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Surely, it was not such a terrible sin. To lie with the man she loved, just once. Henry
need never know. It could not harm him.
85
Anne Ireland
Robin had sensed her weakness. I beg you to come to me just once, he pleaded, the
entreaty in his voice and eyes tearing at her heart. I have loved you so long and so
well, Isolde. Give me something to remember when I can no longer see you or smell the
perfume of your skin. If I must give you up, grant me this at least. If you love me, you
cannot deny me this one favour.
Isolde gazed up into his eyes. Eyes that were as blue as the sky above her, enticing,
pleading. She felt as if she were being drawn up into the sky itself, floating, dissolving
in the heat of his desire. Nothing seemed real to her, except this longing to be in his
arms.
Just once... Her tongue moistened lips dry from fear or excitement. You swear
Henry will never know and you will leave us?
I swear on my life, Isolde.
And no one will see us?
Trust me, my love. I shall keep you safe.
Isolde would never forget the scents of that woodland glade, or the stolen moments
in her lover's arms. What passed between them would forever be enshrined in her
memory, sweeter than honey yet spiced with danger.
Robin was truly skilled in the arts of love. He played on her body as the strings of a
harp, bringing forth hauntingly beautiful sensations as he loved her again and again.
Once, twice, three times he took her, making her cry out his name and weep for joy.
And afterwards, when he held her, at peace at last, she knew that nothing could ever be
this perfect again. Even if Henry were to die and they were wed... No, such thoughts
were treachery! She must never let herself think such a thing again.
Isolde felt the weight of her guilt begin to press on her as Robin brushed the debris
from her gown and helped her to mount her palfrey. She had betrayed her vows,
betrayed Henry's trust. It was a sin she would carry with her always.
You must go soon, she told Robin. This must not happen again.
After the contest, he promised. Something, an expression in his eyes disturbed her.
I love you, Isolde. I would do nothing to harm you but surely now you understand
you belong to me?
No, she said, fear catching at her throat. I am Henry's wife.
And my lover. His look of pride, anger, and a simmering menace sent shivers
spiralling through her. Do you really believe I would give you up now? His eyes
were cold, glittering. Be patient, my Isolde. One day I shall claim you as my own.
No! This is over. It was to be only once. You promised! You promised me, Robin.
She threw him a despairing look. You cannot break your word now.
I would wade through the fires of Hell to have you, he said, his voice throbbing
with passion. You are mine, Isolde. Your husband stole what was not his. I shall take
you back.
Take me back to Urstwick, Isolde demanded. I am not yours to command, sir. I
see now that I was wrong to give in to your persuasion. You deceived me.
No, Isolde! Robin's tone terrified her. You deceived yourself, because you wished
to. You knew once you were truly mine I would never let you go.
86
Trial by Fire
Isolde looked down at him helplessly as he lifted her into the saddle. He was no
longer the supplicant, begging for her love, now he commanded. There was a
recklessness in him, a wildness that frightened her. She was afraid of what he might do
if she defied him.
What had she done? She had believed him when he said he would go if she gave
herself to him. Now she knew he had lied to get his way with her. If he would swear an
oath and break it in the next breath, what more might he do? He had spoken so often of
Henry's death as if it were certain. Yet surely, he would not stoop to murder?
They rode back to the house in silence. Isolde felt the weight of guilt and fear
pressing down on her. What had she done? She had betrayed Henry. He would hate her
if he ever learned the truth... and that would give her pain. She could not bear to look
into his eyes and have him know her shame.
Tears stung behind her eyes as she left Robin in the courtyard and went to her solar.
She was a whore! She had committed a terrible sin, but worst of all she had forfeited all
right to her husband's respect.
Why did that hurt so much? Isolde only knew that her mouth tasted of ashes. She
wished with all her heart that she could change the past few hours, but knew it was
impossible.
For a few sweet, stolen minutes, she had thrown away her honour and it could never
be regained.
Isolde's courses started that night. In the morning, when she saw the bright red blood
staining her night shift, Isolde wept bitter tears. She had been almost certain she was
carrying a child, but now realized her hopes had come to nothing.
Or was it God's punishment for her sin?
Had she lost Henry's son because of what had happened in the woods? The thought
terrified her. She prayed on her knees for forgiveness, but she dare not confess her sin to
Henry's chaplain. Not because he would betray her to her husband, for the secrets of the
confessional were sacred, but because it would shame her. She would forever see her
guilt reflected in the eyes of another.
Without confession, she could not be cleansed of her sin. Isolde knew it would be
hard to bear alone, but it must be her punishment, that and the loss of her child.
She was determined never to return to the glade with Robin. No matter how much
he might try to persuade her, she would not give in.
****
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