Carolyne Cathey (35 page)

And then she saw
him.  Even though he wore a helm, she knew Kyle wielded the sword against the
four knights who surrounded him.  He spun, deflected a sword with his shield,
then whirled to catch another with his blade.  So agile.  So graceful.  He
arced his arm with a sweep of his weapon and the other knights jumped out of
reach.  Kyle lunged, spun, lunged.  Beauty.  Magnificence.  He moved like an
animal, sleek, powerful, in control.  And she loved him.  She knew in that
instant she would not leave him.

A knight
side-stepped as he attempted a parry.  The man collided with another knight and
both tumbled onto the ground, a tangle of mail and weapons.  "Curse you,
Kyle!"

Kyle laughed,
then must have caught her gaze.  He stilled, then lurched forward onto the
ground as the blow of a blade slammed his back.

A scream rolled
from Eleanor's throat.  She ran toward him, ducking beneath someone's arm,
leaping over a foot.

"Satan's
curse, Alfred!  You knew my attention was elsewhere."  His voice resonated
from inside his metal head-covering.  Kyle rolled to his feet, his weapon
ready.  "Cease!"  Kyle held up his sword.  "Halt!" 

Eleanor grasped
his arm.  "Are you hurt, my lord?"

Laughter rang
from the other knights.

Kyle removed his
helm and perspiration gleamed on his face.  He grinned and shook his head. 
"Nay.  Only my pride.  The edges of our swords are dull and we hit with
the flat side."

A knight removed
his helm to reveal sandy hair and eyes like aged bronze.  A scar ran across his
nose and one cheek.  "Take her with you on our next battle, Kyle.  She can
follow you amongst the slashing swords to tend to your scrapes and cuts."

Kyle scowled. 
"Enough, Roger.  Although, 'tis a grand thought, that."

The knight who
had struck the felling blow swatted Kyle on the back with his gauntlet-covered
hand.  He stood as tall as Kyle, and had the appearance of an overgrown bull,
all strength and no finesse.  "Damn, but that blow felt good.  I've hoped
to do that for years."

Sir Jerrod pulled
off his helm and wiped the hem of his surcote across his brow.  "The next
time we have practice, Alfred, we'll ask Eleanor to saunter past.  Perhaps
then, we'll all have a chance to best Kyle."

Eleanor knew her
face glowed red from embarrassment.

Kyle shrugged as
if in surrender.  He pulled her to his side and crushed her with a hug, then
bowed to his friends.  "Lords Alex, Roger, Alfred, I wish you to meet this
most beautiful of women . . . Eleanor."

The pride in his
voice drove her love even deeper, although she had not realized could be
possible.

The knights
grinned and bowed as if she were the grandest of ladies.

Eleanor smiled
and curtsied.  "Welcome to Trystonwood, Sires."

Lord Alex rubbed
at a spot on his helm then glanced at Eleanor.  "I didn't realize the
change of affairs here.  'Tis difficult to imagine that tough old warrior
convincing a beauty such as yourself to become his lady.  Which lord is your
father, Lady Eleanor?  Perhaps I've met him in--"

Lord Alfred
jostled him with his shoulder.  Silence stilled the others.

Regret fired
through her body like tongues of disapproval.  She had shamed Kyle in front of
his friends.  She would never belong.  Despite her urge to die on the spot,
Eleanor prayed instead for dignity.

Kyle tightened
his grasp.  "Your presence is a boon, Lord Alex, but your curiosity is
unwelcome.  Besides, when the toll is taken, we all come from the one Father. 
Now, if you'll excuse us."

Eleanor cheeks
stung with mortification as Kyle bowed, then urged her into the shade of the
keep where he removed his gauntlets.  He dropped his helm and the metal covering
rolled on the ground,  thunking against the stone wall.  Kyle took her hands in
his and stepped back, sweeping a slow examination from her head to her toes
that near singed her to ash.  The approval in his eyes softened the sharp edges
of the other knights' disparagement.

"You steal
my breath, Eleanor."

"I've shamed
you, my lord." 

He shook his
head. 

"Then, why
do I feel such humiliation?  Lord Alex but expressed the world's damnation for
my status.  And if Lord Alex disapproved, how much more so the king?"

He lifted her
palms to his lips then pressed them to his chest.  "What matters is this
emotion I feel for you that roots stronger in my soul each moment of my
existence."  His voice broke.  "I believe I lost my heart in that
first moment I saw you on the green, all wet and covered with mud, your chin
tilted to a defiant angle, your dainty hands fisted at your sides, your courage
despite the fear you thought you hid, but betrayed with the trembling of your
skirt.  And then later the bliss, your laughter, your fire and passion . . .
ah, you have blessed me."  He wrapped her in his strong but gentle arms and
pulled her against his body.  "No matter what happens to me, love, always
know that I care for you above all else and will give my life for you,
willingly and without hesitation."

Eleanor paused at
hearing the same words he had used in the wager except in reverse; that fateful
night he had stipulated that if she lost, she become his leman willingly and
without hesitation.  Now he offered his life in exchange for her hand--the hand
he had saved.  Eleanor's love welled within and flowed through her veins like
warm honey, sweet and pure.  With his confession secure within her heart, she
could face any future with strength, dismal or otherwise.  But two things she
knew for certain, she must not allow him to risk his life for her, and she must
tell him about the child. 

She tilted back
her head and looked up into his eyes as blue as the sky above.  "Kyle, I
love you so much that I will sacrifice all future happiness to keep you safe. 
And as to your sworn fealty . . ." 

Kyle threaded his
fingers through her hair and lowered his face.

She almost lost
what she meant to say. "I understand your sense of honor, my lord, and I
will not allow--"

The touch of his
lips on hers, warm and soft, flashed heat to her core, buckling her knees,
drowning her already sinking resolve to stay away from his bed should she
remain, especially since she already carried life from his well-planted seed.

Kyle inhaled a
ragged breath as he drew her against his body and rocked her in the tight
embrace of his arms.  "Ah, love.  Have faith in me.  I will triumph."

In a flash of
insight, she knew why she must stay.  She must make certain Kyle didn't anger
the king and thus mar his future relationship with his liege lord, for despite
all the pleas and bargains and Kyle's knightly honor, Kyle had sworn his fealty
and must eventually acquiesce to King Edward's command.  His sense of duty
would allow no less.  And to betray the king's trust would slay Kyle's soul. 

Then a plan burst
forth in her mind.  If the situation became too dangerous, Eleanor would merely
tell the king she had no intention of wedding Kyle, then she would forsake her
happiness and leave Trystonwood, for always.  And she would do so, not with
self-pity--well, perhaps a little, or rather an immense amount if truth be
told--but also with pride and love.

Peter cleared his
throat and interrupted her sacrificial thoughts.  "Lord Kyle.  Rupert is
here, as you requested."

Kyle stiffened
and tightened his grip on her arms.  "Aye, Peter.  I'll meet him by the
gate.  'Twill be odd to ask him to be a groom, and then in the next breath,
tell him to return to the fold to slay more sheep.  Ah, well.  At least 'twill
keep my mind occupied while Jerrod . . . "   His revelation remained
unfinished as he caressed her with his gaze, all the sorrow of the world in his
eyes.  "Eleanor, I will come for you as soon as I am able.  And if for
some reason, I cannot, Jerrod--"   He released her, then turned and strode
away from her around the corner, Peter in his wake.

Realization
struck her that Kyle had just said his farewell.  A cold type of helplessness
crept over her flesh as self-pity shoved aside all her noble intentions. 
Panicked, she darted into the dimness of the scullery, then scanned the
preparations to see how she might assist, wondering how to convince Jerrod to
fight her cause, wondering if she came to the scullery not to be of help, but
to hide. 
Coward
.  But she must plan the strategy of her words with as
much care as a knight plans the strategy of battle.

A smoky haze
mingled with the aroma of mutton and ale.  Nurse huddled over the long table,
turnips and cabbages strewn about like over-large jewels.

"Nurse, you
should be with Peter.  I'll take care of--"

"Eleanor?"

Sir Jerrod
. 

Nay, not so
soon
.  She had yet to organize her thoughts.  Her hopes wavered between
courage and defeat, for prepared or not, the time of truth neared.  She turned
to the silhouetted form in the doorway.  "Welcome back, Sire.  Thank you
for bringing the knights . . . and for being Lord Kyle's friend."

"Ah.  You
thank me for all that, do you?  You are most welcome, lass.  But I doubt you'll
be grateful now, for I must speak with you."

He meant to tell
her he would take her away, Eleanor knew as much.  She wouldn't go.  He
couldn't force her.  Well, perhaps he could, but . . . Oh, dear.  Perhaps if
she explained to him her plan for protecting Kyle's life . . .

"In
private?"

A tremble started
in her hands and spread throughout her body.  "Aye, Sir Jerrod.  Would you
like to visit atop the curtain wall.  'Tis one of my favorite places.  Although
no place will be private this day, with the preparations for war."

"The wall it
shall be."  He bowed.  "My lady."

Even he called
her by the pretend title.  Kyle must have told him.  What did Sir Jerrod think
of the mockery?  And yet, she already knew.  Eleanor forced a smile and stepped
through the doorway, each step closer to the verdict.

Sir Jerrod guided
her past the water well, past knights who still practiced despite the late
hour, and toward the stairs.  The ring of the blacksmith's hammer mingled with
voices and barks, with clangs of metal, twangs of bowstrings, and thumps of
arrows into targets.

She spied Kyle
with Rupert in the shadow of the gate, yet she couldn't determine the
shepherd's reaction to the suggestion of marriage to Beth.  The very sight of
Kyle sent tingles of pleasure along her flesh.  He exuded masculinity, power,
and she loved him.  She would sacrifice anything for him.

Lord Kyle glanced
up, then halted mid-speech.  Grief washed over his face and she could hardly make
herself turn away.

Sir Jerrod
assisted her up the stairs.

Eleanor stiffened
her posture in preparation for the confrontation.  She sidestepped a heap of
boulders and moved to the battlement.  Would that she could sidestep her
problems with such ease.

"I warn you,
Sir Jerrod, I won't go."

She had caught
him by surprise.  He opened his mouth, closed, then opened the same again like
a puzzled fish.

She averted her
gaze and turned her stiff body to leave.  "Since we have nothing more to
discuss, then I'd best go about my duties."

"Halt! 
Wait, Eleanor!"  He caught her wrist.  "Lord Kyle has given me
specific instructions, and he bade me to hasten you to safety."

"I intend to
remain."

Eleanor glanced
at the men who hauled up more boulders over the wall.  The defense pile seemed
as a symbol of her life.  The problems heaped faster than she solved them.  She
moved further down the curtain walk, away from the reminder.

Sir Jerrod
followed,  grasping her arm and turning her to face him.  "I know you care
for him, lass, but we've had this discussion before now, and you know the risk
you mean to Kyle if you should stay.  The king might be most displeased."

Her meager hopes
sank into fear.  She willed her voice not to quaver.  "But I have a plan,
Sir Jerrod.  One that will save Lord Kyle if King Edward is upset by Kyle's
request to honor the wager.  I have done my best to convince him to forget this
dangerousness, but he won't be dissuaded.  He is hopelessly stubborn."

Sir Jerrod
laughed.  "If that isn't the trout calling the water slick."  Then
his brows furrowed in a frown.  "I see that to convince you, I must reveal
Lord Kyle's reasons for wanting you away from here.  He didn't tell you because
he didn't want you concerned."

"But he did
tell me.  He said he feared he couldn't protect me if aught happened to him. 
But you see, if I tell the king that I will not wed Lord Kyle, then . .
."  She halted when Sir Jerrod shook his head, wondering what news would
be worse than what she already knew, wondering what information would cause
such distress in his dark eyes.

"As you
know, lass, All Hallows Eve is the night after this."

"Kyle has
mentioned the date, but I assumed 'twas because the king arrives on All Souls
Day."

"Nay, lass. 
'Tis the . . . "   He closed his eyes, then sighed and eyed her with
compassion.  "'Tis the night when . . . when witches are burned."

The vision. 
Fire.  Smoke.  Screams.  Death
.

Panic of the
inevitable clutched in her chest as she tore excuses from her horrified mind. 
"But, Sire, the sun already shimmers upon the horizon like a hot coal. 
Night is but breaths away.  And if I leave, then Brigham might very well
capture me and burn me at the stake.  But as long as I am here, Lord Kyle will
protect me.  Don't you see?  What you reveal only assures I am right in my
determination.  I won't go."  Fearing the fates overpowered and she could,
in truth, do nothing to change the outcome of the dream, she burst into tears
and covered her face with her shaking hands.