Vow of Seduction

by Angela Johnson

  “Oh, Rand,” a woman said in a breathless sigh. “Come along, you stallion. You know how hot I get when you tup me where anyone can stumble upon us. And I have found just the place.”

  Kat swallowed her gasp when a red-haired woman, her back to them, tugged Rand into the secluded courtyard.

  “Elena, I am not sure this is wise, but I am so damn hard—”

  Rand looked up just then, his jaw dropping. Alex stepped in front of Kat to shield her. She pressed her heated face against his back, shrinking as small as possible.

  Alex cleared his throat, tickling her cheek. “I’m afraid you shall have to find some other place, my friend. The garden is already occupied. And I wish to be alone.”

  Her eyes tightly closed, Kat heard Elena whirl around, her laugh tinkling with joy. “Why, Sir Alex. What a pleasure this is. You must—”

  “Come, Elena,” Rand interrupted. “Let us leave. Obviously Alex prefers his privacy.”

  “But…”

  Listening to the sound of their receding footsteps on the gravel pathway, Kat did not hear Elena’s rejoinder.

  Finally, Kat peeked around Alex, and saw Rand, his arm around Lady Elena, guiding her out of the hedge opening of the adjoining courtyard.

  Kat straightened and ran her hands down her skirts, mortified and unable to look at Alex when he turned around and faced her.

  “Kat—”

  She held up her hand. “Don’t say a word. This was a mistake and shall not happen again. Where’s my brooch?”

  “Nay, tonight was not a mistake.” He picked up her brooch from the ground and handed it to her. “The desire that blazes between us is honest and real and undeniable. If time or distance could not destroy it, do you really think you can continue to deny me forever?”

  “You betrayed me, Alex. And I shall never forget that. So, aye, I can and will continue to deny you.” She quickly pinned her brooch to her bodice.

  He held his arm out. “Come, I will escort you to our chamber.”

  Her jaw dropped. “What? No more arguments? No more disavowals?”

  He shrugged. “Naught more may be gained by arguing this night. You have promised to give me a month to persuade you, and I shall have to be content with that, for now.”

  Indeed, nothing and no one was going to stand in his way of achieving his ultimate dream. But it’s going to be damned hard, he thought, literally. He pressed his hand against his member, seeking to calm the rigid flesh.

  Several days later, wearing only his braies and hose, Alex practiced swordplay with Rand in the field south of the Almonry. His muscles strained with every sword blow. The sun beat down on his back and sweat ran in dirty runnels down his chest.

  Though Alex no longer felt his sword arm, sheer stubbornness kept him from giving up. He continued to ward off Rand’s blows with his shield and to counterstrike with blunted sword. Then Rand countered with several quick strikes. All Alex could do was evade or deflect the blows. In a moment of inattentiveness, his shield dropped. Rand took advantage and struck down at Alex’s unprotected shoulder. In desperation, Alex blocked the strike with the flat of his sword. Sparks flew as their swords slid to the hilt. Rand gave a quick flick of his wrist, catching the cross guard of his sword against Alex’s weapon. Pain shot up Alex’s arm and his sword spun out of his numb hand.

  Out of breath, Alex leaned over and rested his hands on his knees, berating himself for committing such a stupid tactical error. Alex spit on the ground, removing the bitter taste of defeat from his mouth.

  Rand retrieved Alex’s sword and tossed it to him. “Well done, Alex,” he said, clapping him good-naturedly on the back. Alex winced. “You have improved considerably in the last few days. It shall not be long before you are up to your old skill again.”

  Alex shook his head, disgusted.

  “Come, let’s have a go again,” Rand said.

  Alex’s squire, Jon, who had arrived at court two days ago, rushed up to them with towels and a bucket of water. He set the bucket aside and handed them each a towel.

  Setting his shield and sword aside, Alex wiped the sweat and grime from his face. “Not today. I have other plans.” He smiled in anticipation.

  “I’m intrigued. What plans have you that could put such a ridiculous smile on your face?” Rand asked, a blond eyebrow quirked.

  “Kat and I are going riding.”

  The squire raised the water bucket. Using the dipper Alex took a long drink and then passed it to Rand. “You may go, Jon, and leave the bucket over by the bench there.” After he did this, Jon collected their shields and practice swords and headed back to the armory.

  Unwilling to be late for his rendezvous with Kat, Alex walked back to the bench where he had removed his garments, sword and scabbard earlier. Then he poured the bucket of water over his head and chest. He retrieved another towel and rubbed himself down, wiping off the sweat and dirt.

  Rand followed him and rinsed his face off, before he sat on the bench. “Speaking of which, how are things progressing in your campaign to win Kat back?”

  Alex shrugged, reluctant to discuss it even with his closest friend. Then he tugged on his sherte and dark blue wool tunic, before buckling his sword belt around his waist.

  Undeterred, Rand said, “I admit, I’m curious to know how you convinced my wily cousin to go out riding alone with you?”

  Alex smiled, the first genuine smile since his return. “Some secrets must remain between a man and his wife. Suffice it to say, Kat and I have an understanding. ’Tis all you need know.”

  Rand nodded and stood up. They walked off the practice field together, skirting the open space used for tilting. At that moment a young squire rode full tilt towards the quintain. The end of his lance hit the target off center, then the quintain swung around and hit him in the back. He fell ignobly. The squire got up slowly, spitting dirt and blood from his mouth. His friends watching from the sidelines roared with laughter.

  Alex smiled in remembrance. “Were we really ever that young and exuberant?”

  They reached the grassy verge along the south transept of Westminster Abbey, stopping in the shadows of its soaring walls.

  “Aye,” Rand replied quietly. “We could not wait for the day when we would finally earn our spurs. We wanted to go out and fight for justice in the name of God, king and England.”

  “And for glory,” Alex said bitterly. Too late he had learned that glory was a lonely bedfellow. Not to mention extremely fickle.

  Just then footsteps approached and a man came around the corner of the transept wall. Of all people, it was Sir Luc de Joinville, head bent and step jaunty. The sun shone down on the top of his golden hair, illuminating the color of bronze.

  Alex met Rand’s gaze and read the same grim expression he knew was revealed in his own. Taking the initiative, Alex stepped out from the shadowed wall. “Good morrow, Sir Luc.” Rand stepped up beside him.

  Sir Luc looked up, startled. “Jesu, where did you sprout from?”

  Alex gestured back to the open field. “Rand and I were just finished.”

  “Ahh…I am just heading there myself.” He paused as though he wanted to say more.

  “We shall not keep you, then.” Alex nodded.

  Luc bowed and carried on towards the practice field.

  Alex watched him go, the usual ambivalent feelings towards the man swirling in his breast. Alex was grateful to Luc for saving his life in the Holy Land, even as jealousy consumed him.

  Surely Kat does not truly love Sir Luc, Alex thought. How could she be in love with him, and yet respond to Alex as passionately as she did in the garden two nights ago? But it was Luc she wanted to marry.

  Alex had befriended him on the long journey to the Holy Land, where they traded humorous stories of their youth around the nightly campfire. Now that Alex thought about it, he remembered many of the stories he told Luc were about Kat. Could it be that Sir Luc became intrigued with Kat all those years ago, forming an attachment for her from a distance
, and then sought her out when he returned?

  Despite their friendship in the past, Alex did not trust the man. The incident in the garden was proof that Sir Luc still wanted Kat. But how far would the man go to have her? Alex wondered.

  So much had changed since that day in the Holy Land when Luc had saved his life. Alex and Sir Luc had been among a contingent of crusader knights who had been returning to Acre when the Mamluk cavalry, garbed in white robes, had swarmed them unexpectedly. The hot, blistering Eastern sun beat down on Alex and glared off his chain mail and helm. Steel clashed, arrows flew and cries of agony filled the air around Alex. Blood from a gash on his neck trickled down inside his sherte, the sensation like a spider crawling over his skin.

  A loud pop, followed by a flash of light, spooked Alex’s mount, and the animal tossed him to the ground. He landed with a jarring thump, and then rolling to his feet, swung his sword at an attacking Mamluk. He severed the warrior’s arm below the elbow and as the infidel cried out in agony, Alex dealt a killing thrust.

  Suddenly the skirmish was over, and the attackers retreated, slinking over the rocky hills on their horses to await the next raid. Then from his unprotected side, Alex saw a flash of steel, and knowing it was too late, he turned anyway, raising his shield to deflect the attack. Barely planting his left foot forward, he met the glittering gold eyes of Sir Luc. Alex hesitated in stunned surprise, dropping his shield, leaving him vulnerable. Sir Luc’s lethal blade slid past Alex’s guard, but Alex felt no pain. A sudden, agonized cry erupted behind Alex and he spun, to see a wild-eyed Saracen glare at him and then crumple to the ground, dead.

  Alex had turned his stunned gaze back to the man who had saved his life. Sir Luc had wiped his bloodied steel on the yellow and red braies-like garment of the dead man, then sheathed his sword.

  “You are unharmed, Sir Alex?” Shock had held Alex immobile and he had not answered Luc immediately.

  “Alex, are you all right?” Luc had repeated.

  “Alex, answer me.” Rand’s insistent voice pulled Alex from his memories.

  Alex shook his head. “Aye, I’m fine.” The cool spring breeze, so unlike the scorching heat of Palestine, cleared his head as he breathed in the sweet scent of crab apple blossoms.

  Rand looked at him with concern, his hand on his shoulder. “You could have fooled me. You appeared to be in a realm far away and none too happy to be there.”

  Alex laughed without humor at the accuracy of his statement. “’Tis of no import. Come, let us be off. I would not be late and give Kat an excuse to escape my company this afternoon.”

  When Kat arrived at the stable, she found Alex waiting for her. He emerged from the building’s shadow, his gaze soft and admiring. “You look lovely, Kat. That color suits you well.”

  Kat blushed, unaccountably pleased.

  For riding, she wore her usual attire, a dark green wool tunic she had specially designed to allow her to ride astride more comfortably. The skirt was split up the front and back to the knees like a man’s surcoate, but the voluminous folds concealed the vertical seams, unless one was looking for them, or until she was mounted on her horse.

  “Shall we,” he said, gesturing to the groom, who brought out Lightning and Zeus, the big black stallion Alex had commandeered from his father.

  The stallion was a rare breed, both proud and stubborn—the irony did not escape her that the same could describe the Beaumont men. Lord Briand was no doubt glad to loan out his favored stallion to his son, in order that the beast got regular exercise while he was laid up in bed with a broken leg.

  The groom handed Zeus’s reins to Alex then led Lightning to Kat. Kat turned away and without waiting for assistance mounted her mare.

  Astride her horse, though she was still modestly covered, the arrangement of her skirts emphasized the long line of her leg and inner thigh area. Alex, his expression arrested, stared at her aghast, and a wicked idea sprang to mind. Taking advantage of his distraction, Kat prodded her horse with her knees and spun her mare around in a complete circle.

  “Race you to the road to Kilburn in Hampstead. If I win, you must release me from your company this day. Or do you fear a mere woman can beat you?” Knowing Alex could not resist the challenge, she charged out of the palace gate and onto King Street, her triumphant laughter ringing out behind her.

  Alex stared after Kat, stupefied, his mouth agape. He snapped it shut when he realized his quarry had escaped, and with a substantial lead. No way would he let a woman, and especially his wife, beat him in a contest of endurance.

  Throwing the reins over Zeus’s withers, he vaulted onto his mount, spurred his horse, and shot out after her. His heart pounded with the thrill of the chase, matching the staccato beat of the thundering horse hooves.

  Alex saw Kat had already left the highway and headed northwest through the field of St. James. As she approached Spital Street, Kat climbed up the gravel terrace, and then urged her horse faster in a race to cross the road before a rapidly approaching horse-drawn cart. Alex watched, horrified, his heart palpitating. Lightning surged forward at the last moment, coming within five feet of the carthorse. Alex swore, furious. The woman was reckless and willful, a real danger to herself. And he was just the man she needed to rein her in.

  When he caught up with her, he had a thing or two to say about her atrocious behavior. The odd skirt she wore drew attention to a part of her anatomy he considered his alone.

  Conversely, unwilling admiration filled him. One thing he could say about the saucy wench, she certainly made his existence very interesting. She was bold and unpredictable, and he thrived on the challenge she presented.

  Alex dug his heels into Zeus and urged him to go faster. The wind, crisp and cool, buffeted his face, making it tingle. His long hair came free from the leather thong and whipped about his face. He laughed again, feeling more alive than he had felt since waking up in that rotting, stinking hole in the ground.

  Nay, Alex thought, one could never describe his courtship of his wife as boring.

  Chapter 11

  Kat soared over a ditch—one of many that bordered the well-drained fields of Westminster—her blood still pounding with exhilaration. She desperately wanted to look back to see how far Alex was behind her, but she did not want to lose the lead she had gained. As she rode through a grove of trees, their dappled shadows washed over her like a cool wave, soothing her over-excited nerves.

  Triumphant laughter resounded behind her. Startled, Kat turned her head and cursed. Alex had closed the gap between them to a considerable degree. Only at the halfway point to Hampstead, blood roaring through her ears, Kat snapped the reins and urged her horse faster.

  “You shall not win,” she hollered back. She would pit her riding skills against any man, confident of her abilities. But Alex was not just any man.

  The wind snatched at her plaited hair and full skirts. Zeus’s hooves thundered nearer. Her breath hitched with excitement and a laugh of pure joy escaped her. In the distance to the northeast, no more than a mile away, she saw the two-story Norman tower of the Hampstead manor chapel. Straight ahead, in a more northwesterly direction, she headed along Watling Street towards her destination on the outskirts of the manor.

  The temptation too great, Kat looked back. Alex, nearly on her horse’s heels, snared her gaze. Unable to look away, she stared, the satisfaction in the glittering depths of his blue eyes holding her as though spellbound. Or so it seemed, for the connection lasted but a beat of her heart before she faced forward again.

  “I have you now, Kat. You may as well concede defeat graciously.”

  Her hands tightened on the reins. Forcing them to relax, she shouted back, “Only when I am dead.” And probably not even then, she thought.

  Alex’s laughter floated to her on the air. “You cannot escape me, Kat,” he shouted, “although I am enjoying the attempt.”

  She ignored him. Kat bent forward over Lightning’s neck, so close she breathed in the musky scent of horsefl
esh, and urged her mare into a sprint. “Aye, that’s my girl. Just a little farther. Such a brave beauty, you are.”

  Lightning sprinted down the stretch, her forelegs churning up dirt. Once more Kat dared to look over her shoulder and saw Zeus inch forward, his head coming even with her mare’s flanks.

  Fifty feet up ahead, a stand of beech trees marked the turnoff to Kilburn Priory.

  Reverberating in her ears were the harmonic sounds of shifting saddle leather, hammering horses’ hooves, and labored breathing of man and beast.

  Thirty feet.

  From the corner of her eye she saw Alex and his mount draw alongside her mare, nearly nose to nose. She shivered. She swore she could feel Alex’s hot breath on her neck. Tension built between her shoulder blades.

  Fifteen feet.

  For the first time fear of defeat engulfed her. He would not win! Five feet.

  Not much longer, almost there. Three. Two.

  Alex and his stallion lunged forward, edged past Lightning by a nose and crossed the intersection before Kat. Cursing fluently, volubly, Kat pulled on Lightning’s reins and gradually slowed her mare to a gallop, a cantor, and finally a walk.

  Alex turned and sidled up next to her, grabbing the reins to prevent her from escaping. They sat there, breathing heavily, their mounts jostling one another on the shoulder of the road.

  His eyes alight with laughter, Alex said, “I see you have grown quite proficient at cursing in my absence. Much more colorful than I remember.”

  Kat glared at Alex, too disgusted to reply.

  A cocky grin spread across his normally austere face, further irritating her. “I won. No matter your devious attempt to get an unfair advantage. What shall be your forfeit?”

  Kat bristled. Because she was a woman, her cunning abilities were considered sly and underhanded, but in a man these same traits would be admired as astute and shrewd.