“Was he the man who stole your goods and gear and cracked your skull?”
“Yes,” Kivrin said. She reached for the reins and started to untie the reins.
“Was the wicked man hiding in the tomb?”
“What?” Kivrin said. She couldn’t get the stiff leather untied. She glanced anxiously back at the church door.
“I saw you and Father Roche by the tomb. Was the wicked man hiding in grandfather’s grave?”
Father Roche.
The stiff reins came suddenly loose in Kivrin’s hands. “Father Roche?”
“I went in the bell tower, but he was not there. He was in the church,” Agnes said. “Why was the wicked man hiding in Grandfather’s tomb, Lady Kivrin?”
Father Roche. But it couldn’t be. Father Roche had given her the last rites. He had anointed her temples and the palms of her hands.
“Will the wicked man hurt Father Roche?” Agnes asked.
He couldn’t be Father Roche. Father Roche had held her hand. He had told her not to be afraid. She tried to call up the face of the priest. He had leaned over her and asked her her name, but she couldn’t see his face because of all the smoke.
And while he was giving her the last rites, she had seen the cutthroat, she had been afraid because they had let him in the room, she had tried to get away from him. But it hadn’t been a cutthroat at all. It had been Father Roche.
“Is the wicked man coming?” Agnes said, looking anxiously at the church door.
It all made sense. The cutthroat leaning over her in the clearing, putting her on the horse. She had thought it was a vision from her delirium, but it wasn’t. It had been Father Roche, come to help Gawyn bring her to the manor.
“The wicked man isn’t coming,” Kivrin said. “There isn’t any wicked man.”
“Hides he still in the church?”
“No. I was wrong. There isn’t any wicked man.”
Agnes looked unconvinced. “You cried out,” she said.
Kivrin could hear her telling her grandmother, “Lady Katherine and Father Roche were in the church together and she cried out.” Lady Imeyne would be delighted to have this to add to her litany of Father Roche’s sins. And to Kivrin’s list of suspicious behavior.
“I know I cried out,” Kivrin said. “It was dark in the church. Father Roche came upon me suddenly and I was frightened.”
“But it was Father Roche,” Agnes said as if she could not imagine anyone being frightened by him.
“When you and Rosemund play at hiding and she jumps suddenly at you from behind a tree, you cry out,” Kivrin said desperately.
“One time Rosemund hid in the loft when I was looking at my hound, and she jumped down. I was so affrighted I cried out. Like this,” she said, and let out a blood-curdling shriek. “And another time it was dark in the hall and Gawyn jumped out from behind the screens and he said ‘Fie!’ and I cried out and—”
“That’s right,” Kivrin said, “It was dark in the church.”
“Did Father Roche jump out at you and say ‘Fie!’?”
Yes, Kivrin thought. He leaned over me, and I thought he was a cutthroat. “No,” she said. “He didn’t do anything.”
“Go we still with Father Roche for the holly?”
If I haven’t frightened him away, Kivrin thought. If he hasn’t left while we’ve stood here talking.
She lifted Agnes down. “Come. We must go find him.”
She didn’t know what she’d do if he’d already gone. She couldn’t take Agnes back to the manor to tell Lady Imeyne how she had screamed. And she couldn’t go back without explaining to Father Roche. Explaining what? That she’d thought he was a robber, a rapist? That she’d thought he was a nightmare from her delirium?
“Must we go into the church again?” Agnes asked reluctantly.
“It’s all right. There’s no one there except Father Roche.”
In spite of Kivrin’s assurances, Agnes was unwilling to go back in the church. She hid her head in Kivrin’s skirts when Kivrin opened the door and clung to her leg.
“It’s all right,” Kivrin said, peering into the nave. He was no longer by the tomb. The door shut behind her, and she stood there with Agnes pressed against her, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the darkness. “There’s nothing to be afraid of.”
He’s not a cutthroat, she told herself. There’s nothing to be afraid of. He gave you the last rites. He held your hand. But her heart was pounding.
“Is the wicked man there?” Agnes whispered, her head jammed against Kivrin’s knee.
“There isn’t any wicked man,” she said, and then saw him. He was standing in front of St. Catherine’s statue. He was holding the candle Kivrin had dropped, and he bent and set it in front of the statue, and then straightened again.
She had thought perhaps it had been some trick of the darkness and the candle’s flame, lighting his face from below, and he wasn’t the cutthroat after all, but he was. He had worn a hood over his head that night, so she couldn’t see his tonsure, but he was bending over the statue the way he had bent over her. Her heart began to pound again.
“Where is Father Roche?” Agnes said, raising her head. “There he is,” she said, and ran toward him.
“No—” Kivrin said, and started after her. “Don’t—”
