Knights and Kink Romance Boxed Set

by Jill Elaine Hughes

  “We shall see to the lady’s comfort ourselves, Master Robert. If you follow yonder corridor to the right, it will take you to the entrance of our brothers the Benedictines’ cloister, where they will care for your needs. Most of this abbey belongs to the monks, we nuns have but one cloister to ourselves, and Reverend Mother says we may be made to move within a year or so.”

  “I am most obliged, Sister.” Robert disappeared down the corridor, leaving Sabina in the care of the novices. He hoped that in addition to making her presentable, they’d help her understand that these cloistered walls were no place for a woman like her. For her sake as well as his own.

  Chapter 6

  Sabina sat in a carved stone tub set deep inside an ancient marble floor, steaming hot water rising up to her neck. The Glastonbury abbey was built over the ruins of an ancient Roman temple, and the novices bathed in marble rooms that were once a Roman public bath. Two of the novices scrubbed her back with sea sponges, while two more washed and brushed out her hair. Another novice had taken her shift, gown and cloak off somewhere to be washed. But until that task was complete Sabina had no choice but to wear the simple, coarse garb of a Benedictine novice herself. Not that she minded much. Had things gone differently, she’d have worn one every day for the rest of her life.

  The youngest novice seemed to read her thoughts. “What brings you to Glastonbury, milady? Are you on a holy pilgrimage perhaps?”

  Sabina stared down into the murky water, which smelled slightly of sulfur. “Of sorts,” she murmured.

  “What do you mean, milady?”

  Sabina sighed. “I meant to come her alone and take the veil, to escape my marriage. But Fate has intervened and it seems that is not to be. Or perhaps not. Do you think there is a way for me to still take the veil, Sisters?”

  One of the other novices filled a small bowl with water and began to wash her hair with it. “Did you feel truly called to God, milady? For if you did not, you would not be happy here in cloister.”

  Sabina didn’t answer. She wasn’t prepared to lie in front of nuns, or even in front of unvowed novices. It was not God who had called her to take the veil, but necessity. Still, that hardly made her unique. At least half the nuns in England had taken the veil to escape marriage. Did that automatically make all those nuns false sinners? Sabina certainly hoped not. If all those nuns were exposed and made to leave their orders (along with all the second sons of noble houses sent to monasteries merely to get them out of the way of their elder brothers’ inheritance), the entire structure of the Church in England would probably collapse.

  “You are not happy about your betrothal, then,” the youngest nun observed. Sabina gave no reply, but did nothing to dissuade her, either. “You should be grateful to God that He has deemed fit to send you a husband, and a rich and powerful one at that,” the novice went on. “You are fortunate. Many women in the world have no money, no security, not even a roof over their heads. You shall have all of that and more for all the days of your life. Count your blessings, milady, pray the rosary for comfort, and God shall grant you your eternal reward in Paradise.”

  Sabina sighed and shut her eyes tight, trying in vain to keep the tears from spilling out. These young novices were kind but naïve. How little they understood the world outside! If only things were that simple. She envied them their innocence. Pray the rosary for comfort, indeed! Sabina prayed as little as possible. She hated getting down on her knees, hated counting out Hail Marys and Our Fathers in Latin even more. In retrospect, Sabina conceded that she probably would have made a rotten nun. Try as she might to stifle it, a tiny sob escaped her lips.

  “Don’t cry, milady,” one of the older novices said. “As my Sister said, you have many blessings.”

  “And the man who brought you to the Abbey is most handsome,” giggled another as she squeezed the water from Sabina’s hair. “Why don’t you marry him instead? Lord Reginald is ugly and old.”

  “Bite your tongue, Sister!” cried the eldest one. “Lord Reginald is our protector and benefactor!”

  “It’s all right,” Sabina said. “He is ugly and old, after all. Not to mention cruel. I would rather die than marry him, but it seems I have no choice.”

  “Your audience with our abbess is in an hour,” the eldest novice said. “Ask her advice, milady. She is a wise woman, and if there are any other choices for you, she shall know, I promise you.”

  ****

  Robert fidgeted in the abbess’ empty anteroom. One of the abbey’s Benedictine monks had led him here after providing him with a hot bath and a change of clothes while his own were washed and pressed in the abbey laundry. Unfortunately that change of clothes was a rough monk’s robe, rope belt, and sandals. He felt ridiculous. On the other hand, he blended in well with his surroundings, which made for an excellent opportunity for reconnaissance. He knew Lord Reginald was always curious about the political maneuverings and goings-on at Glastonbury, and now he had a golden opportunity to uncover some choice information for his employer.

  But at the moment, serving his employer was the last thing on Robert’s mind.

  A meager meal of bread, cheese, and salted pork sat untouched on a rough-hewn table. There were no chairs—Benedictines associated chairs with laziness—so Robert leaned against the cold stone wall. He was hungry, but didn’t feel right eating until Lady Sabina had her share. Which was completely out of character for him—he was never one to care for such formalities before. But in the few short hours since meeting Lady Sabina of Angwyld, Robert had become a much-changed man.

  Robert rubbed his sweaty palms together. He tugged at the rough wool collar of his monk’s robe, suddenly feeling hot despite the cold damp air of the abbey. He teetered back and forth on the balls of his feet, his mind racing with thoughts of Sabina. Where was she right now? Was she all right? When would he see her again? His pulse ran hard and fast, his blood pumping in his ears, his chest heaving with shallow breaths.

  Good God, what was the matter with him?

  Robert had heard plenty of tales of men who’d been hit hard by Cupid’s dart, but he’d never believed them. No real man ever lost control of all his faculties because of a mere woman. It was a sign of weakness, a lack of control. There was no way that Robert de Tyre would ever let a high-strung, willful Saxon lady ever grab hold of his heart. Never.

  Easy words, not so easily accomplished. Because whether he liked it or not, Robert de Tyre was already smitten. Sabina had already grabbed hold of his heart and tucked it in her pocket. And somehow Robert knew that he’d never get it back again. Even if Sabina didn’t know it yet, his heart and soul belonged to her forever.

  Damnation, Robert thought. Hell and damnation. It was a hopeless situation, to be sure. Sabina wasn’t his to claim, after all. She belonged to Lord Reginald. And Lord Reginald was known to kill men who looked at him sideways. Robert could only imagine what his employer might do to someone who tried to make a play for his betrothed bride.

  And besides, it was obvious that Sabina wouldn’t return his affections anyway. She couldn’t stand him. And what reason would she have to like Robert at all, let alone love him? She knew him only as her captor, a bounty hunter sent to collect a prize. She loathed and despised him, and had every reason to. He couldn’t blame her for that. He was a mercenary soldier who would be paid handsomely for forcibly delivering Sabina to a man she loathed and despised even more than him—Lord Reginald.

  Working as a mercenary bounty hunter and captor wasn’t exactly the best way to win a lady’s heart. Robert had known that going in. He’d always thought he’d live a simple, contented life as a bachelor, only seeking the company of women who sold their services for a living, just as he did. A mercenary’s life was a lonely one, but it was also a life without attachments or responsibilities. Robert had never taken well to responsibility; earning just enough to keep his mother and sisters fed and clothed and his tiny estate tended had always been more responsibility than even he wanted to bear. A married man’s li
fe—a wife, children, and all that went with it—that was more responsibility than he ever cared to have. Robert had thought his choice of career would ensure he’d never even have to consider the possibility. And yet, in his mind’s eye he could see Sabina living on his small farm in Normandy, managing the household, ordering the servants about with their son balanced on her hip. . . .

  No. He’d never expected anything like this to happen. And it never would. Because Lady Sabina of Angwyld simply wasn’t his to have.

  Fine. All the better, then. Because Robert de Tyre just wasn’t the marrying kind. Wasn’t the fall-in-love-on-a-lark kind, either. And yet, here he was, tangled up in a bigger mess than he’d ever thought was possible. He supposed he could take comfort in the fact that marrying Sabina was completely out of the question.

  But somehow that just made him feel worse.

  His pulse quickened as he heard light women’s footsteps approaching. Was it Lady Sabina? How would she respond to seeing him in a monk’s robe? Would she speak to him at all, or would she give him the silent treatment again? And why the hell did he care?

  The same group of white-robed novices he’d seen before entered the room. One of them carried a rough wooden stool, which she placed before the table. She motioned to one of the other novices to sit down and eat. That one—a strikingly beautiful novice that Robert hadn’t seen before—did so, and began to serve herself bread and cheese.

  Robert studied the novice’s face carefully. Her hair, limbs and body were all robed in white; only the perfect oval of her face showed beneath the heavy wimple. He watched her pick up a piece of bread, lay a cutting of cheese upon it, take a bite and begin to chew. Then the sudden realization hit him—this new novice was Lady Sabina, clothed in borrowed nuns’ attire while her gown and robe were cleaned.

  He gingerly stepped forward. “Y-your Ladyship?” he stammered, suddenly feeling like a timid schoolboy. “I trust the novices cared for you well?”

  She gave him a single nod, her mouth still full of bread and cheese.

  The eldest novice motioned for Robert to join Sabina at the table. “Please bring another stool for our honored guest,” she instructed one of her fellow novices, who scurried away and returned a moment later with another rough three-legged stool. “Please eat these modest provisions. One of my Sisters shall bring you both a mug of lager for your refreshment as well. The abbess shall be ready to receive you when you have eaten and drunk your fill.”

  The novices departed then, leaving Robert and Sabina alone together. Robert thought that incredibly odd; his experience as a guest in abbeys and monasteries had always taught him that men and women of the cloth never left unmarried members of the opposite sex alone in a room together. Something was afoot, and he needed to know what.

  “Why did the novices leave, milady?”

  Sabina shrugged her shoulders and chewed her bread and cheese in silence. She cut herself a small portion of salt pork and popped it into her mouth, but said nothing.

  “Why do you not answer me, woman?”

  Sabina chewed, swallowed, then shot Robert an exasperated look. “Because it’s uncouth to talk with one’s mouth full, that’s why.”

  “That’s not what I mean, Your Ladyship. You’ve given me the silent treatment ever since we entered the abbey.”

  “I am merely trying to blend in. Monks and nuns take a vow of silence, after all.”

  “Not until their final vows, and even then only a select few remain completely silent. It is a test of spiritual will and devotion, not an annoying game.”

  Sabina cut herself another slice of bread. “Why do you care what I do or do not say anyway? I am your prisoner. I would think you’d rather I’d stay quiet.”

  Robert pounded his fist on the table. Sabina was impossible, truly impossible. When he wanted her to speak, she stayed silent, and when he wanted silence, she ran her mouth like a gristmill wheel. Infernal woman! What on earth did he see in her, anyway?

  Quite a lot, it seemed.

  Sabina finished eating and passed the single trencher and knife across the table to Robert. “Tell me, Robert. What do you intend to discuss with the abbess? And why must I be present for it? Since it seems that I shall never be taken in as a novice here, what reason do you have for allowing me into the abbess’ presence?” She dusted the bread crumbs off her hands and cocked her head at him. “I might use it as an opportunity to plead my case with her, you know.”

  Robert was taken aback. He hadn’t expected her to question his actions and authority so directly. No woman he’d ever known was so audacious—not even his own mother. But then again, Lady Sabina was no ordinary woman.

  He sliced into the slab of salt pork, searching for a suitable answer. “I don’t want you out of my sight,” he finally said. “You seem to have made friends of those novices, and I can’t take the chance that you might use their friendship somehow to escape. However unlikely that might be. Glastonbury is heavily guarded.” He popped a morsel of salt pork into his mouth. “Besides, I assure you that you ever becoming a novice here would be quite impossible. The abbess would never risk offending her greatest financial supporter outside of the King by allowing his betrothed bride sanctuary here.”

  Sabina sighed and slumped forward on her stool. “This isn’t the only abbey in England,” she muttered.

  “No, but it’s the only one you’ll ever see the interior of, at least as long as you’re under my control, milady.”

  One of the novices reappeared, carrying a small keg of abbey-brewed beer. She poured them both a mug of lager, then turned on her heel and left them alone again. But why? Leaving an unmarried couple alone together broke every item of abbey protocol Robert knew. It annoyed him, unsettled him greatly—not to mention it only made his smitten discomfort in Sabina’s presence even worse. “Is there a particular reason why the novices keep leaving us alone together, Your Ladyship?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “You very well do. We are unmarried, of the opposite sex. No abbey in all of Christendom would allow us to be left alone together, even for just a minute or two. It’s against St. Augustine’s Rule.”

  Sabina raised an eyebrow. “And what do you know of St. Augustine’s Rule, milord?”

  “I was educated at an abbey cathedral school as a boy,” he explained. “I was groomed to become a monk myself for a time, though necessity prevented that from ever happening.”

  “And what necessity was that, pray tell? Your complete lack of moral character, perhaps?”

  Robert ground his teeth. “Strange you would make such an observation, milady, considering you complete lack of all ladylike manners and decorum yourself. I wonder how your mother and father came to raise you in such an undignified manner.”

  “My mother and father taught me that honesty is important above all,” she retorted.

  “There is a time for honesty and a time for restraint,” Robert growled. “Methinks you need some schooling in the latter.”

  Sabina had no reply to this latest jab. She sat in silence, stewing in her own angry juices.

  The appearance of the abbess’ handmaiden broke the tension, at least for a moment. The young servant looked only to be about eight or nine. A foundling, probably—unwanted infant girls were frequently left on the steps of abbeys and churches for nuns to raise. Her hair was loose and she wore only a plain brown linen shift tied at the waist with rope. “Reverend Mother will see you now,” she said in a tiny plaintive voice. “Please follow me.”

  Robert emptied his beer tankard in one gulp and went after the little girl. Sabina left hers untouched, took a deep breath, and followed them both down a narrow stone hall.

  The abbess’ private chambers were built much like a side chapel on a church nave, with a sloping cavernous ceiling supported by flying stone buttresses. Three high stained-glass windows spread across one entire wall, all in the most precious and rare of colors—deep blue and blood red—with scenes depicting the lives of
Saints Augustine and Joseph of Arimathea. The nearest window, which depicted an image of the Virgin Mary, contained a shiny new pane of glass inscribed with the words Donum ex Reginaldus Guillaumae ad majorem Dei gloriam—a gift of Reginald of Guillaume, to the greater glory of God. It seemed there was no place in the abbey that did not feel Lord Reginald’s influence. Sabina’s heart sank; she knew there was no hope for her cause now.

  The abbess was a well-preserved and graceful woman of about sixty. Her face was deeply lined beneath the stark edges of her wimple, but she was still quite pleasant to look upon. Robert noted that despite her advanced age, she still possessed all of her teeth, and they remained quite white and shiny. Must be the clean living, he thought to himself. She dressed in the same simple black habit of any Benedictine nun who had taken her final vows, and could have been any ordinary nun. Only the heavy gold jewel-encrusted cross that hung on a thick chain about her neck denoted her rank as the abbess of the wealthiest abbey in all of England, or even all of Western Europe, for that matter. But Robert noted that a few of the jewel settings on it were missing their stones, concrete evidence that the abbey was feeling the pinch. She stood behind her massive writing desk, an ornate work of art carved out of oak and hawthorn. “Master Robert, Lady Sabina, welcome to Glastonbury,” she said in a deep, resonant voice that sounded like prayer itself. “Won’t you sit down?”

  The abbess motioned to two heavy oak chairs that were completely gilded and lined in precious red velvet.An even more ornate chair waited for the abbess behind her desk. They were like the chairs of kings; Sabina had never seen anything like them before. She’d long known the wealth and the power of the Church, but those few chairs alone were likely valued at more than her father’s entire estate. “Sit—in these chairs, Reverend Mother?” she stammered, suddenly intimidated. How on earth had she ever thought her mother’s meager jewels would have been enough to buy the abbess’ favor when the woman sat on immeasurable wealth itself?