Brother Cadfael 08: The Devil's Novice

good can it do, now? What is there to be said? I've been glad of my quietness here.' He gnawed a doubtful lip and asked resignedly: 'Who is it?'
    'No one you need fear,' said Cadfael, thinking of Nigel, whose brotherly attentions might have proved too much to bear, had they been offered. But they had not. Bridegrooms have some excuse for putting all other business aside, certainly, but at least he could have asked after his brother. 'It is only Isouda.' Only Isouda! Meriet drew relieved breath. 'Isouda has thought of me? That was kind. But - does she know? That I am a confessed felon? I would not have her in a mistake ... '
    'She does know. No need to say word of that, and neither will she. She would have me bring her because she has a loyal affection for you. It won't cost you much to spend a few minutes with her, and I doubt if you'll have to do much talking, for she will do the most of it.'
    Meriet went with him, still a little reluctantly, but not greatly disturbed by the thought of having to bear the regard, the sympathy, the obstinate championship, perhaps, of a child playmate. The children among his beggars had been good for him, simple, undemanding, accepting him without question. Isouda's sisterly fondness he could meet in the same way, or so he supposed.
    She had helped herself to the flint and tinder in the box beside the cot, struck sparks, and kindled the wick of the small lamp, setting it carefully on the broad stone placed for it, where it would be safe from contact with any drifting straw, and shed its mellow, mild light upon the foot of the bed, where she had seated herself. She had put back her cloak to rest only upon her shoulders and frame the sober grandeur of her gown, her embroidered girdle, and the hands folded in her lap. She lifted upon Meriet as he entered the discreet, age-old smile of the Virgin in one of the more worldly paintings of the Annunciation, where the angel's embassage is patently superfluous, for the lady has known it long before.
    Meriet caught his breath and halted at gaze, seeing this grown lady seated calmly and expectantly upon his bed. How could a few months so change anyone? He had meant to say gently but bluntly: 'You should not have come here,' but the words were never uttered. There she sat in possession of herself and of place and time, and he was almost afraid of her, and of the sorry changes she might find in him, thin, limping, outcast, no way resembling the boy who had run wild with her no long time ago. But Isouda rose, advanced upon him with hands raised to draw his head down to her, and kissed him soundly.
    'Do you know you've grown almost handsome? I'm sorry about your broken head,' she said, lifting a hand to touch the healed wound, 'but this will go, you'll bear no mark. Someone did good work closing that cut. You may surely kiss me, you are not a monk yet.' Meriet's lips, still and chill against her cheek, suddenly stirred and quivered, closing in helpless passion. Not for her as a woman, not yet, simply as a warmth, a kindness, someone coming with open arms and no questions or reproaches. He embraced her inexpertly, wavering between impetuosity and shyness of this transformed being, and quaked at the contact.
    'You're still lame,' she said solicitously. 'Come and sit down with me. I won't stay too long, to tire you, but I couldn't be so near without coming to see you again. Tell me about this place,' she ordered, drawing him down to the bed beside her. 'There are children here, too, I heard their voices. Quite young children.'
    Spellbound, he began to tell her in stumbling, broken phrases about Brother Mark, small and fragile and indestructible, who had the signature of God upon him and longed to become a priest. It was not hard to talk about his friend, and the unfortunates who were yet fortunate in falling into such hands. Never a word about himself or her, while they sat shoulder to shoulder, turned inwards towards each other, and their eyes ceaselessly measured and noted the changes wrought by this season of trial. He forgot that he was a man self-condemned, with only a brief but strangely tranquil life before him, and she a young heiress with a manor double the value of Aspley, and grown suddenly beautiful. They sat immured from time and unthreatened by the world; and Cadfael slipped away satisfied, and went to snatch a word with Brother Mark, while there was time. She had her finger on the pulse of the hours, she would not stay too long. The art