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4.

"Yes," John said dryly, "it should be clear to everyone now that you are a respected art historian, and yours is an intellectual appreciation for the art of the period." He nodded politely to several other passing tourists who were edging past us with alarmed looks.

"Oh, shut up." So I'd wrapped my arms around one of the lovely, slender cloister columns, what was wrong with that? It was an absolutely adorable column. "You only steal stuff nobody really needs," I said. "Well, I really need this."

"The column, the cloister, or the entire monastery?" John inquired, folding his arms. He seated himself on the stone ledge on the opposite wall in the corridor and turned his contemplation to the small garden.

"Yes," I said.

"Naturally I'm flattered at your estimation of my skills, but . . ." he waved a hand, "Mont Saint Michel might be a trifle more than I can manage. And wherever would you put it?"

"In the backyard," I said, "with my pony." The pony in my backyard was Caesar, and I was certain he'd share.

"You may embrace the stonework for," he checked his watch, "five more minutes, but then the dragging commences. We've a few more rooms to see yet, and the cathedral at Dol-de-Bretagne is next on today's itinerary."

"What's the rush?" I demanded. I wasn't pouting, not exactly. I did feel rushed.

John simply brushed off the question. He walked over and calmly began to disengage my arms from the column. "You wanted cathedrals, and we've yet to see one."

"I'm flexible," I said. "This is good enough."

"I can attest to your flexibility -- just as I've no doubt I'll be hearing that same refrain many times over the coming week." He patted me on the head like an indulgent uncle and began herding me toward one of the narrow windows set in the wall. "Let's look at the bay."

True to his promise, John picked up my fuming self and carried me bodily from the cathedral of Saint Samson in Dol, and I couldn't kick him like I wanted to.

"Biting, hitting, and lawsuits are also proscribed," he informed me cheerfully. "Dr. Bliss is permitted, however, to stupefy me with more lecturing and thereby make her escape, if it comes to that."

"Have I been that bad?" He hadn't seemed bored when I'd launched into impromptu rambles on windows, rood screens, chapels, clerestories, buttresses, and spires. I was certain I could rely on John to let me know the instant he was finding me a bore -- he'd been quite prompt about that in the past.

"A little din can't daunt my ears," he said, "and to be immersed in the wisdom without paying the course fees appeals to my veniality."

"What doesn't appeal to your veniality?" I grumbled to myself, snapping my seat's buckle into place. John's specialty might be classics, but he wasn't, in fact, as uninformed as he'd been professing about the art and architecture here. The comments he'd made and the questions he'd asked made that glaringly obvious to me. Nor was this the first time he'd seen these places; I'm not intimidated by European driving habits, but not even I could have woven my way in and around and out of these towns as easily as he'd done. Yet he hadn't made any mention of previous visits.

"We're not staying here tonight?" I asked, when I saw him directing the car back to the road out of town. "It's already dark."

"Saint Malo," he said. "We'll stay there overnight, putting us on site in the morning. The cathedral of Saint Vincent is there, and you might find the old city and ramparts worth a look as well."

I sighed and untied my boots. I'd chosen my office's location to discourage visitors, but there had been other benefits to running those flights of stairs daily. I wasn't out of shape -- but a castle, monastery, cathedral triple-crown right out of the starting gate had taxed my endurance. Even John was looking a little worn, which made me wonder again at the schedule he was setting out. Could there actually be someone on our tail? Or was there something later in this trip that he was more interested in?

I was considering how to begin the interrogation, when John slid a small, narrow brown envelope from inside his jacket and handed it to me. "That reminds me," he said, "before we reach the hotel, if you would be so kind."

"What's this?" From the weight, I could feel that something heavier than paper was stuck in the bottom, so I peeled up the flap and shook it out into my hand. I picked up the small object and held it up to the window for a better view by the lights along the highway. My mind emptied out rather abruptly at that point. It was a plain gold band, with a smooth, fitted section of red stone, which might have been ruby. When my mind began operating again, it spun madly in place like a top, before falling over with a clunk.

"We will have rings, and things, and fine array," he said, sounding amused.

"No way. I'm not the one who needs a disguise here." I dropped it back into the envelope and shoved the whole mess back against his chest with enough force to elicit a puff. "Keep it."

He didn't take it from my hand. "You're accompanying me, I'm accompanying you. We're going to be sharing a room across the countryside in several more traditionally minded locales, so I'd prefer that --"

"No. /No/, damn it."

"All right," he said. He didn't sound particularly upset. "But might I inquire as to the reason for the vehemence? It's merely a ring, and a loan at that -- I do expect you to return it. I'm not about to demand rites, marital, legal, or sacrificial, to go along with it." He dipped his hand back into his pocket and pulled out another envelope. "The other one I'll wear myself, so it's not as though --"

"No. What's more, I never said I wanted to share with you. I want my own room." Yes, I had been looking forward to sharing a room and everything that went with it -- but that was before he'd pulled this stunt. I wasn't going to pass as another of his forgeries. Especially not when I hadn't sorted out my feelings about this murky idea in reality. This was digging in too close to a tender part of my emotional anatomy.

"Well, then, that's that, I suppose. I foresee no problem here."

"No?" That left me even more confused.

"Not at all." He gave me one of those grins that made me almost take back on the spot every word I'd said. But 'almost' was the operative term. Principle matters to me, even if it doesn't to him, and I wasn't going to back down. But he hadn't taken back his damned envelope; rather than leaving it in the car overnight, I resorted to shoving it in my purse.

To my surprise, he didn't take us to a hotel; on the outskirts of the city he pulled up alongside a small shelter marked for the city's bus service. Then he got out, walked around the car, opened my door, and handed me out to the curb. "This is a bus stop," I said stupidly.

"Indeed it is. One can rely on an academic for astute observations." While I was scowling over that, he was pulling my overnight bag from the back seat; he walked it over to the bench. "Everything you'll need is in here, correct?"

"Everything I need for what?"

"Excellent." He rubbed his hands together briskly. "Well, then. You certainly have no need of an escort. If you ask the driver which stop you require, I'm quite certain you'll have no problem locating it. I'll be along to collect you in the morning."

"Wait, finding what? Collecting me where? What's going on?"

He leaned forward, kissed me lightly on the cheek, and said, "I salute your plan to conserve your museum's budget. Commendable really, and I'm more than willing to assist. Just follow the markers with pine trees. Youth hostels can be quite comfortable. At times." He walked back around the car, adding, "You have until ten o'clock to find it."

He got back in the car as I still stood there speechless. The car door slamming shook me out of it. "Hold it, you bastard, is this some kind of a joke?" I shouted. He gave me a jaunty wave -- and pulled away from the curb.