A Knight's Vow Part 16

The minstrel, a gypsy who had appeared just days ago, started to play, the sound of his lute drowned by the increasingly loud voices. But in fleeting moments, the sound drifted over to him and Duncan knew the voice was good. Not as fine as Rhys's, though. For a moment he thought back to those lulls between battles both in England and on the continent. Rhys had the Welsh love of music, and he'd taught Duncan how to play. They'd done so privately, Duncan not wanting to be thought soft by his men. But his soul had grabbed at it, like a drowning man reached for a branch to save himself. With the exception of his mother, who had been a gentle but distant figure, he'd known little but training and war for more years than he wanted to remember.

He wished he were playing that lute, rather than feeling the fool sitting amidst a ruinous manor beset by the oddest a.s.sortment of prospective brides he'd ever seen.

Lucifer's horns, but he'd rather face a hostile army. At least he knew the proper responses there.

His attention ran back down the table to his current guests. They included three barons, two earls and one marquis, all of whom wanted to improve their lot. Among them were seven marriageable daughters. And this was the second lot.

Blasted rules of hospitality. He would like to toss all of them out, but then in this political atmosphere, one needed all the allies one could find. Insulting daughters was not the way to win them.

A flash of brilliance suddenly struck him. A messenger from the king. A summons to the court. Of course, the court would be every bit as bad as this situation. The word most likely had traveled far and wide, and he would be deluged there, too, by prospective in-laws who would see little but his purse. And his status as a favorite of the new king. G.o.d knew he had fought for him long enough.

He wondered whether any woman would want him for himself, and not his wealth. Whether he could find a gentle soul who would not tremble at his reputation.

The earl on his left asked him to tell the company of the Battle of Bosworth, the one that saw the death of one king and placed a crown on another. It was 'a transparent attempt to give Duncan a chance to boast. Boasting was the last thing he wanted to do. He was sick of battle, of the noise and the smoke and the smells. He wanted to forget-not remember-the dead men who would never go home and the maimed ones who'd lost any chance of a decent life.

Shades of Lucifer, he wanted peace. Peace with a woman who didn't fear him or desire his wealth.

His eyes went to the minstrel again and a thought tickled his mind. He could play a pa.s.sable song on the lute and the viele. He could even sing. He only knew songs of war and battle, but surely they would be in demand.

Days-even weeks-of being invisible was an irresistible thought. He could take measure of the young ladies without fearing they wanted him for all the wrong reasons.

He had been gone more than ten years. Only those in the immediate area would recognize him. If he traveled north...

The more he thought about it, the more appealing the idea. He even smiled. Twenty faces smiled back at him. Not one, he judged, with sincerity.

Only Rhys was to be trusted. He and the men who had fought for the Tudor cause for so many years. Rhys could stay and take care of the estates, particularly the cleaning of the castle He wanted them in good condition when he brought home a bride. One that wanted him for himself. If, indeed, such a person existed.

Lady Lynet Hampton of Clenden stared at her father. "You cannot mean it."

George, the Earl of Clenden, drew himself up to his full height, the one indication of his determination. He usually slouched, stammered, and shambled his way across a room. He was lovably incompetent at almost everything. Well-meaning but ineffectual. Lynet had always wrapped him around her finger.

But not this time. "You have two sisters, gel, who want husbands. None of them can wed until you do. It is time for you to make a decision."

"They can marry... I can stay and take care of you."

He looked at her gla.s.sily, and she knew he had taken courage from brandy. "Your mother says they cannot wed until you do. You are ruining their chances, my girl."

"There is no one..."

"That is why I am inviting three men who have asked to call upon you. By the end of the fortnight, you

will choose one." He blinked rapidly. "And you will be charming and spend time with each of them. You will not steal away."

She wanted to defy him. She probably would have, had she not known how much it would hurt him. As

resentful as she was at his edict, she knew he wanted only the best for her, and he'd been ill lately. She knew he was determined because he believed it the best for her.

"Who did you invite?" she asked.

"The Viscount Wickham, Lord Manfield and the Earl of Kellum," he said, obviously encouraged by her question. "They are all young," he added hopefully.

She knew Wickham and Kellum. Wickham was in his early twenties, an attractive but callow fellow who thought of nothing other than hunting, unfortunately more for the sport than for the food. Kellum, on the other hand, liked little but himself. He was always preening in the steel mirror.

She didn't even want to think of the third.

Why couldn't everyone just let her alone with her music and books? She would be entirely happy that

way. She didn't want a marriage built on necessity, like that of her parents. Her mother was a scold, and her father ignored his wife as much as possible. They suffered each other and nothing more.

She did not want to go through her life like that. But neither did she want to wound her father.

"Papa, what if I don't find someone I can abide?" She didn't even think of love as a possibility.

He looked profoundly unhappy. "Then your mother says you should be sent to a convent." He took her

hand. "I must have an heir, my daughter. I have not been feeling well, and..."

And she was the oldest daughter of three. There were no sons.

"I will try," she agreed, not knowing what else to do.

He beamed. "I knew you would. They are fine men. All of them."

A lump formed in her throat. She knew she and her sisters were a disappointment. He'd tried not to

show it, but the odd wistful observation about this young man or another gave him away. And Lynet knew she was her father's favorite. She loved her two younger sisters, but neither of them had ever had a moment's serious thought.

"I really will try," she said again. And she would. She would put away her lute and her dreams and do her duty.

Rhys regarded Duncan with horror. "You are daft, my lord."

Rhys was the only person who would so address him. He had the right, since he'd saved Duncan's life more than once. It mattered naught that Duncan had done the same for Rhys.

"You yourself told me I would make a good troubadour."

"I was flattering you."

"Then you believe I could fail?"

"Aye."

"And that I cannot play the viele?"

"Aye," Rhys insisted determinedly. "You know naught but battle songs. You know nothing of the songs

young ladies desire.""You can teach me.""This is madness, my lord. You cannot ride alone. You have too many enemies.""No one will recognize a simple gypsy minstrel.""They may not recognize who you are, but they certainly will know what you are. You wear arrogance like a cloak."

"You forget the time I was a spy."

"And I had to rescue you when you insulted a general."

Duncan drew up to his formidable height. "He deserved to be insulted," he said defensively. "In fact, he

was too stupid to even know he was being insulted."

"You do not make a good servant."

Duncan decided to ignore the observation. "I want to borrow your lute and viele."

"Nay."

"You are my liege man. What is yours is mine."

"Really, my lord?" Rhys said with unimpressed boredom.

"Saints be saved, Rhys, do you not want me to fulfill my vow?"

Rhys regarded him solemnly for a moment. "I think it would be a very fine thing if you find a bride. But I

don't think you will find an honest one with dishonest tactics."

"Do you think I can find one here? Is there one here that you would see as my wife?"

Rhys grinned. "In truth, I do not. So I will loan you my lute. You can find your own viele. I need mine to lure my own maid." His smile faded. "But if you do not return in a fortnight, I will come after you."

"I need no nursemaid," Duncan said gruffly, though in truth he appreciated the man's loyalty.

"We will see about that. When do you plan to leave?"

"In the morning. I can no longer stand this company."

"If you wed, you will be expected to host not only this company but the king."

"Ah Rhys, you always remind me of such unpleasant truths."

"The price of wealth and prestige, my lord. You had best get used to it."

" 'Tis worse than battle, I think," Duncan said. "I have no talent for politics."

"You regained your land. I think you have a fine talent for politics."

The thought did not please Duncan. The idea of freedom did.

"I see your mind is decided," Rhys said. "I know you well enough not to argue further. But mayhap you should learn a few more songs."

"Nay, I know enough," Duncan said, "and if I do not leave in the morn, I will go mad and toss out

everyone."

The gleam in Rhys's eyes disconcerted Duncan. He dismissed it. He'd seldom failed at anything, and surely he could be as good as the man who had performed tonight. No one listened anyway.

His new profession would begin tomorrow.

two.