by Linda Madl
Still, what had Garrett planned for them?
From behind the two visitors, Isabelle frowned at her. She emphatically shook her head with an expression that said Leandra would miss the excitement of a lifetime if she didn't accept.
The prospect of being in a quiet fishing village where they were simply thought of as another knight and his lady made Leandra feel strangely free. Who would know what they did here? What harm could come from taking a day in their travels to celebrate the coming of spring with these good people?
She smiled mischievously to herself. Just how would Garrett, Sir Perfect, feel about gathering flowers in the woods and dancing around the maypole? He would glower and growl like a bear until the pleasure of the day won him over.
Her grin grew broader. How could she possibly be in love with a man that she so enjoyed aggravating?
Her breath caught in her throat, and her heart gave a little leap. Love? Why did she think of loving Garrett? Why had she dissolved in terror and tears as he fought with Leofric? Because she feared for his life, his happiness. She loved him.
Because of a potion?
"My lady,” Mistress Innkeeper said. “Would you like for us to return later for your answer?"
"No. I would be delighted to be your May Queen,” she said at last. Her heart began to patter lightly, as it did when she knew she took a great risk. Why should they not have May Day together? At least that. “'Twould please me much if Sir John can be the Lord of May."
Joy lit the two callers’ faces. “Of course, my lady,” they chorused. “We would ask no other."
Leandra began chuckling. Just how would Sir Perfect, dignified knight in leather and chain mail, look in the May Lord's traditional bright green tunic and hose? He'd look wonderful.
* * * *
THE NEXT MORNING, the pearly dawn barely glimmered pink in the east when Leandra presented a newly awakened Garrett with the May Lord's clothes.
"I've had a change of heart.” He raked his hair from his brow and scowled sleepily at the green wool tunic she held out for him. He shook his head. “I've decided ‘tis improper for a knight to play the May Lord."
"But you agreed to do it, Sir Knight,” she reminded him in a voice full of confidence.
In the light of dawn he wondered what had ever possessed him to agree to this ridiculous May Day idea of hers. He knew. She'd greeted him with such a dazzling, heart-stopping smile when he'd returned yesterday. She looked so well, so fully recovered! She could have asked for his own head on a platter, and he probably would have agreed to cut it off for her. “Don't you think the May Lord should be a younger man?"
"You can't refuse now. You'll disappoint the entire village."
"The truth is, the less notice the village takes of us, the better,” Garrett said, squinting at the tunic she held. She was already dressed in a clinging green gown that made him want to reach out and give her bottom a pat.
"I think the Lord of May should be a man who turns all the ladies’ heads.” She shook the tunic at him. “That's you.” Then she whispered. “Mistress Innkeeper absolutely blushed when she spoke your name."
He grinned in spite of himself and took the tunic. “Flattery is definitely your best weapon, lioness."
She cast him that little smile of pleasure that rendered him powerless—to resists her requests, that is. He stripped off his leather tunic and threw it across the bed.
Without thinking, he raised his arms over his head, ready to pull on the costume. Leandra's stare stopped him. She gazed at his bare chest—no, feasted—her eyes ardent, almost caressing him. He suddenly felt naked, though he still wore his leather chausses. As he watched, a pensive longing softened her full lips, and a curious tenderness darkened her eyes as they flicked up to meet his.
His mouth went dry. Her look of desire awakened parts of him he thought were better left asleep.
Her eyes, bright and liquid with confusion, betrayed her innocence. He was certain for the first time that she understood less of what she was feeling than he did. Hastily, he pulled the tunic over his head and yanked it down over his hips without meeting her gaze again.
"So today we lead the way for the gathering of the May flowers, your highness, the Queen of May,” he said in an effort to break the spell. He turned away to take up his sword and strapped it on. In his experience, danger seldom took a holiday. This Lord of May would be armed. He had allowed his vigilance to slip once before. He had no intention of letting that happen again.
She offered him her hand. “Yes, I can hear the villagers awaiting us in the square below, my Lord of May."
They led the singing merrymakers, old and young, into the woods along the stream that emptied into the harbor. The dew dampened the ladies’ skirts and brushed against their faces as they skipped through spring's first greenery.
He remained constantly at her side, his gaze ever sharp. Wildlife vanished ahead of the revelers’ noisy singing and the blare of their May horns and whistles. Their laughter filled the air as they stamped the ground to awaken the sleeping spirits of the earth.
Before long his reservations about being the May lord dissolved amidst the villagers’ gaiety. But he remained vigilant. He followed Leandra deeper into the forest, noting that groups and couples stopped along the way to gather the flowers that Leandra pointed out as she ran along.
The undergrowth grew thicker, and the morning light softened into green shadows. When a woodsman stopped Garrett to ask him about the merits of a tree that the men had selected for the maypole, he lingered to offer his thoughts. But his eyes followed Leandra. Behind the men he saw a maid duck into the bushes, her swain in hot pursuit. The boy's hand grabbed at the hem of the girl's skirt. When he looked around for Leandra, he glimpsed another couple, the giggling maid's bodice loosened and slipping from her shoulders, her breasts bared. Her partner dragged her down behind a fallen log.
The freedom around him made him suddenly uneasy. He'd received a few inviting glances himself from the village maids. No doubt some lads were eyeing Leandra. Suddenly aware that she'd just disappeared into the forest beyond, he bolted after her, cursing himself for losing sight of her. He strode down the hill, leapt along the stepping-stones across the stream, and worked his way through the undergrowth.
He found her exploring only a little distance ahead of him. When he caught up, he glanced back, uneasy about their distance from the others.
"Let's go back.” He tugged on the sleeve of her green gown.
"No. Oh!” She started and turned suddenly on him. She bit her lip.
"What is it?” Alerted, Garrett dragged her behind him and reached for his sword. He'd take care of Leofric this time, if the blackguard dared appear.
He peered through leafy greenery, almost wishing for a glimpse of Leofric's purple plume. Instead, through the spring leaves he spied a heap of legs and arms flailing in the ferns. The girl's russet skirt was rucked up about her waist, and the boy's bare bottom shone from beneath his tunic. His hose wrinkled about his knees.
"Is that lovemaking?” Leandra asked, her whispered words tickling his ear. The impassioned couple loved on, blissfully unaware of the presence of the May Queen and Lord. “Is that what the love potion is supposed to do to us?"
He admired the energetic work of the boy and berated himself for not thinking of this very reason for not allowing Leandra to run free in the woods. Many a maid lost her virtue on May Day. He turned and, with a firm hand on her shoulder, guided her toward the merrymakers. She resisted.
"But how is it done?” she asked softly, guileless bewilderment plain in her rosy face. “'Tis a mystery to me. A man and woman are made to fit. I know that. But how is a thing so small and soft tucked into where it belongs?” Her hands fluttered in a flopping gesture that almost undid Garrett.
He fought back his laughter, then turned away to hide his embarrassment and amusement. Did she really know so little about the man's part of mating? Gently he took her hand and led her away from the scene. This time she
followed him.
"Didn't the serving girls’ talk make these things known to you?"
"Father and the nuns were very strict about our talk,” she said. “I know Brenna won't admit it, but she doesn't understand any better than I."
"You think I should teach you?"
"You admitted that there is a benefit in having a teacher,” she said, hopefulness lilting her voice and shining in her eyes.
He clasped her hand tighter and quickened his pace through the woods toward the others.
"Need you walk so quickly?” she complained. After a pause, she added, “Surely you must understand that this is how we got into this difficulty in the first place."
"What difficulty?” He slowed his pace a little so that she didn't have to trot to keep up with him. He should never have allowed her to explore on her own.
"With the love potion,” she said. “I know so little. Most girls have their mother or an aunt for their questions. When I asked Amice, she made some kind of pantomime of the thing growing."
He stopped and looked back at her incredulously. “You didn't believe her?"
She bumped into him as she, too, lurched to a halt, her body pressed dangerously close to his. “Should I? I never know what to believe with Amice. She's like Tyler Wotte, always full of jokes and tales."
As she spoke, Garrett's arm burned where her breast had grazed it. He gulped as he noted how the green linen stretched and slackened across her breasts, rising and falling from the exertion of their brisk walk. She looked up at him, wide-eyed, an innocent blush still staining her cheeks, a truly virginal May Queen.
"Is that what happens? Does it grow? That sounds so strange and terrible."
He cleared his throat with difficulty, trying to dismiss his growing desire. Her curiosity and apprehension touched him. He'd never considered how foreign the act might seem to a true maiden.
"'Tis not my place to talk of these things with you.” He ignored the look of disappointment that crossed her face.
Ahead he saw that the people of the village had gathered, their arms full of flowers and boughs, awaiting the return of their May Queen and Lord. When he turned back to her, he caught her studying him, her features settling into an expression of earnest inquiry.
"Then who will? How does a woman find a teacher?” she asked with a soft but determined glint in her eye. “'Tis unfair, don't you think? A man can go to a woman to learn, but a woman, if she learns too much, she is thought less of."
He turned away, unable to look into her face. With a sudden tug in his gut, he realized how much he wanted to give her the answers to her questions. He ached to take her into his arms and show her all of those strange and terrible things that she professed ignorance about. He longed to watch her eyes widen in surprise, to feel the excitement build in her lovely body, to taste the sweet sigh of pleasure he could put on those innocent lips.
Garrett mentally shook himself and stared at the stream in their path. Was that water cold enough to meet the requirements of Father John's advice about bathing? Sweet Jesu, he needed a cold swim now.
He passed his hand across his brow, stunned by his own lack of discipline.
"No teacher is necessary for a woman other than her husband,” he growled, knowing that he lied. A man took a virgin for a wife to be certain of his heir. Otherwise, an experienced woman was most gratifying. God's wounds, why must she stare at him with such disbelief and disappointment?
A delicious “why?” formed on her sweet pink lips. He dragged his gaze from her face, away from those lush, inquiring eyes.
"Because no more is necessary.” Even he could hear the hollowness of his reply.
"You won't even answer my questions?"
"No.” He waved to the other revelers. A group danced around the tree chosen to be felled for the maypole. The sooner they left the forest, the safer they'd both be. He almost wished they'd found Leofric in the woods instead of the lovers.
He gave Leandra a low mocking bow and offered her his arm. “See. Our subjects await us, my queen."
She studied him a moment more, her embarrassment gone and her expression quiet. He waited, wondering whether she would press him more.
Without another word she took his arm, and they returned to the safety of the merrymakers.
* * * *
The lord of May marched along, his tawny brow furrowed so low over his eyes that Leandra wondered how he could see where he was going.
For the benefit of the other merrymakers, who were dragging the maypole back to the village, she forced a smile to her lips.
"Smile,” she muttered to him. “For the villagers, at least."
Still he refused to look at her. He'd been such a fine companion until they'd stumbled onto the lovers.
"How was I to know those lovers were there?” She kept her voice low so that the others didn't know they were arguing. How was she to know her questions would upset him? “I only thought as a man of experience, as my knight and elder, you would answer a few simple questions. No need to take offense. After all—"
"Elder?” he grumbled.
"Well, as an experienced man of some years you did show me a lover's kiss, did you not?"
He halted, then took up the pace again. “That was no lover's kiss."
"But you said—"
"I was relieved you were out of Leofric's grasp.” He started walking again, quickening his pace this time. She had to skip a few steps to stay at his side. He added, “I swear ‘twas no more than a victory kiss."
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Chapter Fifteen
"KISS OF VICTORY?” Leandra repeated in disbelief. A victory kiss merited lips to cheek only. Brief and congratulatory. Nothing mouth to mouth, lip to lip ... Nothing lingering. Nothing that curled a girl's toes.
"Yes, victory,” Garrett confirmed staunchly. “The subjects of kissing and lovemaking are now closed. ‘Tis not appropriate between us."
She decided to let it pass, for now anyway.
Back in the village square she joined the other women as a grimly enthusiastic Garrett and the other men threw themselves into hefting the maypole into place. The women sang as they trimmed it with more fresh garlands, bright ribbons, floral bouquets, and tinkling bells. Beneath the maypole they gathered to crown a radiant Leandra with a chaplet of flowers.
She lost herself in the revelry, graciously responding to the pleasure she saw reflected in the people's eyes. She was unable to see herself as they did—the delicate pink hawthorn crown enhancing the blush in her cheeks, and the rich green leaves highlighting the color of her eyes. Little did she know that every man at the May Day festivities longed for at least one kiss from the queen.
Once she was crowned, Garrett approached her in the spirit of the day and presented himself. “As Lord of May, allow me to be the first to pay my respects and pledge my liege."
"My lord.” She proffered her hand with a haughty movement that bespoke of queenly disdain. Then she laughed. His frown faded, and he grinned at her before he bent to kiss her hand.
Pleased to see him enjoying the festival again, she smiled down on the top of his golden head. He seemed to hesitate a long moment, his lips softly brushing her hand. What did he find so fascinating, she wondered, that he must linger, massaging her fingers between his palm and thumb?
Suddenly her left hand seemed bare, naked. She tried to pull her hand free of his. His head came up, and he looked her in the eye, his face full of questions. He refused to release her. But he could not prevent her from looking down to see that her betrothal ring was gone.
The smile fell from her face. She forgot the presence of the singing villagers. “My ring! I forgot that Leofric took it. I was so weak, so confused, that I couldn't stop him. Then you arrived. Everything happened so fast."
She pressed her fingers to her lips to smother the cry of dismay. With the ring gone, her tie to Reginald was lost. Gone was the betrothal gift that brought protection to Lyonesse. She closed her eyes against the uncer
tainty that shook her.
"You didn't take it off, then?” he questioned, his whisper harsh and low, as if he suspected her of some betrayal.
"No, never.” How dare he think she would take off her betrothal ring? Pain and anger made her stiffen. “You know what that ring means to me. I know you know. I saw it in your face."
"I believe you,” Garrett said, drawing her to his side. She allowed him to put a comforting arm around her. “Don't trouble yourself over it now,” he murmured, squeezing her hand until she was forced to look him in the eye.
* * * *
He met her gaze steadily, reading the wild panic there. He remembered well how she'd clutched the ring to her heart, how she'd worn it despite its size, keeping the circle on her tiny finger by some miracle of determination.
"You've been dragged through so much,” he said soothingly. He rubbed her back, willing the anxiety from her body, from her face. The villagers cheered, unaware of their crisis. He grinned and waved at them before he went on. “Forget it for now. Be my May Queen."
He gave her a quick sound kiss on the lips. The villagers roared and called out for more from their royalty for the day. He ignored them. He watched her press her lips together, refusing to display her despair. No tears from the lioness. She gave him a determined nod.
"We'll find it. I promise,” he whispered into her ear, without the slightest idea of how he would fulfill that vow. But he would. He must, for her sake and his.
Brave and smiling, Leandra reigned over the festivities. She announced each game with regal poise that awed the villagers, and she bestowed the May bells on each champion with a victory kiss that made Garrett oddly uncomfortable. Nothing was meant by the rewards—the little victory kisses. He knew that. But each time her lips touched a champion's cheek, he recalled their passionate fireside kiss.
The lads who won the foot race, the longest leap, the farthest throw of a ball—each blushed when the May Queen planted a peck on their fresh country faces. The little girl who won the contest for the longest-held singing note kissed Leandra back, and the old man who won at the most accurate ring toss angled for a wet kiss on the lips, which she handily avoided. The winners cavorted round the maypole, jingling their newly won bells, then placing them on the hooks for trophy gifts.