Horticultural Happenstance...

And they say men don’t grow on trees!

The clouds shuffled back slowly like a sleeper reluctantly parting with a blanket. One sleeper, however, was already awake, watching contentedly as the breaking cloud created a pink and orange patchwork across the morning sky. Instead of the usual sight of frost hanging grimly to branch and leaf a pleasant breeze drifted off the nearby stream and through the open window.

Bare feet tapped impatiently on the tiled floor and a streak of impulsiveness caused a hand to reach out for an uncomfortably scratchy woollen habit. Pulling it directly over her thin shift the watcher crept out of the dormitory careful to avoid disturbing her fellow sleepers. Those bare feet directed her automatically to the garden, where she paused, smiling and humming a soft reply to the stirrings of birds and curling her toes in the verdant softness.

The breeze stirred across her neck and she self-consciously raised a hand. She had still not grown used to her shorn hair. The uneven lengths curled about her face and inadvertently drew attention towards her unusual violet hued eyes and the full bloom of her lips. Hacking off the long braid had been the result of angry impetuousness, as had been her decision to take the veil.

Ruefully she acknowledged to herself that as with most decisions throughout her life she had acted in haste. The cloistered life was not one for which she was well suited, but regardless in a few days she would take the vows that would bind her to these stone walls. Perhaps in time, she reasoned, her nature would adapt to the strictures of the convent. Wildly following fleeting passions had after all only caused her trouble. And there were other benefits, for a woman could safely seek an education here, where otherwise she would be forbidden or persecuted.

The familiar rows of plants blurred before her eyes as she rehearsed once more the reasons for settling in the convent. A particularly fragrant blossom, however, caused her to stop and admire the delicate ruffled edges of its petals. It was then that her attention was snagged by something curiously foot-shaped. Upon second and third inspection as she drew closer she ascertained that it was indeed a foot. A fourth and fifth examination reassured her that it was connected to an entire body. And finally she noted with a certain amount of feminine interest that it was in fact a well-formed male body.

She blinked uncertain how she was meant to react to the unexpected male presence within a convent. Should she cry out and fetch the abbess? Or should she faint in maidenly shock? Quickly discarding both ideas as utterly ridiculous she bent over the strange apparition and checked his pulse as she had once read in the single Galen manuscript owned by the convent. Rocking back on her heels she frowned and then poked the body with a broken twig. After all she had only got halfway through Galen.

The body elicited a groan and then some particularly colourful curses which would have sent the matronly abbess into apoplectic shock. After what she felt was a decent amount of time had passed, in which the stranger had still not opened his eyes, her curiosity was unable to be restrained any longer.

“Why are you in our garden?” The rather blunt question caused one eye to peek open quickly before closing again on another groan. Clearly he had not been prepared for an audience. Abruptly she realised that he might in fact be injured and asked solicitously though not entirely sincerely, “Do you need any help?” For a moment she thought he had fallen unconscious again but eventually he replied with eyes still firmly shut.

“I’m just waiting for the world to stop tilting quite so violently.”

“Oh.” She said uncertainly but still feeling like she ought to say something.

“These leaves are damn prickly.” He continued.

“Perhaps then you should have fallen unconscious on a more comfortable plant.” She responded tartly.

“Why anyone would think you didn’t care for my well being.” He said with mock outrage.

“I don’t know you, but I know my plants. I grew these from tiny seedlings. Hours of attention annihilated by your heavy backside, so you’ll forgive me if I’m not more attentive to your grievous wounds.” His deep laugh reached the warmth of his brown eyes, which were suddenly fixed on her face. As she looked down at him, her stomach fluttering under the intensity of his gaze, she realised mournfully that once again trouble had managed to find her.