Spring turned to summer, and we waited, wandering in the gardens together;
reading together, playing at bowls or tennis, though the latter game was
not considered one for women, and sometimes exercising the men-at-arms in
the great inner bailey where they lodged. Twice we rode out ahawking,
accompanied by a strong escort, and returned without mishap, though I would
not consent to a third excursion, lest a rumour having gone abroad, our
enemies should lie in wait to trap us. I grew strangely fearful of losing
her who did not and who never might belong to me.
And all this time my penance, as I regarded it, grew daily heavier to bear.
Long since I had ceased so much as to kiss her finger-tips. But to kiss
the very air she breathed was fraught with danger to my peace of mind. And
then one evening, as we paced the garden together, I had a moment's
madness, a moment in which my yearnings would no longer be repressed.
Without warning I swung about, caught her in my arms, and crushed her to
me.
I saw the sudden flicker of her eyelids, the one swift upward glance of her
blue eyes, and I beheld in them a yearning akin to my own, but also a
something of fear that gave me pause.
I put her from me. I knelt and kissed the hem of her mourning gown.
"Forgive me, sweet.
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