Page 58 of The Rebellious Countess
“We all have our weaknesses, Elias. My guess is that yours is trusting others.”
“Hazard of the job, Father.” Until a month ago, the only weakness Elias had was his mother. Now there was another woman who could bring him to his knees much faster than Hag.
The priest pulled a box out of the trunk at the end of his bed, opened it, and dug around inside it, before finally pulling out a chain with a delicate medal attached.
Elias didn’t need the medal. He just needed the priest to tell him who was on the medal. If he truly was Father Charles, the man Hag said he could trust to take him across to Mont-Saint-Michel, then he would have a medal of Saint Nicholas of Myra for him. “What saint is on the medal father?”
Father Charles held out the medal. “The patron saint of children. She said one day you would come back, and she wanted your child to have it.”
Elias pointed the knife at the priest. “That’s not the answer I was looking for. Who are you really and what have you done to Father Charles?”
The man pulled his chin back and looked confused, a bead of sweat trickling down his forehead. Holding his hands out to the side with his palms open, he played the part of innocent well. “I don’t understand.”
“That is not what Aventine said you would give me.”
“Of course it is. Saint Nicholas of Myra. She accidently left it at Mont-Saint-Michel when you came as a family. I wrote to her and told her and she told me to hang on to it when you came back with your own child on pilgrimage.”
“I’m not on pilgrimage.”
“Of course not. No one goes on pilgrimage to Mont-Saint-Michel anymore. It is a prison, but she wrote me last week and said you were coming and would need my assistance. What else could I possibly have to give you?”
Elias hardened himself to do what he had to do and firmed the grip on his knife. “You tell me, Father, or you will die before your next breath.”
“I don’t understand. This is all I have for you.”
Elias took a step toward the priest.
The priest put his hands up as if to stop Elias’s attack with his bare hands. “Saint Nicholas is the patron saint of children, brewers, archers, sailors, merchants, repentant thieves.”
Elias froze. “Did you say ‘sailors’?”
Father Charles swallowed visibly. “Yes, Saint Nicolas of Myra is the patron saint of sailors.”
Elias’ shoulders dropped. “Bloody hell, why didn’t you say that first?”
“Because Aventine bought it for her child, not a sailor.”
“Aventine told me the medal was the patron saint of sailors.”
“Your lack of knowledge of your religion nearly cost me my life.”
“I’ve had very little reason to believe in your religion, Father.”
“I suggest you start.”
Elias turned around and walked out of the room.Sacré bleu!He’d nearly killed a man of God because of Hag’s cryptic instructions.
“This is yours,” Father Charles said, as he scurried up behind him.
“Keep it.” He didn’t want the bloody thing.
“Your mother bought it for her son. Maybe you should keep it for yours.”
Elias froze. His child. He could have a child. Twice now, he’d lost his head and hadn’t taken any precautions to keep Máira safe. He turned around and looked at the priest who was holding out the chain with the medal of Saint Nichoas of Myra attached.
Patron saint of sailors and children.
He took the medal and pocketed it as he shrugged. “Can’t hurt.” He cleared his throat and changed the subject. “When can you take me to Mont-Saint-Michel.”
