ch
difficulty, excited him. Holding himself back from her was going to be
painful, but delightfully so. And think of the ecstasy when at last they
were united.

Sophia released a long sigh and brought the palms of her hands down on
her knees with a slap of finality. "So be it, Simon. You will teach me
the ways of courtly love, and I will do my best to be your--what did you
call it?"

"Mi dons. My lord."

Her teeth flashed white in the candlelight, and her lips glistened.
Simon's own lips burned to taste hers.

"How strange. As if I were the man. Ah, but you are very much a man,
Simon, and you make me feel very much a maiden."

Simon turned and went to the window. The night air blew through the
gauze curtains, and he felt a wonderful aliveness all over his body. He
wondered whether Alain, out there in the dark somewhere, could see him
here in the window. He pushed the curtain aside so Alain, if he was
there, could get a good look and know that his seigneur was safe and
happy.

Dawn must still be hours away. What would he tell Alain about what
transpired this night? The truth, assuredly. But would Alain believe
him? And if he did, would he mock Simon for not bedding Sophia?

No, Alain would understand. He respected the good in men and women as
much as Simon did. Which was why they were friends as well as lord and
vassal.

Sophia stood beside him and put her hand on his shoulder.

"You cannot stand there all night, Simon. Come back and sit down."

He bowed. "As mi dons commands." He let her take his hand and draw him
away from the window.

There was one chair in the room, and he took it. Foolish to expose
himself to temptation by sitting beside her on the bed again. The chair
was straight, with a tall back and no arms. The only touch of comfort in
its rectilinear shape was a cushion laid upon its seat. Sophia smiled
and shrugged and sat again on her bed.

Would she let him spend the night? Whenever he had been all night with a
woman, they had made love. Should he sing to her again? Would she want
to sleep? He pictured himself watching over her while she slept, perhaps
kneeling by her bedside, and the beauty of it thrilled him.

Now he remembered something she had said earlier, that he had accused
her of kissing him _only to further my uncle's plots against the
Tartars_. She was aware, then, of what Ugolini was doing.

_She has no idea how much she revealed to me._

He sang another troubadour song, "Whit