Page 19 of Under a Spanish Sky

Luc yawned and stretched. It was a wonderful feeling to be comfortable and warm, away from the frozen misery of the midnight sledge ride.

He lay back on the mattress and savoured the moment.

After everything he had been through in the last weeks, without counting the stress of the previous seven years, it was a welcome luxury to be able to relax snug and as safe as could be hoped for.

He reached up to move the blankets from his chest and throat and encountered another arm.

Still half-asleep, he vaguely registered the fact that another body was draped against, no, clinging to his.

He breathed in deeply and the scent of her filled his nostrils.

In the wink of an eye he was wide awake.

She was deeply asleep, pressed tight up against him, her arm wrapped over his chest. He felt her warmth through the clothes they were wearing and he felt the softness of her body against his.

He froze. The overriding thought going through his head was that, all through the sham trial of the Templars, the Inquisitors had sought to prove that the Order had degenerated into licentiousness, vice and unnatural practices.

He had been proud in the knowledge that he, like the vast majority of his fellows, had no such sins on his conscience.

And yet here he was in bed with a woman.

True to his beliefs and his vows, he had never been in a position of such intimacy with any person since his childhood days with his mother.

He would have leapt from the bed to a confessional except for the fact that Aimée was sleeping so deeply.

Opening his eyes, he could just make out her body against him in what little light crept in through the high window.

Her hair lay across his chest and her face was buried into his shoulder.

She was breathing slowly and deeply and he felt every breath as if it were his own.

His heart pounded apprehensively but, underneath his immediate feeling of guilt, there was no doubt that it was a cosy, reassuring position in which to find himself.

As she drew each breath he felt her chest swell and the sensation stirred him.

Deep Christian faith, a total commitment to his vows and, if the truth be told, a blinding ignorance of the other sex had kept him firmly celibate like the overwhelming majority of the tens of thousands of monks and clerics living out their lives in the monasteries and abbeys of France.

He could truly say that he had felt none of the pangs and temptations that had tarnished and ultimately ruined the careers of a number of his contemporaries.

And now this.

He lay still, lest his agitation should wake her.

An illogical fear rose in his chest at what she might think of him if she awoke with them in this position, particularly if she became aware of his unaccustomed state of physical stimulation.

Wild ideas flashed through his head, visions of purgatory, devils with vicious forks stoking the raging flames with the obscene, naked corpses of sinners.

A series of gargoyles, hideous faces chewing screaming human figures, leapt into his head and he shivered.

As close to panic as he had ever been in his life, he started a gradual and agonising slow-motion manoeuvre to extricate himself without waking her.

It took many a long minute as he inched away from her and towards the wall until he finally lost the last contact with her warmth.

At that point he stopped and lay limply at her side, his mind whirling as his body relaxed.

Had he done anything wrong? Was he doing anything wrong?

Did he wish to do anything wrong? The questions did not easily provide answers to one who had so long lived a monastic life. Was this sin? Was he damned?

‘A penny for your thoughts.’ He jumped so sharply that his elbow hit the wall behind him and caused him to grunt with pain. Luckily, this very same pain saved him as she became immediately solicitous and he was able to marshal his thoughts.

‘That’s all right. I must have been sleeping very lightly. I was just startled to hear your voice.’ His own voice sounded very strange to his ears and he wondered what she would make of it. She made no reaction so he let his mind wander. ‘How did you know I was awake?’ He was interested to know.

‘I just did.’ She wasn’t trying to be unhelpful. She was as unsure about the reason herself. ‘Maybe your breathing or just your position. You didn’t feel relaxed.’

Mentally he agreed with her quite fervently. Relaxed was something he had definitely not been. He was however now beginning to feel a bit calmer and he risked an attempt at normal conversation.

‘Did you sleep well?’ As an opener it was safe, if uninspired. Her reply on the other hand was less safe. She stretched and rolled over towards him until her head was resting on his shoulder, her arm once more on his chest.

‘I slept like an angel. I was warm, I was comfortable and I was protected. You can’t imagine how reassuring it is for me to find myself cared for and looked after.

’ Her voice was soft and low and he could hear a break in it that struck him deep inside.

While the intellectual, rational and religious part of his brain was telling him that what was happening was wrong and that he should get as far away from her as possible, his emotional side made him reach out and cradle her head tenderly.

She purred as she continued to murmur quietly into his shoulder.

‘I knew, I just knew. All the time this winter while I shivered in that cold damp abbey I just knew that it couldn’t end like that.

It would have been too stupid, so senseless somehow.

After all we went through to get up to the mountains through the king’s guards and the network of spying clerics, it couldn’t just finish with a whimper.

I wasn’t going to spend the rest of my life there. I knew you would come.’

‘You knew somebody would come,’ he suggested mildly.

‘It had to be you. In my dreams it was always you. I knew it would be you.’ Her voice was warm.

‘Who else could possibly take the place of Bertrand?’ The way she said it and the position from which she said it made it hard for him to believe that she was just talking about the mission.

‘It had to be one of the best. There was no way they could possibly send anyone less able than Bertrand. And you were the only one who was his equal.’

‘Maybe the only one left in liberty,’ he added sombrely as he ripped off the blanket that covered him and rolled away from her warmth. He pulled himself to his feet and looked back down at her.

‘I’ll go and get some hot water for you. Wait till I come back and I’ll tell you all the gory details of the latrines.’

‘I’ll be here.’ Aimée lay back and breathed out as she heard the door open and then close behind him.

Her pulse was beating fast, her palms were damp, and the reason, she knew, was Luc.

Wrapping herself tightly against his body had been comforting, had been reassuring but also, she finally admitted it to herself, it had been stimulating.

For the first time in three long, hard months, she had felt like a woman again and a woman alongside the man she loved.

No sooner did she admit the depth of her feelings for him than she mentally scolded herself.

Of course she couldn’t be in love with him, it was surely just the fact that he had come to rescue her from her grim existence and bring her hope.

Hope, she told herself firmly, wasn’t love. But that didn’t slow her racing heart.

As Luc walked down the dark corridor, as always, his right hand was on the handle of the dagger.

Years of living on the run had instilled certain habits so firmly that they had become second nature.

This time there was no need. The only living being that he encountered was a little child with a thick mane of dark hair who darted past him, no doubt in search of something to eat. He followed the light footsteps.

In the main room a new fire crackled and spat while a group of bleary-eyed travellers clustered around it gratefully. He noticed the bewhiskered face of the publican sleeping peacefully in exactly the same place as he had last seen him. The bottle at his elbow was now empty.

‘Good morning, pilgrim.’ The words were French and the voice belonged to a pretty girl behind the bar, her jet-black hair tied in a long ponytail. She wore a lacy top that revealed a substantial amount of her substantial figure and her welcoming smile promised breakfast, if not more.

‘Good morning.’ He was pleased to be able to speak in French.

His Spanish was not good enough for conversation that early in the morning.

Out of curiosity he opened a wooden shutter and cast a look outside.

At first he thought he was looking into a void and stepped back apprehensively until a heavy snowflake landed on the back of his hand and he realised that he was looking out into an impenetrable snowstorm.

He was just able to make out a pile of firewood less than a few feet from the window and already so heavily covered with snow as to be almost invisible.

Anything beyond the woodpile was invisible.