A Knight's Vow Part 21

He reached out his hand to her. "I do not wish to frighten you."

She took another step back. "Nay, you did not. But, but..." she stammered, "you must not..."

"Why must I not? Are you promised?"

"Yes," she said.

Against all reason, his heart plummeted. He should have known. She'd been kind to a stranger, nothing

more. He bowed formally. "I am most sorry, mistress. I did not intend to offend you."

"I must go," she said.

"I must needs more lessons."

"A smile," she said. "That is all you need."

But he needed a great deal more and knew it.

"Meet me here tomorrow." It was a command rather than a question. "One more time."

She looked startled.

Finally, she nodded and turned.

"Your name?" he asked.

But she was gone, speeding through the trees. He knew if he went after her, she might never return. She

had gifted him with her time. But it was on her terms.He'd never been good at accepting another's terms.Now he knew he must. Or he might never see her again.That was a thought he could not accept.

four.

Lynet knew she could not return to her special place in the woods.

Her world changed the moment he had touched her. It was as if she'd been branded. Except the pain was an exquisite pain. No man had ever touched her so intimately before. She had not expected the tremors it caused, nor the heat that coursed through her.

She had not expected that it would turn the world upside down.

And he had done that.

Just his very appearance had started her world swirling, then the sound of his strong-yet uncertain- voice had deepened the longing within her. She had not recognized it before. She had thought herself content. At least until her father had decreed marriage.

She knew nothing of him except he was a soldier. And she hated violence. Her family had lived on the sword's edge these past decades, balancing between loyalties to the red rose and the white rose. Neighbors who had made the wrong choices had lost their lands. And their heads.

She had lingered much too long. She'd allowed herself to be drawn into his spell. She always considered herself practical and yet she found herself doing extremely impractical things. She should never have come here this morning. She should never have let him touch her.

Her body felt different, just because of that one caress.

It felt alive.

And it terrified her.

She had made promises.

Any feelings for the stranger, she a.s.sured herself, were only a lie, a reaction to her father's ultimatum. But she knew if she had stayed, she would have succ.u.mbed to his touch, to the magic that somehow wove around them.

He was a soldier and a wanderer. Mayhap he even had a family tucked away somewhere. Most certainly a woman. There was a certainty about him, an air of authority that placed him above the common soldier, at least those she had seen accommodated at Clenden. And he'd been clean, his body smelling like soap and leather.

He was different from anyone she had ever met. She did not even know his name, ever though they had shared quiet moments both yesterday mom and this one. In truth, she had never before enjoyed a man's company as she did with her would-be troubadour. Whimsically, she thought about the names he might go by. John, most likely. That was the most common name.

But he was anything but common. Gareth, mayhap, or Banning. Bryce. All those names conjured images of strength.

She neared the castle and knew once again she was late, too late, she suspected, to slip in unnoticed on her fine horse. For a moment she thought about going back and exchanging her mare for the stranger's nag, but then there would be a search for Bridie and the stranger would most likely be hanged. He probably would be anyway, if he remained lurking about. He had obviously disregarded her warnings.

And yet he'd seemed to step out of nowhere yesterday morning. Like a ghost.

He was no ghost. A ghost didn't burn skin where he touched, nor did he smell of woods and soap and leather. He didn't play the lute and sing in a pleasantly deep voice. A ghost didn't make a heart thump harder. At least not pleasantly.

By the saints, but she was sounding like a woman in a poem, not a flesh and blood person with obligations.

She went into the woods on the fringe of the castle and tied her horse there. She could slip unnoticed into the bailey, and Selwyn could fetch the mare later. At least she hoped she could slip by unnoticed. It would be a disaster if she ran into any of the visiting lords. She reached the gate and knocked on it. William peered out at her, then let her in.

Lynet smiled at him as she went through the gate.

"Yer horse, my lady?"

"Selwyn will fetch him. I lost track of time and thought it easier to come in this way."

William nodded his agreement. It would be his hide as well as hers if the lord knew he had been letting her ride every morning. In return, she'd often slipped him pastries from the kitchen and even some of the castle's finer wine instead of the coa.r.s.e ale usually provided the soldiers.

And then she saw Robert, Earl of Kellum. He was mounted with several other men, including Manfield and Wickham. She glimpsed the huntsman and several dogs running excitedly beside him. A hunting party. Her father was not with them, but that was not surprising. His gout made it difficult for him to mount and ride.

Grateful that no one noticed a small lad, she ducked behind the kitchen that was located in the lower bailey, separate from the main building. She hoped they would not see Bridie. Or the stranger. Dear saints in heaven. The stranger. She had to reach him before they did and tell him to leave the forest The dogs would undoubtedly pick up his scent, and he could be seized as a trespa.s.ser or, worse, poacher.

He could hang.

She waited until the hunting party thundered out of the gates. Then she ran over to William. "I must leave again," she said. "Selwyn is busy and there is no one to fetch Bridie."

William hesitated. "Wha' should I say if my lord asks if you have left?"

"Tell him I said I had his permission," she said. "I should not want you to get in trouble."

He gave a long, resigned sigh.

But he opened the gate. She ran out. She could no longer see the hors.e.m.e.n.

Her heart pounded. Could she reach the stranger in time?

Duncan knew he should leave. He had no reason to remain by the sparkling stream and the pool itformed. No reason at all. Yet he was loath to go. He could still hear the music, still see the slow,delighted smile on his companion's face as he'd hummed along with her. The gra.s.s was bent where shehad sat, and her music still echoed in the woods.

She might well be a sorceress, if he believed in such things. She was like a wood sprite, a fairy, appearing out of nowhere. He'd almost followed her this time but feared, if he did, she might disappear forever and not return.

Why had he not persisted in obtaining her name?

He'd been bewitched. That was the only explanation. He'd never been at a loss before. He couldn't remember a time when he hadn't been in control. But after a few moments with this young woman, he'd been reduced to a stammering schoolboy.

Even now he didn't wish to move.

The sound of baying hounds shattered the peace. He moved then. He did not want to be caught here. If so, he would have to reveal his ident.i.ty if he weren't hanged immediately. Even then, he doubted anyone would believe him. A marquis disguised as a wandering gypsy?

Even if he could convince someone, the results could still be disastrous. The story would travel throughout England. The Marquis of Worthington traveling as a poor, inept minstrel. He would become a laughingstock and all of England would think him mad. He would be considered daft at best, a lunatic at worse. He wouldn't blame Henry for taking back the estates.

He went over to the nag. She certainly couldn't outrun hounds, but he might have a small surprise for them. He had not antic.i.p.ated this exactly, but he always carried a portion of mustard with him. It was used by many households to disguise the taste of salted meats and spoiled poultry. He hadn't known where he would be staying or what he would be eating, and mustard concealed any number of sins.

He looked in his saddlebags and found the pouch. He sprinkled it over the area, then mounted and guided the horse into the water. It was shallow though swift. The mustard would distract the hounds, the water would then mask any lingering scent. He couldn't go downstream toward the road. The hounds were coming from that direction. He would have to go upstream, follow the hill. He turned his horse toward the hills and tightened his thighs to speed her up. The horse moved into an awkward trot, kicking water up his hose and ill-fitting shoes. He made the crest of the hill just in time. He heard the triumphant bay of the dogs, then confused yapping. He smiled to himself and slowed the horse, but continued to put distance between himself and the other riders.

Lynet had been prepared to throw herself upon the stranger to save him. She'd been convinced he would be apprehended by now, and she would have to reveal herself. It would be humiliating, and she knew it could ruin her. Admitting she knew a vagabond musician, had even met with him alone, would destroy any chance of a good marriage. She would, no doubt, be sent to that nunnery her father had threatened.

But if she saved a life, it would be well worth it.

Her father was tolerant and treated his tenants better than most. But he did not tolerate poaching. He had turned others over to the sheriff for the crime, particularly in the last few years when thieves seemed to be everywhere. The by-product of a civil war, her father said, and good people could not tolerate it.

She didn't know how the stranger was supporting himself, or eating. He had had the one coin, but his horse was as pitiable as any she'd ever seen. It must have been his last coin, and he'd been desperate enough to make a living that he had offered it to her. Therefore, he might well have been poaching.

She heard the baying stop, and then the confused yipping and barking that meant the hounds had lost the trail of whatever-or whoever-they were following. She turned, then considered what she'd heard. The animals had been on the trail of a quarry. She knew that. What stopped them?

Had they found him? Or had they merely been outfoxed by their quarry?

She decided to circle around the riders, then follow the stream through the hills. If she found him, she would make sure he was safe. She would give him the locket she wore underneath her tunic. The locket had been a rare gift from her father, but was not a life more important?

It was made of gold and would be worth something to him. She would convince him to leave.

She met the creek far above the riders. She knew if the hounds had lost the scent he must have come this way. The riders, she hoped, would give up on this particular quarry and look for something else. Not that they would find much. This entire area had been well hunted by troops during the civil war. First the Yorks, then the Lancasters.

She hoped her father was not worried about her. If he were, she doubted whether he would openly search for her. He would not want anyone to believe her a disobedient daughter, who might also be a disobedient wife. She had wished many times that she had been the son he'd had wanted so desperately, both for his sake and her own. She could not even imagine the freedom of being a man.

Like the minstrel. He could go anywhere he wished. Envy filled her mind.

She watched the sides of the creek, looking for signs of a rider emerging from its bank. She was so intent on the ground that she nearly fell from the saddle when another rider appeared.

She saw the thin white legs of the nag first, then her gaze moved upward. The saddle was worn, but he

sat it easily. She had not seen him on horseback before, and she realized immediately that he was not

unused to it. He sat in the saddle like a man born to it.

His cap was pulled down over his eyes and his lips had a wry twist to them. "I thought I outwitted them,"

he said.

"You did. But I knew you were there, and they didn't know what the dogs were after.""Why did you come back?"To save you? As she looked at him, she suddenly realized how foolish that was. Even on the swayback mare, he looked every part the lord. He looked at ease, even, mayhap, a little amused. Nothing at all like a man being hunted.

"I... was afraid for you."Something changed in his eyes. He moved his horse toward her and reached out a hand to take hers. "I... have been a soldier for ten years," he said. "I've fought in Europe, and I've fought too many of mycountrymen. I know well how to look after myself."

Lynet suddenly felt foolish. And yet fear had burned inside her.

"And no young woman," he continued, "has ever worried about me before." There was something oddly poignant about the words, about the sudden discordant vulnerability she thought flashed through his eyes.

Tension leapt between them, filling the air with expectancy. She felt the throb of her heartbeat grow stronger. The sound reverberated through her body.

She started to back her horse away. His touch was like a torch against her skin. The air seemed to still.

"I will go then," she said, knowing that every moment she stayed would make it that much harder to meet

him again. The thought of never seeing him again was unbearable.