A Knight's Vow

by Lynn Kurland

  Why could she think of naught but russet hair and silver-blue eyes?

  She turned to say good eve to him, but he was already headed for the wine. His mission apparently had been accomplished.

  Tomorrow, she would see her musician for the last time. She would suggest that he leave Clenden because the company was leaving and the earl would not be in need of a minstrel. He would fare better farther north.

  She did not think she could bear the possibility of Robin coming to Clenden. Would he be silent if he knew she had lied to him? Would he blurt out something unwise? She could well believe that her father or suitors might kill him if they thought he had trifled with her.

  Lynet did not sleep that night. Instead she rose before dawn. Willa. who slept on a cot in an anteroom, woke with her. Lynet slipped into one of Willa's dresses, promising a new one in return. She did not want to meet the minstrel in a lad's clothes. But neither could she wear any of her own gowns. He would know immediately she was not what she had said she was, and she wanted no barrier between them.

  Lynet had already told Selwyn to have Sadie, an older, very quiet mare saddled for Willa who was to see her mother. Willa would first, however, tell the cook that her mistress had the monthly vapors and did not wish to be disturbed. Willa would then exchange places with her and stay in Lynet's bed.

  As soon as Willa completed that errand, Lynet took Willa's cloak and slipped out the door and down the quiet halls; only the servants in the kitchen were awake. The horse was saddled. Selwyn, no doubt, had gone back to bed. She led the animal to the mounting block. She saw Selwyn then, and knew he recognized her. She put a finger to her lips, and he nodded. He gave her a hand up, then slipped away.

  In minutes she was free.

  Would he be there? Part of her prayed he would be. Another more practical side knew she should hope he was not.

  Duncan's horse neighed and arched its head. Duncan stood and went to the mouth of the cave. He had shaved in the cold water of the stream, but he felt unkempt. He also felt like a young untried boy meeting his first young love.

  Then she rode up, this time on an older horse that moved slowly. Still, it looked fat and well kept.

  He went over to her and offered her his hand. She was riding in a man's saddle, her cloak nearly covering her, but as she threw a leg over the horse, he saw a flash of leg as her gown pulled up.

  He caught her as she slid down from the horse, and she was closer to him than ever before. Only a whisper of a breath separated them. She looked up at him, her eyes intense and wondering and… searching.

  His hand came up and the tips of his fingers touched her cheek, just as they had the day before. His fingers caressed the sweet curves of her face, and he was amazed that the gesture was so intimate, so wondrous. His breath caught in his throat. He'd never wanted anything as much as to lean down and kiss her. Not just a brief touch of their lips, but a deep, full, possessive kiss. He felt her tremble in his arms, and his heart jerked.

  His right hand moved from her cheek to the hood of the cloak, slipping it down from her hair, and his fingers moved the pins that held it in place. Ringlets of dark hair fell around her face. They felt like silk to his rough fingers.

  He pulled her tighter against him, feeling the slenderness of her body against his. The trembling of her body slowed. Stopped. Then she looked up at him again with those lovely gray-green eyes.

  He bent down and his lips met hers. It was a soft, searching touch, an inevitable kind of kiss that was as natural as stars appearing at night. Waves of tenderness cascaded through his body, and he realized they had been building over the past few days. There was also a new excitement, an exhilaration at touching her, of feeling her skin against his, and, most of all, of feeling her trust. He felt alive for the first time in years, truly alive. Every nerve end jerked with sensations, and yet he restrained himself as he never had before.

  She obviously did not feel the same restraint. He felt her reaching up on tiptoes, her body fitting into his, and her lips responding as no woman had before. Her lips opened instinclively to him, and he felt the warmth of her hands as they went around his neck, fingers playing against his skin.

  His kiss deepened, became almost frantic with need. Honey and fire. Sweetness and pain. He had not realized how easily they went together. His blood was like currents of liquid fire, searing every nerve. Their bodies melded together, separated only by the cloth of their garments, but that seemed small barrier.

  Duncan had never before experienced such a conflagration of desire. He forced himself to step back. He knew from her kiss that was both shy and eager and that she was a virgin. He could not take that from her, and he knew if he did not stop now he could never stop. He had never wanted anything,anyone—as much as he wanted her.

  "Ah, mistress," he said in a voice he knew was ragged. "We cannot."

  Her eyes looked glazed as she stared at him. Glazed and beautiful. He had not noticed before how lovely she was. But now she stood in the brisk, cold air, dark hair framing cheeks that were rosy with cold—or heat—her lips slightly swollen from the kiss. He thought he had never seen a more beautiful woman. Or desirable one.

  And never one less suitable.

  Henry would not approve.

  To bloody hell with Henry.

  six

  Lynet's heartbeat accelerated. She had never been so close to a man before. She felt his body change, harden. Waves of forbidden but delectable sensations ran through her. She responded by snuggling even more closely into the curve of his body.

  He touched her cheek and that one gentle gesture ignited fires everywhere inside her. His kiss was tinder to those flames. She suddenly was filled with a wanting so strong and so deep that she could not move.

  "Mary," he whispered and for a moment the name broke the spell. Mary. The name of someone else. A maiden without responsibilities. She closed her eyes, wishing she was indeed that person. Robin would be accessible then, even though he was quite obviously a wanderer with no roots.

  His finger fit under her chin, turning it upward until she had to look at him. She opened her eyes.

  His own silver-blue eyes were like blue fire, the hottest part of the flame. The odd twist in his lips was even more noticeable, turning up one side quizzically. "Are you a sprite who appears only to me?"

  She did not want questions, and she seized upon his fancy. She only smiled.

  "Then I must discover on my own whether you are flesh and blood," he said. With a rough groan, he embraced her again. His lips pressed against hers recklessly, this time with a hard passion that stole her breath. Tenderness faded into something that was all need.

  Lynet instinctively opened her mouth. His tongue thrust inside, then gentled as his lips had minutes ago. It slid across her tongue, then seduced the corners of her mouth, almost dancing as he aroused complex, shuddering reactions that roiled through her.

  She snuggled even more firmly against him, and her body felt a wicked sweet heat as her blood seemed to slow and simmer.

  She heard a whimper deep down in her own throat. Since the first moment she'd met him, something had happened to her senses. Now she was awash in sensations she knew could ruin them both. Yet, she couldn't push away. A few more moments…

  A few…

  Robin's mouth pulled away, but she felt his rasping breath against her neck as he scattered butterfly-light kisses along her cheek, then down her neck. His hands moved provocatively along her back. The combination of gentleness and barely restrained passion was intoxicating.

  Drugging and seductive… and, strangely enough, comforting. She had the oddest sense of belonging in his arms.

  But she could never belong here. Never. She had a duty to her family. And Robin? He had not spoken of love.

  And if he knew who she was truly?

  She suddenly wrenched her mouth from his and forced herself to take one small step back.

  She tried to take another one, but his hand caught her wrist. It was like an iron
band.

  "I will not let you run away again," he said. "Not until I know where to find you."

  She bent her head. "I cannot say."

  "At least now I know you are no sprite. Or fairy."

  Her fingers clenched into a fist. Otherwise she might lift one hand and touch his face as he had touched hers. "I know not what you mean."

  "A sprite does not kiss that way."

  "And have you kissed that many sprites?" She desperately wanted the conversation to go in another direction. She lifted her eyes to meet his. She wondered whether her face was as flushed as it felt.

  He smiled wryly. "Ah, you have me there. I have scant experience in such things," he replied as humor crept into his voice. It was disarming. It was… irresistible.

  "If you have any, you have an advantage over me then, sir," she said.

  "No, I think not," he said, his fingers rubbing hers. "I have no advantage. Sprite or no, you have bewitched me. I fear if I let you go, I will never see you again." He hesitated, then added, "No one in the village has heard of a Mary who rides horses like Diana and has a father who works with horses."

  "You have been asking about me?" Apprehension made her stiffen.

  His gaze bore into hers. "Is there a reason I should not?"

  She lowered her gaze. "My reputation. Is that not reason enough?"

  "I was very clear that I owed the young lady a coin, for she helped me when I needed it. I wanted to thank her. I said nothing that would harm you."

  Not knowingly. But the color of her eyes was unusual. If he had bandied about a description…

  His eyes were questioning her now. "Tell me where you live," he said. "Is it Clenden?"

  She shook her head. Dear saints in heaven, what had she done? All she needed was for him to ride up to Clenden and describe a maid he'd been meeting in the woods. His life might well be forfeit.

  "You must not look for me," she said.

  "I do not think I can do that."

  "You must. You must promise me now."

  "Why?"

  "I… am bespoken." It was only a small lie. She would be betrothed by the end of the week. "My betrothed would… feel it necessary to try to kill you."

  "You believe he can do that?"

  "No," she said softly, eyeing the strength of his shoulders, the confidence with which he carried himself. He could well defend himself. But it would be her father who would go after him, and her father was no match for him. It would be her father who died. And then Robin would be hunted. And killed. Robin could defend himself but not against large numbers.

  Robin. Her father. She could not bear being the cause of either's death.

  "You do not love him," he stated as if it were a fact.

  "Yes…"

  "No," he insisted.

  "I do," she said stubbornly, even though she knew her eyes must belie the statement. She could not take her gaze from him, from the determination in the clenched jaw, the burning fire in his eyes. She could not even move away.

  "You are lovely," he said unexpectedly. "I envy him."

  "I am plain," she protested. She'd always known that. No one said so, of course. Not in so many words, but they had always praised the beauty of her sisters and rarely did the same with her. Her mirror, made of polished steel, reflected a very ordinary face.

  "Only to a blind man," he said as his hand took hers and brought it to his mouth. "He must be a poor suitor indeed if he has not told you that you have hair the color of a copper sun and eyes that reflect all the wondrous colors of nature."

  She was stunned by the words. And the gesture. It was one made often by courtiers, but Robin was no courtier, though he sometimes spoke as well as one. By his own words, he was a soldier trying to better himself.

  Flustered, she retreated to her question. "Do you vow you will not ask questions about me?"

  "I do not make vows lightly, mistress," he replied, well remembering the last one given, the one he'd made to his mother. "And that is not one I'm sure I can keep."

  "What others have you made?"

  That I would marry for love. That vow was heading him straight toward disaster. "That I would be loyal to the king." If only those two vows did not conflict.

  "Have you seen him?" she asked. "Some say he will ruin the country."

  Duncan chose his words carefully. Clenden was in northern England which had been mostly loyal to the Yorkist cause. "He has issued ordinances protecting the rights of civilians. He seems a fair enough man." He took her hand and guided her to a dry spot. "But you have not yet told me where I can find you."

  "I cannot," she said miserably.

  Tell her. Tell her who you are. But the moment he did, all would change. They would no longer be two strangers of equal rank who reveled in one another's company. Would she be awed? Appalled at his lies? His subterfuge? Would she think he was only toying with her?

  He was not ready to break the magic of these moments.

  But neither was he willing to let her go this time without learning more about her. Or how she came to speak so well. Or play and sing so finely. Had she been a lady's maid or mayhap a by-blow of some important man? And yet she had said her father was a groom. No explanation made sense.

  Impulsively, he held out his hand. "Come with me," he said. He could not remember when last time he had been impulsive. Not even this journey to find a bride had been impulsive. It had been calculated, carefully planned with an immediate objective in mind.

  Asking a servant girl to run off with him was impulsive. And marriage could be disastrous—for both of them. Henry Tudor had made his wishes clear. Anyone violating them did so at their peril. And that of the people they loved.

  Did he love her?

  Or was it the sun and the stream and the sense of freedom he was feeling for the first time in his life?

  He looked at her and his heart pounded harder. His breath caught in his throat. She made the sun seem brighter. He wanted to touch her. Not just with lust, though he would be lying if he said nay to that. But he also wanted to just… feel the softness of her cheeks, the silkiness of her hair. He wanted to hear her sing, and he wanted the warmth that her nearness raised in him.

  Love? What did he know of love?

  The silence echoed through the forest, a pause that was full of electricity.

  Then she released his hand and her fingers did what his had moments ago. They explored his face, caressing the scar near his eye. It was as if silk was being drawn across his face, and yet there was heat, too.

  His heart shifted inside him. Turned. Skipped.

  "Will you?" he asked again, holding his breath, wanting with all his will for her to say "aye." No questions. No reservations.

  Instead, she looked bewildered. "Where…"

  "Do you trust me?" He heard the intensity in his voice. The need to have her trust was overwhelming. Even though he'd done nothing to deserve it.

  He saw her swallow hard. Her small hand tightened in his. "I would not have come had I not."

  "Would you leave here? Now? With me?"

  It was unfair. He knew it was. For all she knew he was a penniless, inept minstrel; a soldier whose skills were no longer required; a wanderer who had no home to offer, no security. He did not know exactly what she had now. Her dress was worn but was of good quality. She had access to fine horses. She spoke well.

  Why would she choose a wanderer? But he needed to know that she would choose him for himself alone, not the wealth he could bring her. In truth, he might have little if he displeased Henry with his choice. By the saints, but he wanted to be chosen for himself.

  He did not know what to expect. He saw from the emotions in her eyes that she wanted to go with him. There had been a sudden jump of joy in her eyes. But it had faded as quickly as it had come.

  Instead, she moved another step back. "I cannot."

  "Does your betrothed offer more?" The question came from confusion, from the hordes of women who had lusted over his fortune but not him.

>   "It is not that," she said. "It is honor. I have made promises."

  Duncan had no answer for that. Honor had always meant everything to him. How could he ask anyone else to forfeit it?

  She had turned away as she said the words and now his fingers turned her face back toward him. Tears shimmered in her eyes.

  He thought about his options. He'd always thought about his options. He had done it for years during a civil war and as a mercenary in Europe. He could reveal who he was. He could shove aside any suitor. He had the rank. He had the power.

  That wasn't what he wanted. He'd wanted someone to come to him with her free will, with no reservations.

  He wanted what he could not have. He knew that now. He would continue his journey. Surely he could find a noble lady with no entanglements. The problem was that he did not want a noble lady. He wanted his lady of the woods.

  "Robin?"

  Her soft voice seemed to float across the short distance between them. Her fingers tightened in his.

  The name was foreign to him. It even took him a moment to remember that he had given it to her. She talked about honor. He wondered whether she would think he had honor if he revealed who he really was.

  He dropped her hand. Mayhap he would wait another day. A day or more. Mayhap then he would know in truth. He might know what to do.

  He turned away from her, but not before Lynet saw the vulnerability in eyes she expected rarely had any.

  She wanted to reach her hand out to him. She wanted to say yes. She wanted to tell him she would go anywhere with him, but she feared it would mean his death. Her father would do anything to get her back. He had been indulgent in many ways, but he would never be indulgent with his honor. He had asked three potential suitors to his home. If she were now to run off with a roving minstrel, she would destroy his reputation forever. And his honor.

  He would avenge that. He would have to, or see his power ripped from him. He had balanced his loyalties carefully during the civil war. He needed the goodwill of the men he'd invited as potential sons-in-law. For her to leave with an itinerant musician would be a great insult.