Tori Phillips Read Online Free Page A

flagstones. The sun’s rays fell with welcome warmth on his chilled skin and robe, still damp from the rain of the day before. Guy moved stiffly across the cloister toward a low gate. A day spent tending the monastery’s herb garden would be good for both his sore body and his troubled mind. He wished Father Jocelyn had let him wear a hair shirt while he prayed on the chapel floor. Its rough discomfort might have banished the visions of deep violet eyes and flowing black hair that had danced through Guy’s meditations during his nocturnal penance. He hoped the troubling lady was gone by now—on her way to wherever it was. Anywhere but here at Saint Hugh’s.
    Silver, rippling laughter brought Guy to an abrupt halt. His heart skipped its normal rhythm and strained against the confines of his chest. No member of Saint Hugh’s Priory laughed with such crystal sweetness, not even the youngest choirboy. Stepping back into the shade of a pillared archway, Guy peered over Brother Timothy’s prized rosebushes. Seated on a stone bench not ten feet away, the temptress who had plagued his prayers now toyed with Jeremiah, the kitchen’s ill-tempered cat.
    “La, puss-puss,” the lady crooned, stroking the sensitive whiskers of the black-and-white mouser with a long piece of straw. “What a fine, handsome fellow you arel”
    The cat’s docile behavior surprised Guy. He sucked in his breath when he saw the lady lean over and pick up the overfed creature. Guy tensed, expecting Jeremiah to lash out with his claws bared.
    “Truly, you would make an admirable knight, if cats could wear armor,” she continued, settling him on her lap. “You are such an elegant puss-puss,” she continued in admiring tones, her fingers moving through Jeremiah’s thick fur in long, even strokes.
    Guy shivered as he watched her graceful hands. Should he warn her of the cat’s irascible nature? Yet that would mean he would have to speak to her again, to look into those beguiling eyes once more. The short encounter of yesterday had been enough to send his thin defenses crashing down.
    Perhaps it would be best for the sake of Guy’s troubled soul if the cat did scratch the girl. Then she would go away, or at least leave the cloister rose garden. Only a little scratch would do — the merest swipe. Not enough to draw blood, nor to injure her creamy skin. Just a suggestion of a scratch. Perhaps only the sight of a half-open talon. Guy bit back his alarm as the lady, heedless of the risk she took, swung Jeremiah over her shoulder and draped him around her neck like a fur collar.
    “See, mon chat?” The lady picked up a small book, bound in dark blue leather, that had been lying on the bench beside her. “You would look most magnificent, I think, if you were dressed as the Knight of the Loyal Heart.” Absently, she rubbed Jeremiah behind his ears. “See this picture? You would wear the helm of the winged heart most nobly, oui?”
    Closing his eyes, the cat nudged his head against the palm of her hand. Guy could almost hear the creature purring. Perhaps Jeremiah was befuddled by her French. Maybe he had never been this close to a woman before. In any event, he wasn’t acting normally. In fact, the cat looked as if he had found paradise within the dark tresses that peeped from under the lady’s sheer veil. Guy trembled with indignation, though he could not tear his gaze away from the simple domestic scene in front of him. That woman—nay, that chit of a girl—was the devil’s handmaiden, brought here to seduce the souls of this community of celibates. She even wove her witchcraft on the bellicose Jeremiah!
    “La, dearest cat, you would save the poor damsel, Sweet Grace, from the evil power of the awful sorceress Denial, wouldn’t you?” The lady rubbed her cheek against the cat’s fur, as she turned to another page in her book and held it up for Jeremiah’s inspection. Even at a distance, Guy could see the exquisite detail of the illustration,