Read Online Gosford's Daughter by Mary Daheim - Free Book Online Page A

it was there that Napier had entered the
priesthood.
    A typical tale, Sorcha reflected, as she chewed on
her venison and sipped the French wine from her father’s ample
cellar. Her plate was almost empty when Magnus’s attention was
diverted by a freckle-faced Gordon to his right. Father Napier
turned back to Sorcha.
    “ Forgive me,” he began. “Your
brother’s keen inquiries have made me neglect your
company.”
    Somehow, his tone seemed too familiar to Sorcha, who
frowned into her wine cup and fervently wished Father Napier would
sound—and act—more like a priest. “Are you on your way home?” she
queried at last.
    “ There is no home to go to. My
parents died in France several years ago. The kinsmen I have in
Scotland would disown me for becoming a priest.” Despite the
serious nature of his words, Napier was still smiling, his teeth a
white gash in the dark beard. “I’ve come to offer support to
Scotland’s Catholic families.”
    “ Oh.” Sorcha riveted her gaze on her
empty plate. “Are you one of those priests who would convert King
Jamie?”
    Napier shrugged. “I’m not as optimistic as some,
especially the Jesuits. Tell me, is a knave such as Johnny Grant
worth your obvious distress?”
    Coming from Father Napier, a virtual stranger, the
question seemed most inappropriate. Sorcha stiffened, shoving back
strands of black hair that had escaped over one shoulder. “He
humiliated me. Some day he’ll be sorry for it.”
    Napier dabbed a crust of bread in the remains of his
gravy. “Leave vengeance to the Lord, lass. You’ll find many a man
who will give up all for what Johnny threw away tonight.”
    Magnus was trying to peer around the priest’s broad
shoulder. Sorcha refused to look at her brother, nor would she
return Napier’s dark gaze. “The Lord has aplenty to do without
fashing Himself over Johnny Grant. I’d prefer sparing Him the
bother of divine retribution.”
    Father Napier turned somber, staring without focus at
a silver tureen near his plate. “Retribution of any kind is only
another word for pain. Spare not God but mankind with your petty
pouting, Mistress Fraser.”
    “ You upbraid me,” she retorted,
leaning forward and hoping the thick strands of hair would shield
her flushed cheeks. “You are a strange, unfeeling sort of priest.
Out there, in the entrance hall, you were too rough with me. See
here,” she said, lowering her voice and pushing back the ruffed
edge of her sleeve, “you bruised my wrist.”
    Napier hesitated, then touched the red mark with his
forefinger. “Not I, mistress. I had you by the waist.” The shadows
lifted from his face as he raised his hand to within a half inch of
her lips. “And here, to silence your rampaging tongue.”
    Sorcha refused to meet his eyes. She could swear she
still felt his fingers burning against the flesh of her wrist. Yet
it was Johnny who had grabbed her there, not Gavin Napier. “Priests
ought not to be so harsh with young maidens,” she muttered,
wondering why, with all the ease and glibness she usually displayed
toward male companions, this strange clergyman should make her feel
awkward and dull witted.
    “ Young maidens should neither attack
visitors, nor lecture priests on behavior.” Napier spoke not
without humor, yet Sorcha sensed a hint of reproach.
    At last, Magnus intervened. “My sister has many
opinions, Father. Like our Lady Mother, she is inclined to give
them voice.” To lighten his remark, Magnus winked at Sorcha but
received only a stony stare in response.
    Napier’s peat-brown eyes regarded Sorcha keenly. “I
commend you on your wit. As for your fortitude,” he went on, easing
himself back from the table, “I would test it by inquiring as to
how you enjoyed your fine supper.”
    “ Mightily,” replied Sorcha, folding
her arms across her breast. “I find eating most
satisfactory.”
    “ Ah.” Napier nodded solemnly while
Magnus fingered his chin and looked on with amusement. “And,”