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Chapter Thirteen

R eynard closed the door of the tavern whilst Elysande waited next to him. A gust of air came upon them causing the hood of her cloak to fall from her head. Before he could stop himself, he reached over to grab hold of the fabric and return it to its rightful place. Standing this close to the woman, he breathed in the scent of roses and was momentarily lost in the memory of when they sat on a bench in a garden. He fastened the clasp at her neck to keep the cloak from opening further, and their hands touched as she, too, went to hold the garment in place.

"My thanks, Reynard," she said quietly.

Looking down upon her, for she was quite small in stature, he could not help thinking that those blue eyes would surely be his downfall. "You are most welcome, Elysande," he replied before he took her hand and placed it back in the crook of his arm.

They began their evening stroll back toward the castle and he felt her shiver from the cool night air. He took his own cloak and pulled the edge of it around her shoulder, bringing her closer to the warmth of his body. There was no reason they should both be cold when he could easily remedy the situation.

She did not protest their close proximity but she did stiffen a little, perhaps recalling the last time they had been so close. It caused him to realize he owed her an apology for his previous behavior. He halted their progress whilst still holding her close.

"Elysande…" he began but was not sure how to proceed with reliving his past with a woman who was mostly a stranger.

She fingered the edges of his leather jerkin. "Reynard…" His name coming from her lips had him wondering why this woman continued to pull at his heart strings. True… she reminded him of Johanna but Elysande was more than just a memory of a woman he used to love. Elysande was real and staring upon him with what appeared as affection. Johanna could never be more than just a ghost of a memory of what would never be.

"I must needs apologize for my earlier behavior," he began in a rush.

"Men will be men when they are into their cups I suppose," she said softly misunderstanding his words, apparently thinking he was apologizing for their conversation in the tavern.

"'Tis not what I meant, Elysande."

"Then what?"

He gave a heavy sigh, finding the strength to answer when a different pair of blue eyes flashed unbidden in his memory. "The garden…"

"I see…" Her words trailed off as if she, too, relived the memory of their kiss.

"You never gave me the opportunity to allow me to explain about—"

"You do not owe me any explanation. I was the one at fault and should not have pushed myself at you," she said interrupting his attempt at an apology.

He shook his head. "Nay… you were not at fault, Elysande. 'Twas the memory of my past that caused my stupidity to utter another's name."

She stepped back from the warmth of his body and he felt the loss when cold air rushed between them as his cloak fell from her shoulders.

"You love her," she said stating the obvious.

"Loved. She passed from this world many years ago," he said, and he saw what he assumed was concern wash over her face.

"Yet you love her still."

"I suppose I do in many ways. I made a vow the day she died that I would never allow myself to love again."

A gasp left her lips before a frown formed upon her brow. "You made a vow upon her death years ago?" she asked crossing her arms over her chest as if to give herself support.

"Aye." What else could he say since she spoke the truth of the matter?

A sound escaped her. "You must have been extremely young then, for you cannot be much older than my score of years."

He shrugged. "I am three and twenty."

She shuffled her foot in the dirt underneath her. "'Tis hard to believe that you would hold yourself to such a vow made not only at such a young age but also whilst grief consumed you."

"Death affects us all differently. Surely you understand given that you are also grieving," he muttered. What did it matter that he had been young when he had loved and lost Johanna? He had been well old enough to understand the pain that love could bring. What measure of fool would he be to condemn himself to that pain again? Nay, love was not for him. Though he knew he would likely wed one day, he would wed sensibly, for the benefit of his family and his empress. Love would not enter the matter.

"I am grieving for a beloved grandfather, not someone I was in love with, and therein lies the difference," she murmured in what sounded like disbelief before she continued. "But this does not lessen the death of someone you cared for. I am sorry for your loss, Reynard, and hope that you will one day learn to let love into your heart again."

"You accept my apology?" he inquired, holding out his arm again for them to continue their walk.

Blue eyes turned up to gaze upon him again, and he swore he saw a hint of disappointment in her features before a mask slid down into place. "Aye. I can also assure you that you have no need to fear that I will make another attempt at kissing you, especially knowing you still grieve for your loved one. Besides… my attempt was a complete failure."

A chuckle left him, causing her chin to lift in anger at what she must have seen as mockery. He hastened to explain. "I was not making fun of you, Elysande, only that your kiss was far from a failure. In fact, you made me forget myself… and the vow I had whilst I held you in my arms."

"I did?" she asked with wide eyes.

"Aye, you did, and if I am not careful, I might forget myself and kiss you again," he said with what he hoped sounded like a sincere heart.

She halted their progress when they reached the keep door and she placed her hand over his heart. "Until you are free from the memory of your beloved, there will be no kissing or anything else between us. I will not be a replacement for someone nor be mistaken again for another woman. I deserve more than to be regarded as second to a ghost."

"I understand," he said with a slight bow of his head knowing there would not be any further moonlit kisses coming from the lady before him. Unless he wanted a serious relationship with Elysande, he would need to allow her to move on with her life wherever it may take her.

Her smile was weak at best, but she took his arm once more when he opened the portal before them. "In the meantime, let us be friends. There are not many whom I am close to, and one can never have enough friends in their lives, do you not agree?" she declared whilst it appeared as though she forced a smile on her lips.

"Aye… friends," he choked out wondering how on earth he would remain friends with a woman. Those he came across in his past were only used for the purpose to ease his needs and not for any sort of permanent relationship. They were tavern wenches or those to be found in camp when their tents were set up near a battlefield. Aside from them, the women he had spent the most time with were the brides of his brothers. And whilst they were beautiful, remarkable women, their feelings for Wymar and Theobald had been so readily apparent from early on that he had never truly thought of them as women. To him, nearly from the start, they had been sisters. But Elysande was no sister—not at all.

Making their way inside, he followed her up the turret stairs, down a long drafty passageway, and then halted before her bedchamber door. She patted his arm and put her hand on the handle before pushing the solid wood open.

"Good eve to you, Sir Reynard," she said quietly returning to a more formal way to address him. He was not sure that he cared for the formality.

"May you sleep well, Lady Elysande," he replied with a bow.

The door closed and he rested his hand on the wood separating him from the woman who continued to surprise him. His mind flitted through their conversation until he finally turned and walked away.

Friends? With a woman? God's Bones. He was doomed!

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