A Journey of the Heart

Sir Cimmerian found Lady Cytha’s door at the top of the staircase and pressed an ear to it. Hearing nothing past the pounding of his heart, he grasped the handle. But guilt stopped him. He acted like a robber, stealing time with her. If caught in her chamber, he would cause them both to suffer.
Removing his hand from the latch, he squeezed his eyes closed. He should turn and hurry to his tent. His feet refused to obey.
Instead, he pictured her on the other side, curled in bed. The vision tempted him. Beckoned him. For years he satisfied himself with remembered images of her face, her smile. Now she laid two steps away. He only had to open the door to have her within reach.
His hand found the latch, and before he could stop again, he pushed the door and slipped inside. Closing it without a sound, he tried to peer around the room. Her perfume scented the chamber and he took a deep breath. Unable to see much in the dark, however, he made his way to the window where bits of light peeked through.
He unfastened a shutter from the window embrasure and the blind swung out. Not wanting anyone outside alerted by its movement, he caught the shutters with his fingertips.
Enough light shone through the gap and he searched for something to stuff between the shutter and windowsill to keep it from swinging wide. Spotting her tooth cloth on a table within reach, he shoved the fabric in place. When her bedclothes rustled, he found her sitting, watching him. His heart skipped a beat.