Fulk The Reluctant. Elaine Knighton

she saw him as the source of her torment. He, who had kissed away many a tear from many a delicate cheek…

      Without considering the consequences he put his arms about her. Jehanne cried out and struggled, but he merely tightened his embrace, though his forearm still hurt. He could feel her ribs through her clothing, and guilt panged at what he had put her through, under siege.

      Slowly her resistance ebbed, though her trembling continued. She rested stiffly, her cheek to his shoulder, her eyes squeezed shut. A tear dripped onto his gauntlet, reflecting the bright sky for a moment before it soaked into the leather.

      Silence lay thick about them, but for their breathing.

      Jehanne looked up at Fulk, anguish shadowing her eyes. “Forgive me, sir, I know not what came over me. I am weary…and foolish. I—I thought when we agreed to a pretense, it would take the form of polite words and pleasantry. I did not expect to be kissed. I did not know how very little I could stand….” Her voice faded away into a whisper.