The Stolen Bride

by Susan Spencer Paul

  He was a knight again. The ceremony this second time had been far, far grander than the first he’d undergone. That first one, more than ten years ago in France, had taken place after his very first battle, when he was covered with blood and dirt, filthy from the killings he’d freshly committed for the sake of England. Sir John Fastolf himself had dubbed Kayne in both the name and authority of the king, right after he had finished dubbing Senet. Aric was dubbed immediately following Kayne. They had knelt together, side by side, on the outskirts of the muddy battlefield, and become knights together. John would have been knighted, as well, for Sir John Fastolf had deemed him the worthiest among the four, but he had refused the honor, and had kept refusing it year after year after year. That, Kayne thought now, must be the secret to all John’s serenity and calm. He had never given himself over to be a slave for the king, or for any man. John had been far too wise for that.

  Oh, God. Far too wise.

  Kayne lifted his face toward the sky and let all his pain and rage come shouting out of him. Louder than the thunder, far louder. He shouted at the top of his lungs, uncaring of whether anyone heard him or even if he was full crazed for it—with all his might he brought it forth, from his very depths, until his muscles ached and burned, a long, harsh, guttural sound of fury.

  He did not know how long it continued. Time was as black to him now as all else. He found himself sitting beneath the tree, weeping, with the rain falling hard through the leaves now, utterly soaking him. Tristan had moved away again, right into the rain, far more afraid of his master than of the storm.

  He felt as if he were going mad. He felt as if he would gladly accept death rather than what was before him—a lifetime of blackness, with all his hard-won peace thrown forever aside—save for one thing. Death would take him from Sofia, and he could not abandon her for any reason. It was not her fault that he’d been forced upon this hated path once more. It was his own, for not taking better care of her. But that would never happen again. She would be his wife, and he would devote his life to protecting her—even from his own singular evils.

  He would kill again, for her sake, and because he was now a knight of the realm and had taken vows to do the king’s bidding, whatever that might be. He would take life, as he had prayed never to do again, as he had vowed never to do. And how could God forgive him for breaking such a vow? Surely there was no way to find sanctuary for such as that. He would deservedly end his life in hell and then be parted from Sofia forever. But it could surely be no worse, he thought morosely, than the hell he was living in now.

  Lightning briefly made the sky as bright as day, and a booming crack of thunder shook the earth at almost the same moment. The skies opened with a fury now, drenching the land and everything upon it. Tristan, admirable horse that he was, stood patiently beneath the raging onslaught, only daring to shake his mane once every few minutes. Kayne could hardly see the great beast through the darkness, but his stance was familiar and calming.

  Slowly, he stood, and then began to pull the clothes from his body. A gust of wind buffeted Kayne as he tossed his tunic to the mud and, naked from the waist up, walked out from beneath the tree to stand in the open. He spread his arms wide to receive all that nature desired to send upon him, hard, stinging rain and bitterly cold gusts of wind. Another bolt of lightning cracked across the sky, and another crushing fist of thunder pounded the earth. Kayne lifted his face once more and held his arms out wide, welcoming all of it.

  He wanted peace. God’s mercy, how he wanted it. Only a few sweet moments would be worth all he possessed, even his very soul.

  Her name was the only thought that came to him.

  Sofia.

  She was all his peace, all his refuge now. Only when he was with her did he feel any measure of lightness, enough that he might bear the path he had chosen to travel once more. To see her, to hear her voice and gaze upon her lovely, smiling face. That would be enough. If he must live in hell, she would be what little he knew of heaven. His love. His own sweet bride. His only reason for embracing life at all.

  How beautiful she had been this day, standing so near as he took his knightly oaths and undertook the holy ceremony. Hundreds of onlookers—almost all of them soldiers—had watched the solemn rite, but Kayne had known that Sofia, with her exceedingly great beauty, had drawn far more attention than he had done.

  Lady Katharine had sent Sofia a beautiful surcoat to wear for the event, made of a blue cloth that nearly matched the color of her eyes, ornamented with gold thread that highlighted the wealth of gold in her hair. She had stood beside his father during the ceremony, and Kayne had maintained his sanity only by holding his gaze upon her.

  He dropped his arms and stood utterly still beneath the rain, finding pleasure in the cleansing torrent that poured over him. He had found a measure of calm here, and would treasure it. Tomorrow he would face the day, and all that it brought, anew. For now, he would seek only peace.

  Sofia would give him peace. And rest—the sweetest thing of all to those who were cursed. She would keep the nightmares that haunted him at bay.

  All about him, the rain poured down like a waterfall from the sky. He smiled to think of himself standing there in the midst of it, with his poor horse wretched and wet and likely thinking his master a fool.

  Turning, he found his discarded clothing, and went to fetch Tristan, who didn’t mind having the wet garments tossed over his already wet neck. Bare chested and soaked from head to toe, Kayne heaved himself onto Tristan’s saddle and took up the reins. Setting the steed into motion, he headed through the darkness and driving rain back in the direction of Vellaux.

  It was impossible to sleep. Sofia lay in the comfortable bed in her firelit chamber and stared at the bedcurtains that she had not allowed the maidservant to close. On a night such as this, when lightning filled the room from time to time with eerie light, a person would usually prefer to cloak herself securely in the darkness of the heavy curtains, closed very tightly to keep warmth in and the effects of the storm out. But Sofia had little use for such as that. She couldn’t sleep, and the play of light and sound of thunder and rain were far more interesting than a blank, curtained darkness.

  With a sigh, she at last gave up even the pretense of rest and slowly, carefully, pushed the heavy covers aside and got out of bed. Her back ached badly after a long day of so much standing, sitting and kneeling. Kayne’s knighting ceremony had been lengthy and grand, and had been attended by one of the king’s own regents. Before it had come to an end, Sofia’s legs had burned like fire, and she had longed to sit down. But as uncomfortable as it had been for her, it had been a thousand times worse for Kayne. She had never seen any man more unhappy than he was as he took on again the vows and duties of the knighthood. A dozen times at least she’d wanted to cry out loud that it must all stop, that he mustn’t continue with the ceremony, but the hand that Lord Renfrow had kept upon her arm seemed to hold her both paralytic and mute.

  With careful steps, she moved to a tall, thickly paned window, and gazed out at the raging storm. A damp chill emanated from the heavy glass, and Sofia lifted fingertips to touch the cold, smooth surface. Few noblemen were wealthy enough to have windows in their castles, but Lord Renfrow was one of them. Wealth, power—Lord Renfrow possessed them both in great measure. And Kayne would inherit them, along with all the responsibilities of the title.

  She couldn’t forget the look on his face as he’d taken his vows. How cold and dark his blue eyes had appeared, so dull and lifeless, just as his voice, reciting the words, had been.

  It was her fault that he had become so wretched. He had been content in his smithy at Wirth, and in his clean, quiet, spare dwelling. But now, for her sake, he had taken on the knighthood, and had let himself be made Lord Renfrow’s legitimate heir. Thinking of it, Sofia closed her eyes and leaned her forehead against the cold glass. How could she have let it all happen? How could she have allowed the man she loved so deeply to take such a heavy, cumbersome burden—a b
urden he had only just thrown off?

  But she knew why she had been too weak to stop it. She could blame no one but herself, for the truth of it was, she was afraid, and Kayne made her feel safe. For her own selfish sake, she had let Kayne make so great a sacrifice. He had done it out of love, while she, who claimed to love him so well, had been too foolish and cowardly to make any like sacrifice for him.

  Suddenly, the door to her chamber opened, not quietly, as a servant might do in order to creep in and stoke the fire, but firmly, as the lord of the castle might do.

  Sofia turned, and through the darkness saw a tall, broad figure standing in the door. A brief moment of confusion and panic passed as he turned to close the door, throwing the bolt, until she realized, by his blond hair, that it was Kayne.

  He moved toward her in strong, steady strides, as if he meant to snatch her up, and she backed away a step, murmuring his name.

  “Sofia,” he said, reaching out to her as he came near. His movements were swift and sure, but his touch was gentle, and he drew her close.

  “Kayne?” she repeated with confusion, but the next moment he was kissing her, tenderly and with great care, holding her face between his hands. His mouth moved over her lips, her skin, traveling in rapid, fervent caresses across the line of her cheek before finding her mouth once more.

  “Kayne,” she tried again, but he did not seem to hear her. There was an urgency to his gentle onslaught, a hunger in the movement of his hands and mouth. Sofia could do naught save give way to it.

  In but moments she began to feel the same hunger, and lifted her arms to put them about his neck, pressing close against his half-clothed body. The action made him groan deeply, and his arms lashed about her waist to crush her tightly to himself.

  Pain sliced across Sofia’s back, and she stiffened and gasped. Kayne at once altered his grip.

  “Sofia, forgive me,” he pleaded, his breathing harsh with desire. “Forgive my thoughtlessness. Are you all right, love?”

  She had already recovered by the time he finished his apology, and drew in a long, easing breath and relaxed. “’Twas but a small spasm. It has passed.” She touched his hair with her fingertips. “You’re wet,” she said foolishly, and then realized that she was now wet, too, from being pressed so near to him. “And you are all unclothed. Kayne…you have not been out in this weather?”

  “Aye,” he murmured.

  “But why?”

  “To find a measure of peace.”

  Sorrow knifed through her, far more painful than what her body had just experienced. “Oh, Kayne,” she murmured sadly, stroking strands of wet hair from his face. “’Tis all my fault. I am so deeply ashamed and sorry.”

  He shook his head. “You are not the one to blame. It is my own sickness that makes me ill within. You are my only refuge from the misery of it. I need you, Sofia.”

  For a moment she did not understand what he meant, but he spread his hands carefully against her hips and drew her near once more, pressing her firmly against himself.

  “I need you,” he said again, whispering the words this time. “But if you tell me to leave, I will go at once. Indeed, I should go. I have no right to ask anything of you.”

  Sofia swallowed heavily. “I want you to stay, Kayne. But I am afraid…because I cannot stop thinking of Sir Griel and…everything he said and did.”

  He began to release her altogether, and his tone, when he spoke, was filled with remorse. “God’s mercy, Sofia—I had not remembered, or thought—and now I have given you such grave insult as cannot be forgiven.”

  “Nay!” she insisted, clutching him with her small strength, not letting him pull away. “I only want you to take away the pain of such memories. If you do not, I must live with them forever. When Sir Griel did those…those things to me, I was so afraid. But the worst of it was thinking that he would be the first to know me, and not you, as I had always dreamed.”

  Kayne’s arms slid about her again, much more carefully now. He held her in a light, comforting clasp.

  “Don’t think of it, or of him,” he said. “I would not have you so tormented.”

  “Then let us give each other peace this night,” she murmured. “Give me new memories to think upon, and I will strive to give you peace, as well, though you must be patient and show me how best to please you, for I know so little.”

  In the dim firelight, he searched her face intently.

  “Are you certain, Sofia?”

  “Aye.” She smiled. “Is it not what you came for?”

  He nodded. “But the madness that possessed me has been tempered.” His hands lifted to frame her face again, gently, his fingers soft against her skin. “I would not bring you harm, Sofia. Ever. You are all in this world that matters to me now. All I have to love and care for.”

  She slid her hands over his, gazing at him solemnly. “Then love me, Kayne. Mayhap I am wanton and full sinful—but I have dreamt of you almost from the moment I knew you.”

  “And I of you,” he whispered, lowering his head to tenderly kiss her. “So many nights, lying in my solitary bed.” He kissed her again before adding, “And so many days, working by the forge.” His hands lowered to clasp her own, and pulling her along, he slowly backed toward the bed. “Always, you were in my thoughts, even when I did not want you there.”

  “I’m glad,” she said, shivering with a mixture of anticipation and fear as they reached their destination. Another flash of lightning briefly lit the chamber, followed by a low rumble of thunder. “I suffered for you as well.”

  “You’re trembling,” he said, his hands releasing her own and sliding upward, slowly, until his fingers touched the bare skin of her neck. His thumbs caressed the delicate flesh beneath her ears.

  “’Tis cold,” Sofia murmured, striving to keep her eyes from closing at the pleasure of his touch. “And you are…we are…wet.”

  “Aye.” His fingers moved lower, to the ties of her night rail. Slowly, he pulled them free. “We must remedy this as soon as we may.”

  Sofia did close her eyes then, as he undressed her. The night rail slid from her shoulders and pooled about her feet, and she stood before him, naked and intensely embarrassed. She tried to control her heightened breathing, but to no avail. He would know full well just how naive and foolish she was.

  Kayne’s big hands, warm now, smoothed over her shoulders, and his fingers skimmed downward across the soft skin of her arms, making Sofia shiver even more greatly. He bent and kissed her mouth, then, very gently, the skin beneath one ear. She could hear that he, too, was breathing more harshly than before.

  “You are more beautiful than all my dreams,” he whispered into her ear. When he straightened, he pulled the length of her unbound hair over her shoulders, and spent a full minute or more running his fingers through the myriad strands. Sofia, standing very still beneath this touching, at last opened her eyes.

  He was gazing down at her, his face lit only dimly by the firelight, with equal measures of awe and desire. Seeing that she had opened her eyes, he ceased his wondered playing with her hair and smiled. Then he bent and, taking every care, lifted her in his arms and laid her upon the bed.

  “Stay warm until I join you,” he said, pulling the bed-covers up.

  He sat in a nearby chair and removed his boots, tossing each of them aside to land upon the floor with a thud. Another flash of lightning filled the room, and Sofia saw that Kayne had stood, and was pulling off his wet leggings. Their eyes met in that brief flash, and the desire she saw in his made her draw in a breath and pull the bedcovers up more closely.

  The next moment, the bed dipped as his weight came onto it, and the covers lifted as he slid beneath them and next to her.

  His chest was warm and dry, his legs were yet cold and a bit damp. Sofia tried to scoot farther away to give him room, but Kayne only followed, sliding an arm about her waist to stop her from going further.

  “Sofia, love,” he murmured, leaning over her, seeming so much bigger and
more solid of a sudden. “Don’t be afraid.” He took her hand and held it over his bare chest, where his heart beat in a firm, steady rhythm. “You hold every power over me, now and always. If you tell me to go, I will go at once, without a murmur of dissent. It will be thus each moment. If you begin to feel afraid, or to think of what happened before, tell me.”

  Sofia reached out to touch his well-loved face, then to stroke the length of his strong neck, down to his muscled and heavily scarred shoulders. He held himself very still as she made her tentative exploration, though she could feel, by the tautness of the muscles beneath her hands, and hear, by his rapid breath, that he did so only by great force of will.

  How long had she dreamt of doing this? Of touching him so intimately? Of becoming his in the way of a man and woman, with love making that perfect bond between them? Even if she never became his wife, she would have this one night to cherish, and to remember even when he had gone away from her. For a few precious hours she would know what it was to lie with the man she would love forever.

  “I’m not afraid,” she whispered, as yet another shock of lightning glimmered briefly in the room, revealing his eyes, filled with fierce desire and hope. “I love you, Kayne. Show me how to give you pleasure.”

  Kayne came awake to find Sofia’s warm, naked body spooned comfortably against him, and for one confused moment strove to remind himself where he was and what had occurred. Memory rushed back as sweetly as the pleasure they had shared, and he closed his eyes and released a deep, relaxed breath.