Free Hot Summer's Knight by Jennie Reid Page B

the entire valley when he’d announced he wanted to follow the teachings of Bernard of Clairvaux, and become a monk.  To their even greater surprise, monastery life had suited him from the beginning.  Worldly enough to appreciate a fine wine and a good meal, which he did whenever possible, his great love was the books of scripture the brothers laboriously copied and embellished.  He ruled the monastery and its estate with a firm but benevolent hand, and shamelessly solicited the noble houses in the area for contributions to his Order.
    “I need your help, Odo.”  Berenice stood next to the window, her hands clasped in front of her like a penitent child.
    “Why, what trouble have you got yourself into this time, little sister?”
    Odo laughed loudly at his own joke.  Berenice, as they both knew, was the last woman in the valley to get herself into any sort of trouble.
    Berenice flushed a little and looked away.  “Odo, I need to know whether I’m a free woman or not.”
    “Free? Of course you’re free!  You’re not a peasant, bound to the land.  You’re a noblewoman, of good birth and standing.”
    “No, that’s not what I mean.  It’s to do with the oath I swore to father before he died.  Now I fear it’s come back to haunt me in a way I never expected.”  She wrung her hands.  “I need to know if am I free to…”  She hesitated, and swallowed nervously, “…to marry again.”
    “You are married, Berenice, you’ve said so often yourself.”
    “I know.  I remember well the words of my oath to our father.  I swore, before God, I would not marry again until someone showed me evidence of my husband’s death.”
    “And have you received this evidence?”
    Her voice was low, her tone soft, almost as though she didn’t want Odo to hear her answer.  “No, no, I haven’t.”
    “Then why?”  Odo fell silent for a moment.  “Little sister, has a lover scaled the walls you’ve built around your heart?”  His booming, joyous laughter echoed around the room.  “At last?”
    “Really, Odo, what flowery nonsense you speak.  I would expect such words from a troubadour, not a man of God.”
    Too late, Berenice realized she’d let out her secret.  A blush rose to her cheeks, a rosy glow she could do nothing to hide.
    “A troubadour, no less!  Little sister, what have you done?”
    “Odo, be serious, I beg you.  I need your help, not your laughter.”
    Seeing her obvious distress, Odo calmed at little.
    “Surely you don’t intend to marry the man!  A troubadour, no less!”
    “Many troubadours come from good families.  They can be younger sons.”
    “And many are nothing but scoundrels, too.”
    “But he’s not…”
    “Tell me, Berenice, what manner of man is this troubadour of yours?”  Odo seated himself on a throne-like chair, clearly settling in for a long conversation.  Berenice perched nervously on the edge of a stool.
    “He’s not what you’re thinking, Odo.  He’s not full of flowery phrases and charm.”
    “Don’t tell me what he isn’t, little sister, tell me what he is!”
    She thought for a moment.  “Well, he tells stories, wonderful stories about far off places.”
    “So he’s traveled.”
    “He sings, and plays the lute.”
    “At one time or another, he’s lived at someone’s court.  Or frequented a few taverns.”
    “They’re not tavern songs, Odo.  They’re songs you would once have sung.  And he dances.”
    “A peasant will dance at the harvest festival.”
    “No, he dances as though he’s been taught by a dancing master.”
    “Hmm, interesting.  Tell me of his appearance, little sister.”
    “His hair and beard are dark.”
    “He wears a beard?  Why, do you think?”
    “He has a scar down one side of his face.  I think he wears a beard to cover it.”
    “Does he, now.”
    “He’s tall, and strong.”
    “How tall?”
    “A full head taller than me.  And he mended the castle gates.”
    “Not afraid of hard work,