Heroes of Honor: Historical Romance Collection

by Laurel O'Donnell

  “Pardon me?” she asked, sounding as if she couldn’t believe what he’d just said.

  “Sext, not sex,” he told her with a chuckle. “You should know only one of those happens within these walls and I can assure you it is not the latter.”

  “What is Sext?”

  “Sext is the midday prayers. A monk’s day starts out with Matins and Lauds in the morning and ends with Vespers and Compline at night.”

  “Oh! So the monks pray five times a day?”

  “Non, ma chère. I wish that were true,” he mumbled under his breath, taking her arm and leading her to the chapter house that was connected to the church. “The monks have eight prayer sessions a day.”

  “Eight?” she exclaimed. “How on earth do you do it?”

  His face became solemn for some reason and he didn’t answer, just kept on walking.

  “Shouldn’t you be going to pray at the church as well?” she asked curiously.

  “Not today,” he mumbled, opening the door to the chapter house and escorting her into the large room that was used for meetings and readings.

  “This is amazing,” she said, looking up at the vaulted ceiling. A pillar in the middle of the octagonal room was filled with stone carvings of religious figures. There were stone statues of saints attached right to the walls. The room was outlined with benches along the outer walls with colorful stained glass windows above them. “How beautiful.” Pippa turned a full circle, her eyes fixated on the ceiling that had paintings of angels that were gilded in gold. “That is so ornate. I thought monks lived simply.”

  “Not everything is always as it seems,” he answered in a low voice, almost sounding as if he were talking about something else.

  “It is cold in here.” She pulled her cloak tighter around her.

  “The chapter house is rarely heated, but some of the other buildings do have hearths.”

  “My voice echoes in here,” she said in amusement next.

  “Shhh,” he told her, when she decided to call out hello to hear the echo. “There isn’t much talking allowed, and none at all in the scriptorium.”

  “Scriptorium? What is that?”

  “It is where the monks write, copy text, and illuminate manuscripts with colors and even gold leaf.”

  “Oh, I would love to see the books!”

  “Perhaps some other time,” he told her, hearing the footsteps of someone coming.

  “Brother Étienne,” said the abbot, walking in with Brother Paul who carried a package in his hands. “I am so sorry to hear that you will no longer be with us.”

  Étienne noticed Pippa look over at that comment. Thankfully, she didn’t ask what the abbot meant.

  “Thank you for the candles,” said Étienne, trying to change the subject.

  Brother Paul held out the package. “Do be careful, because they break easily.”

  “I will make sure that the candles are all replaced soon,” Étienne promised.

  “Nay. Consider it a present from the church,” said the abbot, raising his hand and giving Étienne, as well as Pippa, a blessing.

  “We had better go,” Étienne told Pippa, not giving her time to say a word. He rushed her out of there and back to their horses, tying the package to the saddle. “Up you go.” He lifted her up into her saddle before she could object.

  “Are you sure there is no time for me to see the rest of the priory?” The curious longing in her eyes made him want to do it, however he couldn’t now that he no longer belonged here.

  “Not today.” He mounted his horse and headed away, hoping she wouldn’t start to ask questions.

  * * *

  After dropping off the candles at the chandlers, they were headed out of town when Pippa spotted Marie and Auden strolling down the street together, hand in hand.

  “Hello, Marie! Hello, Auden,” she said, smiling wide because the matchmaking she did seemed to have worked.

  “My lord, my lady,” said Auden with a half-bow, opening the door to his shop and escorting Marie inside.

  “They sure look happy together,” said Étienne as they rode side by side back to the castle.

  “Aye. I do believe that I have made another perfect match. I am sure they will be getting married soon.”

  “Not if your father has anything to say about it,” he mumbled under his breath. She didn’t want to have an argument with him so she pretended not to hear him.

  As they got closer to the castle, she called out for him to stop.

  “Étienne, right off this path is where the yarrow grows.”

  “That’s nice,” he said, continuing to ride toward the castle.

  “I would like to stop and pick some for the dance.”

  “Now?” he asked, sounding irritated. “It’ll be dark soon.”

  “It’ll only take a few minutes.”

  “Fine.”

  She led the way into the woods, and slid off her horse so he wouldn’t have to help her dismount. If he touched her again and in private, she was going to want to kiss him. “Here it is,” she said. “It’s not even harmed by the snow. We need to pick a lot of sprigs because this will be used in one of the games for my gathering.”

  “Mmph,” he mumbled, not even sounding like he was listening or like he cared. He tied up the horses while she picked the yarrow.

  “The priory is beautiful and a very peaceful place,” she said, collecting the yarrow and dropping it into her cloak that she held up like an apron. “I can see why you chose to be a monk. It must be wonderful living there.”

  “If you like silence and prayer,” he grumbled, kicking at the yarrow but not doing a thing to help her. He looked as if he were brooding about something.

  “What did the abbot mean when he said he was sorry that you would no longer be with them? Are you going back to France?”

  “I don’t know,” he said, sounding very grouchy.

  “Étienne, what’s wrong?” She stood up and sniffed a sprig of yarrow. He looked at her with those hooded eyes again and, instantly, she felt a tingle on her skin and those silly butterflies in her stomach.

  “I have come to care for you, Pippa.”

  “Y-you have?” she asked, wetting her lips with her tongue. She wasn’t sure what to say in this awkward position.

  “Oui, I have.”

  There was an awkward silence between them and she could no longer hold back her true emotions so she just blurted them out. “I care for you as well.”

  He looked up in surprise and, this time, he wet his lips with his tongue.

  “I don’t want you to marry my brother,” he told her.

  “Excuse me?” She turned to face him and when she did, he pulled her into his arms and kissed her passionately on the mouth. She was so surprised by his action that she dropped the ends of her cloak and all the yarrow fell to the ground.

  Wrapped in his arms, Pippa felt safe, special, and excited. And when Étienne kissed her a second time, her eyes closed and her head fell back, welcoming his lips upon hers. Why did this feel so right, when she knew it was so wrong? The vision of the abbot and the stained glass windows of the monastery flashed through her mind. Then when the memory of the clanging bells of the tower calling the monks to sex – or sext, resounded in her ears, she decided she had to stop this before it went any further.

  “Nay!” she said, pushing him away and wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. If she tasted his essence upon her any longer, she was going to want to couple with this holy man.

  “Non?” He seemed so confused.

  “I don’t want you kissing me, ever again. Do you understand? I – I don’t like it.”

  “Pippa, let me explain.”

  She bent down and started gathering up the yarrow sprigs from the ground. “Don’t!” she warned him. “I don’t want to hear another word about it.” Marie’s comment kept going through her head about monks having desires for women. “Our kiss was wrong and it won’t happen again, nor will it ever be mentioned to anyone.” She stoo
d up with an armload of yarrow. “Do you understand me, Lord Étienne?”

  He looked like he was about to say something, but then changed his mind. “Whatever you wish,” he said softly, taking the yarrow from her and heading back to load it into the travel bag attached to the horse.

  Pippa’s tongue shot out to touch her lips and hopefully savor one last bit of essence of their mouths having been pressed together so passionately. She craved his kisses and wanted more, but she could never have him. He had made a vow to God and she was promised to another man. Heading back to the horse, it saddened her that she would never feel Étienne’s lips pressed up against hers again.

  Chapter 12

  “Tell me, what did Lady Philippa say when she found out you are no longer training to be a monk?” Brother Paul leaned back in the chair the next morning, having come back to the castle yesterday instead of staying at the priory where he belonged.

  “I didn’t tell her.” Étienne dressed as he spoke. “I tried to, right after I kissed her, but she stopped me from saying a word.”

  “You kissed her?” Brother Paul sat up straight. “And she still thinks you are a monk?”

  “I’m not a monk and never was.” He sat on the edge of the bed to don his shoes. “I don’t know why everyone keeps calling me that.”

  “What stopped you from telling her? After all, if you really wanted her to know, I am sure you had many chances on your trip to mention it.”

  “I told you before, I don’t want her father to know or he won’t let me anywhere near his daughter. Besides, she – she did something that made me think she truly didn’t like my kiss or want me.”

  “What would that be?”

  “She . . . she wiped off her mouth with the back of her hand after I kissed her.” Just thinking about it made him feel sick. “She said she never wanted it to happen again and that she didn’t like it.”

  “Oh, I can’t believe that. Mayhap you misunderstood her.”

  “Non, I didn’t. That’s what she said.”

  “Étienne, of course she is going to say that.” Brother Paul stood up abruptly. “She thinks you are a novice at the priory. No woman wants to fall in love with a monk! It’s not only wrong, but it’s immoral. It’s something that can never happen and she knows it.”

  “She seemed to enjoy the kiss at first. She even let me kiss her twice.”

  “You need to talk to her before it is too late.”

  “If it’s not already,” he mumbled, standing up and putting on his weapon belt.

  “I can’t believe she didn’t figure it out when the abbot said, right in front of her, that he was sorry to see you leave.”

  “She thinks that means I’m going back to France.”

  There was a moment of silence before Brother Paul asked him a question he truly did not want to answer.

  “Étienne, what is it you really fear?”

  Étienne wasn’t sure of anything anymore. His mind felt so confused about everything that he felt as if he were going mad. He also didn’t like the fact the monk was asking him all these questions.

  “Why are you even still here?” complained Étienne. “There is no need, since I am no longer a novice.”

  “But no one knows that, as you said. So if I left, that would probably be a sure sign that something was amiss.”

  “I’m sure there is gossip by now questioning if I’m really a monk in training. I don’t dress like a monk, I eat meat at the meals, and I train with weapons every day.”

  “Most people won’t question a noble.”

  “I’m surprised the baron hasn’t asked me about it yet.”

  “He is too distracted with Lady Martha and Wilbur, and now Franklin as well.”

  “Frank,” said Étienne, suddenly remembering that he told the boy he would meet him in the armory before they practiced. Today, the knights were jousting and that was something that really interested the boy. “I have to go.”

  There was a knock at the door and Brother Paul went to answer it.

  “I am here to see Lord Étienne,” someone said softly from the corridor.

  “Come in, Frank,” Étienne called out, recognizing the boy’s voice. “I am sorry but I must have overslept.”

  Brother Paul opened the door wider and Frank stepped into the room with his arms loaded down with plate armor. One eye was blackened and there was a scrape on his cheek. By the tearstains on his face, Étienne could tell the boy had been crying.

  “Frank, what happened?” Étienne rushed over to take the plate armor from him while Brother Paul closed the door.

  “I waited for you in the armory, but you didn’t come. I was holding this plate armor for you to wear in the joust today,” he explained. “Wilbur tried to take it from me.”

  “The joust? I’m not jousting,” he told him with a shake of his head. “Why would you think so? And did Wilbur punch you?”

  The boy made a face and nodded shyly.

  “What is the matter with that boy?” Étienne deposited the plate armor on the bed. “I will have a talk with your father about him. Wilbur needs to be reprimanded.”

  “Nay, don’t do that,” said Franklin, sounding very frightened.

  “Why not?” asked Étienne.

  “Just because. Please don’t.”

  “You need to learn to defend yourself,” Étienne told the boy. “I think today we’ll have a lesson in fighting without a weapon but with our fists instead.”

  “I would like that.” The boy focused on the ground.

  “You never told me where you got the idea I was jousting today.”

  “I . . . I might have told Wilbur that you were good at the joust. Really good.”

  “Frank, why did you do that?” Étienne had jousted with his brothers when they were being trained for knighthood, and had even beaten them on occasion. He felt confident with a lance in his hand, but he hadn’t jousted in some time now. Usually the joust was reserved only for knights.

  “All the squires were in the armory talking about how well the knights they served could joust. And . . . and there is something else, too.”

  “What else?” Étienne had a feeling he wasn’t going to like what the boy had to say next.

  Franklin looked up shyly from under his long bangs, hesitant to answer.

  “You need to tell me, Frank. It’s important to never keep something a secret that should be known.”

  Brother Paul cleared his throat loudly at that, making Étienne feel even worse. Here he was giving the boy advice about something that he should have done himself. “Is there something you wanted to say, Brother Paul?”

  “Nay. I’ll be leaving now.” The monk excused himself and left the room.

  “My father made Wilbur a squire-in-training,” Franklin told him. “He is mentoring him as if Wilbur were his real squire.”

  “Oh, no,” said Étienne, knowing how hard this must be for him. “Is that why you made up that story about me without even knowing if it was true?”

  Franklin nodded. “Wilbur called me a milksop and said that is why my father doesn’t want me as his son, but wants him instead. Then we got into a fight.”

  “I am going to settle this once and for all.” Étienne stormed to the door and threw it open.

  “The baron said he wants to joust against you. The joust will be on the practice field in ten minutes.”

  “What?” Étienne stopped and turned around. He couldn’t believe his ears. “I can’t joust against the baron.”

  “Why not? You told me you jousted with your brothers before.”

  “It’s not the same,” he said, feeling his stomach churning. He didn’t want to go up against a trained knight, nor did he want to beat the man. If, by chance, that happened, he would embarrass the baron, losing to a mere monk. He could tell the baron the truth before the joust, but then Pippa would be furious and hate him that he hadn’t told her first. Either way he was doomed.

  Étienne instantly regretted not trying harder to tell Pippa
he was no longer a novice. If he had, perhaps he wouldn’t be in such a difficult situation. Now, because of his own foolishness, he was going to have to go through with the competition. If not, Wilbur would think Frank was lying, and the baron would think Étienne was being rude.

  “Help me buckle my plate armor,” Étienne said, closing the door. “We have a joust to attend.”

  * * *

  Pippa hurried to the lists with Marie at her side. “Are you sure that Étienne is jousting against my father?” she asked for the third time.

  “Aye, my lady. I told you, I heard it directly from Lady Martha. It was actually her idea.”

  “It was? Why would she want that? I don’t understand. Étienne is a monk in training. He can’t go up against my father who is a trained warrior. Étienne will be hurt.” Just as they passed the stable, her father, Lady Martha, and Wilbur walked out.

  “I have your horse and lance ready and waiting for you in the practice yard, Baron,” said Wilbur.

  Pippa stopped in her tracks, staring at Wilbur’s black eye.

  “Ah, there you are, Philippa,” said the baron. “Are you coming to see me joust against the monk?” He pulled on metal gauntlets as he spoke.

  “Father, why are you doing this?” asked Pippa furiously. “You know as well as I that Étienne doesn’t stand a chance of beating you at the joust. You are trained knight. You’ll make a fool out of him. He is only a monk.”

  “I’m sorry about that, but I am doing this to teach your brother a lesson,” explained her father.

  “My brother? Franklin?” she asked, not understanding this at all. “What does he have to do with this?”

  “Ever since that monk started training him, he has gotten out of control,” broke in Lady Martha. “Look what your brother did to my poor Wilbur.” The woman put her hands on Wilbur’s shoulders.

  “Franklin gave you a black eye?” Pippa asked Wilbur in astonishment, wanting to laugh. If anyone deserved to be punched, it was Wilbur.

  “Franklin also kept lying, saying the monk was some sort of expert at the joust,” explained the baron. “I am only doing this to prove to the boy that it isn’t right to lie and that he needs to start acting accordingly since he is the son of a baron.”