Adam’s boots were huge.But she would make them work.She supposed, as with hounds, it wasn’t unusual for a lad’s feet to grow first before the rest caught up.Still, she needed to stuff them with linen just to walk without blistering her heels.
She slipped his blue tabard over the mail.Then she affixed his sheathed dagger to his belt and buckled the belt around the tabard, making sure it wouldn’t drag on the ground.
She secured her hair with a leather tie and settled his chain mail coif over her head.
This new character would be Sir Peredur from Gwynedd.For simplicity’s sake, she decided his mother and father had died of fever.His older brother had been killed in battle, leaving Peredur his armor.He was a mercenary, lending his loyalty and his sword—or in this case, his dagger—to a laird who would see him housed and fed.
She imagined shedidlook like Peredur, the hero in the lore of Cymru, who’d only seen knights from afar and tried to emulate their appearance with the materials at hand.At least she hadn’t needed to resort to wearing a bucket on her head or wielding a weapon made of wood.
Of course, Eve didn’t plan to fight.She’d simply offer her services for hire to the captain of the guard and leave on the morrow.The disguise was good enough to gain her entrance, a meal, and a place to sleep for the night at Rowallan Castle.
The fact that she had to bed down on the stone floor of the armory, crowded in between the sweaty, smelly, snoring ranks of the Rowallan men-at-arms would have been mortifying to any of her sisters at the convent.
But Eve had never been afraid of new experiences.That, of course, was what often got her into trouble.She never backed down from the challenges God put in her path, whether that meant dining with a king or sleeping in a stable.Rescuing a drowning lamb or saving a servant from a beating.Abducting a Rivenloch bride or exploring her own carnal desires with a handsome outlaw.
She furrowed her brows as she burrowed further under the thin wool coverlet someone had thrown her, using her satchel to distance the warrior next to her who kept trying to cuddle in his sleep.
If only he could be Adam, she thought with a sigh.She hadn’t realized how much she would miss him.His warmth.His gentleness.His affection.
She wondered… Could her sensual exploration with Adam have been part of God’s plan?
If so, what had been its purpose?
If it was only to teach her not to succumb to worldly temptations, it seemed like an unnecessarily heavy-handed lesson that had come at a cruel price.
And the curious thing was leaving earthly pleasure behind didn’t make her feel more devoted to the Lord.Indeed, she’d never feltlessconnected to God.She felt abandoned.
Adam had never made her feel abandoned.He’d insisted on following her everywhere.He’d cared for her.Protected her.Made her feel bright and beautiful.Visible.
And when he’d joined with her in body, in heart, in spirit, she’d never felt closer to the angels or more convinced of God’s miracles.
Tears started in her eyes at the memory.
She supposed it was blasphemy to think such a thing.But why would God create such a transcendent experience if only to forbid his most devoted servants from enjoying it?
It was that question that haunted her dreams all night long and prodded her awake before dawn.
She’d meant to leave early anyway, before her fellow soldiers could discover the young mercenary Sir Peredur wasn’t all he appeared to be.
She stole out of the armory, picking her way around the dozing warriors, and crept quietly through the great hall.The servants were already awake.They shuttled about, stoking the fire, raking the rushes, and feeding the hounds.They were too busy to take note of the young warrior with a big satchel and oversized armor creeping across the hall.
The scent of fresh-baked oatcakes made Eve’s mouth water.
She drew herself up like a brash youth and caught the arm of a passing maidservant.Then she growled out, “Bring me a pair o’ buttered oatcakes, will ye, lass?”
The maidservant nodded.“Would ye like ale as well, sir?”
“Aye.”
The maid bobbed again and left at once to fetch her breakfast.
Eve sighed at the sad truth.As Sister Eve or Lady Aillenn, she never would have earned such hasty service.But as soon as Eve put on trews and a coat of mail, every maid hopped to do her bidding.
This time it was worth employing the male advantage.The oatcakes were delicious, and the warm butter reminded Eve of the humble pleasures of the convent.
She told herself she was looking forward to her return.After all, there was a simplicity to a nun’s life, an order that was always comforting to Eve after she’d had one of her wild adventures.Without her satchel of costumes, she’d be unable to engage in such enterprises anyway, at least until her father sent more coin.But that was probably for the best if she wanted to work on her piety.
Laboring as the convent’s dairy maid was one of her favorite pastimes.There was something both peaceful and magical about turning fresh milk into cream and butter, curds and whey.She particularly enjoyed getting her hands in the bowl, working her fingers through the warm milk until it slowly thickened into soft, creamy butter.It felt to Eve like she was imbuing the butter with her essence, her joy, her love.
