Outlaw (Medieval Trilogy 3)

“You?” she replied, sensing a trap.

“Aye. I’ve not always been faithful to my vows.” He clasped his hands in front of him as if he were praying. “I—I have strayed, been lured by the temptations of the flesh rather than traveling down the path that leads to the purification of the soul.”

She bit on her lip, refusing to be drawn into this unlikely confession. Father Timothy was a shrewd and not particularly pious man; she believed he had broken his vows a hundred times over, but she didn’t trust him enough to admit as much. He could be a spy sent by Holt to trap her into saying something incriminating. “Mayhap you should pray for God’s forgiveness,” she said.

“I have, child. Many times, but I feel that God is asking more of me than a simple confession. I think he wants me to prove myself, to show Him that I will not fall prey to the lust and greed that sometimes afflict me.” He was looking at her no longer, instead staring at the door over the fingertips of his tented hands, as if he expected someone to burst through at any second.

“Why are you confiding in me?”

“Because your heart is pure.” He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing nervously in his throat. “ ’Tis true I’ve harbored a feeling akin to love for you … and not the love of a priest for one of his flock, Lady Cayley,” he said hesitantly, his eyes sliding her way for just a second. “Nay, I’ve wanted you as a man does a woman.”

She recoiled at the thought. “No, Father Timothy, do not say any more, please.”

But her words fell on deaf ears, for his words tumbled freely and more quickly from his mouth, like a stone gathering speed as it rolled downhill.

“ ’Twas vexed I was that I had pledged myself to God and the rules of the priesthood; aye, the vow of chastity became a burden, and I … I was jealous of those who did not have to abide by its rigid rules.”

“You need not tell me this—” she said, trying to scoot away, but he grabbed her hand and his eyes flared with a newfound conviction.

“Oh yes, I do, but ’tis not all that I must suffer,” he said as if humiliated beyond words. “I must offer myself up as a sacrifice to cleanse my soul.”

“Nay,” she said, trying to draw away, but his grip was strong and the fire in his gaze convinced her that he would not be denied. Whatever sacrificial torture he’d planned for himself, it somehow involved her. “You needs seek counsel. Mayhap the abbot—”

“I know the way to my salvation,” he said and reached beneath his vestments. Cayley nearly swooned. Was this man of God going to disrobe before her?

She yanked back her hand just as he pulled a long length of rope from beneath the folds of his robe. “What?”

“ ’Tis for your escape,” he said, and her heart turned to stone. If the priest knew of her plan, thin though it was, who else had guessed that she had plotted to break free of the castle walls? Fear pounded in her heart. She had no idea how she was to escape, only that she would swallow her pride and ride like the wind to Cysgod and beg Gwayne and his father, Nevin, for their help in overthrowing Holt and saving her father. Once that was accomplished, she would search for Megan. If, God forbid, she was refused help at Cysgod, she would ride to … where? Erbyn? Abergwynn? Ah, but ’twas nearly a week’s journey to Abergwynn. Pennick was closer … oh, ’twas too much to think of.

The priest, eyes fixed on the door, continued. “ ’Tis to Rue I spoke, and she told me of your plan.” He rubbed his chin with the tips of his fingers. “ ’Tis a prideful, blind, and ambitious man I’ve been, Cayley. Now I must atone.”

“By helping me?” she asked, not daring believe that she could trust him.

“Aye, ’tis one of my penances.” He reached deep into a pocket in his vestment and withdrew a small leather pouch. “ ’Tis money. Take it.”

“Money?”

“From the chapel.” He blushed. “Do not ask how I acquired it; ’tis yours now.”

“Another of your penances?”

“Aye.” He slapped the bag into her hand and she dropped it as if her flesh had been seared. The coins clinked loudly and Father Timothy shot a glance to the door. “Do not warn the guards,” he ordered.

She didn’t dare ask him if he had more penances. He could be either addled or trying to make her prove her disloyalty to Holt. He swept up the bag of coins and forced it into her hand, folding her fingers over the soft, worn leather. What if this was only a ruse? What if he hoped only to gain her confidence, then expose her to Holt? Nay, she could not trust him.

“I’ve made poor allegiances here in Dwyrain,” he admitted. “Today, when the men were beaten, I realized how badly I’ve chosen my friends, the men in whom I’ve trusted. I … God in heaven, forgive me. I’ve witnessed human suffering and felt that it was right, that I, as a priest, could mete out pain in the name of the Lord, that I had the right to be the judge of men whose only sin was they were as weak as I was. I was wrong.”

He sounded sincere, in his own guilty hell, but he could be a fine a

ctor, playing his part well. His eyes didn’t meet hers and he was shaking, but she remembered too many times when he’d enjoyed the belittlement of a sinner, the superiority he wore like a halo bestowed by God.

Swallowing hard, she shook her head. “I plan not to leave the castle,” she said, resting on her knees and beginning to sweat anxiously. Moisture collected beneath her hair and on her spine.

“Do not lie, child. Rue said—”

“Rue is kind, aye, but old and sometimes her mind strays. If you want to pray, Father, I’ll pray, but believe me, I plan not to go against Holt’s wishes. My father named him as the next baron and I would not go against his word.”

Timothy’s lips pursed. “One of the prisoners is near death,” he said.