down against him. He kept still.
“How did the happy reunion with your mother go?” he asked.
The song stopped abruptly, her hands stilled above his back, and he could feel the tension. “I don’t expect that’s any of your business.”
“I’m in mortal pain, my lady,” he said, a lie. In fact, the salve and the feel of her cool hands were wonderfully soothing. “I need something to distract me.”
“Think on your sins.”
“I’d rather think on yours.”
“I don’t have any!” she snapped without thinking.
He turned his head to look at her as she leaned over his back. “A saint in our midst? How did I fail to recognize it? A thousand pardons. And you’re not even troubled by the sin of false pride.”
In any other woman he might have thought that was a reluctant smile curving her stern mouth. “I spoke hastily,” she said. “No one is without sin. Mine are far too ordinary to be interesting, however, and I’m not about to share them with anyone but my father confessor.”
“Somehow the abbot seems the sort to consider even the most menial sin interesting.” He groaned, more for effect than out of real distress. “Of your goodness, my lady, distract me. Tell me your sins and I’ll tell you mine.”
“No, thank you.”
“I’ll go first. I’m mad, they say. But then, most fools are. Not that that’s a sin, though Father Paulus might argue that my tragic mental affliction is punishment for my past crimes.”
“I don’t think…” She stopped herself, just as things were about to get interesting.
He wasn’t the sort of man to let it go easily. “You don’t think what, my lady? Don’t think I’m mad? Would a sane man talk in rhymes, dress the way I do, cavort in a most improper manner, and fail to address his lord and master as befits his station? Would a sane man refuse to ride a horse when any other mode of transportation is slow and uncomfortable? Would a sane man roll on his back when he’s been flayed by an over-zealous priest?”
“If he had reason,” she said.
That stopped him. He’d been imprudent with the lady Julianna. But then, imprudence was one of his many sins. “Perhaps,” he agreed. “What other sins torment me? I’m greedy, gluttonous, a lover of wine and ale and good food and wicked women. I’m lustful, crude, lazy, and a devout coward. I sleep through Mass, lie through confession, and tumble any lady who takes my fancy, be she trollop or nun or even holy saint.” He rolled to his side, staring up at her through the candlelit darkness. “And I never take no for an answer.”
She didn’t move. She sat on the wide bed beside him, her hands folded neatly in her lap, her brown eyes wide and wary. “Then you’re more like most men than you believe,” she said. “Rape and plunder and pillage—”
“I have yet to commit rape,” he said, watching her carefully to gauge her reaction. “I don’t need to take a castle by force, when there are all sorts of interesting ways to storm her barricades and breach her private compartments. And I’m far too lazy for plunder and pillage. You need a horse for that.”
“And you don’t ride?”
“Never. They’re huge, vicious creatures. They step on your feet a d drool on you. Confess it, you’re just as glad you were forced to ride in the litter with me.”
“You are mad,” she said flatly. “That’s proof of it.”
He rolled onto his back, looking up into her eyes. “Perhaps you are a saint, my lady,” he murmured. “My back is miraculously healed.”
“Your back is far from healed,” she said sternly. “You shouldn’t be lying on it.”
“That’s all right, then,” he said sweetly. “I was planning on being on top the first time anyway. We can be more creative later.”
The color flooded her cheeks quite nicely. It surprised him to see it—after all, she was a widow, a woman who’d spent almost ten years of married life with a supposedly lusty older man. She’d run her own
“How did the happy reunion with your mother go?” he asked.
The song stopped abruptly, her hands stilled above his back, and he could feel the tension. “I don’t expect that’s any of your business.”
“I’m in mortal pain, my lady,” he said, a lie. In fact, the salve and the feel of her cool hands were wonderfully soothing. “I need something to distract me.”
“Think on your sins.”
“I’d rather think on yours.”
“I don’t have any!” she snapped without thinking.
He turned his head to look at her as she leaned over his back. “A saint in our midst? How did I fail to recognize it? A thousand pardons. And you’re not even troubled by the sin of false pride.”
In any other woman he might have thought that was a reluctant smile curving her stern mouth. “I spoke hastily,” she said. “No one is without sin. Mine are far too ordinary to be interesting, however, and I’m not about to share them with anyone but my father confessor.”
“Somehow the abbot seems the sort to consider even the most menial sin interesting.” He groaned, more for effect than out of real distress. “Of your goodness, my lady, distract me. Tell me your sins and I’ll tell you mine.”
“No, thank you.”
“I’ll go first. I’m mad, they say. But then, most fools are. Not that that’s a sin, though Father Paulus might argue that my tragic mental affliction is punishment for my past crimes.”
“I don’t think…” She stopped herself, just as things were about to get interesting.
He wasn’t the sort of man to let it go easily. “You don’t think what, my lady? Don’t think I’m mad? Would a sane man talk in rhymes, dress the way I do, cavort in a most improper manner, and fail to address his lord and master as befits his station? Would a sane man refuse to ride a horse when any other mode of transportation is slow and uncomfortable? Would a sane man roll on his back when he’s been flayed by an over-zealous priest?”
“If he had reason,” she said.
That stopped him. He’d been imprudent with the lady Julianna. But then, imprudence was one of his many sins. “Perhaps,” he agreed. “What other sins torment me? I’m greedy, gluttonous, a lover of wine and ale and good food and wicked women. I’m lustful, crude, lazy, and a devout coward. I sleep through Mass, lie through confession, and tumble any lady who takes my fancy, be she trollop or nun or even holy saint.” He rolled to his side, staring up at her through the candlelit darkness. “And I never take no for an answer.”
She didn’t move. She sat on the wide bed beside him, her hands folded neatly in her lap, her brown eyes wide and wary. “Then you’re more like most men than you believe,” she said. “Rape and plunder and pillage—”
“I have yet to commit rape,” he said, watching her carefully to gauge her reaction. “I don’t need to take a castle by force, when there are all sorts of interesting ways to storm her barricades and breach her private compartments. And I’m far too lazy for plunder and pillage. You need a horse for that.”
“And you don’t ride?”
“Never. They’re huge, vicious creatures. They step on your feet a d drool on you. Confess it, you’re just as glad you were forced to ride in the litter with me.”
“You are mad,” she said flatly. “That’s proof of it.”
He rolled onto his back, looking up into her eyes. “Perhaps you are a saint, my lady,” he murmured. “My back is miraculously healed.”
“Your back is far from healed,” she said sternly. “You shouldn’t be lying on it.”
“That’s all right, then,” he said sweetly. “I was planning on being on top the first time anyway. We can be more creative later.”
The color flooded her cheeks quite nicely. It surprised him to see it—after all, she was a widow, a woman who’d spent almost ten years of married life with a supposedly lusty older man. She’d run her own
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