ROMANCE: CLEAN ROMANCE: Summer Splash! (Sweet Inspirational Contemporary Romance) (New Adult Clean Fantasy Short Stories) (41 page)

              “Because I have made a life changing decision,” Peter could see the suspicion etched on William’s face. “I wanted to tell you first. I... I have decided to become a monk and live a life of piety.”

              “Fuck me.”

              “I no longer wish to hear such words.”

              William placed his hand on his chest. “Oh, yes. Sorry.” He coughed into his hand to buy time for the shock to recede.  “Does that mean you will be leaving the castle?”

              “Yes. I have held several talks with Friar Benedict up at the monastery. In truth I’ve been thinking about it for some time.”

“Why did you never say anything?”

Peter didn’t lift his eyes from the slate gray floor. “I was scared.”

“Well, you shouldn’t have been.”

“I made up my mind yesterday and informed Father Benedict this morning of my intentions. I will leave for the monastery tomorrow where I will become a novice under Benedict’s guidance.”

              “Good. I’m happy for you. But what has this got to do with Beatrice and I?”

              Peter’s emotion made it a struggle for him to speak. “If I can’t make Beatrice happy... well, that doesn’t mean I don’t want someone else to. I wish you good luck, my Liege.”

              “Thank you.”

              “But keep this between me and you until I am gone. I just want to part quietly.”

              William reached for Peter, then placed his hand on his shoulder. “You have my word, Peter.”

              _

              The horse’s hooves clipped on the stone of the Roman Bridge. Built of local granite, the ancient bridge still stood proud and spanned three arches. The lack of recent rain had caused the river to recede and flow only through the central archway. William rode his horse with Beatrice riding pillion. He enjoyed the feeling of being so close that he could feel her warmth. Smiling, he muttered, “So, the first time you have ridden horseback?”

              “First time I had to wear trousers too.”

              “You still look beautiful. So much so, that the fact I can’t see you while riding make me wish it was I riding pillion.”             

“My Liege... I’m afraid you’re teasing me with such kind words.”

“Of course not. In fact I want to dismount on this bridge... just so I can see you.”

William climbed off the horse to the granite cobbles of the bridge. He reached up and took Beatrice’s hand in his. “Beatrice I would never tease you.” Cupping her hands in his, William raised it to his lips and kissed its back. “Now let me help you down.”

“My Liege... I don’t know if I can.”

“Please call me William.”

Beatrice’s smiled wildly. “Are you sure?”

“Of course. Now come.”

“But William, I fear I may fall.”

William grinned as if he thought Beatrice was joking. “It’s easy.” The fear on her face made him aware she was serious. “OK. Listen to directions, swing your other leg to this side, then slowly shuffle forward and slide off. I will catch you.”

“But what if I fall backwards.”

“Then you will bang your head and risk death.”

“William?”

William chuckled. “Then simply make sure you fall forwards, then.”

“I can’t be sure.”

“Beatrice, now come on.”

The cold splash of a raindrop made Beatrice peer to the heavens. The grey clouds had been threatening all day but now seemed intent on replenishing the thirsty river. “Oh, William... it’s raining.”

“Then you have no choice but to dismount and shelter with me under the arch.”

Beatrice gingerly brought her leg over the horse. She then closed her eyes as she shuffled forward to dismount. “Catch me!” The fall caused her to scream, but she stopped as she felt William catch her by her waist and pull her close. Opening her eyes she was eye to eye with the man she craved. Leaning forward she rested her lips on his but pulled back. “I’m sorry”

“What are you sorry for?”

Closing her eyes once more, Beatrice rested her forehead against William’s. “How can we be?” Beatrice opened her eyes but her vision was blurred as her tear ducts finally overflowed.  “We’re merely playing a game of lovers.”

“There are no games between us.”

“Stop making me the girl to your boy.”

“Stop claiming that I’m a fool, Beatrice. Or that I’m some vagabond who is thieving your heart.”

“But I’m nothing but a simple poor girl.”

William pulled her tight to his chest. “You’re not a serf or a peasant. I think you’re as educated as you are beautiful.”

“William... leave me alone and stop with this cruel charade.”

“This is no cruel charade. My lips may move but it is my heart that speaks. What’s more it speaks nothing but the truth.”

The heavens fell from the clouds in sheets of cold grey rain as Beatrice broke from William’s arms. “Then your heart rules your head.”

“And so what if it does?”

“Even if your heart does call my name... what good is it? Your fellow courtiers... what will they think of us?”

William stepped up to Beatrice but she took a stride backwards. He then wiped the rain from his face. “I know plenty who have married English.”

“I’m not from English nobility, nor am I rich. I will never, ever, be accepted.”

“I don’t care.”

“You say that now, but your words will not last the test of time. That is why I must turn you down. I have a simple but happy life. I like what I am doing.”

“Beatrice.” William felt his heart sliding in his chest. “You speak as if you wished we had never met.”

“I do not wish to be locked up in some lonely tower only to be played with when you are bored.”

“I love you.”

Beatrice framed her face with her hands while her tears mixed with the rain. “You need to find someone suitable. Someone who can please not just your desires, but match the desires of your family.”

“I have been touted around by my parents like a political pawn. But to my parent’s disgust, no Woman took my fancy.”

“And why is that? Because you’re waiting for me..?  Do not speak such lies, William.”

William ran his hands through his matted hair. He took a fleeting look into the grey mist as the low cloud consumed the valley. “I fear I have no answer which will please you... But I know my father sent me to this backwater as punishment for not expanding the family’s wealth through marriage.”

“Then I feel sorry for you.”

“Don’t be. I was never interested in wealth, power and politics. I wanted love... and I found it in you.”

“I have lost one husband already.” Beatrice gazed into her William eyes while she exposed her tortured soul. “I do never wish to lose another.”

“If you don’t trust me because I am Norman. Then I will be an Englishman.”

“What do you mean by that? You are how God made you. A Norman.”

William finally grabbed Beatrice by her shoulders. “I will give up my riches and come and live with you.”

“But people will know who you are?”

“We’ll move to another town, start a new life with your vertical loom.”

“You’re crazed?”

“I am not.  I will give up my life to live another with you.”

Beatrice felt her heart swell. “Then kiss me.”

~

Under the arch of the bridge Beatrice smiled as William carefully disrobed her. She did not speak as words could never convey or express the emotion she felt. Despite the cold temperatures she felt nothing but the warmth of the lover. William’s kisses soothed her of her pain, freed her from her worries... killed any remaining doubts.

William’s hands traced Beatrice’s body. To his eyes she was beauty defined. Her alabaster skin glistened with the rain water, while her fulsome lips parted just enough to expose her healthy teeth as she sighed to his touch.  He stood naked but felt nothing but confidence. Holding Beatrice tight he lay down his love on the clothes.  Their lips locked, their bodies merged.  They never wanted to be parted.

Beatrice wrapped her leg around William. She silenced her groans by nuzzling her face into the crux of his neck. The sensation of love in its physical form played havoc with her body. Feeling the need to scream, she expressed her love to her man by losing herself in carnal pleasure.

~

Walking hand in hand back to the horse, William and Beatrice barely heard the whistle on the air.

The force of the arrow forced William backwards before dropping onto to his backside.  Blinded by pain, he tensed up while screaming in agony among the reeds. Beatrice dropped to the side of her lover. She shook her head in desperation as she noticed the arrow had buried deep into his shoulder. “William, oh William.”

“Get on the horse.”

“Let me help you.”

“Forget me, get on the horse.”

              Beatrice burst into tears. “We must escape together.”

“They want me not you. Now stop wasting time and escape.”

As William gingerly climbed to his feet, he spotted a masked bandit running towards him from road. He glanced over his shoulder to see Beatrice climbing on to his horse. Once she sat on the saddle, William slapped the rear of the horse sending the galloping across the shallow river towards the opposite tree line. 

William faced his enemy. Despite his bleeding wound he stood his ground. The bandit screamed as he launched his first blow, violently slashing with his sword.

Keeping his elbows close to his body, William parried each glancing slice.  He kept his knees bent and feet sturdy making sure not to lose his balance after each defensive parry.  Despite his ailing strength William knew he had to bid his time until he could capitalise on the aggressor’s first mistake.

The polished blades cut through the rain as they battled under the angry sky. Thunder from the unsettled heavens interspersed each grunt and clash of steel of the combatants.

The bandit proved too eager and locked swords. He pushed forwards in an effort to overpower the injured William.  Shifting his standing feet, William forced the bandit to make a false step. Off balance, the bandit was powerless to stop William gaining leverage with his sword and lost the flow of the fight.

William seized his opportunity.  In one strong sapping blow, he swung. But cried out in agonised frustration as the bandit merely blocked it.

Without the strength to carry on, William knew he was done for.

“Leave him... Leave him, I say!” A drenched Beatrice had crossed the river once more brandishing a large branch. “Leave, or you’ll have to fight the both of us.”

The bandit seemed stunned. His attention spilt, he couldn’t focus.  William thrust his sword towards the bandit. But the bandit easily sidestepped the blade. However he couldn’t avoid getting clobbered on the face with the Beatrice’s branch.

With the bandit floored, William kicked away the assailant’s sword. Beatrice then kissed Williams cheek. “Are you OK?”

“Fine, but you need to take me to Carlisle once we have dealt with this rat.” William reached down and unmasked the face of his stricken foe, revealing a bloodied face.  To Beatrice’s hysterical screams, William could barely mutter, “Peter?”

“My Liege, I had no choice.”

“Why? Oh Why? You foolish wretch.”

“I’m sorry... I.”

“You...” William dropped to his knees. Exhausted, he could hardly speak. “You wanted me dead? You betrayed me.”

“You stole the love I could never have. I couldn’t let you taunt me by making Beatrice happy.”

“You were to be a monk... No?”

Peter could barely speak for the blood pouring from his nose. “I was going to live my life as a monk in hope of cleansing my soul after killing you.”

“But this... it never had to come to this.”

“Kill me, as I no longer wish to live.”

Feeling faint, William could not muster the strength to pick up his broadsword. He instead unsheathed his dagger.  As he went to slit Peter’s throat, his hand was met by Beatrice’s.

“No, let him live.”

“Why should I? He will not allow us to live in peace.”

Beatrice did not relinquish her grip. “Knowing that we’re happy while he is shackled in the dungeon will serve him better than the tortures of Hell.”

“You’re wicked, Beatrice.”

“No. I’m just a simple weaver.”

THE END

Falling For The Duke’s Brother

              Water lapped the dull wooden edges of the
Queen Elizabeth
. It was one in a long line of ships waiting to depart for strange new lands, and the callous cry of seagulls pierced the air. They were the only life forms awake at this strange time of night, halfway in between day and night, or heaven and hell, depending on your pleasure, save for the less savory characters that lurked somewhere in the periphery of your vision. The ship bobbed in the water, and so did Olivia's heart.

              How had she gotten to this moment, so far away from everything that she had ever imagined as a young girl? Olivia felt a sickness fill her chest, a remorse she couldn't quite place. David was so exciting, with his charm and banter, but something about the encounter felt just a smidge off, as if she was not meant to be there at all. Never mind that he was the brother of the duke, no, she would not think about that. For it felt, somewhere in the recesses of her consciousness, like a vast betrayal of something warm and dear.

              And then a different emotion filled her body, one that emptied her body with such rapid-fire swiftness that it almost took her breath away. On the knife's edge of that remorse was the sensation of desperation. How much longer could she wait for the duke to speak his words? Olivia glanced down at the cameo brooch in her hand and traced the pearly white of the female face on it with her thumb. A bubble of indecision rose in her throat, and she pushed it down so she could no longer sense it at all. Her mind was made up. She deserved more, especially after what she had been though with Ben's betrayal. Gathering up the long folds of her gown, she swooped down to scoop up her bags, only to hear a long horn echo in the water.

              When she looked up, the prow of the
Queen Elizabeth
was turning away from the dock and heading into the greater expanse of the sea. With a sharp cry, Oliva sprang forward, convinced that she could still bridge the distance with some amazing feat of strength fueled by adrenaline, and watched forlornly as her bags sailed into the wet depths below.

              As one of the dock hands attempted to fish her bags out of the water, Olivia gazed out at the departing ship. On that vessel was her husband never-to-be. Heavens, he would think she rejected him at the end, when it was her own damn indecision that had stalled her hand. And in the tiniest corner of her mind, where just a moment ago, a light had gone out, it suddenly burst back into life. As the hand presented her with her dripping bags and offered to hail her a coach, the weight of everything that had occurred that evening fell upon her slim shoulders. Her ridiculous companions in the coach, not even counting that elderly countess who squawked like a parrot when her wig slipped from her head. The two and a half mile walk with her bags--thank goodness she traveled light--all the way to the docks. She thought that after all that, it might have been worth it, that she would have no moments of hesitation at all once she saw the ship.

              She was wrong. It seemed that she was wrong about everything. How was she now to return to the duke after he read that letter she had left him in his study? She would have to apply for a new position somewhere, or--and the thought suddenly struck her that she might have been so willing to leave England not so much for the proposal from the duke's brother, but because she could simply no longer remain in Worchester Abbey. A flash of dark eyes and curling black locks came up as a stark image against her mind as she finally hailed a coach and gathered her belongings inside. Would they ever look upon her with tenderness again?

              Olivia closed her eyes with a sigh and let her mind take her back.

*              *              *

              The scandal rocked the delicately balanced scales of the upper crust, but it affected none so strongly as Lady Olivia Knightbridge. When she learned the full details of the betrayal done her by Benn Soothley, she plummeted straight towards an unknown abyss, and her decision shocked anyone who knew her in the slightest.

              Lady Olivia was one of those cheerfully practical young ladies of the ton who everyone assumed would follow in the most accepted of social norms by all definitions of the term. It was expected that at her debut on the social scene of London, her affable charms would be in high demand, as well as her gently wavy brown hair and expressive hazel eyes that seemed to change color based on her mood, her gown, or the weather; it was precisely this unpredictability that captivated those who met her, as well as her slew of intellectual hobbies that ranged from star-gazing to chemistry to the fine art of embroidery, where her stitches were tiny enough to be second to none. No one could have ever imagined the horrifying turn of events that would so absolutely overturn the steady balance of her life, but it served as a reminder to both old matrons and silly debutants alike, that even the steadiest boat is never safe from the storm.

              It began with the charming attentions of Mr. Ben Soothley. When Lady Olivia first arrived at the social set of London, she was taken in almost immediately. Her parents, Lord and Lady Knightbridge, had both perished in a riding accident when the girl was about three, so she never truly got to feel their love before they went. But they had cared for their child deeply, and signed over the whole of their estate to her once she reached the ripe age of eighteen, ensuring both that she would be taken care of and that she would never have to depend on a husband to provide her fortune for her. Until she was able to care for herself, however, they had assigned her under the guardianship of Lady Knightbridge's maiden aunt, who was more than pleased to be taking care of her vivacious young niece, never having had any children of her own. A known eccentric, and well admired for it, she had allowed the chubby-cheeked child to peruse her extensive library collection at will, and hired masters from abroad to tutor her in anything that happened to catch her fancy. There was the flamenco dancer from Spain who taught her how to wield the magnificently clacking castanets, the French ex-patriot from Russia who would sigh deeply, sad sighs and lament the difference between the crepes of his home and adopted countries. Thus, by the time Lady Olivia came into her title and fortune, she was a well-rounded individual who was very much ahead of her fellow ladies in terms of education and poise.

              The maiden aunt had connections in London that stemmed from her numerous acquaintances, and, being of a certain age herself, wanted to ensure that her beautiful young niece would have company of her own age at all the best balls, events, and dances, someone who could tutor her in any time of need, on the required social niceties that she would have to acquire in order to survive the ruthless scene of man-mad matrons and fortune hunting debutantes.

              "But why?" Olivia asked her aunt plaintively when the former announced that she would be sitting mostly on the sidelines and scouting out potential matches from a perch, much like an eagle.

              "Because, my dear, you need to be around blood as young and fresh as your own, and my bones are weary," replied the aunt, only half serious, for her limbs were still supple and she possessed a healthy vitality of a woman half her age. She had eschewed the social scene for so long that she worried she was a bit out of touch for her niece, the only aspect she was able to keep up with these days being the most fashionable modistes available. These she secured visits with and outfitted her niece with the loveliest of garments for her debut on the London scene, never dreaming that it was precisely her years and experience that might have saved Olivia from the whole future mess.

              This arrangement was precisely how Lady Olivia made the acquaintance of Cynthia Freeworth. Blonde, petite, and with guileless blue eyes, she had struck Olivia at first much like an angel descending from the sky. "We are going to be SUCH friends!" the effable Lady Freeworth had gushed upon Olivia's arrival to her rather shabby mansion in London. It was precisely for this reason, Cynthia explained to Olivia, leading her by the arm up to her room, that she would do her best this season to land a titled duke with, as she put, "simply bags of money and no wife to spend it all on!"

              Olivia warmed to her gradually, thinking her new friend perhaps had different priorities than she did, but willing to forgive this gap between them nevertheless. Perhaps it was unpopular an opinion to have, hoping for a love match, but there was something about Cynthia's manner that invited such intimacies immediately and she told her all about it.

              "How very
interesting
," the tiny blonde had cried, pulling down the front of her gown for a deeper décolletage. "I never imagined such a thing, although I suppose it suits for some." Suddenly, the thought crossed Olivia's mind that she had been, perhaps, a bit hasty in revealing her true nature to her new friend, but in the next moment, Cynthia was chattering on about a duke she set her sights on at the symphony who would be at the ball at Sootherley's that night, and Olivia consoled herself by thinking that even if the lady thought her a bit strange, she would forget about what she said within moments.

              Cynthia, of course, counseled her on the best dress to wear, and although she was uncomfortable with such a low neckline, Olivia was admonished for her prudishness and told she was simply the height of fashion in her rose-patterned gown with a deep ruffle at the hem, waist, and bust. Upon arrival at Sootherley's, the most premier social gathering of the season, Olivia found herself experiencing a rapid-fire lesson on who was who, and who was worth deigning to give attention to and who was not. Duke Ellington with a sharp nose like a rat, for example, was well worth batting your eyelashes at, whispered Lady Freeworth, directing those sky-colored appendages in his direction as she spoke, for he had full coffers adjoining his lengthy title, and he never had to work a day in his life. Many of the gentlemen at Sootherley's experienced this measure of scrutiny by the inestimable Lady Cynthia that night, until a pale blonde chap arrived at the door frame.

              He was handsome by any estimation, with laughing blue eyes and deep dimples at his cheeks. He had a cleft in his chin which many a gaze snagged on, and he towered well above the other gentlemen in the room. "Who is that?" Olivia had breathed, watching him strike up a conversation with a willowy young lady in gray at the far end of the room, his eyes creasing with good humor and cheer.

              "Oh the one speaking to that mousey Mildred Kingsley?" sniffed Cynthia, not the least bit miffed to be torn away from the attentions of Duke Ellington, who on the whole looked rather put out by the intrusion. Olivia did not think the young lady mousey in the least, but was not about to say so to Cynthia, for it was she who held the information about the splendid young gentleman in her palm. "That is Ben Soothley," Cynthia continued, lowering her voice a bit, and Olivia could not help but notice how her voice colored with interest as she observed the young man in question. "Not titled, of course, but given his ranking, this is possibly forgivable."

              "His ranking?"

              Lady Cynthia's blue eyes widened in horror. "Why the ranking in
Sunderly Times
!" she cried. "Ten most eligible bachelors of this season?"             

              "My aunt does not allow me to read the gossip column," Olivia replied, feeling as if a vast portion of her education had been neglected. In that moment, Ben Soothley must have felt her eyes on him from across the room, for he looked up and locked eyes with her. "What exactly needs to be forgiven in him?" she asked, keenly aware that the handsome young man was now making his way across the room directly to where she was standing.

              "Well, he is a self-made man, not a real gentleman," sneered Cynthia slightly, and Olivia felt her ire rise a bit at the lady's judgement. "But it looks as though it's up to you whether or not to let that bit go, because he is on his way over to you."

              "He is not," hissed Oliva back.

              "I hope that whatever he is not, he surely can make up for it,” said a friendly voice from just above her ear.

              Olivia lifted her head and forgot how to breathe for a moment as she stared up at the clear blue eyes of Ben Soothley. Somehow, she managed to recover from her embarrassment, and it was not long before Ben had her laughing and smiling as much as he had Mildred doing just a few moments before. She would have been glad to let him speak forever, seeing as he had just gotten back from a Grand Tour in the Grecian Isle and had many interesting tales to share. She felt herself nodding and smiling, held at complete attention until a female voice cut the warmth between them like a knife.

              "Why Lady Olivia, you have gone silent as a stunned beast in front of Mr. Soothley," purred Cynthia Freeworth as she positioned her curvaceous body in between the pair she was speaking of. Handing Ben Soothley her hand to kiss, Cynthia resembled a glittering queen, seeming to raise Ben from the ground with her imperious gaze. "Lady Olivia just arrived to London from Stratford and is staying with me," she told him with a light little laugh, completely ignoring the fact that the accommodations in question were less than glamorous. "Olivia, you are tired from your journey, are you not?" she asked, barely turning towards her guest.

              "I am not that--" but Olivia broke off as Lady Cynthia scooped her small arm into the crook of Ben Soothley's and smoothly led him away.

              She watched in dismay as her so-called friend led away the one interesting man in the room as deftly as she would surely pick out a fabric at the modiste's. "So now you know the real Cynthia Freeman," a quiet, musing voice said, and Olivia turned around to find the willowy Mildred Kingsley by her side.