Mara floated on her back to rest and catch her breath. She had swum for nearly an hour, stroking back and forth across the tiny lake. If she had not managed to banish the dark cloud that hovered over her, at least she was now too tired to stare up at it. She had paused only once, to watch Trey bound off into the woods after some real or imagined prey. He hadn’t returned yet, but he was close, she knew. He never strayed far, or for long. It was undoubtedly the hound she now heard making his way toward her through the forest undergrowth.
The sun had risen to cast its brilliant light over the surrounding hills and treetops. Mara closed her eyes to its brightness and turned onto her back, paddled lazily toward shore. It was time to return. Past time, as a matter of fact. The entire hall would be awake, the morning ale and bread set upon the trestle tables. Her parents would wonder where she was. She did not wish them to discover her long secret path to freedom.
Not that her freedom was going to last much longer.
Still, the swim had cleansed her spirit. If her escapade was uncovered, the key to the undercroft confiscated, so be it. The time she had spent in the lake was worth it The lingering taint of her run-in with Baldwin was washed clean, and Mara was resigned-at least somewhat-to her impending betrothal.
Her toes found the grassy bottom of the lake, and her hands reached for the bank. She placed her palms downward on the green and fragrant ground and prepared to pull herself from the water.
Stephen had almost reached the lake when he noticed its surface broken by a series of ebbing ripples. He wondered idly which of the three possibilities-fowl, fish, or small animal-might have caused the disturbance. Then he pushed aside the last branch that barred his way and stepped onto the bank of the cold but enticing water.
At his feet, a naked woman heaved herself from the pool.
Chapter Seven
“When I count to three,” Millie said softly, “you will awake feeling refreshed, better than you have in a long time. One. Two. Three.”
Stephen blinked, but his eyes adjusted rapidly. The room was dim. Only a single shaft of sunlight fell through the parted curtains. “What. what happened?”
“Why don’t you tell me, Stephen?”
He shook his head. “I. I. Oh, my God.” Stephen suddenly held out his arms and looked at them as if he had never seen them before. “I was wearing some kind of. some kind of armor, I think.”
“Yes. Go on.”
“I rode a horse. And I had a. a servant.” He shook his head again and dropped his arms. “No. No, it can’t be. It’s not possible. What did you do?”
“I did nothing, Stephen,” Millie replied quietly. “Nothing but help you access a previous existence.”
“No. You hypnotized me. Put something in my head.”
“What’s in your head, Stephen? Tell me. Where were you?”
The fuzzy memory came back to him with sudden clarity. “In the north of England. The Lakes District,” he said without hesitation.
“Have you been there before?”
“No, never. I’ve never even been out of the state of New York.”
“Tell me how it looked.”
“Green, wooded. So beautiful. So clean and. and untouched.”
“What year is it, Stephen?”
“I. I don’t know. I’m not sure.”
“Who is the king, Stephen?”
“Henry. Henry the Third.” He sat up straight in his chair. Electricity seemed to prickle on the surface of his skin. “How. how do I know that?” he breathed.
Millie merely smiled. “Tell me how you feel, Stephen.”
“I. I feel better. I feel good.”
“I’m so glad.”
“How. What did you do?”
“Would you like to come back?”
“Yes, I. I want to come back. When?”
“How about tomorrow at the same time?”
Stephen rose. He wanted to take Millie in his arms and hug her. “Th-thank you,” he stammered instead. “Thank you so much.”
“Until tomorrow, Stephen. Good-bye.”
Chapter Eight
Mara raced back the way she had come. She paused only once, briefly, to don her clothes. She looked behind her before she ducked inside the concealed entrance of the secret tunnel, making certain she had not been observed. But she was alone. He had not followed.
She ran then, Trey bounding along at her side, all the way back to the door into the undercroft. It was late, and likely a servant would be about, sent on some errand from the hall. Mara used the greatest caution to push open the concealed door. Her luck held; no one was there. With her hand on Trey’s neck, she ran to the outer door.
Various craftsmen and servants bustled about the courtyard, bent on their day’s labors. No one noticed her slip from the undercroft and hurry up the stairs to the great hall. There was but one obstacle left.
Her mother and father sat side by side at the head table. They lingered over breakfast, shoulders touching. They had been speaking quietly together, but at Mara’s entrance Ranulf turned his attention to the doorway. Lady Beatrice smiled.
“Good morning, my dear. Where have you-”
“Sorry,” Mara interrupted. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t sleep. I. I went for a walk.”
Her mother’s gaze held sympathy. Mara looked away guiltily.
“Would you join us for some breakfast, dear? You must be hungry, up and about so early.”
“I’m fine,” Mara replied, knowing it was probably the greatest lie she had ever told. Her hands trembled so violently she had to clench them behind her back as she walked past her parents. “I’ll get something later. Thank you.”
They looked at her quizzically. She was acting strangely, she knew, but she couldn’t help it. Her parents would put it down to nervousness due to the pending betrothal. They would never-could never-guess the truth.
Mara dashed through her parents’ apartments and into her own chamber. She slammed the door behind her and leaned against it heavily. Trey, who had not been quite swift enough, whined and scratched at the thick wooden barrier. She scarcely heard him. The image was before her still. Mara closed her eyes, but the picture only intensified. It wouldn’t go away and, somewhere deep in her heart, she knew it never would. She would remember him forever. Unaware of her rising pulse and quickened breath, Mara surrendered and let the memory invade her completely.
He was a god. He had to be. One moment she’d been alone, the next she had pulled herself from the water and there he was: naked, perfect, the most beautiful man she had ever seen. Thick dark waves of hair fell to his broad and muscular shoulders, shoulders as well muscled as his chest, a chest that seemed sculpted from marble. His skin was white, smooth, untouched by the sun.
But it would not be untouched by a woman’s hands, Mara had realized in a disconcerting rush. Unaccountable jealousy had flared in her breast and her gaze continued downward to a narrow waist and firm, flat hips.
Mara sucked in her breath at the recollection. A crimson blush spread from her breast to her neck, her cheeks. Down and down her gaze had licked him, down to that man-part of him, pale as it lay against his thigh, framed in its halo of dark black hair. She had not been able to look away. Mesmerized by the sheer, masculine beauty of the stranger, she had felt her lower lip with her tongue and experienced a rush of heat in the secret, female heart of her body. Almost reluctantly, she’d pulled her gaze to the thighs that framed his manhood, well shaped and bulging with strength. His calves were covered with fine dark curls.
Mara’s eyes had traveled upward once again-up to the impossibly handsome face where she had been momentarily captured, mired, in eyes of brown velvet, deep, soft, and rich. Those eyes had devoured her as hungrily as she devoured him.
She’d watched him drink in the sight of her, felt the warmth of his gaze. Her breasts tingled. There was a sudden dampness between her legs. Her eyes had been drawn once more to his tantalizing manhood, and lightning flickered through her limbs as it moved slightly, grow
ing.
Mara had regained her senses then, as suddenly as if she had been doused in cold water. She’d bounded away like a startled deer, a hind who had unexpectedly encountered the great gray wolf. She had run, bolted, fled as if fire burned at her heels. Somewhere along the way Trey had caught up with her and bounded playfully at her side. As the dog seemed to sense no menace, she had stopped to pull on her clothes, hands shaking, breath hitching in her throat.
Then on again she went, running, running, until she was safe within the castle walls, safe within her room.
Safe from any who might wish to harm her.
But never again would she be safe from the image of the man who, in one burning moment, had seared himself into her soul.
For perhaps the first time in his life, Jack was totally at a loss. Stephen’s behavior was totally inexplicable. After mere moments at the lake, he had returned. His skin was dry, his hair still dusty. And there was the most unusual expression on his face.
Stephen glanced once over his shoulder, in the direction of the lake, brow furrowed in puzzlement, and asked: “Did you. Did you see anything?”
See what? But without further elucidation, Stephen turned and disappeared once again into the trees. He returned minutes later with his peculiar expression unchanged.
Jack pressed for an explanation, but Stephen remained silent, almost as if in a trance. The knight dressed, slowly and thoughtfully, then mounted. Soon they were on their way again.
But what had happened?
Jack fidgeted in his saddle. He was not fond of long silences and had absolutely no patience for mysteries. In all the long years he had known and happily served his baron, neither of those situations had ever been a problem. Until now. He couldn’t stand it any longer. He cleared his throat.
Stephen took no notice.
Jack tried again. “My lord baron. Ahem. Are you there? I wonder if I might have a word with you.”
Stephen at last rewarded his servant with a distracted glance. Jack swiftly took advantage of it.
“You must tell me what you’ve seen, lord,” he demanded in a tone he would not ordinarily dream of using. “I cannot help you if I do not know the facts, and as you most obviously need help, you must tell me at once what has affected you so. What happened? What did you see?”
His master’s gaze returned to his distant vision, and Jack feared he had lost him. But then Stephen spoke.
“A goddess,” he whispered. “I’ve seen a goddess.”
Jack was momentarily nonplussed. “A. a what?”
“A goddess. She rose right up from the lake. Right in front of me. All cloaked in the most incredible hair, sort of the color of moonlight. Her eyes were. her eyes were like gems. And her form.”
Jack heard no more, for the memory of that magnificent body was Stephen’s alone. Never, never would he forget it. When she had risen from the lake it was to stand nearly eye-to-eye with him, and he himself was tall among men. Her frame was large, heavily boned, yet beautifully balanced. Her breasts and hips were full and womanly, her waist small, her legs long and elegantly formed. He’d clearly been able to see the strength in diem. Her amazing musculature was obvious.
Her femininity had been clear as well, her curves as generous as the muscles that corded beneath her pale white skin. His eyes had moved back to her face, the most beautiful face he had ever beheld, framed by the most incredible hair of a color he had never even imagined could exist.
And it was the same hue as the triangle between her thighs. That sight had left him quivering with the most overpowering desire he had ever felt. The vision of the woman from the lake had stunned him. Taken his breath away.
And then she was gone, running, swift as a forest creature, leaving him with a memory that would haunt him for the rest of his life.
Stephen held his stallion to as slow a pace as possible. He no longer had any desire whatever to reach his destination. Taking a bride would now be a very sorry affair, indeed. His heart had not exactly been in it in the first place. Since his vision at the lake, his heart would forever be in only one place. He would forever compare his wife, no matter how lovely she might prove to be, to the one matchless woman of whom he had just caught such a brief glimpse. The woman of the lake had been a woman to stir not only the senses, but the mind and heart as well. She’d been the kind of woman who would not be content to sit in her bower at the loom, but who would only be happy at a man’s side, hunting and hawking with him, joining him as an equal. She was a true mate-a soul’s mate.
No, he no longer looked forward to meeting his bride-to-be at all. There was only one love for him, he now knew, and she would burn in his memory forever.
Mara’s pulse returned to normal. Whoever the stranger was, wherever he had come from, he was gone now. He could not affect her life, only her dreams. She eased herself onto the edge of her bed, then sprang up instantly at the knock at her door.
“Yes? Who is it?”
“May I come in, Mara?”
“Of course, Mother.”
Lady Beatrice entered with her usual grace and dignity, the hem of her gray wool dress trailing on the ground. She noted the expression on her daughter’s face but attributed it to events that were currently unfolding. Unfolding, suddenly, at a very rapid pace.
“Mara, are you sure you don’t wish to eat? I could have Bridget bring you something before.”
The tone of her mother’s voice caught Mara’s full attention. “Before what? What is it, Mother?”
“We’ve had news.” Beatrice touched her daughter’s cheek, smoothed an errant tendril, and tucked it behind her ear. “Riders approach Ullswater. They bear the colors of Bellingham, and it is assumed it is the baron himself. Your father has gone out to greet him.”
“I see.” A pall seemed to settle on Mara’s shoulders. She felt dull, weighted. “And this baron, he’s. He’s the one?”
“Yes, Mara,” her mother replied evenly. “He’s the one. We weren’t certain when he would arrive, but it is a good sign he has come so quickly.” She smiled gently. “He will be eager to meet you.”
Mara’s expression did not alter. Her gaze focused on something far away.
“Are you all right, daughter? Everything has happened rather swiftly, I know.”
Mara summoned herself back from her distant place, put on a brave face, and took her mother’s hands. “Of course I’m all right. Please don’t worry about me.”
Reassured, Beatrice returned the pressure of her daughter’s fingers. “You’re a good girl, Amarantha. You always have been. And I’m very proud of you.” All at once, bright tears burned at the corners of her eyes. Before they could spill, she said: “Come. Come with me. I have something I want to give you.”
Mara followed her mother into the next room and watched her kneel, stiffly, by the decorated wooden chest at the foot of her bed. Lady Beatrice opened it, and the fragrance of the herbs and dried flowers packed among the clothes wafted into the room.
“Here, my dear.” Mara’s mother unfolded an intricately embroidered chemise and draped it over her arm to display the workmanship. Dozens of tiny pink roses ran from the neckline down each flowing sleeve, then scattered in a seemingly random pattern across the skirt.
“It’s. it’s beautiful, Mother,” Mara breathed. Although she had never had much time for finery, she genuinely admired the exquisite craftsmanship. “Is it for me?”
“Of course. And there’s more. Here, look.”
Lady Beatrice laid the shift on the bed and unfolded a tunic woven of soft wool of the same shade as the tiny pink buds of the chemise. The tunic would open down the sides to reveal the chemise’s embroidery when worn over it. A head drape, along with a silver circlet to secure it, completed the set.
“Thank you, Mother,” Mara whispered, and stroked the tunic’s fine fabric. “Thank you.”
“I’m just sorry that all this has happened so fast, my daughter. I haven’t had time to do all I planned. You should have had a proper trous
seau.”
“Other things are far more important,” Mara replied simply, honestly. “You’ve been good to me.”
“Go on.” Beatrice blinked back a new flood of tears. Turning her daughter toward the door, she added, “Go on and change into your new clothes. The lord baron will be here any moment-and you do wish to make a good first impression, don’t you?”
Ranulf’s first impression of Stephen, made over a year ago at a gathering of the northern barons, had been a good one. It was reinforced as he watched the young man dismount his imposing chestnut stallion.
“My lord baron,” the young man called, and respectfully inclined his head. “I am Stephen of Bellingham. I came with haste, as you requested.”
“And you have my gratitude,” Ranulf replied.
Stephen motioned to the other rider. “This is my servant and loyal companion, Jack.”
Directly upon the heels of his introduction, the smaller man vaulted from his saddle, landed on the ground at Ranulf’s feet, and swept a courtly bow, plumed hat in hand.
Somewhat taken aback, Ranulf gestured for the pair to follow him to the hall. “If you will follow me, I make you welcome here.”
“After you, kind sir,” Stephen replied politely.
But as he trudged up the steps slowly in Ranulf’s wake, making an effort to concentrate on his host’s amiable banter, Stephen’s mind was drawn, again and again, to the memory of the girl by the lake. He barely took note of his surroundings as they entered the great hall, barely noted the long, cavernous room was far more pleasant than most. Then he did see.
The windows were fitted with real glass; fine tapestries warmed the walls, and pitchers of wildflowers decorated each trestle table. At the head of the room, near the massive fireplace, stood several chairs. Stephen accepted his host’s offer and sank into an elaborately carved armchair near the huge hearth. No fire burned at the moment, but none was needed.
“Once more I bid you welcome and extend to you every hospitality of Ullswater Castle,” Ranulf said. “I also thank you again for being so prompt in your visit.”
“We agreed this alliance would serve both our interests,” Stephen answered his host. “I also know you would have this union made before the Cumbrian earl makes further issue. As I am a man of action, and no friend of the earl’s, you find me at your doorstep.”
The Circle Of A Promise Page 5