Geraint gaped like a great bird.
“Blood and wounds, but this is—miraculous!”
He began to laugh—deep, gloating laughter.
“Dear gossip, I have not heard such monstrous good news for many months. Brother Martin playing the nurse to a woman! Why, sir, we sent him one, and he would have none of her, the pious fool!”
“I dare say Brother Martin could not help himself.”
“How so?”
“The young woman arrived, claimed St. Florence’s charity, and friend Martin had to give it. I could swear he has kept the door of his cell shut all the while, and only gone out after dark.”
Geraint’s mouth showed its typical snarl.
“It’s probable, most probable, but such a tale does not suit us, good sir.”
“What has the fool done that you hate him so heartily?”