Heart of a Knight (36 page)

"Come, then. Let's hear the ruling, shall we?"

And Lyssa found herself swept into the solar of her cousin Edward. At the sight of him, standing by the window, Lyssa was again six years old, seeing her beloved cousin, who brought so much glamour and excitement and bustle with him. He was still trim and strong and tall, his hair a thick mane on his neck, his face as lean and handsome as ever. She smiled. "My liege," she said with a smile. "I vow you are more handsome each time we meet."

He turned. "Elizabeth!" Laughing, he held out his arms, as if he too, were remembering the child she had been.

Lyssa flew to him, embracing him deeply. He chuckled, hugging her warmly. In a moment, he let her go, and Lyssa found her attention snared by the tunic he wore. He'd ever had a taste for the richest velvets in hues so deep they seemed nearly liquid, but this—!

She touched his sleeve in wonderment, astonished at the softness, and the clever, minute pattern woven into the ruby colored folds. "'Tis magnificent," she exclaimed.

Edward laughed. "Trust you to note the cloth of my tunic when so much of your fate hangs in the balance."

"My fate," she repeated and shook her head. "My fate is out of my hands, but cloth is well within my realm."

Fondly, he smiled. "Sit, child, and let me speak awhile with you."

Lyssa perched on a bench, looking to Philippa on her chair. The queen gave the smile that had won her so many devoted admirers, so filled with benevolent sweetness and genuine caring that none could resist it—or her. Not even Edward, who still held his wife in rare esteem and devotion. Lyssa had never heard of him taking a mistress.

Propping one foot on a bench, Edward leaned on his knee. "I had a most interesting visit this morning early—a plea for your hand from a man who says he has nothing but fallow lands and an empty castle to bring to you."

At the recounting of their careful lie, Lyssa bowed her head.

"Ah, you seem to recognize the man."

"I do, my lord." Her voice barely raised above a whisper.

"I am intrigued, Elizabeth, I will admit. 'Twas brave to march to me and present his suit so boldly. A heart so brave and devoted 'twould be a good thing in a husband."

As if two giant fingers suddenly clenched, Lyssa felt her heart pinch so violently she feared for a moment she would die of fear and anticipation. "Aye, my lord."

"But I tell you honestly, girl, I risk serious disturbance in my court if I say nay to Harry now."

She winced at the name.

"You dislike the man?"

Lyssa glanced toward Philippa, who gave her the faintest nod. Lacing her fingers together tightly, Lyssa said, "He has ever lusted for my lands, my liege, not me. I was wed once for property and it was not a happy union."

"I knew that, and do regret the match. I could not see that Philip Mereworth was too old and too devoted to his first wife to make a good husband to you. For that, I am sorry." He lifted a shoulder. "Still, there is much to be lost if Woodell is mismanaged, or falls to the wrong hands, and I'll not risk it on a foolish whim."

Lyssa waited, her body hot and cold by turns. It seemed she could not quite catch enough breath into her lungs. The two parts of her mind warred—the selfish half which ached to have Thomas for her husband, and the more noble hair that knew he might well be doomed if she agreed.

"And did he speak the truth when he said you do love him in return, but only came to me to do your duty?"

She closed her eyes. "He did."

The silence then stretched so long that Lyssa grew frightened that she'd roused the king's anger, and lifted her head.

But Edward only gazed out the window, his lips pursed in thought. "Tell me of him, Elizabeth. How came you to love this knight?"

So Lyssa told him about finding Lord Thomas and his widowed servant. "We arrived too late for the planting, sire, and my guards—the knaves—ran off, leaving the castle undefended whilst we weathered the plague by the sea.

"When we did return, there was already grain sowed and growing, and Lord Thomas had defended the villeins against the bandits that fill the forest now."

"So he tended the place well, did he?"

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 He 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 tallows, 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
.