Hot Summer's Knight (12 page)

“I yield,” she whispered, feeling the gentle brush of the grass seed against her skin.  He lowered his weapon, letting the tip drop, tracing the edge of her dress from one side of the neckline to the other.  With every delicate thrust her heart pounded.

“Berenice.”  Her name on his lips sounded like the wind whispering in the trees.  He came closer, disarming her completely.

“Who do you seek to defend yourself against, my Lady, with a grass sword?”

“Against those who would rob me, Sir Troubadour.”  She looked up at him.  His grey eyes were soft, his gaze tender.

“And what would they steal?”

“The very breath from my mouth, I fear.”  In truth, she could barely breathe.

“Perhaps you misjudge the thief, my Lady.”  He came even closer.

“In what way, Sir Troubadour?”

“Perhaps he wishes to give, not to take from you.”

“And what would he give?”  He was no more than a hand’s span from her.  She could feel the heat radiating from his body.

“A kiss perhaps, a fair exchange for one freely bestowed some time ago.”

“An exchange, you say?  Then that would not be robbery.”

“And, as you have lost our duel…”

His mouth descended to capture hers.

She’d wondered in the long weeks of waiting what it would be like to be kissed by Gareth.  No amount of anticipation had prepared her for the reality.  The heat of his body, flowing into hers, and the strength of his arms around her she knew from the moments they’d shared in the river.  The softness of his lips, the warmth of his breath, the movement of his mouth she’d not expected.

He kissed her top lip first, then her bottom lip.  She felt an urge to open to him, to experience more of him, so she parted her lips a little.  His mouth slanted across hers, and, like his grass blade slipping under her guard, the tip of his tongue traced the line of her mouth.  Growing bolder, she let her own tongue explore their kiss.

She could feel the soft brush of his beard against her cheek, smell the peculiarly male scent of him, hear the sound of her own heart beating.  She felt strange, alive, bubbling inside, as though she were the river as it was at the monastery, leaping and rushing and tumbling on its way.

Her legs grew weak, and she let him gently lower her to the mossy shelf.  His hands caressed her, stroking her back from her shoulders to her buttocks.  Tentatively at first, she explored the broad expanse of his chest with her hands.  Even through the rough fabric of his tunic, she could feel the slabs of hard muscle, the ridges of bone.

She knew now why she’d so carefully kept him at arm’s length since the day at the river.  She lost all sense of propriety when she was with him.  She wanted to lie in his arms, to feel his lips on hers, his hands on her, his body next to hers.  She felt this was just a beginning; there was more, much more, Gareth could give her, and she ached to know what it was.

She never wanted this kiss to end.

Lost in her world of feelings, it was some time before the sound of raucous laughter made itself heard.  With a sensation akin to rising to the surface of the river on the day she’d almost drowned, she emerged from their kiss.

Jessamine was perched on a rocky outcrop a few feet above them.

“I knew he had another woman, I just knew it,” she mocked, “and who would it turn out to be but the cow who rules us all!  No wonder you didn’t want
me
,” she directed at Gareth, “When you were keeping
her
bed warm.”

“Jessamine, stop, you don’t know what you’re saying!” Gareth cried, leaping up.  He tried to reach Jessamine, but she was too far away for him to reach her.  Turning, he helped Berenice struggle to her feet.

“What, scared I’m going to tell everybody?” Jessamine taunted, “well, maybe that’s not such a bad idea.  I wonder who’d want to know?  They all talk about
her
as though she’s practically a saint.  What’ll they say when I tell them about you two, rolling around in the hay just like the rest of us?”  She laughed again.

While she’d been talking, Gareth had been inching his way up the cliff towards her.  He’d almost reached her when the sapling his foot had been resting on broke, and he slipped back down to the ledge.  Jessamine skipped away, through a hidden path in the bushes, still chortling and reeling off a list of all the people she was going to tell about their misdemeanor.

Gareth wrapped Berenice in his arms once again.

“Don’t worry,” he said, “no-one will believe her.”

“I don’t care if they do,” answered Berenice, “I’m not ashamed.  I refuse to be!”

“You’d have her spread lies and rumors?”

“No, but my people know me.  They don’t know her.  They know who to trust.”

“You have a great deal of faith in your people.”

“Yes, I do.  Gareth, I’ve something I want to tell you.  It may explain why Jessamine’s mischief does not concern me overmuch.”  She leaned back in his arms so she could see his face.  “I’ve asked Odo to write to the bishop on my behalf.  I’m having my marriage annulled.”

She’d dared to hope for a joyous response when she finally told him.  If he cares for me, she’d told herself, he’ll understand I’m saying I’ll be free soon, I won’t have to think about betraying an absent husband.  And if he’s an honorable man, he’ll know I’ll not be his completely without the blessing of marriage.

In her worst nightmares, she’d not foreseen the look of horror passing across his features.  In an instant the look had gone, and he gathered her into his arms once again.

“An annulment, you say?  That’s a big step.”

“I’ll be free, Gareth.  Free to marry again.”

“Yes.  Of course you will,” he replied in a monotone.  He released her, and turned away in the same movement.

“We’d best go back to the castle separately, under the circumstances,” he said, his gaze fixed on a distant point on the horizon.  She could no longer read his face, but the rigid angle of his jaw told her enough.  “I’ll go first.”

As quickly as he’d appeared, he was gone.

Berenice subsided onto the ledge.  After all the weeks of wanting to tell him her news, she felt flat, as flat as bread dough made with stale yeast. 

She’d been so sure he cared for her, perhaps even loved her.  It seemed she was wrong.  He was as Odo had warned, a rogue and a scoundrel.  At the most he was only interested in a liaison with a married woman whose husband was away.

At least she’d realized before things had progressed too far.

***

The bell at the monastery door pealed time after time.  A drowsy novice stumbled down the stone stairs to answer it’s call.

“I’m coming, I’m coming, keep your hat on, I’m coming as fast as I can.”  He opened the small hatch in the door.  A fine-boned ascetic face, fringed by thinning grey hair, glared back at him.

“I am Father Gerhard.  I’m an emissary from the bishop, to see Abbot Odo.”

“Yes, Father, of course.”  The heavy door swing inwards.  The priest breathed a sigh of relief as he stepped into the cool stairwell. 

“Have you come far, Father?” asked the novice, as he led the way up the stairs.

“You do not adhere to a vow of silence?”

“No, the Abbot doesn’t believe in it.  He says we couldn’t do our work properly if we couldn’t speak to each other.”

“There are others who believe that in silence we can better contemplate God.”  The novice showed the visitor into the reception room.

“But they’re not our Abbot, are they, Father?”

The priest took a seat.  Unperturbed by the novice’s attempt at conversation, he helped himself to fruit from the table and poured a cup of wine.  “And where might your Abbot be?”

“He’ll be in the copy room at this time of day.  I’ll fetch him.”

“Many thanks, my son.”  Gerhard’s sarcasm was lost on the boy, who vanished through an inner door.  After a time, heavy footsteps heralded Odo’s arrival.

“Father Gerhard, I believe.  God’s greeting to you.”

The usual pleasantries were exchanged.  The good Father’s journey had been safer than usual, owing to the unprecedented amount of traffic on the road to Freycinet.  However, the dryness and the dust and the heat had been intolerable.  They discussed the fair, and the many opportunities fairs provided to draw innocent souls into the sins of gluttony and avarice, to say nothing of envy and lust.

Eternally patient Odo felt his patience being stretched to its outer limits.  The priest discussed everything but the reason for his visit.  Odo was sure it had to be connected to Berenice’s request.  The summer was almost over, and to date he’d heard nothing.

“I’ve been appointed to a most honorable position in the valley,” the priest at last revealed, “and the bishop asked me to bring some letters to you on my way.  I’m sure if he’d realized how far out of my way your monastery is, he would never have insisted I deliver them to you.”

“You must rest here with us for a time, Father,” pressed Odo.  The priest still showed no sign of handing over the correspondence.

“That’s good of you, Brother Odo.  After my strenuous journey, a brief respite in a haven such as yours would be most welcome.”

Odo called the novice to show Father Gerhard to the cell reserved for visitors.  His mule, which he’d left tethered on the far side of the river, was to be brought around to the rear entrance of the monastery, unpacked and taken care of.

The affairs of the day called Odo back to his duties.  By the end of the evening meal, Odo was beginning to wish the monastery belonged to an order which did insist on silence.  The meal was made interminable by the priest’s opinionated conversation.  Only after it was over did Odo have the opportunity to read the bishop’s letters.

He scanned them quickly.  Most of them were purely administrative, concerning the raising and distribution of funds, which manuscripts were to copied over the next year, and so on.  He’d almost given up hope of finding any mention of Berenice’s dilemma, when a few lines in small script at the foot of a missive on books to be copied for the convent of St Bernadette caught his attention.

“Concerning the matter of the Lady of Freycinet’s marriage, she has no need to request the annulment.  Sufficient time has elapsed…”

There was more in the same vein.

Odo knew what Berenice would say.  She had no evidence of her husband’s death, so she would consider herself still married, even if the bishop thought time alone was enough.

Nothing had changed; her vow to their father remained.

At least, he thought, she’d be spared the indignity of an examination by the nuns, and all the ramifications William and Esme had foreseen.

He knew he should take the path down the valley and tell her, but he was her brother as well as Abbot.  Let her enjoy the fair with her troubadour, let her hope for a happy ending for just a little while longer.  He’d go to the castle after the fair was over.

He sighed, his usually serene face creased in a frown.  He had his guest to consider, after all.

Bad news could always wait.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Jessamine’s feet were sore already, and she wasn’t much past Pontville.  For the first time in years she was beginning to think riding in an ox cart with her mother probably wasn’t a bad idea.

And now the light was fading.  Far behind her, at Freycinet, the castle gates would be closed for the night.  There was no way she could go back, even if she’d wanted to, and she didn’t.  She wasn’t ever going back, not to Freycinet, not to her family.  From now on, she had no family.  She’d look after herself.

Her mother was the first person she’d seen when she’d reached the castle that afternoon.  Jessamine had told her what she’d witnessed up on the hill, about the Lady and the troubadour being as hot for each other as any pair of conies.  Her mother had told her to be silent, in no uncertain terms.

It was none of their business, Martha had said.  Hadn’t the Lady been good to them, giving them a cottage all of their own (with two whole rooms) to live in?  Martha had gone on and on and on.  She was tired of sleeping in vermin-infested halls, and she was sick of forever moving from place to place, because she, Jessamine always managed to get them all into trouble, and then they had to pack up and find somewhere else to go.

Jessamine knew when she wasn’t wanted.  She’d hated this place since the first day they’d arrived, hated the Lady, so calm, so confident, so completely in control of everything and everyone.  Now she’d even turned Jessamine’s own mother against her.

Jessamine had waited until everyone was at the evening meal, tied a few belongings in a scarf and slipped out of the castle.  The man-at-arms at the gate was easily convinced she was going out for an evening stroll.  No-one would even miss her.

She shed a few tears into her sleeve.  She’d miss them.  No, she wouldn’t, she corrected herself, she’d only miss one person - Gareth.  She’d wanted him, adored him even, as she never had any other man.

Men had been pursuing her for as long as she could remember.  They were such simple creatures – why, hadn’t she lost her virginity four times before she’d even turned sixteen?  Men were but a means to the trinkets and the garments and the praise she had to have.  They gave their gifts so freely, after all.  All they wanted in exchange was that one simple act which, she suspected, she craved even more than they did.

Gareth had been different.  She would have done anything for him if he’d asked her to, but he hadn’t, he hadn’t even wanted her, he’d wanted that noble born bitch instead.

She sat on a rock at the side of the road, took off her sandals, and rubbed her sore feet.  The sandals were pretty, made of red leather with a pattern stamped onto them, but not designed for walking long distances.  She couldn’t remember who’d given them to her.  Perhaps it had been that lovesick English knight at Aix-la-Chapelle a few years ago.  Had she had them that long?  She really couldn’t remember.

Resting her elbows on her knees, she wondered what she was going to do next.  They’d passed a large castle, Betizac her mother had said it was called, on the way to Freycinet.  She’d seen it over the tops of the trees, and she’d had a vague idea of trying to reach it.  She’d thought she’d ask for shelter there before it grew too dark, but the last time she’d caught a glimpse of its towers, it had looked as far away as ever.  She wondered now if she’d reach it before it grew too dark to see.