“Do not fear my furniture, milady,” the abbess said, reading her thoughts. “These chairs are but worldly objects, nothing in comparison to what awaits us all in Paradise. They were bequeathed to the abbey by King Canute, dead these last hundred years, so perhaps they symbolize how all good things of this earth must end, sometimes by violence and fire.”
The abbess’ words and voice were calming. Sabina relaxed for the first time in several days. “Master Robert, what brings you and Her Ladyship to the abbey?”
The abbess’ piercing gray eyes showed Robert that she already knew the answer to that question and more. But since she’d asked, Robert knew he had no choice but to tell her anyway in his own words. “Her Ladyship attempted to escape the duty of her impending marriage to your friend and benefactor Lord Reginald de Guillaume by riding here to Glastonbury alone. It was her intention to ask you, Reverend Mother, for protection and cloister behind these walls by taking the veil. Her Ladyship’s fiancé sent me to prevent that from happening.”
“I see,” the abbess said, her gentle yet stern voice never wavering. “Is this true, milady?”
Sabina gave a single nod. The abbess’ probing eyes seemed to strip her naked; she had to look away.
“I see.” The abbess reached across the desk and laid her wrinkled hand upon Sabina’s smooth one. “Lady Sabina, I hope you understand that I am running an abbey, not an inn. These walls are not meant as an escape from the world, if your place is truly in the world. Of course you know as well as I that many women in this country and others take the veil rather than live in a miserable marriage, but I only accept those women who are truly called to God when they do so. Methinks that you are not truly called to God. Am I right, milady?”
Again, Sabina gave a single nod.
“If that is true, milady, you would be as miserable here as you would in a loveless marriage. Perhaps more so. I therefore must deny your request even before it is made.” She turned to Robert. “And even if Her Ladyship truly were called to serve Our Lord, I’m afraid I could not allow her to take the veil here, when her fiancé is our greatest friend and supporter. Though I cannot speak for other abbesses elsewhere in England.”
Sabina hung her head. It was all as Robert had predicted. She had no place here, no place anywhere but with Lord Reginald. His power and ruthlessness knew no bounds, not even the walls of a cloister.
“Marriage is not an end to freedom, milady,” the abbess went on. “Indeed, it can be a great opportunity, for a great many things. For children, for protection, even spiritual growth. As the great Saint Paul once said, it is better to marry than to burn. I was married once myself, milady, before I became a bride of Christ, and I look back fondly upon those days.”
Robert blinked. “You were married, Reverend Mother? Truly?”
She nodded. “I was married to a much older man when I was only fourteen, far younger than Her Ladyship. It was a short marriage, as my husband did not live long. But he cared for me well enough, protected me and provided me with everything I needed or wanted. I had a son, and when my husband died my son inherited all his wealth and landholdings. But then the Normans came and took it all away. I left my son in the care of relatives in Scotland and came here to the abbey. I have been here ever since.My son grew up to be a great priest and scholar, and I see him often. I am quite happy with my life, and I’m looking forward to my next one with God.”
“I don’t understand,” Sabina said, on the verge of tears. “I know you’re trying to comfort me with your story, Reverend Mother, but it only makes things seem worse.”
The older woman smiled. “All I’m saying, milady, is that marriage is not the only stage or your life, nor the final one. It is merely a step on a long journey. You may be surprised at what God has in store for you.” She turned back to Robert. “And that goes for the both of you.”
Chapter 7
Robert and Sabina were back on the move. The abbess at Glastonbury had returned their freshly cleaned and pressed garb and given them six days’ provisions from the abbey kitchens, along with two skins of wine, a keg of beer, and a pack donkey that trailed on a line behind Arthur. The abbess promised to send her swiftest messengers ahead to Angwyld to announce their arrival. She’d even offered them the use of three soldier-monks from her personal guard, but Robert had refused. “I can get her safely home to her father’s house,” he said. “Lord Reginald will be waiting for her there, and the marriage can be performed at once. I don’t believe she’ll try to escape now, and I don’t think continuing to treat her like a guarded prisoner is going to help anything.”
The abbess had given him a grave look then—a wise and perceptive woman, she could sense the growing connection between Robert and his captive. She pulled him aside, out of Sabina’s earshot as Sabina oversaw the packing of their provisions onto their mounts. “I trust your intentions are honorable, Master Robert, and that you will return the Lady Sabina to her rightful place safely? You do not plan to fail your employer in this regard?”
“No, Reverend Mother, of course not. Whatever would make you say such a thing?”
“Somehow I think your path back to Angwyld will not be a smooth one,” was the abbess’ cryptic reply. “Go with God, young one,” she said. “And take care.”
****
They’d been riding in silence for about two hours, and dusk was already starting to fall. The next town was twenty miles away, and there wasn’t a farmhouse or roadside tavern in sight. Storm clouds gathered ominously over their heads. They would have to find somewhere to bed down for the night—alone.
Robert scanned the hillside and spotted a sheer rock facing jutting out from a jagged hill. Experience told him there were probably accessible caves in a hillside like that. He steered Amir down a narrow bridle path leading off the main road towards the hillside, and directed Sabina to follow him. They rode for a few more minutes, until the path ended at the edge of the rock facing. “Wait here,” Robert said sternly, and dismounted from his horse. He disappeared around the curve of the massive rock.
Sabina supposed she could use this opportunity to run, but where would she go? She had no money of her own, no friends that weren’t either dead by Norman attack or bound in service to her father. Lord Reginald likely was already at Angwyld Castle, waiting for her. There was no escape from her horrid situation—save death. And Sabina simply wasn’t brave enough to take her own life.
Far more than that, there was something that seemed to prevent her from getting too far away from Robert. Even though she was no longer tied down or otherwise made to remain attached to him, she still felt as if some unseen force kept them joined together. Whenever Robert was out of her sight, Sabina became anxious. She’d felt that way back in the abbey bathhouse with the novices, and now that he’d disappeared around the edge of the rock face, she felt that way again. Only far more intensely this time. Her face became flushed, her neck and palms began to sweat. Her heart raced, and for some strange reason a completely irrational fear began to overtake her entire being. What would happen if Robert disappeared around that rock face and then never came back for her? What if she never saw him again? What if she was left out on this barren, stormy heath alone, with nothing and no one to return her safely home? What if—
Just then, Robert reappeared. “There are some large open caves just on the other side of the rocks here. More than large enough to shelter us for the night. There’s even space for a cooking fire and a natural shelter for the horses. Come and see.”
Sabina dismounted Arthur and gingerly led him and the pack donkey around the edge of the rock facing. On the other side was a small clearing, bordered by more rock facings that jutted out over the clearing, forming a cave of sorts underneath. It was perfect shelter from the rain that still allowed them to look out onto their surroundings. “This is lovely,” Sabina said, more to herself than to Robert. One thing was certain about Robert; he was resourceful. Small wonder he was such a successful mercenary.
Robert made
quick work of unpacking their provisions from Arthur and the donkey, and had soon set up a very comfortable camp. He spread their bedrolls on opposite sides of the sheltered area underneath the rock, building a small campfire in between. Then he laid out their dinner provisions on a horse blanket by the fire, and cooked some of the salted meat the abbess had given them over the fire with wine, along with some turnips and watercress, making a light stew. He did it all completely naturally, as if he’d been building camps and cooking his own meals over fires his entire life—because quite simply, he had.
Sabina sat on a large rock, studying Robert’s every move. She felt connected to him in a strangely spiritual way, like nothing she’d ever experienced before. Every motion of his hands, whether he was unpacking a saddlebag or striking flint and steel together to start the fire, sent tingles up and down her spine. In a word, he fascinated her. And it was clear that everything he did was solely to make her comfortable. Robert was a mercenary soldier, after all—he could be content sleeping under the stars and eating a diet of nothing but weevil-ridden hardtack, no doubt.
All at once, Robert no longer seemed like her captor. Sabina wasn’t sure what that made him—her protector, perhaps? Her friend? Something else?
Sabina sat quietly on her rock, contemplating the growing contradictions of her life. Just when she thought her life couldn’t possibly get more complicated, Robert de Tyre had appeared. He was a man who represented everything she loathed—the Normans, war, violence, avarice—and yet, she couldn’t take her eyes off him. A part of her even thought the man might be her destiny. But why? It made no sense—none of it did. How could a common mercenary sent to capture her and return her for a bounty be her destiny?
Suddenly the abbess’ words back at the abbey seemed to make sense. The abbess was a very perceptive woman, and had spoken the truth on many levels. Sabina realized then that God had something in store for her, just as the abbess had predicted, and Robert de Tyre had something to do with it. But what? Surely not love or marriage. That was impossible, of course, and for a lot of reasons. Sabina was betrothed to Robert’s employer, who also happened to be the most ruthless Norman in England, for one. And even if that weren’t so, Sabina couldn’t stand Robert. He was an uncouth, coarse, common, ill-mannered, infuriating man. How could she ever spend more than a day in his presence without going mad?
How, indeed. At that moment, Sabina realized that she might go mad if she never saw Robert again. Because like it or not, understand it or not, she was hopelessly in love with him.
Sabina shut her eyes tight and buried her face in her knees. It was all too much to grasp all at once. Was this really how true love worked? Sabina had read plenty of tales of love on the scrolls of her father’s library—Ovid, Homer, Catullus—had listened to the lovelorn songs of the wandering bards whenever they had passed through Angwyld, too. But none of those ancients’ tales or bards’ songs had ever said that true love would be anything like this.
True love could just go straight to hell in a handbasket. And Sabina was already there.
Robert made the finishing touches on the stew. Sabina had no idea where he’d managed to procure a cookpot, let alone one with an iron lid, but the ever-resourceful Robert de Tyre was full of surprises. He set out some leftover bread and cheese from the abbey on a wooden trencher, then reached into his belt pouch and pulled out a mysterious amber flask. He shook some aromatic herbs and spices—Sabina could smell their exotic aroma even from ten feet away—dropped them into the stew, and replaced the lid. “Almost done,” he said. “This will be the best meal you’ve ever tasted, Your Ladyship. I promise you.”
“What were those morsels you dropped in the pot?” she asked. “Not poison hemlock, I hope.”
Robert laughed. For the first time since their first meeting, he finally seemed at ease with her. “Oh no, Your Ladyship. That was saffron, pepper, and coriander. Precious spices from the Holy Land and even lands further to the east. My employer sometimes pays me in spices.”
“Pays you in spices? I always thought mercenaries preferred gold, milord.”
Robert rubbed his hands together, raised them to his nose, and inhaled deeply. “There are some things in this world more precious even than gold, milady,” he said. He crossed to her, raised on of his palms to her nose. “Here. Take a whiff.”
Sabina jerked backward for a moment. It was the closest she’d ever been to Robert without being tied down or forcibly carried. Being completely free of restraints and so close to his body, which smelled of a mix of lye soap and mineral water from the abbey, along with the exotic scent of otherworldly spices made Sabina uneasy. Uneasy, unsettled—and strangely excited. Against her better judgment, Sabina finally relaxed, leaned forward, and inhaled the scent of Robert’s outstretched palms.
It was by far the most sensual aroma she’d ever experienced. Accustomed as she was to the woodsy, mossy scents of her beloved West Country, with its constant rain, fog, damp and bland food, the spices of the East were like an entrypoint into another mystical world. “Wonderful,” she said, inhaling again, deeper this time. “Simply wonderful. Do they taste as good as they smell?”
“Better.” He backed away from her then, and returned to his place beside the fire. Sabina wasn’t certain, but she could almost swear that underneath that heavy wool tunic, armor, and cloak of his, Robert’s chest was heaving—just as hers suddenly was. Sabina huddled herself into a tiny ball on her rock, drawing her knees up to her chest and leaning her head upon them. Somehow she thought if she made herself tiny enough, she just might disappear. And she’d rather disappear than face the powerful feelings that were beginning to take hold of her mind and body.
Robert was tense as well. He seemed to make a point to increase the space between the two of them. Eager to keep the subject of conversation as far away from the two of them as well. “Did you know that wars have been fought over the rights to spices like this, milady?” he said. “For as much as the Pope and his men might talk about saving the Holy Lands from heathens, the Crusades are really about securing the spices and riches of the East for Europe. You’re about to ingest a king’s ransom in spices, Your Ladyship. You can buy a wealthy duchy or even a small kingdom in this part of the world with a handful of peppercorns and saffron, you know.”
“Surely you jest, milord.”
“No, madam, I do not. Trust me, when you taste this stew, you will understand.” He motioned to the blanketed spot opposite him at the fire. “Come, sit and eat. I won’t bite. I promise.”
Sabina gingerly climbed down from her rock and approached the fire. The scent of spices as they steeped in the bubbling stewpot were overwhelming now. It was a sweet, yet savory scent that reminded her of the smoking censers carried by priests at vespers—only instead of inspiring fear and awe for the Lord God, it heated Sabina’s insides, making her quake from within. Part of her wanted to turn tail and run far away—but an even bigger part of her wanted to get closer to Robert. Much closer.
Robert dished her out some of the aromatic stew into a wooden camp bowl, and handed to her along with a spoon carved out of bone. “Drink the broth first, then eat the meat and vegetables,” he instructed her. “Tastes best that way. But be careful, it’s still very hot. Though I like my stew best when it scalds the tongue.”
Sabina sucked in her breath. All this talk of spices, heat, and burning wasn’t helping matters. Feelings of love (or lust) with Robert was a forbidden, hopeless thing—something best ignored, suppressed, denied altogether. But however irrational, silly, or downright impossible her feelings might be, she couldn’t deny the way she felt.
Sabina held the stew bowl up to her mouth. Clouds of steam arose from its surface, made her cheeks flush from the heat, her vision blurry. She took a sip. The exotic flavors of the spices filled her entire being, evoked taste sensations she’d never experienced before after eating a diet of nothing but bland mutton, turnips and brown bread her entire life. The scorching-hot stew scalded her tongue, but the a
romatic saffron, tangy coriander and pepper made it all worth it. She gulped down the rest of the soup, relishing every drop.
“Slow down,” Robert said, patting her softly on the elbow. “Food like this is meant to be savored, not inhaled. Here, have some more broth.” He ladled it out some more over her cuts of tender salt pork and the boiled turnips. This time she followed his instructions and sipped the broth slowly, savoring it the way she would a fine vintage of wine. The flavors filled her mouth, her nostrils, her entire body. She finished the broth, then took a bite of the slow-cooked meat. The spices exploded in her mouth, nearly knocking her flat.
Eating Robert’s spiced stew was truly a sensual experience. Her entire being became enveloped in the priceless aromas of saffron, of pepper—of a mystical, smoke-filled temple in the East. Sabina could almost see the towering minarets she’d read about in her father’s library, could almost hear the call to prayer from the Moslem priests and the thumping, exotic music of the veiled dancing women of the sultan’s harem. . . .
The world went blurry, then black. The next thing Sabina knew, Robert was standing over her, fanning her with a large piece of leather from his saddlebag. “Your Ladyship, are you all right? Your Ladyship? Can you hear me?” He leaned forward, placed a hand softly on her forehead. “You’re burning up. Have you taken ill? Do you have a fever?”
She hadn’t taken ill, no. But she did have a fever. Of sorts.
“Sabina?” Robert’s voice came to her as though through a fog. Her vision was still dark and cloudy, but Robert’s face stood out against the background. “Sabina, answer me. Please, milady.”
He’d called her by her given name for the first time—no titles, no polite formal means of address this time. Just her given name, which no one outside of her immediate family had ever called her before. “I’m all right, Robert,” she said softly. “Just—a little out of breath, is all.”
Knights and Kink Romance Boxed Set Page 44
