Page 4 of Sacred Virtues
“How is our visitor?” I ask as Abel places the mug amongst the papers scattered across my desk.
“Well enough,” he grunts in his usual manner. “But I reckon he’s trouble.”
“Of course he is,” I reply. “One word from him and we could be kicked out of here without a groat.”
He just grunts again incoherently before he leaves. I feel he has more to say but I don’t press him. Right now, Emmett is the last thing I want on my mind.
I apply myself to the accounts for a couple of hours. There’s a lot to do. When the surrounding monasteries closed, we took on as many brothers as we could who wanted to join us. We now number nearly one hundred, along with the thirty lay members of the monastery who help us. And then there are the supplies for the infirmary, which is the only place in the district now that can help the sick and injured. We took on more patients—those well enough to travel—after the loss of our neighbours.
Although it’s engaging work, I can’t concentrate at the level I need to. And although Emmett’s eyes and his expression swim in front of my eyes, it is Henry who keeps floating through my thoughts. Urges that haven’t plagued me for thirty years rise up and my cock hardens. I reach for it through my robe, hoping to suppress the feelings. But as soon as I touch it, my hand moves of its own accord, the coarse woollen fabric providing a friction that leaves me gasping. Even though I can’t stop, I know I shouldn’t do this. It’s forbidden. I have given myself to the service of God, and keeping myself chaste is a vow I take seriously. Even touching myself, especially while thinking of another, is wrong. But I can’t stop now. A thirty-year itch, which hasn’t been scratched, and I’m powerless to arrest the movement of my hand, the exquisite pressure on my dick. I double over, resting my head on my forearm on my desk, reciting a prayer as my hand moves faster. I don’t want to stop it now, I want to feel the release, I will seek forgiveness later. A double Matins to cleanse my soul again.
The familiar but long-forgotten tingling in my spine starts, and I chase the release, panting hard.
The door of my office slams open.
Fuck!
I freeze, my hand stopping mid stroke. I take a breath and then slowly raise my head ready to berate Abel for disturbing me. I look straight into the face of Brother Kennard, who is giving me an expression I can’t read, but it’s not complimentary. Abel is hovering behind him and I catch a look that he at least tried to stop him.
“Are you well?” Brother Kennard sneers and I straighten further.
“Yes, I must have dozed off over the accounts,” I say. It’s a poor excuse but it might just work.
“Well, maybe if you delegated some of them to those of us who are more than capable, it wouldn’t tire you so much.” His voice is supercilious but I don’t buy it. Nor would I ever let him near the accounts. One of the others maybe, but I couldn’t do that without his questions as to why he was not involved, so I take on all the responsibility myself.
“I can handle them,” I say with as much authority as I can muster after being caught pleasuring myself. I let go of my dick, trying not to cry out at the loss of pressure and a thwarted release, and put both hands above the desk. I nod to Abel that he can leave us.
“What is it you want, Brother Kennard?” I say with weariness, as I know this will be a long conversation.
“I thought you would seek me out after Compline so we can talk about the visitor.” He makes it sound as if I should be confiding in him. I know better than that. “I see his horse is in the stable, so he’s still here.”
What a sneak, and yet he wonders why I don’t discuss important matters with him.
“He was tired from his journey and our negotiations will take some time.” It’s the only explanation I’m going to give him.
“Negotiations?”
“He will be requesting our surrender.”
“And you will allow this?” He raises his voice, resting his hands on my desk as he leans forward. Spittle flies from his mouth.
“What choice do I have? Do we have? We know what happened to Eynsham and Burford. We knew this day was coming.”
“You could stand up to him!” he shouts.
“Would you have me a martyr?” I rise and face him across the table. “I can serve my people better with my head still on my shoulders. I think I can negotiate a good deal. I have everyone to consider. I’m doing this for all of us.”
He scowls at me and takes a step back.
“Then go and negotiate rather than spending your time praying when I could take the lead,” he says, desperate for the last word and still smarting from what happened earlier.
“I need to show how devout we are and how worthy we are of the pensions I want him to agree to. Because we are devout, are we not? We pride ourselves on our virtues here at Larchdown. I would not have anyone think any less of us.”
I say this last as much for me as for him. Now my blood has cooled, I’m embarrassed I allowed myself to get carried away. It won’t happen again.
CHAPTER 4
EMMETT
