Page 96 of The Saxon Lord's Unwanted Bride
Eloise had restored his faith—and Agatha had noticed.
“You are perceptive, sister Agatha,” he said.
“You think we do nothing but hide away and pray?” she said. “We live apart from the world, and are thus better able to observe and understand it.”
“And you understand the difference between good and evil?”
“I recognize it, but I leaveunderstandingto the Almighty. What causes a man to become good or evil? I don’t know. Ralph of Aquitaine wouldn’t have been born evil – something would have nurtured the core within him, nurtured his lust for power.”
“Aren’t we born good or evil?”
Agatha shook her head. “Our nature at birth may form an outline of our character, but the picture is completed by the experiences of life. Your own experiences shaped you, did they not? Your suffering at the hands of others nurtured the anger which we saw when you first visited us—but you’re a different man, now.”
She raised a hand to silence his reply, then opened the door to the chamber he’d visited almost every night for the past fortnight.
“Hush my Lord—do not wake her.”
Eloise’s sleeping form lay on the cot, covered with furs. The wind from the storm outside penetrated the chamber, and shadows from the candlelight danced across the walls.
Her face seemed at peace—the lines creasing her brow lessened each day. He kneeled beside the bed, and touched her forehead.
“She looks better,” he said.
“Her nightmares didn’t visit her last night.”
He traced a line around her face, caressing the delicate skin, then he ran a fingertip down her nose, stopping at the little bump where Beauvisage had broken it.
He began to sing, quietly at first, conscious of the nun’s presence, but the melody overtook him as he sang the lullaby which had eased her nightmares once before. Blinking away the moisture in his eyes at the end of the song he lowered his voice to a whisper.
“She sleeps peacefully.”
“Aye my Lord. She has made her peace and told the child.”
“Did she tell her everything?”
“Only that she’s her mother,” Agatha said. “She wanted to tell all, but I counselled her not to. Violette’s still just a child. She merely knows that the—man who sired her—is dead.”
“You advised her well,” Harald said. “When the time comes, I’ll tell the child thatIkilled him. She must know her mother for what she truly is—a gentle, loving soul.”
He turned his attention to his sleeping wife and pressed a fingertip against her lips. She opened her mouth and uttered a gentle whisper.
Harald…
Had he imagined it? Or was he deceived by hope?
Eloise sighed again. The warm rush of her breath tightened the skin on the back of his hand and sent a firebolt through his body, fueling his desire. His manhood surged in his breeches, and unable to fight his craving for her, he leaned forward to claim her mouth.
“My lord!” Agatha cried.
Lord forgive him, he was kneeling in a convent, his cock standing to attention—before a nun! He covered his groin and waved Agatha away as she moved to help him up.
“I need a moment,” he said.
Understanding flashed in her eyes and she nodded, waiting until he was able to stand.
“Forgive me” he whispered.
“No matter,” she said crisply. “You’re a man—with a man’s urges. Come—it’s time you left, before she wakes.”
