n his fancy.

He had thought about holding her breasts through her gown, then putting
his hand on the warm, soft flesh, had thought about lying beside her in
her bed, both of them nude. He had even, one cool night, allowed himself
to imagine entering her body and lying very still, clasped inside her.

The ultimate act of l'amour courtois, this had been quite beyond his
power of self-restraint with the women who played at courtly love with
him in Paris. The way Sophia excited him, it was even less likely that
he could hold himself back while remaining inside her for hours, as a
true courtly lover was expected to do.

And now Sophia went over to the very bed he had imagined, and perched on
it. The frame of the canopied bed was high above the floor, and when
Sophia sat on it her feet dangled prettily, reminding Simon how much
shorter than he she was. The sight of her on the bed made him tremble,
frightened by his own passion. There was no one here to protect this
innocent girl from him, except himself.

"Sit with me," she said, patting the coverlet beside her. He knew that
the best way to protect her was to go nowhere near her. But he wanted
desperately to sit beside her, to feel her hand in his again, to put his
arms around her.

_But if I take her in my arms, on her very bed, how can I stop myself?_

Still, she had invited him to sit with her, and an invitation from his
lady was a command.

He had intended to sing a love song to her. He had not the skill at
making poetry to be a troubadour, but he had a good tenor voice, and he
had learned dozens of troubadour songs early in life from Roland. He had
sung them before he understood what they meant, because he liked the
sound of them.

He bowed and went to the bed. He sat as far from her as possible.

"Will you let me sing for you?"

When she smiled, he noticed, dimples appeared in her cheeks. "Oh, that
would be a pleasure. But softly, please. We do not want to rouse my
uncle's servants."

Softly, then, he sang.

My love is the flower that opens at morning,
That greets with her petals the radiant sun,
Yet methinks 'tis not she who lives by the sun,
But the sun gives its light so my lady may shine.

Sophia's smile was itself sunny as he finished the first verse. She
leaned back, putting her hands out behind her on the bed, and closed her
eyes as he sang the second and third. When he began the fourth verse,
she drew closer to him till their le