“There is plenty of space in the hall.” If she worked in the hall, he could see her.

“It is quiet and private here.”

The manor priest, a short, old man with wisps of grey hair springing from his head, approached with three more candles. He gave Marcus a toothless, formal smile. With great care he lit each candle, dripped a pool of its wax on the plank, and set the candle upright into the cooling puddle for support.

“Thank you for your generosity in letting me work here, Father.”

“With such labor as this do the monks pray, my child. Come anytime, when you need the counsel of our Lord.” He patted her arm affectionately and headed to the yard, to wait for dinner with everyone else.

“Is that why you have brought your inks here, Nesta? To seek counsel with God?”

“If I needed a chapel for that, I would be damned by now. I bring them here so that I can avoid the hall where too many English lords dwell, and where a fool sits in my father’s chair.”

“Do not begrudge Hubert his little glory.”

“Hubert is an ass.”

“If he had been less of one, your father’s men would have been put down by now. Edward’s bad choice of castellan benefited you.” He checked that the priest was gone, then slipped his arms around her waist. “I should curse Hubert’s lack of wits. A part of me knows, however, that had he been a different sort of man, we might never have met.”

She resisted his embrace for an instant, no more. It reminded him of their first one, in the garden under a moonlit sky, when her spirit had betrayed her good sense so quickly.

Resting her cheek against his chest, she pressed close so that her body lined his. “Hold me, Mark. It is cold here. I had never realized how cold. I have been chilled since we arrived, and the warmth of your embrace is delicious.”

He wrapped her in his arms and held her close while the candles dripped their wax and the damp silence of the chapel secluded them from the world. The bright glow from the candles grew and spread, filling his senses with shimmering white light and gentle heat. They might have been standing on a summer hillside at dawn, so complete was the peace and beauty he experienced.

Thus it had always been at the height of their passion, but it had never been pleasure alone that brought this taste of heaven.

“Can’t you get Arundal to leave?” she muttered.

The light dimmed a bit. The world intruded. He caressed her, not minding much. Until this was over, the grace would always come in fleeting moments that they stole like thieves.