Gervais grimaced. “A roaming priest who attended abbeys. He had an education of sorts, some kindly uncle who had Latin, and with it, he tricked his way into monastic churches and learnt what to do and say. The abbeys welcomed him, but not the nunneries with strict rules of isolation. But he only desired the young virgins who attended monastic convents, those who were sent by their families to live piously prior to marriage.” He paused, and she recognised herself.
“For what purpose?” she asked quietly.
“To despoil the noble daughters. Carefully, so not to arouse too much suspicion. He picked those who... are adventurous.”
Matilda guffawed. “He had me booked then. For am I not so?”
“Exactly.” Gervais graciously patted her arm. “Which is also what draws me to you.”
“And Poulter wanted to wreck us, but in secret? It makes no sense.”
“It does if you are a woman too afraid to speak up and admit it. I think, though, he planned worse.” He chose another letter. “This is from a distant convent, one that he visited to take confessions and say masses, and would have been caught if the girl had spoken sooner. The postulant went to her Reverend Mother and confessed her sinful ways, and admitted she was tempted by him, but that he failed to acquire her. Failed in his capacity. You understand?”
“Oh. He couldn’t do it?” She snickered. “Well, that explains his fumbling with other things.”
“Quite. I suspect he was of the mind to be more vicious. But what he did was sufficient. By ruining young noblewomen, he exacted revenge for what happened to his mother. An understandable anger, but his chosen justice is as sinful as the crime against his mother.”
“So he resorted to meddling with us postulants, teasing us, and...” She sighed heavily at the memories. “But, my lord, I do confess, I cooperated. Did I not avail myself of him? He had no trouble tempting me to meet him.”
Gervais pursed his lips. “You told me so. But the first time, how could you have known what to expect? Because you trusted him, I assume, and your surroundings, you allowed him to deceive you.”
She had pushed the assignation out of her mind for so long, just bringing it to life again brought a tension to her head and nausea in her belly. “I think that is being generous, sir. I was not as innocent as you think.”
“No, you were very innocent, for you still believe that he had a right to you, when he had none, and that if you agreed, then it must be assumed you consented fully to what he had planned, when how could you in your ignorance? He might not have achieved his true aim, but he managed to ruin a number of young ladies who subsequently were found to be tarnished, and ill-equipped to deal with their circumstances.” He laid each letter on the table. “These are other accounts that I have uncovered through diligent and cautious enquiries. The Abbess of St. Winifred was not as blind as you might think, nor did she care not for your fate. You see, she instigated her own investigation. I suspect she feared a scandal that might spiral out of control, and consequently lose her precious donations. She thought it best it was handled by the bishops. Finally, they hounded the man, and he fled.”
“And?” She held her breath. Was he hanging in a gibbet somewhere?
“He returned to his mother, and found her dead and buried. He’d neglected her, and she succumbed to hunger and disease.” Gervais replaced the letters in the box.
“Mark?” she asked warily.
“Threw himself off a cliff in grief. He’s gone. You need not worry about any aftermath. He left nothing, no account of his deeds, and no witnesses to testify. In his bitterness, he achieved no peace, only an eternity of damnation.”
A small part of her felt sorry for the man. For he had set out to avenge his mother, and that had to mean he loved at least one person.
Gervais took Matilda’s hand and drew her up and toward him. She settled on his lap and he stroked the locks of her hair, combing his fingers through it.
“It is the past, Tilda. It means nothing to me, and I hope you can forget him,” he said.
Her scalp tingled. “Since I’ve been with you, I’ve not dwelt upon him. You, Gervais, are my everything now.”
He smiled. “Good. Because with that in mind, I plan a celebration.”
The thought of a feast and entertainment brought on the jitters of excitement. “Oo.”
“The end of our betrothal contract is nigh, and rather than mourn its passing, we shall celebrate, for I shall be asking for your hand, and you shall do me the honour of marrying me.” He kissed her cheek. “Yes?”
“Oh, yes,” she agreed enthusiastically. “And who will join us?”
“I prefer not to extend a welcome to high nobility, but to keep our affairs to my limited sphere of influence. The old knights who swear allegiance to me, the burghers of the town, the mayor, the freemen of the valley who bring prosperity to my estates. I am their feudal lord and they will share in our good fortunes.”
“No young knights?” she said sheepishly. “No maidens?”
“You will be Lady Baliol, the mistress of this castle; you need to excel at hosting, not giggling in the corners with your silly friends. There will be no distractions. Only those knights who are wed may come, and their wives.”
She hid her disappointment. “What of those strange men whom you entertained last time?”
“My brethren are not invited. It is time to move on from those hunting days.” He squeezed her thigh. “What I wish is your happiness.”