A Knight's Vow Part 18

And she sensed he would not let her go without a promise to return. Was a promise made under duress not a promise at all?

"Aye," she said. His eyes judged her. Then he nodded. He leaned down and took her hand to help her up. She came up fast. Never had she experienced the kind of strength that made her feel as light as a feather. But his hand did not let her go. Instead, he gazed down at it, his fingers running over the hand that was soft except for the calluses formed by playing the harp. Then his eyes widened as his gaze moved to her face again.

His hand reached out and plucked the cap from her head. The cloth caught a ringlet that fell down around her face. It then fell to her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. They were small and had been disguised by the s.h.i.+rt and loose tunic, but they were noticeable when she stood. "Merde, you're a female."

Lynet's eyes met his. They were like a wolf's, the same silver-blue she had seen in a pup she'd once rescued after its mother had been killed. She tried to pull away but his hand did not let hers go. She felt warmth course through her fingers, up her arm and through her veins.

"Who are you?"

"Just a servant," she said.

"In a lad's clothes?"

"They belong to my brother. I am safer from trespa.s.sers as a lad," she retorted with a very unservant-like

snort. "I am not so likely to be accosted."

"Why is your brother not providing escort?"

She crossed her fingers and lied. "He is dead, sir."

A silence prevailed. At least she had stopped his questions.

"Do you swear to come back on the morn?" he asked after what he apparently decided was a respectful

pause.

She turned the gold coin in her fingers. "Will you have another coin then?"

"Yes. And grat.i.tude." His grumbling a.s.sent told her he was not used to offering grat.i.tude.

The air grew even warmer between them. There was a kind of expectancy she'd never felt before. He

waited, patiently, but she suspected that it did not come easily to him. She would have thought otherwise for both a soldier and a minstrel.

"I will try to come in the morning. At sunrise," she said.

He nodded, taking it as his due. She didn't understand that either.

"Where will you stay?"

He shrugged. "Under the skies."

"It will rain tonight."

"I've been rained upon before."

She wanted to tell him to go to Clenden for warmth and shelter. Her father never turned anyone away, much to the disgust of her mother. But if she did that, he would discover who she was and likely tell someone that she had been alone in the woods. Men did not keep secrets well. Then her father would know she had disobeyed and would likely put a guard on her.

So, instead, she nodded.

"If you do not come, I will hunt for you," he said. "You have my coin."

She turned the s.h.i.+lling once more in her hand, then tossed it back to him. "No, I do not. Use it to feed

your poor horse. The neglect is shameful."

Before he could say more or gather his wits, she turned and ran through the trees. He started after her, only to see her grab the reins of the horse he'd seen earlier. Before he could reach her, she'd used a fallen log to mount and was racing away.

three.

What servant cared more for a nag than for a gold coin?

It humbled him. And shamed him, although the horse's condition was none of his doing and, in truth, the beast's lot had improved considerably in his company.

He thought about following her, but he knew his nag couldn't keep up with hers, nor did he wish to scare her away. He could only hope she returned.

He wondered who she was. She said she had a master, which meant she was a servant of some kind. But what kind of servant was given leave to ride a fine mount like the one she had, even to exercise her?

The daughter of a stable man? That was a possibility. It would explain her riding ability. But what explained her skill with a lute?

He wondered how she would look with her hair flowing down her back. Underneath the cap, it had been the color of bronze, a rich gold-red, and her eyes were indeed unique. A gold-flecked gray-green that had widened with anxiety when her gaze met his. She had been ready to bolt, and yet there had been courage there too.

He was making too much of it. She was a servant. She was most likely bound to the land or to the house. And except for the hair and eyes, she was no beauty. Her mouth was too wide, her chin too sharp.

But her voice was like that of a songbird, sweet and pure.

Her songs actually had a melody to them, unlike his own toneless strumming. If she would but instruct him for a day or so, he felt sure he could continue his quest with no one suspecting he was not as he presented himself. He would do something fine for her, in return. He would buy her freedom and make it possible for her to go wherever she wished.

In the meantime, though, he would have to find a place to camp. She had warned him that trespa.s.sers were not welcomed, and he did not want to be turned away from this household. He'd been told there were three daughters of marriageable age, and he wanted to look them over in his own way and at his own leisure.

He turned to the white horse that so obviously had been responsible for the censure in her voice. "Come on, nag," he said, tossing in his hand the coin she had thrown back to Mm. "Let us see if we cannot find you some decent feed."

He turned and started walking back to the last village, the one where he'd learned about the festive activities planned at Clenden. He wanted the horse to look improved on the morrow when he met with her again.

If she appeared.

She was too late. Her father's men were up, and so was the stable lad.

At least she saw none of her suitors in the courtyard. She doubted whether they would recognize her riding in as the lad. Her hair was tucked back under the cap and she lay on the mare's neck as she cantered inside, trying not to look at the faces of her father's guard.

Young Selwyn ran to take the horse. "The lord has been asking after you," he said.

"What did you tell him?"

"That I knew nothing, mistress, but he noted that your mare was missing."

By the furies, her father would pick this one day to rise early. "He did not blame you?"

"No, my lady," he said, but his forehead was knotted with worry. He needed this position, such as it was, and she knew it. He was the sole support of his mother, who had been widowed when a horse had kicked her husband in the head.

"I will let him know I spirited her out when you were busy getting feed."

"You had best go in through the kitchen," he said. "Mayhap you can make the stairs without anyone

seeing you."

"My thanks," she said. She left the mare in his good hands. She disliked doing that; she would rather rub the horse down with her own two hands. But she may have tested her father too well.

Oddly enough, after this strange morning, a nunnery held less interest than it had before.

As she tried to slide through the kitchens without anyone seeing her, she thought again about the stranger

in the woods. She had no doubt he had told it truthfully when he said he had been a soldier. He looked

like a soldier. She'd seen enough quartered at Clenden to know the type. He had cool eyes that missed little, and the scar above the left eye branded him a warrior. He also had the alertness she'd seen in soldiers-the gaze that never quite stopped roaming as if seeking danger around every corner. Such a man would have difficulty settling down to a sedentary life, or even a peaceful one as a minstrel. And yet he'd seemed determined to do just that.

She simply could not imagine a love ballad coming from the mouth that had frowned so.

But his plea had been so earnest.

She made it to her room without encountering her father or any of their guests. She said a brief thank-you

to the saints. Her maid, Willa, was waiting for her, her face crinkled with worry.

"Your father is looking for you," she said. "One of the young men has made an offer."

"Did he now?" Lynet asked, biting her lip. All of a sudden, she compared each of them to the stranger in

the woods. How quickly she'd lost her fear of him. He had been so large, so... severe in visage, and yet

She was being silly. He was nothing but a wandering would-be musician, a man trying to survive by his wits.

Do you swear to come back in the morn?

She swallowed hard. How could she go out again? If one of her suitors knew she was meeting a man in the woods, her reputation would be destroyed forever.

Lynet turned her mind from the stranger and tried to concentrate on what her maid had just said. One had made an offer.

"Which one?" she asked.

"Your father did not say."

She thought about the three again. Which did she wish was the one? Of course, if the marriage portion was large enough, she knew she could have any one of them. Her father had been cagey about that, however. To his credit, he had hoped for a son-in-law who truly cared for her.

Her mind roved over the candidates. She had not been impressed by any of them and now, after this morning's odd encounter, even less so. Even the handsome Wickham was pale and puny next to the