Disclaimer: This is not mine. Ivanhoe (characters and plot) belong to Sir Walter Scott and A&E and who knows who else.
Author Note _ I don't have a copy of Ivanhoe in front of me so I may spell the characters' names wrong. Sorry.
I might have loved Bois de Guilbert - but I couldn't.
My heart was filled with images of Wilfred of Ivanhoe. His courage, his nobility of soul, the aura of goodness surrounding him, and of course his youth and good looks, these were the qualities I recollected when chastising myself for loving a Christian. How could I not love Ivanhoe? I told myself that although our love was doomed, it was right I should admire and adore such a knight.
At first Bois de Guilbert was obsessed and it was easy to refuse him. I loved Ivanhoe. He loathed him. If he could win my heart away, he would triumph. The abduction and the threats of violence did naught to terrify me. I believed I would be rescued. The games of chess, the discussions, his frustration, and his rejoicing over an involuntary smile, those things terrified me. I enjoyed this dark knight's company. The Templar understood me as perhaps no one ever had, and as no one probably ever will.
Do you see the danger, the true threat to my peace of mind? Yes, I still loved Ivanhoe. But added to that love, another part of my heart was softening towards my jailer. What a predicament. He wanted me because I would not yield. If I yielded, he could scoff and claim his prize worthless. He loved me for my goodness, for my unswerving stance. If I swayed, if I admitted how precious the hours spent arguing, baring eachother's souls, I would be a different Rebecca, and on he did not love.
I didn't deliberate on this – not until we were discovered. I turned down his offer of marriage and books easily. My reasons were simple: my faith and my love for another. It was easy defying him when he set the stakes.
The Grand Master made me realize how I cared for Bois de Guilbert. The knight's futile defense of me, his fear for me, showed me the man he could be. I demanded trial by combat because, I trusted him. I believed him – and for a moment I thought he would be my champion. At last I was yielding.
And then they demanded that this knight, who had so dangerously succumbed to my charms, fight against me, and use his strength to see me roasting in the flames. Poor man - his every plan thwarted.
He offered me his honour. He would let himself be beaten in battle. I couldn't let him do that. We were fighting not for our lives but for our souls. If he compromised himself again, what would be left for him. My love, won at such a price would be no compensation for his loss. I had to reject him. I had to be cold, and unmoved. I had to hope for Ivanhoe to champion me. Ivanhoe risked only his life and future.
Ivanhoe bested Bois in combat. I stood there, tied to the stake, and nodded for Ivanhoe to complete the deed, to kill Bois de Guilbert. Yes. I had been rescued by a man I loved. Happiness – even if I could never be with Ivanhoe. And yet, a man who I understood even as he understood me to the marrow of my bones, the fiber of my being, that man was dead. I had lost Bois de Guilbert because I couldn't let him be other than himself, and I could not be other than who I am.