The Knight's Vow

Beatrice stepped to one side, watching his broad back, the taut line of muscular thigh and buttocks as he knelt to tend the fire. She felt a heat of colour sweep over her cheeks. Then he turned and, taking her elbow, indicated that she should sit down.

A man of few words, thought Beatrice, complying, mystified at his intention. She flinched as his fingers touched her, and he lifted her foot into the palm of his hand. As he examined it carefully, his action caused her nightshift to slide up to her knees. Quickly Beatrice snatched at the hem and pulled it down to cover her legs. By the flick of his eyes she knew that he had noticed her reaction; then she was startled by the sound of his voice when he spoke, in clear English charmingly accented by his native French, the timbre of it finding a place deep within her soul.

‘I will fetch a little goose-grease and a bandage.’

‘There is no need!’ Beatrice leapt quickly from the chair. Too quickly. Her knee connected with his chin and a resounding crack echoed about the room, ‘Oh, I am sorry! Are you all right?’

He regained his balance by grasping the chair, trapping Beatrice between his spread knees and arms. She looked down at his ash-blond head, breath tensely held, for she had never been so close to a man, and was acutely aware that she wore nothing but her nightshift. He rubbed his chin, and then rose slowly, his full height dwarfing Beatrice, who barely reached to his collarbone.

‘I have taken worse than a tap from a maiden’s knee,’ he said, hands on hips, smiling down at her in a way that was almost insolent.

Beatrice had nowhere to retreat, standing so close to him and with the chair against the back of her knees. She sensed the impropriety of their position and would have been further outraged if she had known that from his vantage-point of greater height he could see down through the open neck of her shift, and his eyes fell upon the soft swell of her breasts.

Beatrice found it hard to believe that this man was a full five years younger than she. It was she who felt the awkward youth. She glanced up at him, and in that moment saw for herself where his eyes lingered. Quickly, with a clumsy trip, she stepped over his boots and presented him with her back as she clutched at one ornately carved bedpost, suddenly feeling a little dizzy. In a voice cool as ice, she said, ‘You may go.’

His footsteps thumped across the floor, and then she heard the snap of the door as it shut. Whirling round, Beatrice let out a gasp and stared at the dark planks of the solid oak door. How dared he! The insolent knave! Her father would most certainly hear of this!

Then Beatrice remembered that she would not see her father come morning, that mayhap she would not see him for many months, and that she would soon be committing herself to life as a nun. Remy St Leger would be the last man ever to look upon her in such a way, as a man looks upon a woman.

Did he like what he had seen? Her hands flew to both hot cheeks, horrified at the sinfulness of her thoughts. His mouth had been wellshaped and not too wide, his jaw cleanshaven…

No! No! Beatrice ran to the bed and dived beneath the covers, pulling them over her head. In the muffling darkness her gasps for breath sounded like the panting of a wild animal. Her body felt different—her breasts ached, her legs felt weak. The male smell of him was still in her nose. He seemed to have invaded her every sense, every pore…One part of her sternly berated Beatrice for being a weak human being, another cajoled that she was only as God had made her—a woman.

What would it feel like to lie in his arms? To feel his hard, muscular body moving against her softness? Heat flooded her and through all her thoughts pounded one drumbeat—tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow.

Beatrice was certain that she would have only this one night to learn of things that would never be a part of her life. Why, she had never been kissed, let alone bedded! What harm would it do? She would still go to the nunnery a chaste virgin, except for one kiss. That was all she wanted. All she asked. And Remy St Leger would be the one to kiss her, Beatrice decided impulsively. No doubt the ‘hot young blood’ would not cavil, and even if he did she would remind him of his sworn duty to Lord Thurstan and his family to do as he was told!

Throwing back the covers, Beatrice leapt out of bed and hurried to the door. Her hand reached out to open it, and then drew back, checked by her natural sense of caution. She turned away, chewing on her knuckles, pacing, darting many glances at the impervious door, a frown creasing her brows.

Tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow… Resolutely, she turned back and quickly jerked open the door, before she could change her mind again.

He sat opposite upon a three-legged stool, leaning his back and broad shoulders against the wall. In one hand he held a dagger, in the other a whetstone. Looking up, pausing in his task, he eyed her with one brow raised in question, before bending once again to sharpen the dangerous blade.

‘I wish to speak with you.’

He looked up. ‘My lady?’

‘Privately. In my chamber.’

Again the stone rasped along the gleaming steel. ‘I think not.’

‘At once, Sir Remy!’ Beatrice resisted the temptation to stamp her foot. She had no wish to appear any more of a child that she already did.

‘Very well. ‘Tis late and I would not wish your voice to waken the entire inn.’

Beatrice flushed painfully at his censure and then stepped back as he rose from the stool and came into her chamber. She closed the door and moved past him, to stand before the fire, with her back to him.

‘My lady?’ prompted Remy, hands on hips, enjoying her silhouette and knowing full well that he should not be here alone with her.

‘As you know, I am on my way to join the nuns of St Jude.’

‘Aye.’

‘I will dedicate my life to God.’

He bowed, in silent acknowledgement of her great sacrifice.

‘I…’ she hesitated ‘…of course I am…’ again she could not say the words ‘…I go…chaste. Untouched.’

Remy St Leger shifted uncomfortably, staring at his boots, wondering where this strange conversation was leading. He took a step backwards, to the door.

‘I am twenty-nine years old, Sir Remy, and I have never been kissed. Properly. By a man. Not a relative. If you know what I mean.’

He squinted a look at her, the light suddenly dawning.

‘I can expect to live twenty, maybe thirty, years as a nun. Alone. Unloved. I would like to know…that is…will you kiss me?’

He stared at her, silent.

‘So that I may know what it is like. And take that memory with me.’

He shook his head. ‘I cannot oblige you. ‘Twould be more than my life is worth. Your father—’

‘He will never know! I promise. No one will know.’

‘Nay.’ He turned to go.

‘Wait! Please. I will grant you any favour in the future, and use what influence I have with my father in granting such favour, should needs be. Please. Just a kiss, ‘tis all I ask. I hear men are most willing to kiss maids.’

With his back to her he smiled, and then wiped that smile from his face before turning round to face her, looking her up and down with a penetrating stare that made her heart beat faster. He walked slowly across the room and stopped when he was but a sword’s length away from her.

‘Mayhap you are not aware that a kiss can lead to other things. Things which you know nought of.’

‘I am aware of what a kiss can lead to.’

He controlled his surprise and met her eyes stare for stare. Of course, even though she was so small and looked so young, she was not. No shrinking violet, this maiden. Was she even truly a maiden? he wondered.

Beatrice dropped her gaze to her fingers, twisted one around to the other against her chest. ‘I shall rely upon your honour as a knight to make sure that…we…you…shall refrain from…that.’

He laughed then and closed the space between them. Boldly he laid his hands about her waist. ‘There is no need to be coy. We both know what it is you want. One last tumble before donning your habit?’

‘What!’ His hands upon her were a new experience, yet his blunt words astonished her even more.

‘Surely you do not expect me to believe that a woman of your age has never been bedded?’

‘Nay! I have not.’

His eyes challenged her, and she glared back.