A Knight's Vow Part 29

"Willa is a good friend."

She smiled. "She is. And nothing must happen to her. She is in my room now pretending to be me. I

could not leave her there."

He studied her. "You have grown some."

"A layer of clothes," she said. "And now you must hurry before the guard changes."

"That will not be until dawn." The fingers of one hand continued its clasp of hers. Those of his other hand touched her face, caressing it. "My wood sprite," he said, his heart beating so loudly he thought she must hear it. "You are beautiful. And gallant."

She turned around abruptly. His hand dropped from her face, but the other caught her arm and kept her from fleeing. "What if I were a lord?" he asked. "One more important than those fops who care of nothing but money?"

A faint smile appeared on her lips. "I am not impressed with lords. 'Tis one reason I... care for you. You have earned everything. It gives you character I do not see in others."

A knot of uncertainty twisted his stomach. He had thought his true ident.i.ty would solve all their problems. He'd even thought, mayhap, that she would fall immediately into his arms. Now he wondered whether revealing his ident.i.ty would make things a great deal worse.

"If I promise to take care of everyone... ?"

"You cannot promise such a thing. My father did not support the Yorkists but neither did he support the Tudors. Many have already lost their lands. The men he... chose for me have ties to Lancaster. The only way I can... lessen the insult to them is to enter the convent."

"You would not be able to ride. And sing."

For a moment, despair seemed to cloud her eyes. Then she seemed to will it away. "I will be content.

You must go. A friend has a horse saddled and waiting outside the walls just inside the forest. You can leave by the postern. Willa has offered some wine there too. They should be asleep."

He leaned down, brus.h.i.+ng her lips with his.

Her face tilted upward and her arms went around him just as his surrounded her. His kiss roughened, stirred by a bittersweet emotion he could not define. Instead of backing away, her mouth, her tongue, met his with equally fierce need. He was a fool for lingering, and yet he could not leave.

Lynet knew she should go. And make him go. But one last kiss, one last remembrance of something bright and s.h.i.+ning and wonderful. Every moment was dangerous for him, and yet... she rejoiced in the fact that he knew it and still he stayed. The fact that she had lied to him had not mattered. She'd feared he would hate her for the lie and for putting his life at risk.

She should have known better. He feared nothing, and that fact terrified her.

She felt the barely restrained pa.s.sion in his large body. She felt it in herself. A wildness, a yearning that made her want to go with him. That she could not gave rise to wave after wave of despair. And yet she knew she could not let him see it.

Instead, she met him desire for desire, need for need. Her lips didn't yield to his, they challenged his. She stood on tiptoe, her arms tightening around his neck, feeling the roughness of his face, the hard tense muscles in his arms and chest.

Anguish, deep and bleeding, sliced through her like a knife. Her fingers stroked the back of his neck, seeking his warmth, compulsively needing to touch him. She knew she should make him go, but just a moment more. A moment that would have to last a lifetime.

His tongue entered her mouth, and she felt sensations she had never known before. Her body strained against his in primal need as she met caress with caress, hunger with hunger. How could love be so agonizingly painful?

Then she heard a stirring behind them, and so apparently did he. His lips left hers, and his gaze went to the guard. He left her, and she felt an immediate loss. She watched as he picked up the guard easily, his strength so long hidden under the minstrel's clothing evident. He put the man in the cell, then turned to her. "We should tie him."

She leaned down and pulled up her gown and tried to tear a piece from her chemise. It wouldn't tear.

He grinned at her, then reached for the guard's knife and in seconds had several pieces of cloth. Quickly, he tied the guard's hands behind him, then gagged him. He did it with such efficiency of movement, she knew he had done it before. He was, she realized suddenly, no ordinary soldier. He did everything with an a.s.surance and confidence that came from command. She'd been around soldiers enough to know that. Why had she not realized it before?

Her heart pounding, she watched as he closed and locked the door, then took her arm with his hand. "Who are you?"

"We must go," he whispered, his hand still holding hers.

But she stood her ground stubbornly. She had played a role. Had he? "Who are you?" she asked again.

"Does it matter?"

"It must," she said brokenly. "Lives..."

"No one will be hurt," he said. "I swear." He looked into her eyes. "I have never broken a vow," he said, his silver-blue eyes boring into her. "Do you believe me?"

The world stilled in that moment. Her gaze met his. Intensity reigned there. Questions. Hope even.

It was the hope that reached her. The vulnerability she had seen before. And yet there was confidence too. A confidence she believed.

No one will be hurt.

She didn't know who he was, or what he was. But she did believe him. She didn't even question that belief.

She slowly nodded.

"A pen and ink," he said. "Can you get them for me?"

Her mind still swimming with emotion and her body still reacting to his, she nodded.

"I will wait here," he said.

She hesitated a moment, reluctant to leave, afraid that her confidence would falter if she did, then she took one of the candles impaled on a vertical spike along the wall, and quickly sped to the oriel off the

great hall where her father kept books. It was a measure of the fact that her father did not consider the minstrel a threat that there was but one man on guard.

She took the quill and ink, and two pieces of parchment. She wrote a brief note of her own, saying she had tricked Willa, that she loved her father. She hesitated, then left it on his desk. She was committed now.

When she returned, Robin was pacing. She saw the tension in his body, and she was struck again at how much he seemed to have changed in the past few hours. No longer was he the whimsical vagabond musician. No longer did amus.e.m.e.nt sparkle in his eyes.

He took the paper and ink and wrote quickly. No common soldier here. Few commoners could read or write.

"What are you saying?"

He looked up. "That I will keep you safe and that no one else is to be blamed." He hesitated, then added, "And I am inviting him to a wedding." He suddenly dropped to his knees. "Will you marry me?"

She looked down at him. He did not look comfortable on his knees. She knew immediately it was no common position for him. He was asking her to trust him. Asking for her faith. Asking her to believe him. And in him.

No one will be hurt.

She swallowed hard. She had never reached out to anyone before. She had never really trusted. Doubts still nagged at her.

"There is but one horse. My father will come after us. He will... kill you."

"Trust me," he said again.

To the depth of her soul, she did. G.o.d help her, but she did. "Yes," she said simply.

A smile such as she had never seen before crossed his face. It was blinding. "I love you," he said.

She didn't have to tell him the same. She knew her face did it for her.

He placed the note carefully on the table where the guard had sat, then together they quickly moved along the corridor to the kitchen, then out a door. Staying in the shadows, she led him to the postern. The guard, as she expected, was asleep.

She opened the gate. He took her hand again and once through they ran together toward the wood.

Great billowing clouds shrouded the moon and stars, and she knew they were virtually invisible.

They reached the horse. It was a strong, swift one, and he gave her a boost, then swung up behind her with the ease of a born horseman. She leaned against him, feeling his strength, taking courage from it as they first walked, then trotted toward the road.

The breeze was stiff, the sky still black. As they left the woods, rain began to fall. His arms tightened around her, and the last of her doubts faded. For better or for worse, she had given over her life to him.

She half turned and her right hand touched his face. "Where are we going?"

He chuckled. "I was wondering when you would ask. Home, my love. To Worthington."

"And is your name truly Robin?"

"Nay, it is Duncan, Marquis of Worthington, and you will be the Countess of Worthington."

A marquis!

Mary and Robin.

She leaned back against him and started to laugh.

Then she heard the rumble of his laughter behind her. Joy bubbled up inside, joy and wonder andcontentment. Everything would be all right. Her father would be overjoyed at such a union. She didn'tknow why the masquerade. Perhaps the same as hers. A few moments of being ordinary, of beingwanted for oneself and not a t.i.tle or money or position. They had years to find out. To explore andexplain.

To love.

She looked upward. Rain still splashed around them but she started to see the first early glow of dawn.

Her lord, Robin-nay, Duncan-gathered her closer in his arms and turned the horse toward the rising sun.

Home. They were going home.

Epilogue.

Worthington The wedding was to be magnificent.

Even Henry Tudor-the new king-was at Worthington to attend the ceremony. He had made his pleasure known that one of his favorite, and most loyal, lords had chosen a wife, and had chosen-to his mind-well. He'd welcomed an alliance with the north counties.

His gift was a pair of white horses.

He had arrived two days ago, a month after sending the horses. He'd erupted into laughter as he heard about the unconventional courts.h.i.+p. "Worthington never does anything the easy way," he'd said. "You are a good match for him, Lady Lynet."

Lynet visited the stable, and the matched horses, on the morning of the ceremony. She had worked with Duncan's staff for more than a month making the manor presentable, and now she needed a few moments of peace before standing in front of the king, her family and scores of important guests to say her vows.

She knew she should return to her chamber. Her sisters were probably waiting there to help her dress.

They had been in residence since soon after that first initial visit by her father.

She would never forget the shock in his eyes when he learned that the contents of Duncan's note were true. He had ridden through the gates of Worthington accompanied by an ill-equipped group of men.

He'd been raging. Until, that is, he'd discovered that the man he'd come to punish was one of the most feared and respected lords in the realm.