A Knight's Vow Part 19

would-be minstrel. His eyes had none of the depth and complexity, nor was his walk as powerfully graceful.

She swallowed hard as Willa helped her into a s.h.i.+ft and corset. She hated corsets and usually did not wear them, but this morning she would have to placate her father and would dress to please him if not the rest of the household. She had promised not to disgrace him. She chose a gown that made her eyes greener.

Willa brushed her hair, parted it and left it to flow down her back. Her face was still rosy from her morning adventure.

"You look lovely, my lady," Willa said. "There is a sparkle to yer eyes. Is there one of the young lords that you fancy?"

Lynet looked closer into the mirror. Did she see a sparkle there?

Nay. It was just Willa's imagination. There was nothing to cause such a reaction.

She rose, steeling herself for the coming interview. She wondered just how much her father was willing to pay for a son-in-law. It seemed as if she were being bought and sold. The groom gave her a dower which, of course, he controlled; and her father gave her husband a marriage portion, which he could use in any way. It was, she thought, most unfair to her.

She had to admit her father had given her time to choose a husband. She was nineteen when most girls married at fourteen or fifteen. Her sisters were now sixteen and fifteen and complaining bitterly about their unmarried status. But she had so wanted to marry for love.

Love grew between married people, her father contended, but she had not seen it grow between her parents. They tolerated each other. She had wanted so much more. She had wanted a love that jongleurs and minstrels celebrated. 'Twas foolish, she knew. But still, she had hoped...

Now all she had was the songs.

Her father was waiting for her in the oriel behind the great hall. It was a small room lined with a large fireplace and many books, her father being a scholar by nature. She and her sisters had been fortunate in that he was advanced in his thinking and believed women should be educated as men were in Latin and philosophy and history. Her sisters had cared little about such subjects but she had been an avid student, which is why, she knew, she was his favorite and why he'd allowed her to wait so long for marriage.

But now he had need of an heir. He could wait no longer, and she suspected he had investigated the three suitors before inviting them and found them to be of good reputation.

He stood next to a fire now. "You left the castle," he said. '"And in a lad's clothing and without a guard."

She lowered her head. "You know how much I love to ride in the morning."

"'It is dangerous, Daughter. There are many soldiers prowling about now that so many have been dismissed. It is not safe and it is not... the way of a lady."

"I went early enough that... none would be awake."

"I want your promise you will not go again without a guard."

Her promise. Her sworn oath to the stranger. How could she make one that would nullify the other?

She tried to avoid the question. "Willa said you wished to talk to me about an... offer?"

He frowned as if he knew exactly what she intended, but her question had the effect she wanted.

"Kellum," he said with satisfaction. Of all of them, Kellum was most highly placed.

"He does not approve of educated women." she said.

His frown deepened. "He did not say that to me."

"He did to me. You would not want all your teaching to be for naught."

He looked decidedly uncomfortable. "I will talk to him about that. But," he added hopefully, "he is a

fine-looking man and would produce handsome children."

"And ignorant ones," she said.

"Is there one of the others you prefer?" he asked, an anxious look on his face.

"Wickham kicked one of your dogs."

Her father looked more distressed. He could not abide cruelty to animals. "And Manfield?" he said with

almost desperation.

"I think he prefers Evelyn."

Her father's eyes cleared. She had said nothing bad about him. "That is because you have not given him a

chance. You are always disappearing and Evelyn is always here."

"I will make a bargain with you," she said.

He looked at her suspiciously.

"There are no brigands out at dawn," she said. "They are sleeping after committing their nefarious deeds."

She didn't know whether that was true or not, but it sounded logical. "I promise I will choose a husband within the week if I can enjoy what freedom I have."

Her father looked at her warily. "I suspect you would go anyway," he said.

"I may not be able to do so again after a wedding," she said.

"You will not let anyone see you?"

"Nay, and you know the servants will not talk."

"You have them under your spell, right enough," he grumbled. "They pay more attention to you than to your mother or me."

She said nothing. Just waited. It was not much of a bargain for herself, but then she knew her father was determined in this matter of marriage. And at least she could fulfill the vow to the stranger.

Her father mumbled a moment or two, then nodded his head. "Mind you, let no one see you or..."

"I will not," she said. "And I will be careful."

A look of resignation settled on his face. "Be careful, too, that your mother does not know."

"She will not."

He looked at her for a long moment. "I want nothing more than for you to be happy, my daughter, but there is a duty to family, to your sisters, to your mother. There must be an heir." Lynet knew that. She knew how much her father had longed for an heir all these years. She had been selfish. She had wanted perfection when there was no perfection in the world. She had wanted her heart stolen, but there was no thief with honor.

She nodded.

"A bargain then, Daughter? Any of these three men would make a suitable husband, and if not one of them then you must tell me who."

"A bargain, Father," she a.s.sured him.

He did something he had never done before. He placed a hand alongside her cheek for the barest of a moment, then dropped it and turned away. He'd never expressed physical affection before. A gruff "well done" had been his highest praise. A week. She had a week to fulfill her vow to choose a husband. Mayhap it was not a vow at all since it had been made under a certain quiet duress. But something in her heart told her she must honor it. She knew it was something she had to do.

Would she return? She had thrown his coin back to him.

He found himself pacing near the pool even before dawn. His old nag stood not far from him, her head hanging down to eat the rich green gra.s.s even after stuffing herself with oats last night.

He wanted the lessons, he'd told himself. And yet it hadn't been the music that echoed in his mind, but the fine, stubborn face as she'd thrown his coin back at him. It had been a unique experience, a curious disdain.

What manner of a woman was she?

Duncan thought about the color of her eyes, the gray moss green that was filled with a ready intelligence. A woman masquerading as a boy. It was preposterous. Mayhap she had been a figment of his imagination. Or a spirit of some kind.

He had been here since the wee hours of morning, ignoring the winds that cooled the warmth of yesterday. He took Rhys's lute and sat where she had sat, and played one of the songs he knew. It was a French song about the Crusades. There was nothing gentle about it.

He finished it and suddenly knew he was not alone. He had lived by instincts these past ten years and yet he had heard nothing-not the whinny of a horse or a footfall. By the saints, but he was slipping.

"You have a good touch," a soft voice said. He turned where he sat and saw her standing underneath a large oak. He didn't see her horse.

"You came," he said, somewhat stupidly.

"I said I would."

"I feared I had frightened you."

"I'm not easily frightened."

She was wearing the same clothes she'd worn yesterday. He wondered now how he had ever mistaken

her for a lad, even though once more her hair was hidden beneath a cap.

"I did not hear you."

"You should not hear someone when you are playing. You should be listening to the music."

"I doubt there was much musical about it. I've been told I am heavy-handed."

"Whoever told you that knew little. 'Tis your choice of songs that is heavy-handed."

He stood then, towering over her, though she was tall for a woman. "Your master? Does he know about

me?"

"He knows naught other than I'm exercising his horse."

"To which house are you bound?"

"I thought you wanted to know about songs," she said, turning way.

"I do. Do not go, mistress." He couldn't remember when last he had pleaded with anyone, man or

woman.

"No more questions," she said.

He nodded and handed her the lute. Her own hands were empty., Her fingers fondled it, ran lightly over the fine wood and tested the strings. He thought they sounded far

better under her touch than his. " 'Tis a fine instrument," she said after a moment. Now there was a question in her voice; the lute was far too fine for a common soldier.

"A friend... wanted me to have it."

Her face immediately clouded and he realized she'd concluded that his friend had died. How was he to explain his friend was at Worthington, trying to straighten the keep for an intended bride?