Whiter than the Lily Read Online Free Page A

sleeve again and was propelling him down one of the paths that led out across the grass. ‘She grows herbs, you see.’ He paused, sniffing deeply. ‘Look, here is rue, there is rosemary, there garlic, there … oh, I forget its name, something she uses in one of her special concoctions. She does tell me, she always explains what she is growing and for what purpose, but my concentration is apt to lapse and I forget.’ He gave a faint sigh. ‘I do not like to ask her too often to repeat herself since it can only serve to remind her of the reason for my forgetfulness.’ He turned his face towards Josse. ‘She is beautiful, is she not?’
    ‘Aye, she is,’ Josse said quietly.
    ‘And, as doubtless was your first thought on seeing her, young enough to be my granddaughter.’
    ‘Ah, no!’ Josse protested, feeling himself redden again. ‘I thought only …’ He could not summon up a lie, and, his flush deepening, he fell silent.
    Misunderstanding him, Ambrose smiled faintly and, looking away, said, ‘Well, perhaps not quite my granddaughter. But, for sure, my daughter.’
    ‘She – er, it is clear that she cares for you lovingly and tenderly,’ Josse said. Since that was true – or so he believed, on such brief acquaintance – he said it with conviction. He felt his hot face begin to cool down.
    ‘She does, she does.’ Ambrose sighed again, more deeply. ‘As do I for her. I love her, Josse, and it is my greatest wish to make her happy.’
    ‘She seems happy to me,’ Josse said. ‘She has theair of a contented woman.’ That, too, he believed to be the truth.
    But Ambrose, turning to face him and fixing him with faded hazel eyes, said sadly, ‘But Galiena is clever at dissimulation. She wishes me to believe that I satisfy her in every respect. She does not like me to think that she sorrows and therefore she pretends that she is happy, with not a care in the world.’
    Josse was beginning to dread what might be coming. ‘She – er, she has a beautiful home and a loving husband,’ he said, wishing himself anywhere but there in the sunny garden and apparently about to hear some highly intimate confidences. ‘Many women would give much to be so comfortably situated.’
    ‘Aye, that is what she, too, says.’ Ambrose lowered his eyes. ‘Yet that, sir, is all she has. We live very quietly here. I do not care for company and, save for Brice and, today, yourself’ – he gave an acknowledging nod in Josse’s vague direction – ‘we have few other visitors other than family. And indeed I am often from home when there is business to attend to or when I am summoned to court. Life with a man who now prefers the peaceful country life is, I fear, dull for Galiena. How can she be satisfied with it?’ He breathed deeply once or twice, keeping his head down, then, as if he had been gathering his courage, abruptly raised his eyes towards Josse again and said rapidly, ‘Sir Josse, I need your help. Brice tells me that you are acquainted with the good sisters at Hawkenlye Abbey?’
    ‘I – er, aye, that I am.’ The sudden change of tackhad totally confused Josse and he stumbled over his response.
    ‘Then tell me, if you will, are they skilled in women’s matters?’
    Women’s matters . Oh, God’s boots, Josse thought frantically, it’s even worse that I feared! ‘Er – they have a highly competent infirmarer,’ he hedged. ‘There are many dedicated nursing sisters and there’s Sister Tiphaine, she’s the herbalist.’
    ‘They treat women for their personal problems?’ Ambrose persisted, and the heavy emphasis on personal made Josse blush anew.
    ‘Um – hmph – er –’
    But Ambrose, lost in his own deep distress, seemed unaware of Josse’s extreme discomfiture. ‘She is a herbalist herself, my Galiena,’ he muttered. ‘She has tried everything she can think of. Even what I believe are quite desperate remedies.’ The anguished expression making him look even older, he went on, ‘I see her at