Knights and Kink Romance Boxed Set (57 page)

The heavy gates of Glastonbury were finally in
sight. Robert led both horses up to the holy fortress’ walls and
rapped on the heavy iron gate with his sword hilt. After a long
moment, a tiny slit in the gate popped open, revealing a single set
of eyes.

“Who goes there?” asked a raspy, ancient-sounding
voice—likely one of the ascetic Benedictine monks that staffed the
adjoining monastery.

“It is Master Robert de Tyre, commander of Lord
Reginald de Guillaume’s personal cavalry,” Robert replied. “I wish
to see the abbess.”

“The abbess does not receive visitors unannounced,”
came the old monk’s reply, just as Robert had expected it
would.

“Please inform the abbess that Lord Reginald of
Guillaume sent me to check on the very substantial gift he made to
the nuns’ abbey this spring,” Robert said. “And perhaps even to
take it back by force, should the abbess not honor my request for
an audience.”

Robert chuckled as Sabina let out a soft gasp just
behind him. Threatening a horde of defenseless nuns and toothless
monks wasn’t exactly gentlemanly behavior, of course. But Robert’s
years as a mercenary had taught him that whenever a door is slammed
in your face, it never hurts to grease the hinges a little.

The monk coughed loudly. “One moment, please sir,”
he said, and the slit in the gate slammed shut with a metal
bang.

Almost ten minutes later, the monk returned. “The
abbess has agreed to admit you, Master Robert,” he called through
the slit in the gate. “Please stand clear while I open the
gates.”

Robert guided the horses backward a few yards, and
the gates slowly creaked open, revealing a rusty iron portcullis.
The ancient monk grunted with effort as he turned a heavy iron
wheel, and the portcullis rose just enough to let Robert and Sabina
through on foot. “You will leave your horses behind, sir,” the monk
instructed. “Our stable master will be through to fetch and shelter
them momentarily. They will be fed and watered.”

Robert nodded his understanding, and proceeded to
unlash Sabina from Amir’s back. He untied her and set her down
carefully, but still left a length of rope attached to her waist so
she couldn’t run away. He tied the other end to his wrist. “Go
retrieve your jewels from Arthur’s saddle,” he instructed her.
“Likely we’ll have need of them. And you wouldn’t want to risk a
stable boy finding them, either.”

Sabina begrudgingly did as she was told, though she
hated being tethered to a leash like a dog. Still, here she was at
Glastonbury. Perhaps there was still a chance she could plead her
case for the abbess and escape this hell once and for all. And yet
a tiny part of her hoped that Robert de Tyre would stay here at the
abbey with her. It was a strange and absurd hope, to be sure, but
Sabina couldn’t deny that it existed.

They passed through the abbey gates, and the old
monk lowered the portcullis. He eyed Sabina lasciviously as he did
so; she could feel his old, rheumy eyes upon her body. The old monk
likely seldom laid eyes on any woman who wasn’t covered from head
to toe in a shapeless black habit, and here Sabina was, her
traveling clothes soaked through with mud and rain and clinging to
every inch of her body. She was probably the closest thing the monk
had seen to a nude woman in half a lifetime. Sabina stared back at
him hard; the monk finally checked himself and looked away. “Three
novices will greet you at the abbey entrance,” he said. “They will
provide you with meals, lodgings and fresh clothes before your
audience with the abbess this evening after vespers.” He made a
subtle motion at Sabina’s filthy gown and Robert’s dusty traveling
garb. “You are not fit to go before her now. Go rest, and enjoy the
meager comforts that the abbey provides. The abbess will hear your
requests in due time.” With that, the old monk returned to his
post.

Robert untied the rope from Sabina’s waist and let
her walk freely. “Well, we’re locked inside the abbey walls, so I
don’t have to worry about you running away for the moment. So enjoy
your freedom, Your Ladyship. While you still have it.”

Sabina stared at him with narrowed eyes that flashed
blue fire. “If things go my way, Robert, I shall always have my
freedom. Regardless of whatever you might say about it.”

“Whatever you choose to believe is your affair, Lady
Sabina—whether or not it has any basis in reality.” He gestured for
Sabina to take the lead. “But as a gentlemanly gesture, I shall let
you take the front position for once.”

Sabina stood stock still, her feet frozen to the
ground. She didn’t move a muscle.

Robert sighed and shook his head. “Suit yourself,
then. Come along, Your Ladyship. Methinks the Abbess will require
us both to take a bath before we grace her with our presence.” He
sauntered off towards the abbey entrance, occasionally glancing
over his shoulder to see if Sabina followed him. She didn’t. He
shrugged his shoulders and kept going.

A group of six white-robed novices greeted him by
the main entrance of the outer cloister. The inner cloister was
off-limits to visitors, of course, but these young women had not
yet taken their final vows and therefore weren’t confined to the
locked and mostly silent inner cloister. Robert scanned their
faces—the only parts of their bodies that showed underneath their
severe wimples and robes—and saw that the youngest among them
couldn’t be more than twelve.

The oldest among the novices—a plain, grey-eyed girl
about the same age as Sabina, stepped forward. “Good my lord, we
shall show you and your lady to your rooms. My novice sisters and I
shall bathe and dress your lady, while you shall be assisted by one
of our Benedictine brothers in their own cloister. I hope this is
an acceptable arrangement for you.”

“Perfectly acceptable, madam. May I ask your
name?”

The girl blushed. “My novice sisters and I have no
names as of yet. We relinquished our Christian given names upon
taking our first vows. We have no names until our final vows, when
Reverend Mother gives us our new and holy ones. For now you and
your lady may address us as all as Sisters in Christ.” She leaned
her head to the side a bit to glance around Robert’s shoulder. “Why
does your lady not follow you, sir? That is peculiar. And she does
not look well. Is she ill?”

“She is filthy and dressed like a common harlot,”
sneered one of the other novices. The rest of them tittered and
whispered among themselves.

“First of all, Sister, she not my lady. I merely
accompanied her here. She is the lawful fiancé of Lord Reginald de
Guillaume, who recently made a very generous financial gift to your
abbey. So I think it goes without saying that you show her the
appropriate respect.”

The lead novice blanched even paler. “Forgive my
youngest Sister, sir. She must learn to hold her tongue. We of
course will provide our highest comfort and respect to the
betrothed bride our great and blessed benefactor, Lord Reginald.”
She paused, gave him a slight nod of respect. “And to his servant
as well.

“Thank you, Sister. But focus your attentions on the
lady, please. You needn’t worry about me.”

“We shall see to the lady’s comfort ourselves,
Master Robert. If you follow yonder corridor to the right, it will
take you to the entrance of our brothers the Benedictines’
cloister, where they will care for your needs. Most of this abbey
belongs to the monks, we nuns have but one cloister to ourselves,
and Reverend Mother says we may be made to move within a year or
so.”

“I am most obliged, Sister.” Robert disappeared down
the corridor, leaving Sabina in the care of the novices. He hoped
that in addition to making her presentable, they’d help her
understand that these cloistered walls were no place for a woman
like her. For her sake as well as his own.

Chapter
6

Sabina sat in a carved stone tub set deep inside an
ancient marble floor, steaming hot water rising up to her neck. The
Glastonbury abbey was built over the ruins of an ancient Roman
temple, and the novices bathed in marble rooms that were once a
Roman public bath. Two of the novices scrubbed her back with sea
sponges, while two more washed and brushed out her hair. Another
novice had taken her shift, gown and cloak off somewhere to be
washed. But until that task was complete Sabina had no choice but
to wear the simple, coarse garb of a Benedictine novice herself.
Not that she minded much. Had things gone differently, she’d have
worn one every day for the rest of her life.

The youngest novice seemed to read her thoughts.
“What brings you to Glastonbury, milady? Are you on a holy
pilgrimage perhaps?”

Sabina stared down into the murky water, which
smelled slightly of sulfur. “Of sorts,” she murmured.

“What do you mean, milady?”

Sabina sighed. “I meant to come her alone and take
the veil, to escape my marriage. But Fate has intervened and it
seems that is not to be. Or perhaps not. Do you think there is a
way for me to still take the veil, Sisters?”

One of the other novices filled a small bowl with
water and began to wash her hair with it. “Did you feel truly
called to God, milady? For if you did not, you would not be happy
here in cloister.”

Sabina didn’t answer. She wasn’t prepared to lie in
front of nuns, or even in front of unvowed novices. It was not God
who had called her to take the veil, but necessity. Still, that
hardly made her unique. At least half the nuns in England had taken
the veil to escape marriage. Did that automatically make all those
nuns false sinners? Sabina certainly hoped not. If all those nuns
were exposed and made to leave their orders (along with all the
second sons of noble houses sent to monasteries merely to get them
out of the way of their elder brothers’ inheritance), the entire
structure of the Church in England would probably collapse.

“You are not happy about your betrothal, then,” the
youngest nun observed. Sabina gave no reply, but did nothing to
dissuade her, either. “You should be grateful to God that He has
deemed fit to send you a husband, and a rich and powerful one at
that,” the novice went on. “You are fortunate. Many women in the
world have no money, no security, not even a roof over their heads.
You shall have all of that and more for all the days of your life.
Count your blessings, milady, pray the rosary for comfort, and God
shall grant you your eternal reward in Paradise.”

Sabina sighed and shut her eyes tight, trying in
vain to keep the tears from spilling out. These young novices were
kind but naïve. How little they understood the world outside! If
only things were that simple. She envied them their innocence. Pray
the rosary for comfort, indeed! Sabina prayed as little as
possible. She hated getting down on her knees, hated counting out
Hail Marys and Our Fathers in Latin even more. In retrospect,
Sabina conceded that she probably would have made a rotten nun. Try
as she might to stifle it, a tiny sob escaped her lips.

“Don’t cry, milady,” one of the older novices said.
“As my Sister said, you have many blessings.”

“And the man who brought you to the Abbey is most
handsome,” giggled another as she squeezed the water from Sabina’s
hair. “Why don’t you marry him instead? Lord Reginald is ugly and
old.”

“Bite your tongue, Sister!” cried the eldest one.
“Lord Reginald is our protector and benefactor!”

“It’s all right,” Sabina said.
“He
is
ugly and
old, after all. Not to mention cruel. I would rather die than marry
him, but it seems I have no choice.”

“Your audience with our abbess is in an hour,” the
eldest novice said. “Ask her advice, milady. She is a wise woman,
and if there are any other choices for you, she shall know, I
promise you.”

****

Robert fidgeted in the abbess’ empty anteroom. One
of the abbey’s Benedictine monks had led him here after providing
him with a hot bath and a change of clothes while his own were
washed and pressed in the abbey laundry. Unfortunately that change
of clothes was a rough monk’s robe, rope belt, and sandals. He felt
ridiculous. On the other hand, he blended in well with his
surroundings, which made for an excellent opportunity for
reconnaissance. He knew Lord Reginald was always curious about the
political maneuverings and goings-on at Glastonbury, and now he had
a golden opportunity to uncover some choice information for his
employer.

But at the moment, serving his employer was the last
thing on Robert’s mind.

A meager meal of bread, cheese, and salted pork sat
untouched on a rough-hewn table. There were no chairs—Benedictines
associated chairs with laziness—so Robert leaned against the cold
stone wall. He was hungry, but didn’t feel right eating until Lady
Sabina had her share. Which was completely out of character for
him—he was never one to care for such formalities before. But in
the few short hours since meeting Lady Sabina of Angwyld, Robert
had become a much-changed man.

Robert rubbed his sweaty palms together. He tugged
at the rough wool collar of his monk’s robe, suddenly feeling hot
despite the cold damp air of the abbey. He teetered back and forth
on the balls of his feet, his mind racing with thoughts of Sabina.
Where was she right now? Was she all right? When would he see her
again? His pulse ran hard and fast, his blood pumping in his ears,
his chest heaving with shallow breaths.

Good God, what was the matter with him?

Robert had heard plenty of tales of men who’d been
hit hard by Cupid’s dart, but he’d never believed them. No real man
ever lost control of all his faculties because of a mere woman. It
was a sign of weakness, a lack of control. There was no way that
Robert de Tyre would ever let a high-strung, willful Saxon lady
ever grab hold of his heart. Never.