He was done with her. As he should be, Honore supposed. She could only pray she did not prove the ruin of his family. Regardless, all the greater her offense if Hart was not his son—and greater yet did he learn she had known of Finwyn’s claim on the boy.

As she moved her gaze from the knight’s back to the archbishop, a rogue wave struck. Struggling to keep her feet from slipping, she slapped a hand to the nearest bench, gasped as spray wet her face and gorget.

Though she felt the gaze of the oarsmen whose labor had eased with the raising of the sails a half hour into the journey, she feigned ignorance and silently beseeched, Lord, deliver us to France.

Though a storm had yet to set down, the weather so stirred it was possible the ships seeking to depart Sandwich later this morn would not. That was her hope, though only if Finwyn meant to board one.

When the skiff resumed its relatively sedate course, Honore caught the sound of retching and looked behind. Once more, Cynuit leaned over the side emptying his stomach. Though her own insides roiled, thus far she had not heaved. Hoping she would not now, she looked to those at the bow whose mantles were more heavily flecked with water, then resumed her negotiation of the narrow aisle between the benches.

As she neared, Thomas stepped to the side to receive her, and she felt a pang of sympathy for the gray cast to his face and the arm against his midriff. Though she knew not if his cause was just, his discomfort further disposed her toward him. She summoned a smile to her eyes, and when he managed the same, more clearly she recalled his visit to Bairnwood accompanied by King Henry’s eldest son, a boy whose adoration of his guardian had been evident.

The invitation for Honore to join the abbess and her visitors to discuss the foundlings had included Hart. Wary lest the chancellor show interest in him the same as the bishop who believed the mark a sign from God Britain would be united under one king, she had been glad Hart was then of too few years to understand the reason for scrutiny of his face.

Honore had sensed arrogance and indulgence about Thomas, but he had seemed of a different bent from the bishop. He had said she need not wear her covering in his presence and only a slight frown had appeared when she lowered it. Of greater consolation, he had been kind to Hart and made so little of the mark one might think he looked upon a freckle.

Still, she had been surprised when the king later ensured his friend and chancellor was elected archbishop despite the protests of many of the Church who believed Thomas would put the interests of Henry ahead of God. And further surprised when, thereafter, their friendship deteriorated.

Was his argument with the king a clash for power? Or done out of love for God to protect the rights and privileges of the Church as Thomas claimed? Unfortunately, that she could not know since who but the Lord could separate the dark from the light within a man’s heart? Still, on the night past she had trusted Thomas enough to deliver them to France and keep his word to Elias that if ill befell him, she and Cynuit would be safe.

When she reached the bow, Elias turned. Though she longed to avert her gaze, she set it to his. She hated deceiving him, but not enough she would do differently were she able to relive this day that would see them in France by nightfall if the sea remained tolerant of their small craft. True, soon he would abandon her, but he would be nearer to rescuing Hart.

It might be only one life at risk—to many a small, inconsequential life—but not to her. Nor God. Never would any convince her Hart was less loved by the Creator than those who wore crowns fashioned not of thorns but gold, silver, and gems. Even were this knight not the boy’s father, Hart was worthy of the same sacrifice King Henry’s vassals would make to recover an abducted prince.

Halting alongside Elias, she widened her stance to counter the boat’s movement, bent and kissed the archbishop’s hand. “Your Grace.”

“I am in your debt, Honore of Bairnwood. As methinks you know, it is unlikely my brethren and I would be aboard without Sir Elias’s aid.”

She straightened. Deeply feeling the presence of the man at her side, she said, “For that I fear I have made as great an enemy of Sir Elias as you have made of the king.”

Thomas gave a grunt between disbelief and discomfort, the latter drawing her eyes to where he gripped his middle. “I would not have thought you given to exaggeration, Honore. I am quite certain that, after time and reflection, the honorable Sir Elias will forgive us both our transgressions.”

She looked sidelong at the knight and glimpsed beneath a wave of hair upon his brow the scabbed gash evidencing the ill Finwyn had dealt him. His eyes met hers, and in his she saw as much condemnation as when he had stood over her.

“Until you called upon Your Grace to save the knight,” the archbishop said, “I believed you no more than suspected my identity. Tell what revealed me.”

“Your claim to have met me, your height, and something in your voice recalled Thomas the chancellor come unto the abbey with Prince Henry. Too, having heard your disagreement with the king had grown, I considered those differences had become so great you must flee Henry’s wrath the same as Brother Christian and his brethren fled one who sought to root them out from those entering and departing Sandwich. Even when—”

The boat listed heavily, and as she snatched hold of the railing, Elias gripped her arm. When she found her balance, he released her so swiftly, she wondered if she had imagined the aid given her.

She swallowed. “Even when I bestowed your title to remind you of your duty to protect your flock and not allow the captain to leave behind men who would be severely punished for aiding you, I could not have said with certainty it was the Archbishop of Canterbury beneath the hood. Only when you lowered it.”

A smile moved his mouth. “Thus, I am in greater need of Sir Elias’s forgiveness than you.”

Was he? More, did it matter? She smoothed the covering across her mouth, braved another look at Elias.

“You know you need not wear the gorget in my presence, Honore,” the archbishop said.

She flew her gaze back to his.

“Just as I am sure you need not wear it in Sir—”

As if understanding what spasmed across her face, he quieted, then cleared his throat. “Sir Elias, I would speak with Honore alone. As I am sure you slept poorly, you ought to gain your rest. And do spend time with the Lord that He may aid you in forgiving the deceivers.”

As if Elias wished to be anywhere but at Honore’s side, he pivoted.

“He does not know,” the archbishop said as the knight distanced himself.

She raised her eyebrows. “For what does he need to know?”

“I would not have thought it of consequence but…” He lowered to a bench, patted the stretch beside him. “After what I witnessed on the night past, perhaps it is of consequence.”

Not until she accepted his invitation to join him did she make sense of his words. Face warming, she rasped, “You were…?”

He dipped his chin. “Awake with prayers for the safety of all and a good crossing.”

Discomfited more by what he had seen than might have heard, fairly certain Elias’s voice and hers had not carried enough to make sense of them, she said, “It seems God listens to you.”

“He listens to all. Where one’s faith is most greatly tested is waiting on and accepting His answer to questions and beseechings. Blessedly, thus far my most fervent prayers of the night past are well answered. And yours?”

Did he seek to move her back to what he had witnessed between Elias and her? Uncertain of what he had seen though it made her betrayal of the knight tenfold worse, she asked, “Did Sir Elias reveal the reason we wished to make the crossing?”

“Hart’s abduction, and that he may be the boy’s father. But I need not verify you pray for the child’s return. What I question is what you, a woman of virtue committed to saving and bettering the lives of foundlings, pray for yourself—if you seek more than an embrace from a handsome knight of noble birth.”

She gasped. “You make it sound as if I might sacrifice my virtue to him.”

“I do not think that of you, and I believe Sir Elias honorable enough not to seek such, but I would be remiss did I not add my voice to that of your conscience in warning nothing good can come of moving beyond an embrace. I do not think he is wed, but even were he not…” He sighed. “I would not hurt you, but not only do you lack the noble and legitimate breeding to move him to marriage, you are no young woman with years ahead in which to birth enough babes to ensure at least one survives to continue his father’s line.”

Neither was she an old woman, Honore nearly retorted. However, had she years enough to birth a sizable brood, it would not change that not only was she likely born on the wrong side of the sheets, but had she noble blood it was diluted by common. Nor would it change that she had betrayed Elias.

“Your concern is appreciated, Your Grace, but just as I have no illusions I could be raised above my station as were you through friendship with our king, neither do I wish to live life for any but my foundlings. What you witnessed last eve was no more than compassion shown by a man who could not know he would regret it. Thus, Sir Elias has no need to be apprised of the reason I cover my face, and certainly no further cause to reject me.” She stood. “That we may reach France whole, I shall leave you to your prayers.”

He touched her arm. “I did not mean to offend.”

“Fear not. I know my place in the world, and as I am certain it pleases God, I am content.” She inclined her head, turned aside.

As she made her way past the oarsmen to Cynuit, she located Elias where he and his squire stood in the stern with their backs to her.

“I am content,” she whispered into the wind. But the stirred air tossed the words into her face.

No more, she silently conceded. But once Hart is safe, I shall seek to be content.