The next morning, Abigail arrived at the infirmary to find the Abbess already there, examining Peter’s hands.

“You have done well, Sister Abigail,” she said with a smile. “The boy’s hands are very nearly healed. I think that he will soon be able to leave us.”

Abigail lowered her head. “Thank you, Mother Clare,” she murmured, but in truth she felt tears welling into her eyes. She spoke barely a word as she cleansed Peter’s hands, which were indeed much improved, with only a few patches of raw flesh remaining. She glanced once or twice at Peter’s face and could see that he too was painfully affected by the thought of leaving.

“Thank you, Sister Abigail,” he said as she prepared to take her leave. “Will you be back this evening as usual?”

“Yes, of course,” she mumbled, suppressing a sob, and pushed through the curtain into the main infirmary. Fortunately, the Abbess was conversing with one of the other nuns, and she was able to hurry away without risking giving away her true feelings.

~~~~~~

During the day, Abigail could think of little else but the prospect of never seeing Peter again. She had of course known that he would have to leave when his wounds were healed, but she had pushed the thought to the back of her mind. Now she was forced to confront the truth; and the strength of her emotions was so painful that she was almost physically sick. She knew that what she felt for Peter was love, and not the pure love that she had for God, or even the affection she felt for Mother Clare and some of the other nuns, but a raw, physical love that made her tingle all over. She knew that something had changed within her, something that could never be suppressed. She had sought this kind of fulfilment in God; she had found it in another human being.

~~~~~~

The look of misery on Peter’s face that evening told her everything, even before he spoke.

“Mother Clare says that tomorrow I can leave…have to leave,” he stammered, almost in tears. “She says there is nothing more that she, or you, can do for me here, and she needs this bed for another patient. Oh Abigail, what can we do?”

Abigail couldn’t speak. She just shook her head, a solitary tear running down her cheek. She sat on the bed next to him and kissed him, this time with no shame, fear or inhibition. Putting her hand between his legs, she pulled out his prick and began to fondle it as usual. As she did so, she felt his hands touching her breasts through the rough cloth of her habit. She let out a soft gasp, but his touch made her shiver delightfully. Encouraged by the fact that she hadn’t pulled his hand away, he began to squeeze them. His prick swelled up even quicker than usual in her hands, and she stroked him eagerly as his fingers stimulated her buds.

“Can I…can I see them?” he suddenly asked.

She stood and pulled up her habit and shift together, exposing not just her two swelling breasts, but the dark triangle between her legs. Peter gazed at her naked body, suddenly revealed before his eyes in all its natural beauty. He reached out and touched the bare skin of her delicate mounds, gently stroking them. His fingers brushed across the sensitive pink buds of her nipples, which became hard and pointed, just as they did when she played with them herself.

“Touch me here,” she said, taking his hand and placing it between her legs. He began to rub her soft mound, his fingers tangling in her dark hair.

“Lower,” she whispered, parting her legs slightly and guiding him to the deep, wet, private place at the junction of her thighs. One of his fingers slipped inside, and she gasped with pleasure.

She took hold of Peter’s prick and rubbed it against her breasts. The firm rod felt hot against her skin, and she tried to fix its shape and size in her mind in case she never saw it again: the smooth shiny head, the veins throbbing on the shaft, the little slit in the top through which both his piss and his seed came out. Peter began to breathe more quickly, and she rubbed his prick faster. With a stifled cry, he spent his seed. Several strings of his white ejaculate shot up and splattered over her face, the rest landing on her bare breasts and nipples. She held his softening member against her body as the liquid cooled on her skin, running down her breasts and dripping onto her thighs.

For what seemed like an eternity neither of them was able to utter a word, the only sound their breathing and the rustling of some small animal in the corner of the room.

Then Peter spoke.

“Come with me, Abigail,” he said. “I want you so much. I’d just die if I never saw you again.”

“Oh Peter, I want you as well, but I can’t. This is my life. How could I just leave?”

“We can find work,” insisted Peter. “I can get a place with another blacksmith or work in the fields. I’ll look after you.”

Abigail smiled. “I know you will. But I don’t even have any possessions. I gave them all up when I entered the convent.”

“I don’t want possessions. I just want you!”

“Even in the convent we need things to wear and to eat,” said Abigail sensibly. “And a place to live.”

“But without you I don’t want to eat or to live,” stammered Peter. “Oh Abigail, I love you!”

“Oh, Peter,” she said, hugging him tight. She could feel his heart beating against hers, his arms clasped around her, not wanting to let her go. She was afraid to speak the words. Her love was supposed to be reserved for God alone. But the feelings she felt for Peter, surely this could only be love?

She made up her mind.

“There is a door in the convent walls up by the dairy, leading to the orchards,” she explained. “No-one uses it except when it’s the season to harvest the fruit, and the key hangs on a nail on the inside. Wait among the apple-trees at midnight. If I can get away, I will be there.”

She looked earnestly into his eyes.

“Peter, I need to pray about this,” she explained. “I do want to come, but if I do, then we have to go far away. I can’t stay here, knowing I’ve abandoned my life like this. It’ll mean leaving your family too.”

Peter nodded, although she could tell from his face that he didn’t really understand.

“I’ll do anything for you, Abigail,” he insisted.

She hugged him again.

“I hope I will see you tomorrow morning before you go,” she said, “although if Mother Clare is there you must be careful not to give anything away.”

~~~~~~~

Abigail’s head was swirling as she lay in her rough bed that night, wrapped in the familiar old blanket and surrounded by the soft breathing of the other postulants. Even Dorcas was quiet tonight, no moans or giggles punctuating the silence.

She prayed over and over again to the Blessed Virgin, friend to sinners like herself, seeking any sign of guidance or forgiveness. She loved Peter, she knew that now, but could she really give up all hope of eternal salvation just for an earthly love? She knew that when she went to confession, her sins were forgiven, but she knew that the Lord looked for sincerity, and there were some things he would not forgive. Was her sin to be one of those? Had these feelings of love been sent to tempt her? The Bible was full of stories of people who had been tempted and fallen, as well as others who had resisted and won eternal life. Was the Lord tempting her as a test? What would happen were she to fail?

It was very late when she eventually drifted off to sleep, and her thoughts were still troubled.