A Knight's Vow Part 22

"What is your name, mistress?"

She hesitated. Everyone in the nearby village knew her. And 'Lynet'? was not that common a name.

"Mary," she said.

"Mary," he said slowly, as if folding his tongue around it.

"And you?" she asked.

"I go by many names, Mary," he replied, once more saying the name as if it were something very tasty.

"It is unfair to talk in riddles," she chastised him,

"Call me Robin then," he said.

"I must get back," she said, aware now that the sun was straight above. If nothing else, she must return before the hunters did. The last thing she wished was to meet them.

"You still owe me a lesson," he said.

He had been an apt student. He knew enough now to hold a musician's post while learning more songs.

If only he would smile more.

She looked back up at his face. He was smiling now. At least, it was a half smile. It was quite hard to tell

the way his lips had those little crooks in them. But his eyes looked softer than they had before, more approachable. She wanted to stay and see exactly how approachable they could be. She wanted to sit with him and hear his adventures and ask him about foreign lands.

Most of all she wanted to feel the touch of that callused hand on hers again.

She wanted it so badly that it terrified her. "I must go," she said again.

He maneuvered his horse in front of her. "Not unless you promise to meet me again."

She tried to move around him, but the horse he rode was quicker than she thought possible.

"I will be beaten," she said desperately.

"And I will kill whoever might attempt to do that," her minstrel said in a very unminstrel way. In fact, she

felt a s.h.i.+ver down her back. He meant it.

"All right then," she said. "But up here. There is a cave just beyond those branches." She pointed to ahuge oak that grew crookedly on the side of the hill. "There.""At dawn?""Aye.""I will comb the countryside if you do not come," he said with a frown.She believed it too. "Please, I must go now."He turned his horse so she could get by."My thanks," he said, "for worrying about me."His voice was humble, and her chest suddenly ached. No young woman has ever worried about me before.

What would he do when he discovered who it was that so worried about him? Would he believe himself only an amus.e.m.e.nt? Why had she not told him in the beginning? Because then he would have gone. She would not have had this one last adventure.

And what price might they both have to pay for it?

five.

Dawn could not come too early for Duncan.

He had left the creek and had ridden into the village. There he had again found an inn for himself and some feed for the mare. He made what he hoped were discrete queries about a maid named Mary.

Everyone regarded him suspiciously until he offered to trade a meal for entertainment and gossip from other parts. The offer was readily accepted. He remembered what Mary had told him, had tried a smile and lightened his fingers. It did not seem to help. Drunken conversation drowned out nearly every sound, but nonetheless he had established the fact that he was, for better or worse, a minstrel, an entertainer. He hoped the word would drift to Clenden.

After he put down the lute, he found conversation far easier. He was a wanderer and must have news to share. What was happening in the countryside? Had he been to London? Had he seen the new king? Had he heard of new taxes?

He answered as well as he could. He did not say he had fought with the Lancasters. This was northern England and most of the loyalties here had been with Edward and Richard of York. Regional hostilities, he knew, would exist for a long time. Too many n.o.bles had been attainted, too many estates taken. There were already whispers of another rebellion to remove Henry Tudor.

But Duncan knew the country was weary of war and that Henry was aware of the conspirators. He would not tolerate their activities for long.

He said none of this. Instead, he spoke of court gossip, marriages and new alliances. Many would have heard of such, even if they had not oft supped with the king.

"We ha' a bride here, too," said one man whose tongue loosened as he drank. " 'Tis said the earl's oldest daughter will wed. 'Twill mean a fine celebration."

Clenden was where he had been headed before his encounter with the forest maid. He'd heard there were to be guests, and guests usually meant employment for musicians, hopefully not just a night or two. He'd wanted to stay places long enough to learn about the ladies in the household.

But he had delayed his visit upon meeting his lady of the woods. He feared that were he to leave, he may never see her again.

Could she possibly be in service at Clenden?

"There are two more daughters to wed," another man said. "The earl was cursed with females and no son."

Two unwed daughters.

"They be beauties, too," said another. "Too bad about the eldest. She be plain. But the marriage settlement will be high."

Duncan listened idly. He knew he should be paying more attention. This was, after all, the reason for his journey. But he had no interest in n.o.ble ladies at the moment. He could only think of a young girl dressed as a lad who rode as well as any man.

He also wondered whether this journey had really been to find a bride, as much as it had been a quest for freedom. Freedom from responsibilities, from taking men into battle. He couldn't remember a time when he wasn't aware that everything he did could result in someone's death. In truth, he had made a vow to his mother, but he'd seized upon it as an excuse to be someone else for one small period of time, someone who could wander as he wished, befriend whom he wished. He'd wanted to escape the constraints of his rank.

He knew he would not have much longer to steal these hours. Henry Tudor would expect a wife and he would expect taxes. He would also expect him to be rebuilding Worthington.

Loyalty from a king usually lasted only as long as the usefulness of the subject did. Duncan had no illusions about that.

He emptied his tankard of poor ale and pushed back his chair. He had already announced that he would sleep in the woods since he was using his last coin to feed his horse. He was regarded as a madman at that p.r.o.nouncement, but he said he had a long distance to go and it was a small enough price for transportation.

The innkeeper told him he would be welcome to a free meal the next night, if he would sing again. It was the first time that he had been asked back, and he felt a jolt of pleasure at being accomplished at something other than killing. He nodded, then left.

An hour later he was at the cave his lady had pointed out earlier in the day. It was deep and he was protected from the wind. He built a small fire.

Five, six hours before dawn. He could barely believe how anxious he was, how worried that she would not come. He had learned nothing about her, had no way of finding her.

He considered riding into Clenden as he had first intended rather than skulking about in the woods and being taken for a thief or poacher. But what if he was turned away before finding her? Then he would have no excuse to linger.

Other than a plain dirk, he had no weapons. No one would believe him a lord. More likely he would be considered a lunatic. And that would not be far from the truth.

Merde, what was he doing? Mooning over a servant girl, who was probably already pledged to another, when he should be about finding a wife. One that would be acceptable to King Henry. Otherwise, what would happen to his estates?

He had fought ten years to restore the properties to his family. He had been too late to bring his mother back home, but he was not going to let his ancestral home go. He owed it to his forebearers-and to his future children.

Fool. Still, he didn't move. She had probably risked everything for him, taking her master's horse yetagain. He should do something for her. If only he knew who she was.

For one of the few times in his life, he did not see a straight line to an objective. He had never liked subterfuge, but the moment he'd embarked on this folly, he'd buried himself in it. He should just walk away.

But then he would never see her again. The thought filled him with quiet despair. Another morning at least. Just one more morning.

Mary. It was a quiet name. A tranquil name. But it did not quite fit her. She had fire in her eyes. Curiosity. She would be no tame wife for a man.

He realized suddenly he wanted no tame wife.

Unable to sleep with his mind filled with images of her, he took the lute and strummed it.

Lynet knew she would meet him the next morning. Still, she knew she was risking everything, including her father's respect and love. Yet she could no more stay away from the cave on the morrow than she could keep the first rays of sun from touching the earth at dawn.

All the way back home, she could think of nothing but him despite the danger for both of them. She managed to return before the hunters and slip through the empty bailey up to her room.

Willa was waiting for her. "My lady? Your father has been asking for you." Her voice was full of curiosity.

Lynet trusted her completely, and she knew she would need help in the morning. It was time to confide in someone. "I have been helping a troubadour improve his craft," she said.

Willa's eyes opened wide. "A troubadour, my lady?"

Lynet nodded. "And I might need your help in the morning."

"Is he handsome?"

Lynet mulled that question. He wasn't. And yet he was fiercely attractive. Or just attractive in a fierce way. She was babbling in her mind.

Willa giggled. "I see he is, my lady."

"I am just helping him learn a few songs, Willa," Lynet insisted. "He is a soldier who was discharged. He is looking for a new occupation." Unfortunately her face felt hot, and she knew it must be scarlet.

Willa looked at her knowingly. She was a born romantic, and her eyes were twinkling. "Good," she said.

"It is not good at all. He means nothing to me. I am just..."

"Helping," Willa finished with a grin. "What can I do to help, my lady?"

"You can visit your sick mother tomorrow," she said.

"But she..." Willa stopped suddenly. "Oh. Of course I must."

"I will tell Selwyn to have a very gentle horse ready for you in the morning, and I feel a bit faint. The

monthlies. I believe I will stay in my room most of tomorrow."

Willa's eyes gleamed with adventure. "Before I leave, I will bring you chocolate and tell everyone you are not to be disturbed."