The next morning, the Abbess stopped Abigail as they were both leaving the chapel after Matins.

“Thank you, Abigail, for all you have done for Peter,” she said warmly. “You have fully confirmed my faith in you. His recovery would not have been as quick or as complete without your dedicated care. I have just been to see him before he leaves, and he specifically asked to be given the chance to thank you one last time.”

Abigail murmured her thanks and followed the Abbess to the infirmary. Peter was standing beside his bed, clutching his meagre belongings wrapped in a piece of cloth.

“Thank you, Sister Abigail, for all that you have done for me,” he said earnestly. “I shall remember you in my prayers every week.”

“Thank you,” mumbled Abigail, looking at the floor. She was afraid that if she looked into his eyes she would lose control of her emotions.

“Maybe I will see you…in the chapel on Sunday,” he went on.

“We will both look forward to seeing you there every Sunday from now onwards,” said the Abbess, slightly tartly, as if she did not have complete faith in his good intentions. “Now I think it is time for you to go.”

“Goodbye, Abigail, and thank you again,” said Peter. And then he was gone. Abigail went to the door of the infirmary and watched as he crossed the yard to the gate, escorted by the Abbess. She wondered if he would turn back for one final look, but he didn’t. Maybe he didn’t trust himself to restrain his emotions.

~~~~~~~

The rest of the day passed slowly. The weather was unseasonably hot, and Abigail could feel herself perspiring under her habit. Each of the remaining canonical offices – Sext, None, Vespers, Compline – passed without incident, although every hour Abigail expected that one of God’s angels would appear in a blaze of light and strike her down for her sinful behaviour. But finally the hour for bed arrived, and Abigail slipped under the blanket. She had been worried that she wouldn’t be able to stay awake, but her nervous excitement made sleep impossible. She heard the Abbey clock strike ten…eleven…then finally twelve.

Abigail slipped out of bed. She dressed quickly and grabbed the meagre bundle of items to take with her. She listened, fearful that Dorcas or one of the other postulants would be awake and wonder what she was doing, but all she could hear was their steady, peaceful breathing.

She slipped out of the dormitory, crossed the courtyard, and passed behind the refectory building. After the hot day the night was still very warm, and an almost-full moon illuminated her way almost too well. She could see the dairy looming out of the darkness, the wall just beyond, with its small gate leading to the outside world and the rest of her life.

Looking around nervously, she scurried across the grass, the moon casting a pale shadow in front of her. There was the gate, and just as she had expected the key was hanging in a small alcove beside it. Her heart was beating so strongly she felt as if it would awaken the whole convent. She took it, put it in the lock, and began to turn it.

Then her courage seemed to leave her. How could she leave this community, her home? She had sworn when she entered the convent that she would dedicate her life to it and to God. How could she let down the Abbess, who had trusted her, put her faith in her? She loved Peter, she know that, but she couldn’t break her word to God.

Tears running down her cheeks, she put the key back on its hook, and turned to go back to the dormitory. But then her heart seemed to stop beating entirely. Out of the shadows stepped a hooded figure. It spoke.

“Peter is waiting for you, Abigail,” said the voice of the Abbess. “I think you should go to him.”

Abigail burst into a deluge of tears.

“I can’t go,” she wailed. “I gave my word to serve God, to dedicate my life to Him! What will He do to me?”

“He will forgive you, of course,” said the Abbess, putting her arms around Abigail and hugging her tightly. “If you open your heart to Him, He will understand. That is what He does.”

“I was afraid, Mother, that Our Lord was tempting me, as a test of my vocation. I didn’t want to fail Him, to be condemned to hellfire.”

“Even if it was a test, my child, He is a God of Love, not of vengeance. He will want you to be happy. He knows your heart and what is best for you.”

“But how did you know?” asked Abigail through her tears.

“Do you think my habit and wimple make me blind and deaf? I could tell almost at once that there was something between you and the boy. I could have stopped it, assigned another one of the Sisters to his care, but I thought it would be better to let things take their natural course. That is usually best, I find.”

Abigail sobbed and wiped her eyes. The Abbess looked at her with compassion.

“You must not weep, Sister. Our way of life is not for everyone, and it is better for you to discover this now, rather than after you have taken your final vows, for then there is no turning back. The example of Our Lady shows that the life of a wife and a mother is an honourable one, blessed and valued by Our Lord. He does not despise you for your decision, as long as you do not reject Him. Do not forget Him, and He will not forget you.”

Abigail nodded, almost unable to speak.

“Thank you, Mother,” she managed to stammer. “I will always remember you.”

The Abbess smiled.

“You talk as if we will never see you again. I expect to see you and Master Peter in the church every week without fail. I have asked the blacksmith to keep an eye on him, and there is an empty cottage in the village where you can live. But he will be waiting for you; you need to go.”

She handed Abigail a bundle.

“Take this too. It’s just a few things you’ll need: some clothes and food, a little money. Peter loves you and will look after you, but no-one can live on love alone.”

Abigail took it gratefully.

“Thank you,” she repeated, not knowing what else to say.

“Off you go, hurry now. I will lock the gate when you are gone. I send you with my blessing, and with the Lord’s”.

Abigail took the key again, opened the gate, and slipped through. She looked back once at the Abbess, then slipped into the world outside. Across the path she could see the trees of the orchard, and as she hurried across, she saw Peter step out from the shadows. She fell into his arms, and they kissed passionately, able at least to show their feelings without fear of interruption.

“Did you think I wasn’t coming?” asked Abigail at last.

“I knew you’d be here. I’d have waited all night, and then every night,” insisted Peter.

Abigail wondered if she should tell him that she’d almost turned back, but decided that was a story that could wait for another time.  

They walked together hand-in-hand through the orchard towards the village. As they came to the river that flowed past the mill, Peter pulled Abigail towards the water.

“It’s so warm,” he said. “Let’s swim.”

“I’m not sure I can remember how.”

“Don’t worry, it’s not deep. I’ll help you.”

Carefully, Abigail removed her wimple, and for the first time Peter was able to see her short-cropped fair hair. He kissed her on the lips, and she felt his hands stroking her back. Eager now, she freed herself from his embrace and pulled off her habit until she stood before him in just her shift. He pulled his shirt over his head and dragged down his breeches, revealing his prick, already hard and standing to attention. At the last moment, Abigail felt shy of removing her shift, but Peter reached over and pulled it up her body. She raised her arms to let him drag it over her head, until she stood naked before him. She could see him looking at her firm little breasts and the dark mass of hair between her legs.

He took her by the hand and led her down into the water. It was surprisingly warm, and Abigail lowered herself into the water while Peter swam out further, his bare buttocks just breaking the surface. She washed herself in the fresh water. It felt as if she were washing away her past life.

Peter came back to her and lifted her up. Abigail could feel herself blushing as he gazed at her naked body. His prick twitched, already aroused. They both knew what was going to happen, and both knew that it was right.

She was trembling slightly as he put his arms around her and pulled her towards him. His wet body felt warm against hers, and she instinctively returned his embrace. He kissed her cheek, then her mouth, and she parted her lips as his tongue eased itself between them. His hand slid up her tummy and cupped her bare breast. She whimpered as his fingers stroked over her dark nipple, making it hard, and her teeth bit down on his lip. She tasted his blood in her mouth.

His hard prick was pressed against her bare thigh. Now was the time. Abigail led Peter out of the water onto the grassy slope that led up to the meadow, and lowered herself onto the ground, pulling him with her. She parted her legs, exposing herself to his gaze, giving herself to him. The moonlight shone off their naked bodies: Abigail’s smooth, pale and untouched by the sun, Peter’s browned and muscular.

For a moment he seemed nervous, scared even, but she took hold of his prick and guided it towards the place it had to go. They were both trembling now. It hadn’t crossed her mind before, but it was possible that he had never put his prick in a woman before. He pushed it into her hairy thicket, looking for her hole. Her hand round the shaft, she guided him towards it.

She held his prick against her moist slit. Gently he pushed forward, and her soft wet folds of flesh parted to admit him. The first inch entered her easily, then he came up against her maidenhead. Abigail put her arms around him and pulled him towards her, and their lips met as his prick pushed in, splitting the little fold of skin. Abigail let out a little cry of pain, and she felt a trickle of blood run across her thigh. But Peter was fully inside her now, and he began to thrust in and out, his bollocks slapping against her thighs. Abigail’s bare breasts bounced as he established a regular rhythm, and the pain of his first insertion began to fade.  

After only a few minutes, he began to move faster, his breath coming in short pants, and Abigail guessed that his emission was at hand. She looked up into his eyes.

“I love you, Peter,” she whispered, and as she spoke, he gave one final thrust, and pushed as hard as he could into her. She sensed rather than felt that his seed was spilling into her, the thick ropes that she had previously watched spurting into the air now finding their proper home inside her.

“I love you too,” he gasped. They lay in each other’s arms for a few moments, his prick still inside her, before he withdrew. In the moonlight his softening prick glistened with its coating of secretions.

Abigail unwrapped the bundle given to her by the Abbess. Among the contents she found a plain dress, which she donned, before folding up her convent clothing for what she knew would be the last time. She took Peter’s hand and they walked together in the moonlight down towards the village. Abigail felt a new contentment. Her doubts had gone, and she knew that whatever life had in store for the two of them, she had made the right decision.