No, they hadn't—but Gwen was beginning to think a case could be made.
Sister Cecilia steered her into the solar, which was fortunately right next door, and Mother Superior looked up from several pages of parchment upon a table before her. "Ah! She is done, then. I thank you, Sister Cecilia."
"It was my honor, Sister Paterna." The nun inclined her head, then went out.
"Have you learned much, then?" asked Mother Superior with a twinkle in her eye.
"A great deal that I knew not. Are there . . . more of these cassettes, Sister Paterna?"
"Alas, no. The good monk gave us but the one, though the hint of a second will forever tantalize us."
Gwen knew then that she really was going to have to go to the monastery and that the trip could not be put off.
Geoffrey stood back and eyed his brother's near-naked form narrowly. "What think you, sister? Will he do?"
Cordelia looked Gregory up and down, trying to imagine him as a stranger come a-courting. The face was familiar, but from the neck down he might indeed have been someone she had never met. His body rippled with muscle now, shoulders, arms, and chest become baulks of beef, legs shapely pillars, not the sticks she had seen when last he went swimming with the family—though admittedly, that had been four years ago and more; he had not revealed his body since Magnus left home.
"Walk," she directed Gregory. "Walk over to Moraga."
Gregory gave a martyred sigh and turned, striding with feline grace to the sleeping woman. He looked down at her, and his face stilled with the effort of holding his emotions in check—not quite successfully, for something of the besotted moon calf still showed through. She had to admit, though, that he was quite restrained, and wondered how long he could hold the expression.
"Come back," she said.
Gregory returned, treading like a roebuck poised to leap.
"His body will do," she told Geoffrey. "Whether he has learned to court a lady, I cannot say."
"There, too, he must have exercise," Geoffrey sighed, "and I fear he shall have only this one damsel for practice."
"Scarcely a difficulty," Cordelia said dryly, "since she is so various in her appearances."
"A good point," Geoffrey said. "Who was she when last you knew her, Gregory?"
"A damsel named Peregrine," Gregory said, "who had been left as an offering to a troop of bandits because she had allowed herself to be seduced."
Cordelia made a sound of disgust, but Geoffrey frowned, considering. "That sort of censure has the ring of something from her own past."
"It is men laying the blame for their own lechery onto their victims!" Cordelia blazed.
"As I say, a sign of her own past," Geoffrey said.
Gregory stared at him in surprise. "Such perception is rare in you, brother."
"Not in this regard; there are some aspects of women I do know and understand," Geoffrey told him. "I also see that her choice of name flaunts her deception in your face, for a peregrine is a kind of falcon, a bird of prey."
"The thought had occurred to me," Gregory admitted. "I kept my shields up almost long enough."
"You may need to keep them up a while longer," Cordelia said, eyeing the sleeping woman.
Gregory glanced at Finister, troubled. "Sooner or later, a lover must begin to trust."
"The question, though, is 'when?' " Cordelia said quickly.
"We shall leave that to Mother," Geoffrey said briskly. "She has not returned, though, and there is little more we can do to prepare Gregory to be a suitor."
"I had thought of that," Cordelia admitted, "and we should not leave Moraga asleep much longer, or her body will begin to lose muscle tone."
Geoffrey nodded. "The obvious course, then, is to wake her and let her test the new model Gregory."
Gregory looked suddenly nervous. "I am not ready!"
"You shall never be ready," Geoffrey agreed, "but you shall have to deal with her anyway. Do not think of yourself as a suitor, brother—only a most considerate jailor."
Cordelia looked up at him in surprise, then slowly nodded. "A good thought. You were her warden when she fell asleep; if she woke to find you a lover, she would suspect a ruse. Aye, do as Geoffrey says—be her jailor, and little by little, begin to compliment her, bring her the odd flower for her hair, find a gem to adorn her."
"After all, you may claim she should wear it to honor Their Majesties when she enters their presence," Geoffrey pointed out. "But never be the moon calf in her presence, never gaze upon her with fawnlike doting. Be the man of the world who becomes intrigued, who knows himself to be her equal in attraction and begins to enjoy the game of flirtation."
"Man of the world?" Gregory bleated. "Could any man be less of the world? I have no experience, no appeal, no faith in myself as a lover!"
"I have downloaded a thorough knowledge of the sport into your brain," Geoffrey said, but admitted, "though it is true you will need a round or two of play before you begin to believe you have the skill."
"I can only be what I am," Gregory protested.
"Then be so." Cordelia's eyes gleamed. "Be the scholar distracted bit by bit from his studies; let her think she teaches you the game for her own purposes."
"An excellent stroke!" Geoffrey cried. "Then when you are sure of your skill, you can turn the tables on her and outplay her with her own hand!"
Gregory still looked very nervous. "It is a pretty metaphor, but I am unsure what it means in practice."
"So shall you be until you have that practice," Geoffrey told him. "Come, you must essay it some time, little brother. Fear not that she might overwhelm you or slip a knife between your ribs, for Cordelia and I will stay within half a mile of you, and you have but to squawk to have me by you, and her with us only minutes later."
"You must essay it sooner or later, Gregory," Cordelia repeated gently, "or leave her asleep for the rest of her days, and that were as unkind as slaying."
Gregory turned away to pick up his robe and don it, then turned back, face frightened but resolute. "Well enough, then. Wake her."
"No, that you must do, brother," Cordelia said firmly, "for 'tis your spell that plunged her into sleep, and 'tis your face she must see when she wakes."
Gregory looked still more frightened. "Must I wake her with a kiss?"
"Definitely not!" Geoffrey exclaimed. "This must be a chase, brother, not an ambush!"
"Aye, but before it becomes a chase, it must be a tracking," Cordelia said. "After all, she has been raised to be a hunter, so pursuit itself may incline her to entangle her emotions in yours."
Geoffrey stepped backward toward the trees. "Let us retire, and when we have passed from sight, do you kneel by her and quicken her sleeping mind."
He and Cordelia disappeared into the greenery. Gregory raised a hand to call them back, but fear rose up to clog his throat and prevent him. Slowly he lowered his hand, turning to Moraga with resolution. He swallowed and forced himself to kneel by her side.
Even sleeping and with her erotic projections dormant, the woman's beauty hit him like a tidal wave, arousing awareness of his own sexuality all over again, a sexuality so intense that he froze, frightened by the strength of his own reactions. But as he knelt entranced, the fear receded and he began to grow accustomed to the stimulation. He could have sworn it to be more intense than it had been a week earlier, before his siblings had begun his crash course in romance.
The panic ebbed and he bent to his task, accelerating Moraga's pulse and metabolism slowly while he brought her mind up from the depths of sleep.
Chapter 13
The sight of a woman at the gate of the monastery was rare, to say the least. Still, it was not unknown, and when the woman in question presented herself as the Lady Gwendolyn Gallowglass, the effect was salutary. The monk on portal duty bowed, mumbled some apology about keeping her waiting, assured her he'd be back as soon as possible, and stepped a dozen paces inside the compound. There he flagged down a passing novice and said a few words to him, gesturing toward the gate. The youth looked up, startled—almost, Gwen might have thought, even frightened—and hurried away across the courtyard. As soon as he could, he started running.