woman. ‘Twill never happen to me.
His vague discomfort had both amused and intrigued her. How, she wondered, could a man like Rainulf Fairfax have gone eleven years without succumbing to the temptations of the flesh? She pictured him in her mind—his impressive stature, his lean and muscular body, his fair-haired good looks, and those gentle and perceptive eyes the color of a stormy lake. Surely there had been women during those eleven years who’d tried to coax him into violating his vow of chastity. Yet, if she was to believe him—and she did—he had never done so.
Eleven years ... She snuggled deeper into the downy mattress and pulled the sweet-smelling covers up to her chin, reveling in the finely woven linen, smooth as silk. ‘ Tis a frightfully long time for a man to go without sex. It would be no hardship for her, of course, the act being more a matter of duty than pleasure for women; but men seemed to need a good tupping on a fairly regular basis, or they got cranky. Perhaps, despite his seeming virility, Rainulf Fairfax didn’t care for women—that way. Perhaps, like some priests she’d heard of, he preferred men and boys to the fairer sex.
Corliss squinted up at the expanse of yellowish damask overhead and contemplated that possibility. On the one hand, Rainulf had called her “attractive.” And last night, after they’d bathed, when she’d sat across from him wearing naught but his own thin linen wrapper, his gaze had more than once strayed downward toward her breasts. Mayhap, she thought sourly, he was simply astounded that a grown woman should have so little where others boasted so much. It would be the height of conceit to think he’d find her most unappealing feature alluring.
The more she thought about it, the more likely it seemed that the handsome, engaging magister reserved his affections for those of his own sex. A pity ...
Or perhaps not. The last thing you should want , she reminded herself, is for Rainulf Fairfax to lust after you . If he did—really did—could she resist him? And then what would happen to her precious freedom?
She closed her eyes and saw him as he had been that night in the rectory, after he’d built the great fire that was supposed to cure her of the yellow plague. Superstitious nonsense, of course; it was the hair of St. Nicaise that had cured her, not some absurd heathen sweating treatment. Yet it moved her deeply that he had gone to all that trouble for her. And he had looked so... untamed... when she’d awakened and found him next to her, bare-chested and sweating, his face flushed from the heat. He’d looked as if he’d just lain with a woman... and enjoyed it.
At least, that’s what she’d thought at the time. Now that she knew of his many years of celibacy, and his seemingly untroubled decision to remain chaste, she doubted that he had ever been with a woman; she doubted, moreover, that he had ever wanted to. This knowledge brought her some measure of relief, for she knew now that she could live here without fearing for her... virtue?
A little late to try and salvage that! Crawling to the edge of the enormous bed, she swept aside the curtains, startling a handful of little brown house sparrows gossiping on the sill of an open window—the source of all that merry chirping. They scolded her irately as they fluttered away, leaving the sun-flooded chamber completely silent. She sat on the edge of the bed for a minute, thinking, I live here now! This big bed, it’s all mine! She could scarcely believe her ears last night when Rainulf had given it to her—given her the whole bedchamber! But where will you sleep? she had asked. Where I’ve always slept—on a straw pallet in front of the fireplace. How odd, she’d thought, that he would eschew such delicious luxury for a straw pallet; but how lucky for her!
Crossing to the open window to breathe in the cool air, she gazed down at the rooftops of Oxford—many, like that over her head, covered with
His vague discomfort had both amused and intrigued her. How, she wondered, could a man like Rainulf Fairfax have gone eleven years without succumbing to the temptations of the flesh? She pictured him in her mind—his impressive stature, his lean and muscular body, his fair-haired good looks, and those gentle and perceptive eyes the color of a stormy lake. Surely there had been women during those eleven years who’d tried to coax him into violating his vow of chastity. Yet, if she was to believe him—and she did—he had never done so.
Eleven years ... She snuggled deeper into the downy mattress and pulled the sweet-smelling covers up to her chin, reveling in the finely woven linen, smooth as silk. ‘ Tis a frightfully long time for a man to go without sex. It would be no hardship for her, of course, the act being more a matter of duty than pleasure for women; but men seemed to need a good tupping on a fairly regular basis, or they got cranky. Perhaps, despite his seeming virility, Rainulf Fairfax didn’t care for women—that way. Perhaps, like some priests she’d heard of, he preferred men and boys to the fairer sex.
Corliss squinted up at the expanse of yellowish damask overhead and contemplated that possibility. On the one hand, Rainulf had called her “attractive.” And last night, after they’d bathed, when she’d sat across from him wearing naught but his own thin linen wrapper, his gaze had more than once strayed downward toward her breasts. Mayhap, she thought sourly, he was simply astounded that a grown woman should have so little where others boasted so much. It would be the height of conceit to think he’d find her most unappealing feature alluring.
The more she thought about it, the more likely it seemed that the handsome, engaging magister reserved his affections for those of his own sex. A pity ...
Or perhaps not. The last thing you should want , she reminded herself, is for Rainulf Fairfax to lust after you . If he did—really did—could she resist him? And then what would happen to her precious freedom?
She closed her eyes and saw him as he had been that night in the rectory, after he’d built the great fire that was supposed to cure her of the yellow plague. Superstitious nonsense, of course; it was the hair of St. Nicaise that had cured her, not some absurd heathen sweating treatment. Yet it moved her deeply that he had gone to all that trouble for her. And he had looked so... untamed... when she’d awakened and found him next to her, bare-chested and sweating, his face flushed from the heat. He’d looked as if he’d just lain with a woman... and enjoyed it.
At least, that’s what she’d thought at the time. Now that she knew of his many years of celibacy, and his seemingly untroubled decision to remain chaste, she doubted that he had ever been with a woman; she doubted, moreover, that he had ever wanted to. This knowledge brought her some measure of relief, for she knew now that she could live here without fearing for her... virtue?
A little late to try and salvage that! Crawling to the edge of the enormous bed, she swept aside the curtains, startling a handful of little brown house sparrows gossiping on the sill of an open window—the source of all that merry chirping. They scolded her irately as they fluttered away, leaving the sun-flooded chamber completely silent. She sat on the edge of the bed for a minute, thinking, I live here now! This big bed, it’s all mine! She could scarcely believe her ears last night when Rainulf had given it to her—given her the whole bedchamber! But where will you sleep? she had asked. Where I’ve always slept—on a straw pallet in front of the fireplace. How odd, she’d thought, that he would eschew such delicious luxury for a straw pallet; but how lucky for her!
Crossing to the open window to breathe in the cool air, she gazed down at the rooftops of Oxford—many, like that over her head, covered with
Similar Books
