"Flynn-ThePromiseOfGod" - читать интересную книгу автора (Flynn Michael)

boys no longer came to play and he was alone all the time. He turned his face
away so the girl and the rixmister could not see. It wasn't seemly for a boy to
cry. It wasn't werile. He picked Lief the Lucky off the floor and stroked him
gently, imagining again that it was Papa.

When the girl approached, he looked up suspiciously. He had heard them talking
about him in whispers. The girl had shiny blond hair that hung in thick,
corkscrew braids down to her waist. She wore plain butternut and beaded
moccasins of a design Nealy did not recognize. Her hand clenched a knout with a
large, curved knob on the end of it. Behind her, the rixmister stood with an
anxious look on her face. The girl blushed lightly and curtsied.

"Ave, Master Cornelius. I height Gretl Octavia Schmuelsdottr. I came all the way
up the mountain from the convent school at Lechaucaster just to play with you."

Nealy frowned and would not look at her. "You're a girl," he said. "And a
vestal, "he added, pointing to the jeweled dagger hanging in its sheath from a
ribbon 'round her neck. He was not sure what a vestal was, only that they were
special and came from the convent schools.

Gretl squatted by his side. "Vestals know all kinds of things. Some of them. . .
" She paused, glanced at the mister, and blushed again. "Some of them you will
appreciate when you are older."

Nealy stuck his lip out. "I want Mama."

Gretl reached out and took his hand. "I will be your mama now. I will take care
of you." She hugged him; and it had been so long since any arms had compassed
him that Nealy suddenly dropped the doll and hugged her back, feeling with an
odd delicious tingle the funny shape of her chest pressing against him. A small,
warm glow blossomed within him. Someone did like him after all.

*
"And later," she said, "I will be your wifman., "I don't want a wif," he said.
"You'll learn," she said, caressing him. "What's the stick for?" he asked. She
hugged him tighter. "You'll learn."

"He is not evil," Greta told Agnes. "He does not choose evil."

Nealy grinned. "Thank you, my dear. You say such flattering things about me." He
finished his wine cup and set it by. "I'm not, I suppose," he said, scratching
his chin under his beard. "I thought so myself, once. But. . . "

"But evil requires choice," Greta said. "And choice has been taken from him."

"And I don't miss it nary a bit," Nealy said with a nod. "If you choose, you are
responsible. And responsibility. . . " He spared a glance at Greta's melancholy
features and frowned. "Responsibility can be a terrible burden." Something was
bothering Greta. Nealy could tell. Something beyond Agnes' importuning visit.
Something she had brought back up the mountainside with her.