Time Enough for Love Read Online Free Page A

hint of winter’s coming fury.
    Otto dismissed his bodyguards at the door of St. Peter’s Church of the Golden Ceiling, then quietly entered, dabbed his finger in the font of Holy Water, and crossed himself. He wandered about until he spotted a statue of St. Monica in a side chapel. Removing his cloak, he knelt before the statue and bowed his head in prayer, relishing the silence.
    “Blessed lady, please––”
    He jumped at the boom of the church’s bronze doors. Choosing to ignore the interruption, he returned to his prayers, knowing he couldn’t be seen from the entryway. These moments were his own and not for public display.
    Once finished, he rose and brushed off the knees of his leather breeches, then glanced casually about to see the new arrival. He stopped short when he spotted a young woman kneeling before the high altar. Shafts of sunlight bathed her in a golden radiance, which seemed meant for her alone. Her thick, blond hair hung loose, well past her waist, a gilded dream.
    The sight of such beauty jolted him, and his body flushed with a heat he hadn’t expected or experienced in years. Annoyed by such an adolescent response, he slapped at his dusty knees once more, hoping to calm his racing pulse with stern practicality. When the glimpse of her hair forced its way back into his mind, he looked again, confident the unsolicited temptation had passed.
    She knelt there still, seemingly unaware of his presence. Forcing himself to think rationally, he noted that she was of a wealthy family, by the fine fabric of her dress, by her delicate, poised figure. Her unbound hair told him she must be a virgin, unmarried, yet she seemed to be of an age to wed – his heart thumped again, like a stripling lad’s.
    Able to think of nothing more in that moment than going to her side and entwining himself in her tresses, he stood transfixed, hardly able to breathe. He let his gaze follow the lines of her bowed head, her small, square shoulders and slim, shapely hips.
    Should he inquire as to her availability? He was in need of a wife to care for the children, the household – he swallowed – and to warm his bed. Fleetingly, Otto considered leaving his hidden spot in the alcove, introducing himself, striking up a conversation to find out who she was.
    Her face, I must see her face! Otto noted a trembling of her shoulders and frowned. Does she weep? He suddenly wanted to help her, console her, and shifted on his feet, ready to spring to her aid, but decided against it and reached instead for his discarded cloak.
    A cloud blew by outside and the interior dimmed. He looked up at the windows, his thoughts broken. A pair of priests, deep in muffled conversation, passed from behind the altar and stepped through a side door. His thoughts turned back to the girl, and he glanced again in her direction, but she was gone. How could she have left so quickly? He’d heard nothing. How long had he been daydreaming?
    Otto hurried out of the shadows, bumped into her, and nearly sent her sprawling across the floor, but he was able to grasp her shoulders before she fell. “ Mein Gott! Fraulein! ”
    Her mouth dropped open when she looked at him, then she apologized in a small, breathless voice, “ Je suis désolée, mon seigneur. ”
    Holding her inches from him, he saw she was indeed young – painfully so – with eyes bluer than his own. So petite was she, he felt his hands alone could encircle her waist.
    His heart was aflame. The girl was charming. Beautiful. Timid?
    “ Mon seigneur? ” Her eyes were locked on his, unblinking.
    Was she from Frankish Gaul, or perchance Burgundy? He was intrigued by her lilting accent.
    Mouth dry, thoughts scrambling, Otto tried to find words to answer her, but none came. Her eyes sparkled deliciously. From recent tears? Mayhap not. He searched her face. A blush crept across her cheeks as he stared down at her, and he liked that the top of her head barely reached his chest.
    She lowered her chin,