Forbidden Kisses

by Laurel O'Donnell

  She followed and swayed nervously as he reached for each linen in turn and placed them into an armoire. Her knees were ready to buckle and exhaustion swept over her. She summoned the courage to ask for a salve for her hands.

  She startled when gaggle of agitated monks burst through the door, some of them swatting at bees that followed them. They were carrying another monk who appeared to be in a stupor, his hands wrapped in something. The shapeless mounds craned curious necks. The monk assisting her rushed to investigate the commotion, barking instructions. They lay the unfortunate on one of the pallets and she caught sight of his bee-stung face. Her heart stopped. She dropped the linens. “Aidan.”

  She thought she had screamed his name, but no one paid attention to her as she cowered by the huge armoire. His face was destroyed, beautiful eyes swollen shut. They took a dagger to his hands and sliced off the wrappings. She bit her knuckle and choked back a sob. His elegant hands resembled the ham hocks that hung in her stepfather’s smokehouse.

  “We must remove the stings first,” a monk said. She gulped air. She wanted to flee, but stood rooted to the spot. If she remained silent, perhaps they would not notice her presence. Aidan needed her. She couldn’t leave him in this state.

  Another monk had been stung, though not as badly as Aidan. They were tending him. He was sobbing, taking blame for what had happened. A choking desire to kill him rose up in her throat. The stench of burnt dung hung in the air. She was going to be sick.

  “Take off his robe,” the Infirmarian ordered. “Fetch the ointment.”

  She leaned on the armoire, transfixed, while they stripped Aidan. She ought to leave, but might be seen. She froze, eyes fixed on her monk.

  His pale body was a sharp contrast to the redness of his hands and face. But he was a beautifully made man...not what one would expect for a monk. She had never seen any man naked before, and had no idea what to expect. His body was different from hers. Where she was round and soft, he was hard and well muscled. Where she was small, he was big and broad. Her arms and legs were short and shapely, his long and corded. He had hair on his body, as she did, but in different places, and he had something nestled at the top of his thighs she didn’t have. She should look away.

  Aidan moaned, jolting her back to reality. They draped linens over him, obscuring his body from her view. She was relieved and disappointed. She wanted to run her hands over him, feel the planes and angles of his body, soothe him, bring him comfort. He had done much for her, she was powerless do anything in return.

  “The garlic in the ointment will ease the pain,” one of the monks said.

  “Aye. Works every time,” another agreed. “Lucky for Brother Christian this happened here at Lindisfarne where we know about bee stings.”

  Lucky? Again the urge to strike out rose in her breast. Aidan felt no pain now, but he surely would when he recovered his wits.

  “But this is bad.” The monk spoke in a barely audible whisper. “He might lose his sight. We’ll pray diligently for him, and for the wretch who caused the accident. He feels responsible.”

  As he should.

  Unable to stand any longer, Nolana slipped to the floor beside the armoire. Gradually, everyone but the Infirmarian left. Darkness fell, plunging the room into deep shadow. A lone candle flickered beside Aidan’s pallet, casting him in a strange glow. The mounds snored. She huddled in the playd, mouthing a mantra learned at her mother’s knee.

  Let all be well, let all be well, let all be well.

  Her eyelids drooped.

  ~~~

  “Water.”

  Nolana’s head jerked up and she strained to listen.

  “Water.”

  Aidan.

  A snake coiled in her belly. She peered around the side of the armoire. All was in darkness. The candle by Aidan’s palette had burned out, but in a shaft of moonlight she discerned the outline of the Infirmarian slumped in a chair in a far corner. She crept to Aidan’s side and looked at him. His eyes were still swollen shut. He licked his lips. “Water.”

  She espied a pitcher next to one of the sleeping mounds. She tiptoed to it and inhaled. Ale would have to suffice. Returning to Aidan’s side, she held the pitcher to his lips. He gagged at first then slurped greedily, his head falling back to the palette when he had slaked his thirst. She put her chapped hand on his forehead.

  He inhaled sharply. “Nolana?”

  She withdrew her hand as if she had been burned. How did he know she was there? She hadn’t uttered a word.

  “Nolana?”

  Something had lodged in her throat. “Aye, Aidan. I’m here.”

  “Bees,” he whispered. “The bees. Wasn’t their fault.”

  She touched his forehead again, tears streaming. “I know. Drink another sip.”

  He held up his hands. “I cannot hold anything. My hands...”

  “I’ll hold it for you.”

  He accepted more ale, drinking greedily. She spied the salve they had used to soothe his pain. Scooping out a dollop, she carefully dabbed it on his swollen face. It smelled of garlic, and something else...urine? “I am afraid to hurt you. My hands are rough.”

  He moved his head, his lips a tight line. “You have the touch of an angel. You cannot hurt me.”

  She smoothed ointment across his eyebrows, but was afraid to apply it to his eyes. “I wish I could see you,” he rasped. “The sight of you would heal me instantly. I see you often in my dreams. My neck pains me, am I stung there?”

  She put both hands on his neck and smoothed them down the length of it, pressing her thumbs to the soft place below his Adam’s apple. “I cannot feel anything.”

  “I feel something.”

  She raked her gaze over his body, wondering where else he felt pain, confused by a peculiar tenting of the linens near his legs. She withdrew her hands.

  “Don’t stop. Your touch soothes me.”

  She stole a glance at the still sleeping Infirmarian and put her hands back on Aidan, gently pressing her fingers into his neck and shoulders. She kissed his forehead. He raised his head to press his lips against her breast, inhaling deeply. Driven by a need she had never felt before, she let her hands wander over the muscles of his chest, savoring the silkiness of the faint dusting of black hair.

  “Climb into bed with me,” he urged.

  She pulled back, alarmed. “You’re delirious, Aidan. You don’t know what you’re saying. You’re lying on a pallet in the infirmary.”

  “Nay, my sweet love, we’re at Kirkthwaite, in the lord’s chamber. On the morrow we’ll sleep late.”

  Kirkthwaite? This man was the lord of Kirkthwaite? How often she had listened in disgust to the auld men of the Maknab clan boast of their murderous rampage at Kirkthwaite thirty years before. They claimed to have destroyed the manor. If this man was lord there, what was he doing in a monastery?

  She had to get away, but didn’t want to alarm him. She lay his arms down gently, careful not to touch his hands. “Hush, Aidan. Rest now. I must go. If they catch me here...”

  She pecked a kiss on his fevered forehead.

  “Don’t leave me,” he whispered faintly. “I need you.” A deep breath shuddered through him and soon he was snoring softly.

  Sniffing away tears, she pulled the still damp playd over her head and crept from the infirmary. She had longed to be more than a chattel in a man’s eyes. But Aidan was a monk. The bitter irony of it.

  HELP HER

  “Godemite, Aidan.”

  Aidan forced his eyes open a crack. The swelling had lessened and shapes were discernible without much pain if he peered through his lashes. Relief washed over him. “Ragna,” he rasped.

  “Edwin is here too.”

  Edwin’s face floated into his field of vision. “Edwin, thank God you’ve come.”

  He closed his eyes.

  “Look what they’ve done to you, brother. You are coming home to Kirkthwaite now.”

  He shook his head slightly, instantly regretting the movemen
t. “No, Ragna. I want you to do something for me.”

  “I’ll not take no for an answer, Aidan.”

  He took a deep breath, imagining his sister with her hands on her hips, petulant chin thrust out. “Listen. I cannot talk for long, you must listen, for once.”

  He heard his sister’s snort, but Edwin asked, “What is it, Aidan?”

  “There is a woman here. Her name is...”

  Ragna snorted again. “You’re delirious. This is a monastery. I’m the only woman here.”

  He opened his eyes just as Edwin pushed Ragna out of the way, none too gently. “Go on,” his brother said.

  “Nolana Kyncade sought sanctuary here from her stepfather. My superior is sending her to a nunnery in Durham. You must prevent it. Take her to Kirkthwaite. Keep her safe there.”

  He squinted to see Ragna sulking at the foot of his pallet, arms folded across her chest.

  Edwin shook his head. “But who is this woman, and on whose authority are we to do this?”

  Aidan’s head was pounding. “She’s a Scot...”

  Ragna stamped her foot. “A Scot?”

  Edwin turned to her. “Ragna, hold your tongue. Can’t you see he is in pain and trying to tell us something important?”

  Ragna’s mouth fell open.

  Well, well. Edwin has found his backbone.

  “Thank you, Edwin. This woman is not suited to religious life. You must safeguard her at Kirkthwaite. Her stepfather may pursue her and force her into an abusive marriage.”

  Ragna stopped pouting. “What father would do that? Who is he?”

  They would find out soon enough. “Neyll Maknab.”

  Both siblings gasped, but said nothing, then Ragna asked, “Where are they keeping her?”

  “I don’t know. She has come secretly to see me twice while I’ve lain here, but yesterday she didn’t come. You’ll speak to the abbot and force him to give her the choice. I must be assured she is safe.”

  Edwin saluted. “It will be done.” He hurried from the infirmary.

  Ragna leaned close to Aidan’s ear. “What is this woman to you?”

  Unable to explain what he did not understand, he swallowed hard. “She’s a young woman in trouble, Ragna. I want to help her.”

  His sister put her hand on his forehead. “I had better assist Edwin. I can be more forceful.”

  Aidan chuckled. “I don’t know, he seems to have found some courage. Did he actually salute me?”

  Ragna shrugged and left, but in minutes she and Edwin returned, both agitated. “She’s gone already.”

  Aidan’s heart plummeted. “What?”

  “The escort from Durham took her yesterday.”

  Aidan struggled to sit up. He reached out his still swollen hand and gripped his brother’s arm. Edwin’s eyes widened in surprise. “Edwin, you must pursue them. Take a contingent of our men-at-arms and go after them. They must not reach Durham. Promise me.”

  Ragna put her hands on Aidan’s shoulders. “Calm yourself. We will do your bidding and see her safely delivered to Kirkthwaite. You must rest and get well. Then we’ll speak of your return home.”

  Aidan had no strength left to argue. He collapsed onto the bolster and closed his eyes. “Thank you. Go quickly.”

  ~~~

  Nolana’s heart ached that she had been denied the opportunity to say farewell to Aidan. She had finagled only one other visit to the infirmary, narrowly avoiding getting caught applying salve to his hands. He was in greater pain and seemed to have no recollection of his suggestion she share his bed at Kirkthwaite, proving her suspicion he had been delirious. She was relieved. There was no future for their relationship. But her heart raced at the image of them abed together, limbs entangled.

  The escort from Durham consisted of two elderly nuns in a wagon accompanied by five mounted guards. They had brought a novice’s habit, and she was forced to leave behind her playd and léine, her last links to her roots. Sister Magdalena stuffed Nolana’s hair into the confining coif, remarking that it would be an easier matter once they reached the mother house in Durham where they would crop it short. A leaden weight settled on her heart. It was her mother’s weakness that had brought her to this. She would never forgive her. She should be relieved she would be shut away, protected from men...but Aidan, oh God, Aidan.

  She rode in the back of the wagon. The nuns ignored her. The two guards riding behind ogled and smirked, elbowing each other in the ribs. The procession navigated the causeway and turned south to Durham. After a mile or two they entered Fenwick Wood. It was eerily silent. No birdsong. No creatures stirring. The horses grew nervous and a sour taste rose in Nolana’s mouth. She held her breath and scanned the thick wood for an avenue of escape.

  They rounded a bend. Her mouth fell open. In the middle of the track cowered Jennet, shoulders hunched. A burly giant bearing the Maknab devise on his tunic held the back of the old woman’s neck. Nolana’s blood turned to ice in her veins.

  The guards reined in their horses. Their leader addressed the giant. “You there. Make way. We are emissaries of the Bishop of Durham. These women are under his protection.”

  Nolana did not see the silent arrow that pierced the man’s heart until he grunted. His body slipped from the horse and thudded to the ground. Sister Magdalena screamed in outrage, and the remaining guards fled into the forest. Nolana gripped the sides of the wagon when Neyll Maknab sauntered out of the wood. The giant had forced Jennet to her knees. Nolana stood up in the wagon, hoping her icy fear didn’t show. “Let her go. She’s just an auld woman.”

  “I didn’t mean to tell, I didn’t,” Jennet wailed.

  Neyll smirked. “She was most forthcoming concerning you and your whereabouts. It took little persuasion.”

  Nolana climbed out of the wagon and knelt by Jennet, pushing away the giant’s hand. She put her arms around the sobbing woman. “You’re a brute, Neyll Maknab. You prey on defenseless women.”

  Neyll strolled over and fingered her veil. Sister Magdalena made a sound of protest but he silenced her with a look. “Nonsense. I am the soul of generosity. Instead of killing these women, I intend to let them go on their merry way, without you of course, daughter.” He jerked his thumb in the direction of Durham.

  Without a moment’s hesitation, Sister Magdalena urged the horse forward. The wagon pulled away. Nolana watched them go as she came to her feet. “I am not your daughter. My father was a noble man. You are not.”

  Neyll backhanded her across the face. She reeled and stumbled into Jennet. “Noble or not, I am the man who holds sway over you and you will obey me. Your precious crone had best be gone, before I change my mind.”

  Jennet looked pityingly at Nolana then scurried off into the trees.

  A Maknab man held the reins of the dead guard’s horse. Neyll took her hand and dragged her to the animal. “Mount, Nolana. And don’t think to escape. I am done chasing you. My patience is at an end. Next time you run I will kill you.”

  Atop the horse, Nolana clung to the pommel and the stolen steed was led north towards the border.

  She sensed the moment they crossed into the Lowlands. The tension left Neyll’s shoulders. Here he was feared. It took but a day to reach his tower stronghold at Kolbrand’s Path, but to Nolana it might have been a journey to the other side of the world.

  The habit chafed her thighs and bottom and by the time they arrived she was sore and exhausted. The hated stone towerhouse loomed before her in the fading light. The crashing waves of the North Sea hurled themselves against the outer ramparts of the fortification. She had been elated to escape this wretched place where she had known nothing but unhappiness. She shivered, dreading her stepfather’s retaliation. She hoped the aged baron, her intended betrothed, was not in residence.

  They passed over the ditch and through the wooden palisades. Someone lifted her from the horse. Her knees buckled when her feet hit the ground and she leaned against the animal.

  Neyll came up beside her. “Take her to the
tower.”

  Her feet never touched the ground as two men lifted her by the arms and bustled her off to the chamber at the top of the tower. They dumped her on the pallet bed and withdrew. She heard the bar drop into place. Too exhausted to cry, she curled up and fell asleep.

  IS IT LOVE?

  The Infirmarian allowed Aidan out of bed. The swelling around his eyes had improved considerably and he was enjoying a stroll with Ragna in the abbey garden. His sight had not been affected by the stings. Hopefully, his hands would heal quickly. He walked arm in arm with his sister, enjoying the unusual closeness.

  Aidan and Blythe were twins. Ragna was several years younger and had always been independent...a hellion. Everyone in their family called her the Wild Viking Princess, claiming she took after their Danish ancestors.

  She must have sensed what he was feeling. “It’s good to walk with you like this, Aidan. You and I have never been friends.”

  He smoothed his hand over hers. “But we love each other just the same.”

  A tear trickled down her cheek. “We can do no less as the children of Caedmon and Agneta FitzRam.”

  He took a deep breath. “May God have mercy on their souls.”

  Ragna snorted. “If they aren’t welcome in Heaven, there is no hope for the rest of us.”

  He squeezed her hand and they continued their stroll.

  “Tell me about Nolana Kyncade.”

  Aidan pulled up sharply. “There’s nothing to tell.”

  Ragna punched his shoulder, reminding him of when Blythe had done the same thing years ago in a garden in Germany. “You aren’t hiding your feelings for her very well, Aidan. Why don’t you admit you’re smitten with her?”

  Aidan walked on, studying his feet, then turned to face her. “I made a commitment to God, Ragna. How can I renege? Nolana is God’s way of testing my mettle.”

  Ragna opened her mouth to reply, but her gaze fell on Edwin, who was hastening towards them, escorted by a monk. “It’s Edwin.”