“Non, I suppose not, although I think many a priest would heartily disagree with you.”
“Aye, but I dinnae always have much faith in priests. I have met many that are as weak as any mon, and some who should be roasting in hell alongside the men they have condemned to the place.”
“You must have met a few good ones, as well.”
“A few, aye. Dinnae frown so, loving.” He kissed the line between her eyes. “I am nay turning into a heathen. ’Tis just that I cannae help but be wary of any mon who has the power priests do, oftimes more power than the king. Aye, there are good ones who truly feel the call of God and wish to do good, to save souls. There are also those who use their office merely to enrich themselves and indulge in some verra earthly pleasures and the pursuit of power.”
She nodded. “I have heard of a few of those myself. Too many men enter the monasteries and priesthood simply because they are younger sons and have no other means to support themselves.”
“They can live by their sword, gain power and wealth through honorable service to their laird or their king.”
“True.” She laughed softly as she rested her cheek against his chest and closed her eyes. “I pray that you are right in all you believe, for I fear I am of a like mind.”
“Weel then, lass, together we shall go to heaven to sing with the angels or roast in the stinking fires of hell. And now, if ye dinnae mind, I shall end this weighty talk and go to sleep.”
“A very good idea,” she mumbled, already more asleep than awake.
Nigel kissed the top of her head and smiled to himself. He realized that this tiny woman probably knew as much about what he thought and felt as his brothers did. When she asked her odd, sometimes piercing, questions, he felt no reticence in replying completely and honestly. Her passion was unrestrained, and she could set his blood afire. His friends and family would think him mad to be so undecided about her, to still doubt what he felt or wanted. They would undoubtedly urge him to get her before a priest as soon as possible, and a part of him agreed that he should be doing just that. Yet, in a way, he felt that his doubt and hesitation were fair to Gisele. How could he ask her to give him her heart when he was not sure he could ever do the same?
Nigel inwardly shook his head, knowing that the time for some decision was rapidly drawing near, yet shying away from it. If he decided wrongly they could both suffer. All he could do was pray that some enlightenment would come before he hurt Gisele so much there was no mending it.
Fifteen
“Ye need to hold the sword more firmly, loving,” Nigel said as he picked up the sword he had just knocked from Gisele’s hand and handed it back to her.
“I think you try much too hard to show me the true depths of my weakness and ineptitude,” she muttered, but tried to hold the sword more firmly as she faced him again.
“Nay, I but try hard to help ye overcome them.”
She cursed as they began their mock battle once again, the sound of their clashing swords echoing loudly in the small clearing they had chosen for their camp. It had been three days since she had removed Nigel’s stitches, and each evening since then Nigel had taken time to try to teach her how to use a sword when they had stopped to camp for the night. Gisele was sorely disappointed over how long it was taking her to learn even the simplest thrust or parry. And what purpose was being served by holding a sword when it could so easily be knocked out of her hands? She suspected that Nigel was very good, but his skill seemed to be discouraging her more than it was helping her.
“Curse it to seven kinds of hell,” she snapped as he knocked the sword from her grasp yet again, and she stuck her badly stinging fingers into her mouth in a vain effort to soothe them.
“Ye take this all too much to heart,” he said, taking her hand out of her mouth and kissing her still damp fingers before tugging her over to the fire he had built earlier.
“Our lessons are done, are they?” she asked as she sat down, breathing deeply of the delicious scent of the roasting rabbit and once again thanking God for Nigel’s hunting skill.
“Once your arm grows weary there is no gain in continuing,” he answered as he sat down, drew his dagger from its sheath, and cut the rabbit into two equal shares. “Ye just need to hold your weapon more firmly.”
“Or learn how to avoid that blow which is sure to strike it from my hand.”
“Aye, that too,” he agreed with a smile.
As soon as they had finished eating and cleaned up after their meal, Gisele was able to cajole Nigel into one more mock battle. He carefully instructed her for what had to be the hundredth time on how to hold her sword, and even tried to explain to her which blow to try to avoid. She used that knowledge well, if not exactly in the way he had intended. After several successful parrys, she boldly struck, crying out with delight as she knocked the sword from his hands. Even though she suspected he had allowed the blow to be successful just to show her that she had done it correctly, she was pleased with her success. Gisele held her sword out threateningly, pointing it directly at Nigel’s heart. Her eyes widened when he suddenly stepped closer, allowing the tip of her sword to touch his chest.
“And now ye must kill the mon,” he said quietly, watching her very closely as he spoke.
Gisele’s eyes grew so wide he suspected they would begin to sting her in a moment. She also grew very pale and her hand trembled slightly, causing the point of her sword to pluck at the cloth of hisjupon. Nigel inwardly smiled as he suddenly and finally decided upon her complete innocence. Gisele had never killed a man, might never be able to. Even in anger, perhaps even in fear for her life, she would hesitate to strike a death blow. He could see the truth of that in her eyes. She had probably not been lying when she had said she had aimed her dagger at his attacker’s sword arm back at the cave. He reached out and gently took the sword from her hands.
“Mayhap this is not such a good idea,” she murmured, wondering how she could have so foolish as to forget what fighting with swords was meant to accomplish—death. She might be learning how to protect herself, but she was also learning how to kill people.
“Nay, ye have the right of it,” he said, as he led her toward their bed spread out next to the fire. “Your life is in danger, and ’tis wise for ye to try to learn how to hold the killers back.”
“I am not sure I could kill a man,” she whispered, “and that is the true purpose of fighting, is it not?”
“Aye, sometimes, especially when someone is trying to kill you. One doesnae always have to kill. At times, a wee poke or a small drawing of blood is more than enough to turn aside the threat. And ye cannae be certain what ye might be able to do when ye are truly faced with the choice of kill or die. No one can be.”
She said nothing as they stripped down to their shirts and braies and crawled beneath their blankets. Nigel tugged her into his arms, and she snuggled into his warmth, then frantically tried to smother a large yawn. He chuckled softly, and gently kissed the top of her head. She had not been his lover for very long, but she recognized that tender gesture as his way of saying that it was acceptable if they just went to sleep. Their journey was rapidly coming to an end, and although Gisele hated to lose any chance to savor the passion they could share since she could not be sure how much longer they would be together, she decided that she would get some much needed rest, instead.
