Heart Of A Knight

by Barbara Samuel

  Lyssa nodded soberly. "He did. And more," she added, remembering Alice. "His servant saved the village from plague entirely."

  Philippa spoke. "What's this?"

  "I know not, my lady, how 'twas done, but the plague did come to the village, and only took a babe or two, and an old man. No others."

  "But how?"

  Lyssa shrugged. "Alice says only that the village was healthy before she began, so 'twas no small matter to stave off the pestilence with a good tonic."

  The story had caught the king's attention, as well. "Has this servant ridden with you?"

  "She has, sire. She is my servant now, and tends my needs. I've found her a loyal and faithful woman. "If a mite too bold, Lyssa added silently.

  "I'd meet her when the time is right." He turned from the window, clasping his hands behind his back. "As for the rest, I will think on it. Meantime, mind yourself in his company, and let none know there is an attachment between you. I'll not have the gossip fuel Harry's pique."

  Lyssa nodded and stood to curtsey low. "My most heartfelt thanks, sire." She bobbed toward Philippa. "My lady queen."

  Outside the solar, Lyssa leaned against the wall and sucked in a deep, calming breath. On the dark background of her lids, she saw her dream, that severed, gray-fleshed head. Bile rose in her belly, and she clenched her fists. "Thomas, what have you done, my love?" she whispered to the air.

  Distantly came the sound of cups clattering, and a bevy of kitchen maids gossiping, and the clank of spurs down a stone passageway. The sounds were exaggerated by the arched halls. There was a scent of meat roasting on a spit and woodsmoke, and the faint coppery notes of the river. Lyssa absorbed it all, but over and over, she saw that bloody head, till she was near to retching with it.

  At last she pushed away from the wall, took a steadying breath, and went to find the steward, who would tell her where Thomas was to sleep.

  But she could not find him in the open hall where male guests slept on pallets, nor in the great hall, or in the yard. Stymied, Lyssa stopped and closed her eyes, reaching out with that part of herself to the part that was joined to Thomas, and she could feel him close by. Somewhere.

  "Here I am, my lady," he said, and moved from the shadows.

  He'd bathed the journey from him, and wore a fresh clean tunic the color of new leaves. His hair showed the shine of a good brushing, and she could not help the small, jealous needle that went through her—some lass had enjoyed herself too much at that task.

  But as he approached her, there was something else about him, something different. He walked proudly, his shoulders square, his head high, that fine square chin thrust slightly forward. In his eyes was knowledge.

  Her heart caught. Here was her man, whether peasant or knight, she did not care. She had nearly lost him entirely, and there was threat to them all around, but in that instant, all she knew was a bright, golden sword of gladness.

  With a small, tight cry, she launched herself across the stones and leapt into his waiting embrace. "Oh, Thomas, I so feared I'd never see you again," she breathed against his neck. She held him fiercely, then remembered at once the king's warning, and pushed away. "We must be discreet," she murmured, looking over her shoulder and up to the galleries, where a dozen eyes might hide.

  Thomas paused, and inclined his head, drawing her into a narrow dark hallway that led only to a dusty, forgotten alcove where a single embrasure let in a shaft of afternoon sun.

  Safely hidden, Thomas seized her and kissed her wildly, only lifting his head to speak when their breath came in gasps. "By the saints," he whispered, "and all that is holy in this world or the next, I do love you, Lyssa. There is no light in my world without you."

  She closed her eyes and brushed her brow against his chin. "Aye," she whispered. "But he has not given his blessing. We must not hope too much."

  "I cannot bear to think of you in another's embrace," he said. "I fear I'll go mad and kill every husband you ever find, one by one, till there are no men left to whom you could be married."

  She laughed. "I do think there are those who might suspect you before long."

  Holding her against him, he touched her belly. "How fares my babe this day?"

  "Well enough."

  And there again came that bloody vision of his head on a pike, and she moaned softly, pressing her face into his chest. "Thomas, I do fear some terrible trouble will find us here. There are those who would gladly kill to have my land and the rank marriage to me would bring. They will look for any reason to rid themselves of a rival—and with your secrets you are in grave danger."

  He took her face in his hands, and tilted her face to him. "You must not protect me now, Lyssa. Swear it."

  "'Tis not that I protect you, Thomas, only that there is danger all around us."

  "Danger for me," he said gravely. "Danger I do accept."

  Lyssa stared up at him, seeing the burnished skin where he'd been shaved, and the darker flecks in his indigo eyes, and the bow of his mouth. Behind him, dust motes danced in the light.

  And it seemed to her suddenly right that she should be here. There was only one man on all the earth for her, and he stood before her now. Tears filled her eyes. "I do love you too much, Thomas."

  He stroked her face with his thumb. "And you must not bear the weight of this, or halt what must be. We'll win gloriously, Lyssa, or fall to greatest despair, but you must never regret the gamble we've made here. We have only one chance to find happiness, and we must reach for it or regret it always."

  She nodded, unable to halt the slow welling of tears. So many things crowded into her: terror and passion and hope and love. Overcome, she raised on her toes and gravely pressed her mouth to his. "With this kiss, do I seal my love for you, Thomas. No matter what happens, henceforth, I will be with no other man, nor marry any but you. That is my promise."

  "Nay, Lyssa." He grew very stern. "You must not risk the life of that babe you carry."

  Steadily, she met his gaze. "You have made your vow. And I have made mine."

  Voices just beyond the small connecting hall made them lift their heads and cling more closely to the wall. In spite of the danger, what Lyssa felt was a pleasant sense of arousal at the feeling of his hard body pressing into her own. After nearly a month of nearly drunken exploration, it had been many days since they'd last made love. As the voices faded, she smiled up at him, thinking of the feel of his skin below her hands.

  Bracing himself with his hands against the wall, he put the length of himself tight against her body. "Do not tempt me with that wicked smile," he said in a low voice.

  "'Tis only wicked because it reflects my thoughts," she whispered, and could not resist pulling her open palms down the length of his back, down over the high, firm rounds of his buttocks.

  He moved a little, side to side, and Lyssa felt the thrust of his sex growing stiff against her. "Ah, 'tis a thousand years till we may lie together again."

  Another pair of voices passed beyond their hidden place, and Lyssa sighed in frustration. "But we must be discreet till all is settled, or risk the rage of Edward."

  "Be alert," he said, lifting his body away. He bent to kiss her and even the feel of his hair, silky and clean against her face, roused her. "Mayhap Lady Fortune will smile upon us."

  Carefully, he smoothed his tunic and spread his hands for her approval. Lyssa widened her eyes. "Remember me, my lord, when those beautiful ladies come to you at supper, with promises of all manner of worldly pleasure."

  His grin was purely male, and he winked. "I will do my best."

  Lyssa chuckled. "Go. I will follow in a little."

  He ducked through the low door.

  * * *

  Tall Mary was dazzled. She could not even take in the grandeur of the king's hall. Everywhere it seemed something glittered or shone or gleamed, and in every detail was a richness beyond anything she had ever dreamed existed. Woodell was a rich fief, which all knew, but here there were beeswax candles mixed in with the t
allows, and there were hundreds of them, on every surface.

  Lyssa had dressed Mary in one of her own gowns, not even an old one. Mary thought she was only trying to appease her over the quarrel with Dark Thomas, but was pleased enough by the gesture she did not care what the motive might be. In truth, she'd understood more than she wished of Lyssa's urge to send Thomas away, and had not this time held a grudge.

  Even when she spoke that aloud, Lyssa shook her head and took out this gown of darkest forest-green silk, trimmed on the edges with exquisitely soft white fur. Around her waist Mary wore a girdle of braided silk in many colors, and Lyssa and Alice had put up her red hair into a loose tumble of curls, bound around her brow with a slim circle of gold. When they picked up a mirror to show her herself, Mary gaped at the transformation. The green made of her skin a milky wash, and binding up her hair made her neck seem graceful and long. In wonder, she touched her cheek. "I look beautiful."

  Lyssa smiled. "Indeed. And tonight I will do what I should have done long ago—present you to your king."

  And she had. And the king, an ever-so handsome lord, had bent over Mary's hand gallantly and kissed her fingers, his blue eyes twinkling. Next to him, the queen chuckled indulgently. Dizzy, Mary had taken a place below the salt, and felt the envious glow of the others like a balmy sun.

  There was another fine moment when Dark Thomas caught sight of her, and turned back for another, longer, more appreciative inventory. He grinned devilishly at her, putting his hand over his heart in a mocking way, as if to tell her he was slain by her beauty.

  Then, as elegantly as any lord, he bowed to her, and when he lifted his head, there was a hugely secret enjoyment between them. Imagine, his eyes said, and hers back to him, two low-born peasants dressed like lords and ladies, dining in the king's hall.

  But of all the stir her new gown caused, Tall Mary relished the reaction of John Tyler most. Since the night he'd demanded a kiss, he'd asked no more favors, but the memory of that kiss lay on Mary's senses with a curious intensity, and she'd found herself hoping he might try another.

  Instead, he'd only teased and talked with her all the way to London, storing up little jokes to tell her, bringing her extra ale in the nights when they halted, seeing to her comfort in a way she had not ever known. Always it was Mary seeing to the comfort of others.

  This night, John Tyler was dressed in his best, a clean black tunic belted with leather, and she thought he looked fine. How had it escaped her notice that he was so largely, neatly built? Aside from Thomas himself, no other man in the hall was taller, and though he had not the hawkishly beautiful features of Thomas, there was nonetheless an honorable sweetness to the wide mobile mouth, and a light of dancing mischief in his clear eyes.

  And tonight, when he saw her in her green gown, his face went utterly still, but for the smallest flair of his nostrils, and in his eyes there leapt a light of such deep yearning that Mary found herself laughing.

  She moved close to him and inclined her head coquettishly. "I had wondered if you'd ever kiss me again, John Tyler. Will my dress inflame your senses so that you can no more resist?"

  His smile was reward enough, blazing and sunny, as uncomplicated as Mary's heart was dark. And he tugged her behind a thick post and kissed her properly.

  * * *

  Lyssa could not seem to catch her breath. She sat nearby the king and queen at the head of the table. At her right sat Thomas. Across from her were Stephen and Margrave, with Isobel between them, and Lyssa did not like the way the two men eyed Thomas, like cats with switching tails, ready to pounce. To her left were David the Bruce, the captive Scots king, and his wife.

  There had been one bad moment when Bruce heard Thomas's name, and leaned round Lyssa for a better look at him. "I did not recognize you," he said. "I took a grand stag at Roxburgh a few years ago… why did I think you were younger?"

  Only Lyssa would have seen the faint paling of Thomas's face. "I do remember," he said casually. "He gave us a merry chase."

  At that the Bruce was off on a glorious retelling of the hunt and the dangers of it. Lyssa gave her attention to her trencher, picking over the food, feeling vaguely nauseous. Next to her, Thomas was rigid.

  She dared not look at him.

  It was a very fine feast, for Edward took pride in his rich table. Candles burned in gold and silver candlesticks, and there were grand silver ewers and flagons crusted with jewels. Overhead burned a brace of candles, and rushlights cast their flame from the walls, making the hall bright as day. Piles of apricots and figs and plums were piled high on wide platters, and wine from Burgundy and the Rhine flowed into deep cups. Platter after platter of food was served, till Lyssa near burst with eating the exquisitely seasoned dishes—motrews and stews, roast quail and herbed chicken. All around were ladies in the finest of gowns, and jewels winked on fingers and gleamed at throats and cast fire from belts.

  Like her dream. The finest of feasts.

  "Even I can eat no more," Thomas confided to her after a time, sighing. The danger seemed not to have effected his lusty appetite in the least, and Lyssa cast him a pointed glance.

  He shrugged, a smile glittering in his eyes. "I am a big man," he said, and the smile spread to his mouth. "With big appetites."

  And for once, Lyssa chose to simply live in the moment. If he were taken from her an hour hence, she would grieve him then, and not a moment before. "Oh, a little more, sir, surely. Look, they have sweets."

  "Ah, well, maybe a little." Quietly, he said, "I do not recognize half of what is on this table. This morning the queen told me to eat, but I did not know what to choose. What is that yellowish red fruit?"

  "Quinces." She did not care for them, and reached instead for a pomegranate, which she sliced deftly in half with her knife. "These, now, are said to be the fruit of love."

  He tasted it and made an approving sound. "The fruit of love, you say?"

  "Aye."

  With that devastating way he had of teasing her, Thomas put the pomegranate to his mouth and sucked out some of the tiny fruits within the skin, his eyes shining. "Not quite as satisfying as a cherry."

  She laughed, and below the table, touched his thigh.

  Pages cleared away the remains of the food and the company began to shift into smaller knots, some dancing to the musicians who played in the gallery, some drifting to little groups along the wall, some disappearing to darkened corners for exchanges of a private sort. A chess board was brought out, and the Bruce gestured to Thomas. "Will you play?"

  Alarm ran through Lyssa, alarm she kept tamped down as she agreed to change places with the Scots king. Philippa moved close. "What a fine looking man he is," she said quietly of Thomas. "And 'tis plain enough you are in love."

  Behind Lyssa, the Bruce said, "Unusual strategy, Roxburgh."

  She could not help her fond smile, thinking of Robert's outrage when Thomas had first played chess, using his pawns to such fine and unusual advantage. She met Philippa's kind eye, and realized this was just what the woman meant.

  "Am I so plain?" Lyssa said, putting her hands to her hot cheeks. "I do not wish to anger the king."

  "Oh, no, child. 'Tis only my own happy eye that sees it. I do believe Edward means to grant your suit. He only wishes to find the best way to appease Harry."

  Lyssa touched the spot below her ribs that hurt with anticipation. She felt an urgent need to have this done, and get all of them safely back at Woodell. From the corner of her eye, she saw a man with a plaid drape over his tunic scurry into the hall. She leaned closer to Philippa. "Does the Bruce bring his own men with him?"

  "Only one or two." She shrugged.

  The man came from behind Thomas to murmur something in the Bruce's ear. The king nodded, and gestured toward Thomas, and at that instant, Lyssa felt a peculiar twist in her gut.

  Time slowed, each second stretching the length of an hour, or so it seemed to Lyssa. The man turned toward Thomas, who looked up with a pleasant expression of greeting that shift
ed before Lyssa's eyes to something cold and hard. Even before the man spoke, she knew.

  She knew.

  "This is not the lord of Roxburgh," the man said all too clearly. "Sire, do you not remember? This is the huntmaster. He led the hunt—do you not remember? You were so taken with his skill you tried to lure him away."

  And for Lyssa the world went still and utterly silent as the words rang down the length of the table and all around the room. The huntmaster.

  Thomas raised his eyes and looked only at Lyssa. "My apologies for my deception, my lady," he said soberly.

  Chapter 21

  Proudly, Thomas rose from his seat into the stunned silence, refusing to lower his head. From his great height, he met the eyes of all who stared: first Lyssa, whose face showed only pale shock. Then Isobel, across the table, whose mouth looked pinched. He disdainfully gazed at the knights who'd so wanted his head: Stephen de Kivelsworthy, who smirked, and Margrave, in his black, who showed no expression at all.

  At last he turned to the king and queen of England, finding on Edward's face not the fury he had expected but a curiously measuring expression. "Is it true?" Edward asked.

  Thomas straightened. "Aye. I am a bastard of that house, and when all were killed, I simply donned my father's clothes and went out in the world to seek my fortune."

  "As if clothes made the man," sneered Stephen.

  "Silence," said the king.

  Even the music had stopped now, as one by one, the folk in the hall heard the strange news, whispered from one to the other, and all eyes turned toward the extraordinary drama unfolding.

  A peasant masquerading as a knight!

  "You liar!" came a small, furious voice. "You lied!"

  Thomas turned to see Robert standing at his side, looking up at him as if he were the Evil One himself. "I should have known," he sneered, and with a furious gesture, swept all the chess pieces from the board. "Using pawns to take a king!"

  Impulsively, Thomas grabbed him. "You'll not disrespect these men, young lord. I may not be your better in birth, but I am still your better in size."