~ MIHI CREDE (TRUST ME) ~
Year of Our Lord 1199 A.D., The Month of August
Near the convent dedicated to St. Blitha of the Order of St. Dominica
North of the city walls, Bishopsgate
He loved her.
He said he loved her and that made this happening a right and true thing, consecrated by God. If God was love, then Rhyne de Leybourne was possessed by the Holy Spirit, and all things fine and good in the world.
He said he loved her.
She had believed him.
It had been soft and dark and quiet in the sod barn where he’d taken her, just to the east of St. Blitha where she served as a pledge. Dumped there was more like it, deposited by a greedy aunt who wanted nothing to do with her wealthy niece. She wanted the girl’s money, though.
That made it okay, in her mind.
But there were those who had cared for the niece. Rhyne did, in fact. Or, at least he told himself that. The truth was that he loved her money, too, and he wasn’t so willing to let it go. It had taken him so very long to discover where her aunt had sent her, and when he finally located her, all he could speak of was his longing for her, and she in turn declared her longing for him. He’d come for her now and would make everything right between them, as he promised.
But first, he would demonstrate his love for her so there would be no doubt in her mind that he was sincere.
She’d been by the gently bubbling stream just outside the abbey walls, drawing water for the wash, when he’d come upon his shiny brown stallion. It wasn’t unusual for her to be outside of the abbey walls because that’s where the main water source was, so when he pulled her to the sod barn, no one noticed.
No one even looked for her.
At first, he had been gentle, and their hugs of joy had been innocent. But that innocence was short-lived when he pinned her against the stable wall and his mouth began to wander, his tongue invading nearly every orifice on her head. She’d resisted at first, fearful of this very intimate attention, but he had ignored her resistance as he continued to speak of his love for her. His passion rose to frenzied proportions and his tenderness soon turned rough.
Now that he had her, he wasn’t going to waste any time.
He continued to tell her how much he loved her, which made her uncertainty fade. If he loved her so much, then surely what he was doing was his right. He was demonstrating that love. When he was finished pawing her, he grabbed her by both arms and pushed her down onto the cold, dirty floor.
The straw beneath them was at dry but dirty as he pushed her onto her back and began fumbling with the bottom of her long woolen robe, the same woolens that all pledges of St. Blitha wore. His body was heavy atop her, squirming on her, and her uncertainty returned. We should not be doing this, she said, but he assured her that this was what people who loved each other did.
She believed him.
The woolens were shoved up, past her knees, to her hips, as he tugged and pulled, trying to expose her white body beneath him. When she tried to protest, he captured her mouth with his lips, his tongue pushing into her pink recesses. With his mouth keeping her occupied, his hands continued to yank up the woolens, exposing her belly. He couldn’t pull it any further, so his hand snaked underneath, fondling her round breasts and feeling her nipples harden against his palm.
This is what people do who love one another, Andressa. Trust me.
But she couldn’t relax, not when he was pinching her nipple, running his hands all over her breasts. His mouth continued to feast on her face, all over her face, distracting her from what he was doing with his hands as he continued to tell her how much he loved her. She tried to push him away one last time, but she didn’t do a very good job of it. It was true that she loved him, and she’d missed him as much as he missed her.
This is what people do who love each other.
She wanted him to know she loved him, too.
She stopped resisting.
Then, he was fumbling at his own clothing, lowering his hose and rubbing his stiff erection against her thigh. She felt his hardness, greatly apprehensive. His mouth moved across her face again and he shifted his body, pushing himself between her thighs. Without hesitation, he slid his manhood into her virginal body.
She gasped with surprise as he thrust into her. It stung and was uncomfortable. But he ignored her gasps of pain and thrust into her one more time to completely seat himself. In that action, her virginity became a memory, but he didn’t care. His mouth was on her ear now, groaning of his love for her once more, telling her how slick and warm she was, and how his love for her was now complete.
But she wasn’t at all at ease with what he was doing to her, love or not. He was heavy on her, and her woolen garment was around her neck and mostly covering her face now as he repeatedly thrust into her, lifting her legs up to allow him more room to move. She lay there, motionless and overwhelmed, but she kept telling herself over and over that he loved her. He was doing this because he wanted to show her how much he loved her.
And she was letting him.
She loved him, too.
… didn’t she?
His pace quickened and the thrusts became harder, more forceful. She could feel him grinding his pelvis against hers, their bodies joined as closely as a man and woman could be joined. Every contact brought a shock of sensation that bolted up her body and she wondered if this was what love really felt like. It was painful and uncomfortable, and the more he thrust into her, the more she questioned his love.
Is this really what love feels like?
She was coming to wish it would soon be over.
He gave one last, hard thrust, and his entire body shuddered. He was panting, breathing heavily, his body weight squeezing the breath from her. She couldn’t see with her woolens up over her face and everything below her waist felt cold and exposed. When he finally withdrew from her body, he pulled the woolens off her head and she found herself looking into his smiling face.
You did well, he said.
I did? She asked.
He nodded, pulling her woolens all the way down, helping her cover up.
I’ll return for you, he promised. I swear I’ll return.
When? She asked.
Very soon, he said. By the next full moon, I shall return and I shall take you away.
She believed him. He said he loved her, didn’t he? They had known each other for years and although he was a little flighty, and saw in appropriate humor in situations where there was no humor to be had, she’d never known him to be a liar.
He’d return for her, he’d said. She clung to that belief until she received a missive from him two months later announcing his marriage to a French heiress and a relocation to his wife’s estate in France. It was a blow beyond belief.
She would never see, or hear from him, again.
This is all my life is ever going to be, she thought dismally. Light, and love, had left her, and all she had left was a former shell of herself. The woman before Rhyne had promised her the world didn’t exist any longer. All she would ever have, and all she would ever know, were the stone walls of the dreary abbey and a life of piety she surely deserved, for on top of being blindingly foolish about Rhyne’s declaration of love, she had sinned as well.
She deserved everything the hell of St. Blitha brought her.
It was a hell that even the Devil would run from, but little did she know that God had taken pity upon her. He was about to send her help in the form of a man known as an Executioner Knight. A man who had sinned far worse than she could ever imagine.
It would be a chance meeting that would change her life forever.