A Knight's Vow Part 5

Julianna knew her mouth was hanging open very unattractively, but what could she do? One of the most handsome men she had ever seen was giving her the compliments of her life-never mind that he was carrying a sword, wearing her purse and clutching her Day-Timer as if he meant to do damage with it- and looking as if he might kiss her at any moment. She wasn't drooling and she wasn't hiccuping. Life was good.

William slid his hand under her hair, and Julianna felt a s.h.i.+ver go through her. She watched as he lowered his head and knew that a moment of truth was upon her. He was going to kiss her, and she suspected it was going to be the kiss of a lifetime. His lips were a half inch from hers. She closed her eyes and hoped she wouldn't embarra.s.s herself by melting at his feet.

Then he froze.

"Are you a saint?" he asked.

Julianna jerked her eyes open-it was a supreme effort to do so-and blinked at him. "Huh?"

"A saint?" he asked urgently. "d.a.m.nation, what am I thinking!"

She grabbed him before he could pull too far away. "I'm not a saint," she said. "Really. Now, where were

we?"

"I cannot kiss a saint," he said, looking faintly horrified.

"I told you, I'm no saint. Honestly."

But he had already pulled his hand out from under her hair. It was, however, still resting on her shoulder,

which, to her mind, was a very positive thing.

"I suppose not," he said slowly. "After all, saints do not swear."

"d.a.m.n straight."

"Or have such problems with their breathing."

If she could have produced a hiccup right then, she would have. It figured the one time she wanted them,

she couldn't get them. "You're so right," she said encouragingly.

"There is, however, your sacred relic sack to consider."

"It's just stuff. I wouldn't worry about it."

"And this, what did you call it?" he asked, holding up her book.

"Day-Timer," she said, searching desperately for something to get him back on track. "But look at my

hair. Any saint you know have hair like this?"

He looked but, disappointingly, didn't touch. "Nay," he admitted slowly.

"Eyes?" she said, opening them wide for his inspection. "Baby blues like this?"

He shook his head slowly, the slightest of smiles crossing his face. "Nay, my lady, I've seen none like

them."

"There you go then. I'm not a demon, an angel or a saint. Now that we've got that settled..." she trailed off meaningfully.

He kept his fingers on her shoulder and reached up with his thumb to touch her jaw. He smiled a half

smile at her. "But, if you're none of those things, then who are you?""I'm just Julianna," she said simply. Now kiss me, you big lug, and let's see if that doesn't give menew purpose in life.

"Do you know," he said conversationally, as if tracing lazy circles on her cheek and jaw wasn't the most incredibly distracting thing a man could do to a woman he'd come very near to kissing into incoherence, "that once I fancied you were a saint come to aid me in my quest?"

"Did you now?" she wheezed.

"And I hoped that something in your sack would be just what I needed to liberate my keep from my sire's vile clutches."

"Sorry," she managed. "Unless you'd like to clobber them with my Cole Haans-um, the shoes with the

spikes," she clarified.

He continued to stroke. "I can think of no other being but a saint who would appear from nowhere, without kin or husband. You haven't any gear as well."

"It's a long story."

He looked at her in silence for a moment or two.

Then he began to frown. Julianna watched the doubt develop in his face, and she had no idea how to

stave it off.

"I do not believe," he said finally, "that the Future could spit out one of its own and land her at my keep.

In spite of what you carry in your sack."

Julianna swallowed with more difficulty than she would have liked. He might have still been caressing her

face, but somehow the skepticism in his expression had turned to something very unyielding. She

wondered if this was the expression his victims were treated to before he put them to the sword.

"You can," she managed with as much sincerity as she could, "believe what you like, but it doesn't change the truth of it."

"It makes no sense.""I know."He pursed his lips. " 'Tis that b.l.o.o.d.y vow I made. I think I've conjured you up because of it. I never should have let that daft priest bind me to any rescues."

"Well," she said, feeling a little flat all of a sudden, "you don't have to keep it."

He jerked back as if she'd slapped him. "Not keep my vow? My honor rests upon it!"

"Oh," she said, "well, then. But why did you make it in the first place?"

" 'Tis a very long tale," he said, stepping away from her and fumbling with her bag. He managed to get the

zipper open, her Day-Timer inside, and the zipper closed again with only a minor s.h.i.+ver or two. He looked at her and shook his head. "You may be no demon, my lady, but your gear is pa.s.sing strange."

"It's-"

"Future gear," he finished for her. "Aye, aye, I know."

"Tell me about your castle," she said, aiming for a distraction. All right, so she'd lost out on the kiss of a lifetime. She'd never get close to having another one if he kept looking at her like she'd just slithered up

from h.e.l.l for a visit.

"I was in France," he began, "leading a very pleasant, if purposeless existence, when I received word from my uncle, Henry of Artane-Have you heard of him?"

She shook her head.

"Ah, well, perhaps Manhattan is a little more primitive than I suspected-"

Julianna watched as he took her hand in his and turned her back toward the chapel. It was such an ordinary thing, holding hands with a man. Yet, somehow, the feeling of his warm, callused hand holding hers was possibly the most singularly amazing thing she'd ever felt.

"He bid me come back to England to claim an inheritance my grandsire had left me," William continued. "It should have gone to my sire first, of course, but he being the wastrel he is, could not possibly have held it. The saints only know where my older brother is, but I suspect that he's currently loitering beneath a dripping ale spigot. That left only me. I suspect that when my father learned of my uncle's intentions, he was pa.s.sing furious."

Julianna looked up at him as he talked and wondered with even more amazement how it was that she was walking through the woods, holding hands with a man who spoke Norman French as easily as if it had been his first language-which it was. And when he apparently wasn't sure she understood something, he would repeat it in Middle English, just as easily as you pleased.

She was suddenly very grateful for all those hours spent studying. Who would have thought it would have become so necessary to her survival?

"Of course, the keep wasn't promised to be in perfect condition. I daresay, though, that 'twas the best my grandsire could have in good conscience offered me. He had six sons, you see, and that many more grandsons, as well as girl children, so there is only so much land to go around, never mind his great wealth. I felt fortunate to have been offered anything at all."

Fiefs, peasants, swords and inheritances. Julianna listened, shook her head and wondered just how in the world she was supposed to fit into all this. Or was she? Was she supposed to try to get back home?

"I suspect that my grandsire felt that if I had some land under my feet, I might turn my mind to other things, namely getting myself a wife and an heir-"

That brought her out of her reverie. "You're engaged?" she demanded. "Betrothed?"

"Betrothed? Saints, nay." Then he looked at her sharply. "You?"

"No," she said. She wanted to believe he looked relieved at that fact. But why should she care? She wanted a good job, travel and life in the fast lane. What could possibly be appealing about a man, a home and a family?

Besides just about everything?

She considered. If she found herself making a home and family with this man, she could use all her language skills. She could probably even use her metalworking skills. She certainly didn't see a blacksmith hanging around as part of William's entourage. She'd made jewelry before. Couldn't she parlay that into a little sword-making?

Now, the cartooning was a bust, but she could live with that, couldn't she? Then again maybe she could start her own newspaper with spoofings of the current monarch taking up serious front-page s.p.a.ce. Roasting the monarch could possibly lead to a roasting of oneself so she was back to cartooning being a bust.

"... Of course, I was very surprised to find my own gates barred against me, and my sire no doubt reclining upon his sorry a.r.s.e in my chair. I had just made my vow-for vow-making is very much a part of my family, you see-and was preparing to scale the wall when I happened upon you."

"Looking less than my best."

"Aye, my lady, you were pa.s.sing pungent." He sighed. "Now you have my poor tale and see why I thought perhaps you had come to aid me."

"I wish I could," she said.

He gave her a little smile. "It matters not. I can see to it myself."