn bowed and led Malcolm Scott off. "Your request comes at an ideal time," he told the laird. "The queen would do anything to deter Kennedy from this ridiculous quarrel with the bishop of Durham. But of course our good bishop thinks that since Edward of York is still busy consolidating his position, he can war in England with impunity. Norham Castle, however, is unlikely to be taken."

"What is the quarrel between these two holy men about?" the laird asked.

"Who knows?" Adam Hepburn said. "A relic, the question of who is greater. Churchmen are no less vain and ambitious than normal mortals. Kennedy's nose has been out of joint ever since the old king died. He expected to take charge of the young king to the great advantage of his family, just like the Crichtons and Livingstons did in the time of a young James II. But the queen was there before him, and her people remain in the key positions. She's a clever lass and compromises with the bishop just enough. He's not a bad fellow, but the queen is more sophisticated because of her upbringing. Between us, however, she influences her son a bit too much. This is not the civilized court of her father, Duke Arnold of Gueldres, or her uncle, Duke Philip of Burgundy. This is Scotland, where a man is expected to ride well and fight well. Our young king does neither, nor does he speak the old language still used in the Highlands. He loves the things his mother loves. Music. Art. Beautiful clothing. He speaks of bringing artists and musicians here to Scotland, of building a great hall at Stirling. This is not what his lords want to hear. I have tried to advise him, but he doesn't listen."

"You love his mother," the laird said quietly.

Adam Hepburn laughed wryly. "Aye, God help me, I do. But my love for the queen is not important, for I am no Black Knight of Lome to sweep a widowed queen off her feet and wed her, nor is she like her predecessor, Queen Joan. My queen will not wed again, for her son's sake. If he were grown perhaps I should convince her, for while she loves the others they are not important to her as the young king is important to her. But here we are. Bishop Kennedy is housed here." Adam Hepburn rapped sharply upon the door, and it was opened by a young page who bowed and ushered the two men inside.

Bishop James Kennedy was not a young man, but neither was he in his dotage. A big, tall man, his head was tonsured, the fringe of hair snow white. His blue eyes were fathomless and offered no show of emotion. He nodded in acknowledgment of his visitors' bows, and waved them to seats opposite him by the fire. "Well, my lords, what is it that brings you here today? You are usually close by the queen, Hepburn. A bit more discretion would be appreciated, sir. And who is this with you? He looks like a borderer."

"Malcolm Scott, the Laird of Dunglais," Adam Hepburn replied, ignoring the bishop's pointed remarks about his relationship with the queen.

"And I am indeed a borderer, Your Grace," the laird said.

"Aha! The man who has as priest in his borderer's lair the best secretary I have ever had," Bishop Kennedy grumbled. "I don't suppose you would be of a mind to give him back to me, Scott of Dunglais."

"Only if he wanted to return, Your Grace," the laird answered with a small grin.

Bishop Kennedy snorted, and then he smiled sourly. "You say that because you know he doesn't. Why Donald preferred serving our Lord in a border keep to serving him here in the halls of power I will never know. He could have gone as far as Rome, Scott of Dunglais. Did you know that? Rome! He is intelligent and clever. And, God help us, humble! Truly humble. Why I was blessed briefly by his company and skills only to lose him I will never know."

"He is invaluable to us, Your Grace," the laird said.

"But do you appreciate him? Understand him?" the bishop wanted to know.

"I know he is wise and brings comfort to my Dunglais folk," the laird answered.

"Bah!" the bishop said. "I can see you deserve each other. Well, border lord, what is it you want of me? You have not come all the way from your border keep simply to pay me a visit. And you seem to have the queen's ear or Hepburn would not be accompanying you."

"My lord Hepburn is an old friend," Malcolm Scott said.

"And so was James, the second Stewart of that name," Bishop Kennedy said quietly. "I remember you now, Malcolm Scott. The boy who came from the borders, and when the others fell away, or were subverted by Crichton and Livingston, you remained true to your king. When you had to return home after your father died I remember he was saddened by your loss. I remember how he looked forward to your visits. Well, now I do not feel quite so badly about losing Father Donald."

The Laird of Dunglais nodded his acknowledgment of the bishop of St. Andrew's words. Then he said, "I desperately need your help, Your Grace." And he went on to explain the situation affecting him and his family to the churchman.

James Kennedy listened carefully as the laird spoke. Finally he said, "I will check with my people, for the truth is few of them are so totally honest they would not accept a bribe. And a quarrel between two men over the right to marry a widowed woman would seem a small matter to them." Reaching out, he poked at his page, who was dozing by his chair. The boy immediately jumped up. "Go and bring the secretaries to me one by one, in order of precedence," the bishop said.

The boy quickly ran off.

"If they would take a bribe, would they not lie to you as well, Your Grace?" Malcolm Scott asked the prelate.

"Ah, but I know when they lie, so usually they will not dare" came the answer.

Then the door opened, and one by one the bishop's secretaries entered his privy chamber to be questioned. There were six of them, and each one of them denied having composed, signed, or sent such a missive to Yorkminster.

"Father Donald said the letter was a forgery," the laird told the bishop. "He did not recognize the hand, nor was your seal affixed."

"Then it is likely this dispensation is false as well," Bishop Kennedy declared. "I do not see York giving such a permission. I know there have been cases where a father-in-law has taken his dead son's widow to wife, but those marriages usually involved men of wealth and power who do not choose to lose the woman's large dower portion. It is a nasty business, but an unimportant English baron would be unlikely, no matter his measly bribe, to gain such consent from York."

"His own priest was at York," the laird reminded Bishop Kennedy.

"A country priest who had probably spent most of his life at this Wulfborn," came the reply. "You met him, Scott of Dunglais, did you not? Would you call him quick-witted and clever?"

The laird shook his head. "He was not a fool, but neither did I think him particularly wise. Kindly. Loyal to Sir Udolf, but deeply concerned by what was happening and becoming suspicious that perhaps his master had been misled. He was very anxious to get Sir Udolf to consider several women of respectable lineage who were capable yet of bearing children and lived in the vicinity of Wulfborn. Sir Udolf would have none of it."

"I will make inquiries for you, although I am not on the best of terms with the church in England right now. Still, my quarrel is with Durham, not York. I will send one of my people south, and we will see if we can find the answers to your questions."

"Your Grace, I thank you with all my heart," Malcolm Scott responded, and then, kneeling, he kissed the hand with the bishop's ring that was held out to him. Standing again he said, "And shall I tender your compliments to Father Donald, Your Grace?"

The bishop gave a snort of laughter. "Aye, you may. And tell him I miss him, his wry wit, and invaluable counsel." And turning to Adam Hepburn he said, "Can you do nothing with the king, Hepburn? His ability to control a horse seems to get worse not better. Some of the lords have begun to look to his brother Alexander."

"They would do well to cease their hostility towards His Highness," Adam Hepburn said. "It is true he rides badly, but he is intelligent and civilized, unlike his brother, who is bad-mannered and prone to make foolish choices even though he rides like he was born on a horse. Is that all the earls want? Someone to ride, drink, dice, and wench with them? If that be the case, than any man might be king."

"So it has been said," Bishop Kennedy replied dryly. "You may go now, my lords. And give the queen my compliments."

"Sly old fox," Adam Hepburn muttered when they were well out of the bishop's hearing. "He plays a crafty game. If he thought he could control any of the princes without the queen's interference he would put one of them on young James's throne instead. He is a constant worry to her."

"She does not look well," the laird remarked.

"She is not, but none know it but me. She strives hard to hide it from them. She fears showing any sign of weakness will endanger the king. Her children are her life, but especially her eldest. She knows better than any what her husband would have wanted from them. She would live long enough to see young James reach his majority, where hopefully he will not be influenced by others. The boy is vulnerable, and try as she might, the queen cannot teach him the fine art of compromise. It is his greatest weakness,"

"He is young yet," the laird noted.

Adam Hepburn shook his head. "He is stubborn," he answered.

That night in the great hall of Ravenscraig Castle the Laird of Dunglais sat at the first table below the high board with Adam Hepburn and observed everything. The young king had grown proud of his position. His brothers had grown more unruly. He had two younger sisters. Mary, the elder of the two, was a pretty little girl who seemed to enjoy flirting and chattering. Her younger sister, Margaret, was quiet and serious. She watched everyone and everything with sharp eyes but said little, although he could tell she understood all that went on about her. But then she was very young, he considered.

In the morning Malcolm Scott bid the queen, Adam Hepburn, and Ravenscraig Castle farewell to return home to Dunglais. Because the weather was fair and the days long, they needed no shelter at night and the three riders were able to travel more quickly. Reaching Dunglais halfway through the second day they watched as the drawbridge was lowered so they might travel across it.

Alix came out into the courtyard to greet her husband, for a man-at-arms on the wall had seen him coming and called down to a servant, who ran into the great hall to tell his mistress. She was followed by Fiona. The laird slid easily off of his horse and swept her into his arms, his lips touching hers in a hard kiss. "Welcome home, my lord," she said, and kissed him back gently.

The laird then bent down to kiss his daughter. "Have you been a good lass, Fi?"

"I have, Da!" Fiona assured him. Then she ran off, for Fenella had told her that one of the hounds had delivered a litter of pups that very morning.

Linking her hand into his arm Alix walked with her husband into the keep. "What news?" she asked him. "Can the bishop of St. Andrew's help us?"

"The letter from St. Andrew's was false, as we anticipated," the laird said as they walked into the hall. "The bishop will send an inquiry to York as to the validity of Sir Udolf's dispensation."

"Yet what if it isn't, but those who granted it see the query and tell St. Andrew's that it is valid?" Alix asked worriedly. "I am fearful to trust anyone now, Colm."

"If the dispensation is valid St. Andrew's will not uphold it, and we are married in the eyes of God, the church in Scotland, and the law. If Sir Udolf pursues this matter further, I will kill him, lambkin. I will have no other choice. We cannot spend the rest of our days living in distress over this man. Now, I must go and find Father Donald." He kissed her brow and set her down by her loom.

That night as they lay abed he realized, though they had been apart a brief time, he had missed her. He sat in their bed, the firm yet soft pillows against his back, Alix, her back to him, between his legs. His hands were filled with her delicious round breasts. He played with them, teasing at the nipples by pulling them out as far as they could go, rolling them between his thumb and forefinger. "Your belly is small yet," he noted. "You were so certain of the first. Is it a son or daughter you give me this time, lambkin?"

Alix sighed with the pleasure his hands gave her. As much as she had enjoyed nursing young James, she had relinquished those duties over to a wet nurse Bab had found in the village. The woman, Bab had said, was a veritable font of nourishment, and so she had proved. Her son was content, and Alix was able to enjoy her husband's attentions more fully. "I don't know yet," she told him. "It is too soon, and the bairn has not yet spoken to me."

He placed a kiss on her shoulder, and then his tongue traced a path to the curve of her neck. He licked up the soft column to her jaw, and then reached out with his teeth to nibble upon her earlobe. "You are a most tasty morsel, my love," he told her. And then his tongue traced the interior of her ear, tickling it. "Did you miss me?" he murmured into that small ear. His fingers tightened about her breasts, and he squeezed them gently.

Alix leaned her head back against his shoulder, looking up at him. "Did you miss me?" she countered. "Was the fair Mistress Grant there to tempt you?"

"I did not see her," the laird answered his wife. Then he bent and kissed her lips, running his tongue lightly over them. "And if I had, she would have been doomed to disappointment as she previously was, for there is only one woman in the world I want to flick, lambkin. And you well know who that woman is."

Alix squirmed about to face him, kneeling as she did. Her small hands reached out to fondle his cock, which was already stirring restlessly in anticipation. She reached beneath him to cup his love sac, rolling it about her palm as she bent her head to take him into her mouth. "Ummmm," she murmured as her fingers teased at his sac, while her other hand caressed his length, sucking him all the while to encourage his burgeoning within the warm, wet grotto of her mouth.

Malcolm Scott closed his gray eyes and groaned with the pleasure she was giving him, remembering the first time he had taught her this skill. Shy at first, Alix had soon shown a great talent for this particular form of lovemaking, to his delight. He groaned again as she gently nipped and nibbled at the tip of his cock. "Lass," he said in a thick voice, "you'll kill me if you go much further with this delicious torture."

She released him from the captivity of her mouth. And straddling him, she sank slowly down to recapture him within her sheath. "Is that better, my lord?" Alix purred.

He grinned up at her. "This is better," he told her, rolling her over onto her back. "Much, much better," he said as he began to thrust deep.

"Ahh, Colm, my love," Alix sighed happily, letting him sweep her away. She clung to him, her nails delicately scoring his back as they pleasured each other. Their mouths fused together, and one kiss melted into another and another and another until they were bruised and swollen. Her teeth caught at his lower lip, nibbling gently. Her tongue pushed into his mouth to dance with his while the rhythmic drive of his body against hers set her head spinning as she felt herself beginning to soar. "Mon Dieu! Mon Dieu!" Alix cried out.

He smiled triumphantly. She always cried out in French when he particularly pleased her with his passion. He redoubled his efforts, his mighty cock flashing back and forth within the heated tightness of her womanly sheath.

"Colm! Mon Coeur! Je t'aime! Je t'aime! Ohh! Je meurs! Je meurs!" And Alix's slender body shuddered with lust fulfilled even as her husband flooded her with his love juices, his big frame shaking with pleasure.

He remembered through the haze of desire her condition, and rolled quickly to one side so he would not crush her or the bairn. "I love you, lambkin," he told her. "I have never loved any but you, nor will I ever love any but you."

"You are my life and my love, Colm Scott," Alix told him as she curled into his embrace and quickly fell asleep.

He drew the coverlet over them and lay quietly thinking. He didn't want to have to kill Sir Udolf Watteson. But if Yorkminster's dispensation turned out to be authentic then he would have no other choice. It wasn't that the Englishman loved Alix. The laird didn't believe he did. He considered Alix his by right of possession, like his sheep or his dogs or his horses. She had been his son's wife, and therefore belonged at Wulfborn. She would be the means of giving him an heir in exchange for the heir he had lost. The very thought of Sir Udolf touching his sweet lambkin, kissing her sweet lips, thrusting his cock into her, made his blood boil.

And then Malcolm Scott knew with a strong instinct that overcame him and filled his mind. In the end he would have no other choice but to kill Sir Udolf Watteson. If the dispensation was proved true, the Englishman would come for Alix, yet he would not, could not, let his wife, the mother of his children, go. But if York ruled the dispensation had been obtained by means of fraud, and was therefore not valid, the laird suspected Sir Udolf would ignore it and come for Alix anyway. Aye, he would have to kill the Englishman, for Sir Udolf would give him no other choice. He was a man obsessed by Alix Givet and could see no other woman but her.

And so they waited for word of what was to come.

The bishop of St. Andrew's was not on the best of terms with his English brethren, but one of his secretaries, a young Franciscan, had an English mother. Calling Brother George to his privy chamber, James Kennedy explained the situation to him.

"If the lady wed her laird knowing the dispensation was being sought, there may be fraud on her side," the young priest said. He was tall and slender with a tonsured head, pale skin, and line dark eyes.

"She was honest with the laird's priest. He vouched for my word in the matter," James Kennedy said.

" 'Twas bold of him to do so," Brother George remarked.

Bishop Kennedy laughed. "Aye, it was, but Father Donald was once my chief secretary and greatest confidant. He knew how I would feel about the matter. Even if the dispensation were genuine, I should not honor it. A man attempting to marry his late son's wife smacks of incest in my opinion. Disgusting!"

"Just what is it Your Grace requires of me, then?"

"Have you any contacts at Yorkminster, Brother George? We need to know if this Sir Udolf has a genuine claim on the Laird of Dunglais's wife. There are bairns involved in this muddled matter. The laird's son and heir chief among them. I would not have the wee lad declared bastard, nor the child the laird's wife now carries," the bishop said.

"I have a cousin who is a priest and serves at a church in York itself. He would surely know people within the cathedral precincts," Brother George replied.

"Go to York, then, for me and learn the truth of this. I do not think the archbishop would give such a dispensation. While Sir Udolf sent his own priest to disburse bribes where he could, he has not the kind of monies that would be necessary for such an enormous favor. There is some wickedness afoot here, Brother George. Root it out for me, and then return to St. Andrew's."

Brother George departed St. Andrew's and rode for Yorkminster. After several days he finally reached the walled city, entering it and seeking out St. Cuthbert's Church. There he found his cousin, Father Henry, who greeted his relation warmly.

"I had heard you were in the service of the bishop of St. Andrew's," Father Henry said. His father and Brother George's mother had been siblings.

"I am, and I have come discreetly for him in a matter that may involve Yorkminster. Queen Marie has requested of the bishop that he learn if a certain dispensation to wed had been issued by the archbishop or if said dispensation was fraudulent," Brother George explained.

"What makes you think the dispensation was fraudulent?" Father Henry asked.

"It is said to allow a minor baron to marry his son's widow," Brother George said.

"Is she rich?"

"Nay, far from it I am told" was the reply.

"I have heard rumors of bribery among the archbishop's minions," Father Henry said. "Such a thing is not unheard of. And those without means and influence are apt to fall victim to the less than honest in the minster."

"I'm certain the archbishop would not want a scandal, and the young woman involved is the goddaughter of Margaret of Anjou," Brother George murmured.

"And she has no fortune? Are you certain?" Father Henry was surprised. A goddaughter of an English queen surely was a woman of wealth.

"She was the daughter of the queen's physician. They were left behind at Wulfborn when the old king and his family fled north into Scotland. The physician died shortly after his daughter married the lord of Wulfborn's son. Then the groom died. There were no other children, and the lord took it into his head to wed his son's widow. She resisted and fled into Scotland. Her husband's people found her almost dead on the moors. Nursed back to health, she caught the laird's heart and they were wed. The laird had been a widower with one daughter. The child adores her stepmother, I have been told, and now there is a son and heir, and another child on the way."

"The archbishop would never countenance a match between a father-in-law and his son's widow," Father Henry said. "I will gladly help you, Cousin, to get to the bottom of this matter."

Brother George reached into his robes and drew out a small leather pouch. Taking a gold coin from it, he said, "My master would show his appreciation of your efforts with more than prayers. I can see your church needs certain repair, Cousin."

Father Henry did not demur. He took the gold coin. "This will repair the steps to the sanctuary and buy us a pair of silver candlesticks," he said. "I thank you, Cousin, and I thank your bishop. Come now and join me for supper."

The English priest was as good as his word. He went personally to the cathedral and began making discreet inquiries. A cousin on his mother's side was a nun and served as a housekeeper in the archbishop's household. She was a small, plump woman with a motherly face. He took Brother George to meet Sister Mary Agnes.

When she had heard his story she said, "My master, the archbishop, would never countenance such a dispensation. I have heard rumors of certain chicanery among some of the lesser priests in the archbishop's secretariat. I have a friend who can learn the truth of this matter for you," Father Henry's cousin said. "She will find out what has been going on."

"She? Another nun?" Father Henry asked.

"She is not a nun," Sister Mary Agnes replied. "She is a whore."

"Cousin!" Father Henry exclaimed, surprised. "How is it you came to know a whore? I am shocked you would be acquainted with such a woman."

"Do not be a ninny, Henry," the nun said. "Whores serve a purpose, as do we all. And as whores go, Lettice is a respectable whore, and she keeps a quiet, respectable house. She has regular visitors, among them some of the priests from the archbishop's secretariat. They come to flitter her and remain to talk with her. She can ask questions without anyone being suspicious, for she is considered both damned and beneath contempt."

"I don't know," Father Henry said slowly.

"I do," Brother George spoke up. "I would be grateful for your help, Sister Mary Agnes, and for that of your friend."

"She will want to be paid something for her trouble," the nun murmured.

"If she gains me the information I need, she will be well rewarded," Brother George promised, "and, of course, there will be something for your convent too."

Sister Mary Agnes smiled, saying, "You are most generous, Brother."

The whore, Lettice, knew immediately who it was who had elicited bribes from Sir Udolf. Eager to impress the whore, he had told her, for he had never before had the monies to ride between her legs and had been desperate to do so. "His name is Father Waiter," she told Brother George. "He enjoyed bragging to me how he had fooled the country priest and his master. He managed to make them pay him thrice before he wrote the document and used the archbishop's seal on it. But my testimony in the matter will not be heard, for not only am I a woman, I am a whore. I will be punished for slandering a priest and my possessions forfeit. I am not young anymore, and I have more than I ever dreamed of having. I will tell you the truth, but I will not endanger myself by accusing any priest."

"You will not have to," Sister Mary Agnes assured her friend. "They have the name of the priest now. Let them get him to confess to his misdeeds. When they have, you will be rewarded."

Lettice smiled, eying Brother George lasciviously. "Father Walter usually frequents a low tavern near the walls next to the main gate of the city," she told them. "He is there almost every evening after Vespers. He can no longer afford to lie with me, and the tavern wenches are always willing for a ha'penny or a penny to lift their skirts. He has a mighty appetite for a little man," she noted. "You'll know him right away. He is short, wiry, with dark eyes that are always darting here and there for fear of missing something."

The two priestly cousins went to the tavern in question that same evening. The tavern was dark. It stank of sour ale, urine, and puke. The wenches earned their coins in the open without shame. One girl was bent over a barrel near the tavern door, her skirt bunched up to the small of her back while a soldier thrust himself in and out of her, grunting as he moved. Father Henry swallowed hard, staring, but Brother George's eyes roamed the room seeking the man they sought. He found him quickly.

Father Walter sat in a corner of the tavern, a plump girl in his lap. His hand was beneath her skirt. After a few minutes Father Walter dumped her from his lap. She fell to her knees before him, and her hands slid beneath the priest's brown robe. Brother George could see her lips moving, and then after a moment or two the girl climbed upon the priest's lap, sheathing his cock in her lush body. She jogged up and down a few times and then fell forward briefly upon his neck. Then, getting up off of Brother Walter, she took a coin from his fingers and moved off, a bored look upon her face.

Brother George moved to the table and sat down. "Did she give you pleasure?" he asked the startled priest.

"I am a weak man," Father Walter said with a shrug, but there was no remorse in his tone.

"I am told you are a man who can get things done," Brother George murmured.

"For a price, anything in this world can be had." Father Walter chuckled.

Father Henry now joined them.

"My cousin and I have been told by Lettice the whore that you managed to gain a dispensation for a man who wished to marry his son's widow. Is this so?" Brother George asked softly. "If it is, I have a small proposition for you of a similar nature."

"Such things are expensive," Father Walter said slyly.

"My master can pay," Brother George assured him.

"What is it he desires, then?"

"For the church to dissolve his marriage to his wife of ten years. She is barren, and he needs an heir."

"Why doesn't he just kill her? By not giving him his heir, she is being disobedient. He could beat her to death, and no one would fault him as long as the stick he uses isn't any larger around then his forefinger. The law permits it."

"My master is a kind man. He simply wishes the church to dissolve his marriage to this woman. If the church will do it, then my master can keep her dower, which is very large," Brother George explained. "And he has already chosen a new bride. The girl's mother has birthed ten living children, six of them sons. This makes the girl a fine choice, for she is likely to be an excellent breeder. But others want her too. My master must act quickly. And too, the girl's father might be loath to give his daughter to a man who had beaten his previous wife to death."

Father Henry listened in rapt amazement as his cousin spoke to Father Walter. His story was plausible, and the mention of the very large dower portion had brought a light into the dishonest priest's eyes.

"Tell me," Father Walter said, "has this woman born any children at all?"

"None," Brother George replied.

"It could be said then she had refused to consummate the marriage," Father Walter suggested.

"No man would remain with a wife for ten years who would not consummate the marriage," Brother George responded. "Nay. My master wants the church to give him a divorce. His wife can end her days in a nearby convent. She is a devout woman."

"A divorce would take time," Father Walter said slowly.

"Is there any way such a matter might be speeded up?" Brother George asked innocently, and he smiled at Father Walter.

Father Walter appeared to be considering the matter. Then he said, "It is possible, but your master would have to make a rather large contribution to the archbishop's fund for Christian charity, I fear. Do you think he could afford it?"

Now Brother George appeared to be considering the matter. Finally he reached into the pocket of his robe and drew out the leather pouch. Opening it, he pulled out a gold coin and held it up in front of Father Walter's face. "Do you think," he asked, "this would begin the process for my master?"

"It would take at least five more of those coins," Father Walter said slowly, and he reached for the gold coin.

Brother George palmed the gold coin. "Three and first your guarantee you can get the process started. And I must have the documents within seven days."

"Seven days!" the dishonest priest exclaimed. "It is not possible!"

"Then I will find someone else within the precincts of Yorkminster who can supply me with what I want within the time period," Brother George said, standing up. "A pity. Lettice said she enjoyed your company greatly. But as long as there are tavern whores, your itch can be scratched, eh?" He turned to walk away.

"Wait! For six gold coins I can make your request possible," Father Walter said.

"Four, no more," Brother George replied in a hard voice.

"Done!" Father Walter said, and he caught the gold coin the Franciscan tossed him with a skilled hand.

"A down payment," Brother George said. "I will meet you here in seven days, Good Father. If you try to cheat my master, I will kill you."