by Traci E Hall
He didn’t even believe in eternal love! Hog’s slop, that’s what Sir Percy had called the weakness of love. Women were treacherous and deceitful—a man’s only chance at passing through heaven’s gate was to be chaste, devout, and honorable, a knight faithful to his liege, strong of arm, and mighty of faith. That was Sir Percy.
Osbert had never quite measured up to the man, although he tried every day since Sir Percy had rescued him.
A visit to St. George’s, Os decided, was what was needed. A stop at the place he’d had Sir Percy buried. The tombstone inside the peaceful churchyard was the biggest he could afford.
It was much more peaceful during the day.
Not that Os feared ghosts—none but his family’s. And since God only knew where their bones rested, he had nothing to fear.
Shame and guilt echoed loudly with each boot step he took. Like a scene in a minstrel’s play he went over his cowardly actions in his mind.
If he’d gone straight to the village woman instead of the farce of a physician down by the docks, then mayhap his family would still be alive. Enter in the white-faced minstrel with a sad expression. Then would come the jester, with his red mouth and pointed finger. Pointing the righteous finger of blame.
At him.
No more plays. He shook his head, exhaling through his nose. Logic confirmed that he was wrong. Sir Percy helped him, teaching him the commandments. Honor thy mother and father. He never should have disobeyed his father. But Os had known, even at nine, that his old man was fucking the village woman Lisbeth on the side. Os didn’t want to see her, knowing what he did, even though it was common knowledge she could cure everything from warts to pregnancy.
He’d followed his boyhood emotions and gone to the docks—and for his trouble he’d been robbed, stabbed, and left for dead. Making his penitent way home, he’d found his family swollen with disease and rotting in their beds.
His fault.
Shame, guilt. Shame, guilt.
He’d deserved every lash from Sir Percy’s willow branch.
Gritting his teeth, he kept walking—turning left at the giant oak tree before coming to a sloping hill. He followed the dirt path up to the right until he reached the top, where the white-fenced cemetery was locked with a gate. The fence was only five feet high, and Osbert had no problem climbing over it.
If only Sir Percy had been able to absolve me from this guilt. The trip to the Holy Land had but lessened the guilt, and not by much.
It was dark and only the moon lit the way. Osbert found the tall tombstone and knelt before it, his head bowed.
“I have sinned. I’ve fallen in love.”
“That hardly seems like a sin for a man of your station,” a deep voice said from the shadows behind the giant stone.
Os jumped up, reaching for his sword as he narrowed his eyes and searched for the one who dared to sneak past his defenses. “Who is there? Show yourself, I demand it.”
A short, stocky man with the fringed hair and bald pate of a monk held his hands up and walked around the stone. “‘Tis just me, Brother William.”
Suspicion raised its ugly head. “What are you doing here?”
The monk laughed, the sound odd in the dark night—a night meant for secrets. “Come, and I’ll show you.”
Os kept his hand on the hilt of his sword. Even Sir Percy had warned him that not all religious servants were pure. “I am not in the mood for games.”
“What? Oh … I am chaste. Though it is difficult, I do keep my … lustful desires … to the deep recesses of my brain, lest I go insane thinking about it. The sainted Augustine knew what he was speaking out—pleasures of the flesh. But never mind—I see that you are not in the mood to jest.”
Was he ever in the mood for jokes? The last person to make him laugh was Ela, the woman he’d come here to ask Sir Percy about. “Why are you behind the stone? If not for a secret tryst, are you hiding from someone?”
“No. This is the best place to watch the stars. I watch them as they flit across the sky, and I lament that my faith requires poverty—else I would go to university and study the sky. Astronomy is an ancient art—some say that earlier peoples could read the future by the alignment of the planets and stars.”
“Huh.”
The monk sighed and returned to his seat against the tombstone. “This is my favorite place.” Then he covered his mouth with his hand. “Oh dear. Is this a relative of yours? I meant no offense …” He started to rise, but Os gestured for him to stay seated. Then he sat next to him.
“You say you watch the sky all of the time?”
“It relaxes me. I feel very close to God.”
“I envy you that.” Os scooted so that the tombstone was supporting his back, and with the slope of the hill, it was like sitting in a comfortable chair. “I see what you mean. This is a nice spot.”
He looked up at the stars glittering in the evening sky. They were mesmerizing. Like Ela’s eyes.
“So tell me why a handsome, strong knight such as yourself should regret falling in love. Are you already married?”
Os found it easy to talk to the monk, since they were both staring at the stars. “Nay, not married, nor pledged. Just not worthy.”
Brother William rubbed his hands together. “Do tell.”
Chuckling low, Os admitted that his story wasn’t that savory. “I’m a dull fellow. I believe in God, the church, the Bible. Black and white. My mentor, whose tombstone we are sitting against, showed me the path to truth lay in the ways of God.”
“That sounds wonderful.”
“I’ve done everything that Sir Percy suggested could get me to Heaven and to God. I’m a knight sworn to uphold Christianity. I’ve been to the Holy Land on pilgrimage. I’ve treated women with respect and honor, and I bow my knee to the king and my liege.”
“You are practically a saint,” Brother William smiled into the dark. “So remind me why you are unworthy to be in love?”
“I’ve fallen in love with a witch.”
“Ah. Now the story gets interesting.”
Os picked a blade of grass. The fragrant green scent made him think of Ela and wildflowers—of Antonias’s memory of making love to Ana before battle.
His groin hardened, and he tossed the blade of grass to the ground.
“You see, Sir Percy believed that women were … evil, for want of a better word. Since Eve tempted Adam in the Garden of Eden, women have been out to ruin man. Aye, he admitted that we need them to procreate, but there should be no joy in such a union. Whores were for pleasure, paid with coin—an honest transaction.”
“Whores? Honest transaction?” Brother William nodded and rubbed his chin.
Mustering up the saliva to swallow, Os said, “Aye. Only when necessary, but no harm done.”
“And you agreed that this was just?”
Os stared up at the sky. “I did. But after he died, and I was searching … for something … I found a different way of looking at things. In Jerusalem, people bathed every day, and they didn’t die as Sir Percy claimed. They were just … clean.”
“Ew,” the monk said with a shiver.
“And I’ve never been wronged by a woman, although I’ve deeply wronged the one that I love.”
“The one you think is a witch. And she didn’t turn ye into a frog?”
“I am not talking to you for entertainment. I want answers, and it seems you are the only one around to give them to me.” Os plucked another blade of grass and stuck it in his mouth.
“St. Augustine says that witches aren’t real. The church agrees.”
“But what about heresy? I am guilty—guilty because I’ve seen with my own two eyes the things she can do!”
“Can she fly?” Brother William leaned in so that he and Os were eye to eye, and a moonbeam bounced off his bald scalp.
“Nay—of course not.”
“Well, what kind of magic can she do?”
Os closed his eyes, thinking back to how she’d allowed him to trave
l back in time with her and to be inside her dreams. He didn’t want her burned at the stake, or put to other witch’s tests just because he was having a difficult time accepting a new truth. “I can’t say.”
“Pah.” Brother William sat back with a snort.
“She makes me feel … important.”
“That’s women’s magic, boy, and if we were to tell the church officials about that they’d shoot an arrow in your heart to put you out of your misery.”
Frustrated, Os said, “Yes—and is it natural to have a polecat for a pet?”
“As in a weasel? A rodent?”
“Aye. She saved the varmint from dying when she found him caught in a trap.”
“She doesn’t sound very evil, this woman you don’t deserve. Give me something really bad, and then mayhap I can help you.”
Really bad?
“Has she ever harmed another person? With intent?”
“Nay. She’s a healer,” Os added with a point of the blade of grass.
“Well, instead of witnessing magic, mayhap you are witnessing miracles. I say that your Sir Percy was a decent knight, but he had his own foul history with the fairer sex. Methinks a woman did him wrong, and like any decent mentor, he sought to save ye from making the same mistakes.”
Sir Percy could be wrong.
Wrong. The concept of it was big, and the results overwhelming. He’d lived his entire life trying to be absolved by the only man who knew his faults, and who had loved him despite them.
“Perhaps overzealously?” Brother William’s probing gaze was kind and scored a direct bull’s-eye.
“I deserved punishment.” He took a deep breath. “This night is one of those that demand confessions. I will tell you my story, and then you will see why Sir Percy had to take such a hard tack with me.”
“For certes—wait!” He pulled a wineskin from a secret recess of his dark brown robes. “Drink?”
Os took the skin and gratefully wet the insides of his mouth. The kick to his belly was a warm balm as well. “Thanks.” He then told the monk about his cheating father, his poor mother, and his three siblings. They had little coin, but there was a time when they’d been happy. “Until Lisbeth caught my father’s eye.”
“You blame the village woman?”
“Aye. Sir Percy said that she probably set out to trap him for a fertility right. To steal his manhood.”
“Sir Percy was definitely burned by love’s fire. Forget what he said about women. His advice on bathing was sound, but the rest of his notions seem more vengeful than wise.”
Os bowed his head. “He took me in, when I would have died.”
“He obviously was a good man, son, but not perfect. Who is? And thanks be to God that He accepts us with all of our imperfections.”
“Do you think that God will forgive me my selfish, emotional action—that caused my family to die?”
“What? Are you wearing a hair shirt beneath that tunic? By all the saints”—Brother William made the sign of the cross—”you are infected with guilt. Have ye ever thought to wonder if ye were chosen by God to be one of the saved? The plague is highly contagious, and it is a wonder ye didn’t die of it anyway! Going to the docks and getting robbed might just have spared your life.”
Os frowned. “But what about not honoring my father?”
“Your da was screwing the village woman, and ye were a lad angry on your mam’s behalf. Your reaction was more natural than thinking all women are evil.” Brother William jerked his thumb over his shoulder at the tombstone they were resting against. “Like this one.”
“I was a lad, and my mother was a wonder, always smiling and singing as she worked. She didn’t deserve my father’s cruelty.” His shoulders sank. “I killed her.”
“The plague killed her. There’s no cure for it, as well you know.”
He did know. While in the Holy Land, he’d asked about different cures for illness, and while there were many preventatives, there was no cure once a person infected was already sick.
Reconciling that with his nine-year-old self came hard. “I never had the chance to bury them. Not like this.”
“If you tell me their names, sir knight, I can create a stone and place it next to this one. That way all the memories will be together. Let’s pray.”
Os bowed his head beneath the moon and allowed the memories in: his mam kissing him on the cheek; he and his brother pushing each other into a summer stream; his father … his father clapping him on the back after a hard day of blistering work. His family. Os slowly let the images settle over the ones where they were dead. Feeling the weight on his soul lighten came in small steps, but soon he was able to understand that he’d finally been forgiven.
By an emotion-laden nine-year-old lad.
Ela rode erect in the saddle, defiantly thinking that there was no one about at this hour to see her legs anyway. What did it matter if her ankles showed?
She didn’t want to ruin the first pretty dress she’d worn in weeks, so she hiked it up and rode astride.
Henry rested on the saddle in front of her, one paw on the saddle pommel. “Would you go to battle with me, Henry?”
The polecat chirruped, moving his head left to right and back again.
“Are you searching for Os too? I don’t know where he could be. I think we’ve gone by these same houses twice. Look at that pretty church on top of the hill. And—oh St. Agnes, there’s a man walking on top of the fence—he could fall. Is he crazy?”
Her stomach sank as she recognized the long legs of Osbert Edyvean.
He hadn’t seen her yet, and so was as carefree as a … dare she say it … child? She’d never witnessed his step so light or his shoulders so flexible.
She held her breath as he poised on the edge of the fence, then dove onto the grass and rolled, hurly burly, down the hill.
He landed a spear’s length away from her and blinked with surprise. Then he laughed.
Ela quickly dismounted and ran to his side. “Are you hurt? Have ye been drinking?” She sniffed his breath. “Wine. The cheap stuff.”
He grabbed her by the waist and pulled her into his lap. “I’m not drunk, just absolved.”
Leaning backward within the bracing confines of his arms, she stared into his eyes. They spoke to her of love and eternal promises. And sex like she’d only dreamed about.
With him.
She squirmed against the hard length growing from Os’s lap, then gasped with realization. “Os?”
Bartholomew neighed, and Osbert gently set her aside before bounding to his feet like a tumbler or an acrobat. She knew her jaw had to be gaping open, so she closed it, but she remained stunned. “Have you knocked your head?”
Full-out belly laughing, he tickled her and led her to the waiting stallion. He lifted her up, letting his hands linger on her waist. “I’ve had sense knocked into me, ‘tis true. By a monk who pledged chastity. You realize that I may soon be free from my own vow?”
She swallowed, heat building in her veins.
Then he held her hand and brought her knuckles to his lips. With him nibbling one digit and then another, she could barely think.
“I never thought to have the right. But I ask you, in heaven’s name—in Boadicea’s memory—will you …”
She held her breath, watching his mouth form the words she longed most to hear. “Will you join your life to mine? Marry me, Ela?”
“Osbert!” She threw herself off the back of Bartholomew and slung her arms around Os’s neck. “Oh yes. Yes.”
“I love you, Ela. I fought it, for reasons I will explain one dreary evening when we need a story to fill the time. But know this—I stand before you a man charged with love and faith in his fellow man.”
“You—suspicious of everyone—suddenly have faith in man?”
“Aye.” He dropped a kiss on the tip of her nose and let her slide down the length of him. She’d never felt so deliciously feminine. She was tall, but he was taller. She was strong, aye, but he wa
s stronger. He could hold his own in a battle of wits, and thank all the saints, he loved her.
She couldn’t stop smiling.
Or remembering how it had felt between them, when they were Ana and Antonias.
“We are going to create new memories,” Os promised, whispering against the sensitive lobe of her ear. Her thighs tensed with anticipation.
“When?” She ran her hands along his chest, finding him familiar and different at the same time. “Tomorrow seems so far away.”
He stilled, holding her in his arms. “We don’t have to wait for the morrow. I say we …”
“Yes?” Ela wondered if he’d changed so much that he could follow his impulse and suggest what they both wanted. Love.
He pressed his lips to the top of her head, his hand gently squeezing her hip. “I know a secluded place, where we could pledge our own troth. Privately.”
Tears flooded Ela’s eyes as she eagerly accepted. “I thought you’d never ask.”
Os could hardly believe his good fortune. On the very moment of his epiphany, who should arrive, but his lady, out to rescue a knight in distress?
Releasing the shackles of his own guilt left him free to accept his lady’s love and affection. Realizing that Sir Percy had his personal flaws freed Os to make his own way without dishonoring his mentor’s memory.
The closest he’d come to this feeling was while praying at the church in the Holy Land. The same contentment filled him. God’s teeth, he was happy.
And he was in love with a miracle-performing witch. If St. Augustine decreed there was no such thing as witchcraft, then who was he to argue?
He led Bartholomew past the castle and toward a silent pasture. “There’s an oak tree with branches so wide and sturdy, they could be a roof. We will let them shelter us this night, eh?”
Ela’s accepting smile filled his heart with more joy than he knew what to do with. So he whistled lightly as they cantered.
“What song is that?” Ela asked.
“One my mother used to sing,” he answered—for the first time bringing up her memory without wanting to die of shame.