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attested to his pleasure, as well as a decided hint of triumph.
    “I do not suppose he intends to settle in our village,” Madam Potter said on a wishful sigh.
    “Rhodri returns to Wales on the morrow.”
    “A pity. We mothers would welcome a man with such a way with the children. Faith, he is not hard to look on, either. Some village maiden should set her claim to him right quick!”
    Aye, Nicole knew of at least two maidens who would take one look at Rhodri’s handsome visage and broad shoulders and swoon straightaway into his bed. Even Sister Gertrude, at whom the visiting priests’ sermons on fornication had no effect, had gazed lustfully on Rhodri while he’d played his harp for Mother Abbess.
    Nay, he’d not lack for female adoration wherever he went.
    Who could blame the women? Not her, not when her woman’s places stirred with wanton curiosity whenever she looked on Rhodri overlong.
    With a discordant note, Rhodri put aside his harp. Softly he told the children, “Your elders seek you out. Pray go quietly. Remember this is a house in mourning.”
    Madam Potter shook her head in disbelief as the children rose to obey his command. “’Tis nigh unbelievable,” she muttered, wiggling her fingers to beckon her young ones. “Ye have a care today, my lady, and give our thanks to Sister Claire.”
    With that, Madam Potter herded her children down the passageway, and Nicole made her way across the garden to where Rhodri stood, his smile now soft but no less exultant.
    Irritated by the wanton thoughts he could evoke, she said accusingly, “You look pleased with yourself.”
    “My father once said that when he could no longer hold the attention of the children, he would give up his harp. They are a difficult crowd to please.”
    He’d enticed the children for selfish reasons, not to be of service. But wasn’t that the way of men, seeking always to gain some satisfaction or reward from their actions? Not bothering to hide her disapproval, she waved a hand at the archway.
    “You will have a new crowd on which to test your skills shortly. I believe the clergy have arrived.”
    “Lead on, my lady.”
    She briskly led him through the now full passageway and into the chapel. Indeed, Father Gregory from St. George’s-in-the-Castle, and Prior Robert from St. Frideswide’s had arrived, along with Lord William de Chesney, the castellan of Oxford Castle. Nicole also recognized many of the town’s merchants, including the apothecary and the wine merchant. Monks mingled with several town officials. The chapel was nigh on as full as it had been last night.
    Nicole followed Rhodri to where Sister Claire waved him to a stool placed below the north window, where the Virgin Mother and infant Jesus reigned in stained-glass glory.
    “No drinking songs,” Nicole warned Rhodri.
    He settled on the stool and set the harp on his thigh. “So now the princess commands the bard on what songs he may play?”
    “Certes not, but be forewarned that Father Gregory lacks Mother Abbess’s sense of humor.”
    Rhodri set the harp strings to singing softly in a sweet melody, one she didn’t recognize, lulling all to silence. When the last note faded into the chapel’s rafters, Father Gregory and Prior Robert stepped up to the altar and began the Mass.
    The Latin chants were familiar. The priests sprinkled Mother Abbess’s body with holy water and, to the irritation of Nicole’s eyes, wrapped them all in a cloud of incense.
    Father Gregory was about to begin the homily when a rustle from the back of the room narrowed his eyes, then fully widened them. The crowd parted, like the Red Sea for Moses, to allow a tall, burly, handsome young man to swagger to the front.
    “My lord,” William de Chesney said with a slight bow. “I did not realize you were coming to Oxford. Had we been aware of your intent to so honor Mother Abbess, we would have waited for you.”
    Rhodri leaned in close and whispered, “Who?”
    “Aubrey de Vere, the earl