The Knight's Runaway Maiden

by Nicole Locke

  ‘We’ll keep in touch. You must come and stay with me and we’ll write often.’

  ‘Yes. I promise.’

  Emma declared the she was thirsty and wandered off to the stall selling lemonade. There was a dark-haired young man in front of her and the two soon got into conversation. Purchasing their drinks, the two wandered off towards the archery range. In the company of such an attractive young man and suspecting Emma wouldn’t be in too much of a hurry to return—unless Miss Hope woke up and went looking for her—Lucy got to her feet and mingled with the crowd.

  Groups of people jostled each other and the clamour of voices was all around her. She sauntered past acrobats and a man with a performing bear. Across the field horses brought by the gypsies were being auctioned off. This piqued her interest and she strolled towards them, failing to see the man with his shoulder propped against a tree, his arms folded across his broad chest, a leather satchel slung over his shoulder. One horse was particularly beautiful, a grey stallion, which appeared to have attracted a great deal of attention. It tossed its head and flowing white mane, the hint of restrained power in every movement of its muscular body. It would prove a challenge to even the most accomplished rider.

  Unobserved to Lucy, a youth carrying a wriggling young goat walked by, the goat determined to be free. The youth stumbled and dropped the goat, whereupon it leaped to its feet and zigzagged across the grass. The stallion sidestepped and the man holding the leading rope let go when it reared up. Finding itself free, it then began to prance with its hooves flailing, scattering all those around it and raising shouts from the crowd.

  Somebody shouted a warning to Lucy to get back, to get out of the way, but she stood, not out of bravado, but as one mesmerised by the fabulous animal as it reared up and shook its head. But then suddenly, all her senses alert to danger, never of a nervous disposition, she felt the chilling hand of fear clutch at her. That was when a swift, agile figure appeared from nowhere and a powerful pair of hands reached out and grabbed her, lifting her off her feet and she was borne backwards into the safety of the trees. Then she was held quite still. She was unable to struggle, unable to utter even the smallest sound as she watched as the horse was caught and brought under control. She knew at once that her saviour was a man, a tall individual with immensely strong arms and fingers that gripped her arms like bands of steel.

  ‘You silly little fool,’ he said. ‘You court danger.’

  The voice was rich and hypnotically deep and pleasant. It lacked the roughness that would have marked him as a common countryman. He sounded cultured. He continued to hold her, his long-limbed body pressed close to hers. His hot breath touched her skin as the voice sounded close to her ear. She could feel his steady heartbeat and she could smell his maleness. The contact was electric. It flashed like a powerful current, charging the air between them. Her skin tingled and grew warm with pleasure.

  To Lucy it seemed as if the moment was suddenly suspended, along with the noise of the fair and even the movements of the crowd. Only after a lengthy pause did she become aware that the powerful grip was being eased by degrees until her hands were free. For all its intensity the moment from when the horse had bolted until now was brief, but Lucy felt a shifting deep inside her and experienced an unmistakable sense of longing.

  Slowly she turned to face her rescuer. He was wearing fawn riding breeches that were tucked into high-topped brown leather riding boots. He wore a white shirt, left open at the front to expose his tanned chest, the sleeves rolled back over powerful brown forearms. Tilting her head, she shielded her eyes in the sunlight, squinting into a face that made her breath catch in her throat when she found herself looking into eyes like shards of splintered glass, piercing her. There was a tiny scar on his cheek and a slight cleft in his chin, and those small imperfections only marked him as more handsome, more dangerously desirable than any man she had ever seen. His thick, softly curling black hair glistened in the sun.

  She was used to handsome men—had met several when she had stayed with her society-loving godmother, but this man was in a different class altogether. There was something so forceful, so compelling in the confrontation that gooseflesh raised itself on her forearms and an icy tingle raced down her spine.

  The incident had made them the focal point of the crowd’s attention, but when the runaway horse was caught and brought under control, people turned away. Lucy’s rescuer drew her aside, casting a glance at his horse which had wandered off when he’d let go of its bridle to pull Lucy out of the way of the runaway horse. It was nibbling contentedly at the grass, unaware of the furore.

  Mesmerised, Lucy gazed up into his recklessly handsome face. She knew she should do something, say something, if only to express her gratitude. His eyes seemed to bore right through her and she felt her secret thoughts were revealed to him, her petty vanities and jealousies, her less than admirable nature. ‘Thank you, sir. Why did you risk your life for me?’

  ‘I didn’t,’ he answered, his voice faintly amused. ‘I know how to avoid a runaway horse—which is what you should have done instead of waiting for it to trample you.’

  The authority in his calm tone brought Lucy up short. Feeling like a child who had been caught misbehaving, she sighed. ‘I suppose I should, but I couldn’t move. It’s such a beautiful creature. But it could have killed you.’

  ‘You were in dire need of rescuing—and I’m not that easy to dispose of.’

  ‘No,’ she said quietly. ‘I don’t believe you are.’

  ‘It’s not difficult to survive if you see from where the danger is coming.’

  ‘You are fearless, sir.’

  ‘I like to think so.’

  ‘But—that cannot be. Everyone has something to fear.’

  ‘That is not always the case.’

  ‘There isn’t a man alive who doesn’t fear something.’

  ‘Had I not pulled you back the horse would have trampled you to death.’

  ‘Then I owe you my life. My name is Lucy Walsh.’

  ‘And are you enjoying yourself, Miss Walsh?’

  ‘Oh, yes, very much. I would offer you a reward if I had something to give.’

  A fleeting grin flashed white against his tanned face and a roguish glint that must surely be what would charm any female he came into contact with made his eyes dance with silver lights. ‘As pretty as you are, you can give me all the reward you want. It is a pleasure to meet such a beautiful young lady.’

  His eyes gleamed as he looked at her and she was aware of an acute pleasure because, having reached eighteen, she was becoming rather susceptible to admiration from the opposite sex and experienced a warm feeling towards those who expressed it. Cheeks burning, she offered him her most brilliant smile. ‘There can be no doubt that you saved my life. Should I offer money?’

  ‘Good Lord, no!’ he exclaimed, then lowered his voice and smiled into her eyes. ‘I am fiercely proud, Lucy Walsh. To offer money would offend me deeply and I could never expect payment from a lady for services rendered. Although,’ he murmured, a glint entering his narrowed eyes, ‘were you older, a kiss would be reward enough.’

  Lucy laughed. She could tell from the teasing note in his voice that he was jesting. ‘That would be highly improper, I’m afraid. Old or young, I don’t go around kissing people because they saved my life. There must be something else.’ Tilting her head to one side, she gave him a frowning look. ‘What makes you think I want to kiss you?’

  ‘I can see it in her eyes when a woman wants me.’

  ‘You can? You are arrogant, sir.’

  He grinned. ‘It’s in my nature. Tell me, Miss Walsh, do you live in Broughton?’

  No. I’m at the academy for young ladies here—it’s just outside the village.’

  ‘A schoolgirl.’

  Lucy bristled with indignation. ‘I’m not so young. I’m eighteen.’

  �
�Not so young, then. A veritable ancient, in fact.’ He laughed lightly when her cheeks flushed pink with embarrassment.

  Lucy detected a glint of silver in his penetrating eyes—it was a dangerous light, which warned anyone rash enough to challenge him that he would be a formidable adversary. But not today. Not with her. ‘I’m leaving shortly.’

  ‘And where is home?’

  ‘I live with my godmother in London when I’m on holiday from the academy—although at present she is in Paris. I hope to join her shortly.’

  ‘You have been before?’

  ‘No. I have that to look forward to.’

  ‘I might be going myself in the next week or so—relating to business.’ He looked annoyed when a group of rowdy young males who had imbibed too much of the ale on sale came too close, a couple of them looking at Lucy with undisguised interest. ‘Shall we move away from here and see what the fair has to offer—if you have the time?’

  Thinking he was the most handsome and exciting man she had met in a long time, if ever, she was reluctant to be parted from him just yet. However, aware of the impropriety of going off with a strange gentleman, she hesitated. She could almost feel the force of Miss Hope’s cold stare and was relieved when, on glancing in her direction, she saw she was still dozing.

  Lucy had no doubt that should Miss Hope be made aware of her impropriety she would have to listen to her telling her how a perfect lady should behave, quoting as an example Lydia Brownlow. Lydia was prim and proper, refined and easily shaped, whereas Lucy was quite the opposite. She had tried to be like Lydia and adopt her demure mannerisms, but it was no use. She could not be like Lydia no matter how hard she tried.

  ‘Well?’ he said, waiting for her answer, seeing her hesitation. ‘I promise I shall behave like the perfect gentleman at all times. No one is going to bother you with me at your side.’

  When he looked at her and smiled the way he was doing now her spirits soared. Suddenly all the condemnations Miss Hope would heap on her, telling her that she was without a grain of sense or propriety and taking a morbid delight in listing all her transgressions should she find out, would be worthwhile. Besides, since she was to leave the academy and be forced into marriage with the man her father had chosen for her, then this would be the last time to have some fun before entering the world of adults.

  ‘Oh, yes,’ she said in answer to the gentleman’s suggestion. ‘I’m in no hurry to return to the academy.’

  They strolled, looking at the various stalls selling all manner of goods, pausing to look at a puppet theatre that had attracted a large number of children, booing and cheering their enthusiasm. Eventually they sat under the trees in the shade on the edge of the fair to eat warm gingerbread, neither of them in any hurry to end the camaraderie between them. He told her he was a sea captain, owning his own vessel.

  Tucking her legs beneath her skirts, Lucy sat facing him. ‘You don’t look like a sea captain.’

  ‘I trust you will not hold that against me.’

  ‘No, of course not. Why should I?’

  ‘Because you might think a sailor to be out of place at an event such as this.’

  Lucy fancied he was laughing at her so she smiled. ‘Not in the least.’

  ‘I like to go where the will and the spirit takes me. I’m used to being at sea beneath the wide open sky and with a never-ending expanse of water before me. There’s something about the sea that makes one conscious of life’s blessings and to enjoy it to the full. I like to feel the hot sun by day and watch the moon and stars by night.’

  ‘And the wind and the storms?’

  ‘We weather them—as sailors do.’

  She laughed. ‘How poetic you sound.’

  ‘I am many things, but a poet is not one of them. And yet here I am today—a sailor partaking of what the fair has to offer and in the company of a beautiful young lady.’

  ‘There is nothing strange in that.’

  ‘Ah, but if I were a gentleman I would not have taken the opportunity, just bowed in a deferential manner and declared myself unworthy of the honour of passing a moment or two in conversation with a young lady of note.’

  Lucy smile broadly. ‘Deferential? Oh, sir! I doubt you have a deferential bone in your body and consider yourself worthy to sit down with the King himself.’ He looked at her steadily and she felt herself flushing.

  ‘And what would a young lady like you know what is in a sailor’s heart?’

  ‘I don’t, of course.’

  ‘But you are a clever young lady, Miss Walsh, with a great life ahead of you because you are bold and will take what you want with both hands. It will be a lucky man who wins your heart and shares that life with you.’

  As he spoke he was looking at her very steadily. Lucy felt her cheeks heat with warmth. Suddenly everything about the day was beautiful, everything bathed in a soft glow—and the glow came from within herself. Never had she felt like this—so secure, so happy. As she gazed at her handsome companion it was as though a vital part of her had been missing until now. The feeling had come over her all of a sudden, it seemed, and she was slightly bewildered, but she revelled in it. Glancing to where Miss Hope still dozed in perfect ignorance of what her charges were up to, Lucy knew she should have left him then and walked away, but she did not. Knowing what her future had in store for her, she wanted to hold on to what could be her last taste of freedom.

  ‘Miss Hope, who is supposed to be chaperoning us, is asleep. She would have a seizure if she knew I was talking to you like this.’

  ‘Then we shall keep it to ourselves. I find it is the things we are not supposed to do that we enjoy doing the most.’

  Lucy listened to him intently lest she missed a word or an expression on his face as he described the countries he had visited, east and west, and the cargoes he had carried, not even looking at her which, if she had more experience of men, would have told her of his consuming interest in what he had chosen to do. He talked about crossing vast oceans as if it were a mere sailing up the Thames. She hung on to his every word, the glow inside her spreading, coursing through her veins like a glorious elixir, filling her with new emotions and instincts.

  ‘You were born in London?’ he asked, getting to his feet and holding out his hand to assist her.

  Lucy took it, grasping it firmly. ‘No. I was born in Louisiana.’

  He looked surprised. They began heading in the direction of where they had met. ‘You are an American?’

  ‘Yes. Have you been there?’

  ‘Yes—quite recently, in fact. Like you, I too am an American. I was born and brought up there—Charleston, South Carolina. My father came from Surrey, but before he died he considered himself an American. He helped fight the Revolutionary War back in the early eighties. When the fighting was finished and America won the war, things changed. He started a shipping company in Charleston. How did you come to leave Louisiana?’

  ‘When my mother died my father sent me to England to be educated and to be taught to be a lady. He sets great store by such things.’

  ‘He is English—or was he born out there?’

  ‘He was born there. My grandfather went to America when he was a young man. The lure of America was too great for him to resist—he was bitten by the bug that bit everyone else in those days. He toured about—travelling west for a while—hungry to see it all for himself.’

  ‘He wasn’t the only man lured by the Promised Land. It was a dream shared by many—thousands of men all seeking a better life, a different life, to raise their families, all the time pushing further west in a valiant attempt to tame the land and carve themselves a niche. What made your grandfather settle in Louisiana?’

  ‘He got tired of wandering and eventually settled near Baton Rouge—which was where my father was born and later met and married my mother. She was Spanish.’

  ‘I see. You have a col
ourful and interesting background. You must have missed it when you left.’

  ‘I did—very much. I was homesick for a long time.’ Lucy would never forget the day when she’d had to leave Louisiana. She’d been so happy there that she hadn’t wanted to leave. Oppressed by a terrible feeling of isolation, when she had first come to England she’d felt out of place. With her exotic upbringing and the freedom and vibrant colour of Louisiana coursing through her veins, it had been difficult that first year, try as she did, for her to conform to an English young lady’s way of life.

  ‘Will you return to Louisiana to be worshipped by the handsome sons of wealthy planters?’ he said teasingly.

  ‘No—at least not yet. I would like to see my father, but I like England very well. Besides, Louisiana might not be the idyllic paradise I remember—and yet, even though I have settled down here, there are times when I still feel like a stranger in a strange land. Do you trade with England and do business with the people your father fought?’

  He grinned. ‘I don’t hold grudges when it comes to business. My father liked trading with the English—like your own father—for a profit.’

  ‘And will you carry on your father’s business?’

  ‘No. Things change—things have changed for me. My parents are both dead. I sold the business.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’ Despite his self-assurance, she sensed a deep sadness in him, something frozen and withdrawn. ‘You have no siblings who can take it on?’

  ‘Sadly, no. I have a younger sister, but no brothers.’

  His eyes had clouded over and, sensing he didn’t want to talk about it, she didn’t question him further about his family. ‘You said things have changed for you. If you are not going to run a shipping company, will you remain at sea?’

  ‘No. I’m in the process of selling my ship. I have a buyer. Hopefully the sale will go through.’

  The breeze blew her hair across her face and she reached up and absently drew it back, combing her fingers through it and sweeping it behind her ears, unconscious of how seductive the gesture was to her companion. Her eyes moved over him in the bright sunlight, memorising the gleam of his dark hair, the firm lines of his jaw, his mouth, the lean, hard strength of his body.