in him. Or how close he’d come to telling his black-hearted sire he could burn in hell. Instead, he boiled the matter down to its nub.
“My father took sick. His physicians told him he would not last the year. So he pledged me, his youngest son, to the Knights Templar as penance for his many sins.”
“As penance?” Jocelyn’s brown eyes widened. “Surely the Church would not hold you to such a vow!”
“I hold myself.”
“You cannot. You must not. You are too much a man to…” Flushing, she broke off and began again. “Listen to me, Simon. My grandfather fought alongside the one who is now Grand Master of Templars on more than one occasion. By all accounts, Bertrand de Tremelay is a wise and learned man. He’ll understand that this vow is not of your making.”
“It doesn’t matter who made it. My father’s soul hangs in the balance.”
She sat back on her heels, frowning. “Do you truly wish to give your life to the Church?”
“I gave my word.”
“Hmm.”
Her frown deepened. Lips pursed, she regarded him with troubled eyes. “You must know this is folly. You’re placing honor before reason.”
“Honor is all I have.”
A look of impatience crossed her face. “Why is it that some men put such stock in the notion that a vow once given may never be broken, while others forswear themselves whenever it’s convenient?”
“I’m not such a one,” Simon said stiffly.
“No?” She couldn’t keep the bitterness from her voice. “Wait until you’ve spent more time in the East. You’ll see how often Christian turns against Christian and kings align themselves with their sworn enemies in order to protect their lands and fiefs.”
“It’s no different in the West.” It shamed him to admit the kind of seed he’d sprung from, but her comment drew a reluctant truth from him. “My father is such a one. Always grasping, always ready to forswear his oath and switch allegiances when it suited him. That’s not my way.”
She regarded him for long moments. “No,” she said at last, “I can see it is not. Well then, Simon de Rhys, you’ve held to your end of our bargain. I will hold to mine. You will leave Fortemur on the morrow fully armed, with my grandsire’s warhorse to carry you into battle.”
“He’s a gift worthy of a king, lady. Worth far more than what you paid for me.”
She arched a brow. “What are you saying? A horse is not a fair trade for my maidenhead?”
“No, of course not. But—”
She cut him off with a dismissive wave of one hand. “The deed is done, the bargain struck. Now…” She drew in a long breath. “Now we’d best return to the keep.”
He got to his feet and dressed in his borrowed clothing while she gathered hers. When he’d belted on his sword, he reached down to help her up. She put her hand in his and rose. They stood for a moment, each gazing into the other’s eyes.
He needed one final taste of her to carry with him, Simon decided. One touch of his mouth to hers. The memory of it must needs last him the rest of his life.
He bent and brushed his lips over hers. When he raised his head again, he had to work to keep his voice steady.
“I will pray that God keeps you safe, lady.”
“And I you, Simon.”
She drew her hands from his and led the way out of the cave. He followed her up the treacherous path, braced to catch her if she slipped or stumbled. Their mounts waited patiently in the shade of the cypress. Her smaller, swifter barb was near obscured by Avenger’s muscled bulk. The warhorse, in turn, was dwarfed by Fortemur’s walls.
The massive fortress dominated the view from the cliffs. Within shouting distance, as Jocelyn had said, but worlds away from the sparkling cave that was her own special place. And Simon’s now. He knew the hour or so they’d passed there would remain emblazoned in his heart for all the years to come.
He untied the reins of her barb and held it steady while she mounted with the lithe grace he’d
“My father took sick. His physicians told him he would not last the year. So he pledged me, his youngest son, to the Knights Templar as penance for his many sins.”
“As penance?” Jocelyn’s brown eyes widened. “Surely the Church would not hold you to such a vow!”
“I hold myself.”
“You cannot. You must not. You are too much a man to…” Flushing, she broke off and began again. “Listen to me, Simon. My grandfather fought alongside the one who is now Grand Master of Templars on more than one occasion. By all accounts, Bertrand de Tremelay is a wise and learned man. He’ll understand that this vow is not of your making.”
“It doesn’t matter who made it. My father’s soul hangs in the balance.”
She sat back on her heels, frowning. “Do you truly wish to give your life to the Church?”
“I gave my word.”
“Hmm.”
Her frown deepened. Lips pursed, she regarded him with troubled eyes. “You must know this is folly. You’re placing honor before reason.”
“Honor is all I have.”
A look of impatience crossed her face. “Why is it that some men put such stock in the notion that a vow once given may never be broken, while others forswear themselves whenever it’s convenient?”
“I’m not such a one,” Simon said stiffly.
“No?” She couldn’t keep the bitterness from her voice. “Wait until you’ve spent more time in the East. You’ll see how often Christian turns against Christian and kings align themselves with their sworn enemies in order to protect their lands and fiefs.”
“It’s no different in the West.” It shamed him to admit the kind of seed he’d sprung from, but her comment drew a reluctant truth from him. “My father is such a one. Always grasping, always ready to forswear his oath and switch allegiances when it suited him. That’s not my way.”
She regarded him for long moments. “No,” she said at last, “I can see it is not. Well then, Simon de Rhys, you’ve held to your end of our bargain. I will hold to mine. You will leave Fortemur on the morrow fully armed, with my grandsire’s warhorse to carry you into battle.”
“He’s a gift worthy of a king, lady. Worth far more than what you paid for me.”
She arched a brow. “What are you saying? A horse is not a fair trade for my maidenhead?”
“No, of course not. But—”
She cut him off with a dismissive wave of one hand. “The deed is done, the bargain struck. Now…” She drew in a long breath. “Now we’d best return to the keep.”
He got to his feet and dressed in his borrowed clothing while she gathered hers. When he’d belted on his sword, he reached down to help her up. She put her hand in his and rose. They stood for a moment, each gazing into the other’s eyes.
He needed one final taste of her to carry with him, Simon decided. One touch of his mouth to hers. The memory of it must needs last him the rest of his life.
He bent and brushed his lips over hers. When he raised his head again, he had to work to keep his voice steady.
“I will pray that God keeps you safe, lady.”
“And I you, Simon.”
She drew her hands from his and led the way out of the cave. He followed her up the treacherous path, braced to catch her if she slipped or stumbled. Their mounts waited patiently in the shade of the cypress. Her smaller, swifter barb was near obscured by Avenger’s muscled bulk. The warhorse, in turn, was dwarfed by Fortemur’s walls.
The massive fortress dominated the view from the cliffs. Within shouting distance, as Jocelyn had said, but worlds away from the sparkling cave that was her own special place. And Simon’s now. He knew the hour or so they’d passed there would remain emblazoned in his heart for all the years to come.
He untied the reins of her barb and held it steady while she mounted with the lithe grace he’d
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