Page 216 of The Pillars of the Earth

There was a pause. Jack waited.

Aliena closed her eyes in despair and slumped forward, leaning against the door with her cheek on the rough woodwork. Not Jack, she thought; not today, not now.

His voice came again, a low, urgent whisper. “Aliena, please, open the door, quickly! If they catch me they’ll put me back in the cell!”

She had heard that he had been locked up—it was all over town. Obviously he had escaped. And he had come straight to her. Her heart quickened. She could not turn him away.

She lifted the bar and opened the door.

His red hair was plastered wetly to his head, as if he had bathed. He was wearing ordinary clothes, not his monk’s habit. He smiled at her, as if seeing her was the best thing that had ever happened to him. Then he frowned, and said: “You’ve been crying.”

“Why have you come here?” she said.

“I had to see you.”

“I’m getting married today.”

“I know. Can I come in?”

It would be wrong to let him in, she knew; but then it occurred to her that tomorrow she would be Alfred’s wife, so this might be the last time she would ever talk to Jack alone. She thought: I don’t care if it is wrong. She opened the door wider. Jack stepped in, and she closed it again and replaced the bar.

They stood facing one another. Now she felt embarrassed. He stared at her with desperate longing, as a man dying of thirst might gaze at a waterfall. “Don’t look at me like that,” she said, and she turned away.

“Don’t marry him,” Jack said.

“I must.”

“You’ll be miserable.”

“I’m miserable now.”

“Look at me, please?”

She turned to face him and raised her eyes.

“Please tell me why you’re doing this,” he said.

“Why should I?”

“Because of the way you kissed me in the old mill.”

She dropped her gaze and felt herself blush hotly. She had let herself down that day and had been ashamed of herself ever since. Now he was using it against her. She said nothing. She had no defense.

He said: “After that, you turned cold.”

She kept her gaze lowered.

“We were such friends,” he went on remorselessly. “All that summer, in your glade, by the waterfall ... my stories ... we were so happy. I kissed you there, once. Do you remember?”

She did remember, of course, although she had been pretending to herself that it never happened. Now the memory melted her heart, and she looked at him with tearful eyes.

“Then I made the mill do your felting,” he said. “I was so pleased that I could help you in your business. You were thrilled when you saw it. Then we kissed again, but that wasn’t a little kiss, like the first one. This time it was ... passionate.” Oh, God, yes, it was, she thought, and she blushed again, and began to breathe fast; and wished he would stop, but he would not. “We held each other very tight. We kissed for a long time. You opened your mouth—”

“Stop!” she cried.

“Why?” he said brutally. “What’s wrong with it? Why did you turn cold?”

“Because I’m frightened!” she said without thinking, and she burst into tears. She buried her face in her hands and sobbed. A moment later she felt his hands on her heaving shoulders. She did nothing, and after a while he gently enfolded her in his arms. She took her hands from her face and cried on his green tunic.