"The Marquess makes considerable donations to your church, doesn't he, Father?" Alaric's voice was casual, but his eyes were piercing as we stood in the churchyard.
I watched Father Michael's face blanch. The poor man was twisting his hands together so tightly I feared he might break his own fingers.
"Y-yes, Your Grace. The Marquess has been... most generous," Father Michael stammered.
"And in return for this generosity, you've allowed him unusual access to the church records, haven't you?" Alaric pressed.
Father Michael's eyes widened. "I... I wouldn't call it unusual, Your Grace."
"Really?" Alaric took a step closer. "So you regularly allow noblemen to review the prayer requests of young women in your parish?"
My breath caught. This was the first I'd heard of such a thing, though it explained Alaric's sudden interest in speaking with the priest.
"I didn't... that is to say..." Father Michael was practically shaking now.
