Heart of a Knight (31 page)

And there in the dark shadow cast by the guard tower, Johnny Tyler kissed Tall Mary with lips as sweet as mead, coaxing from her a burst of pleasure she'd not known even with Thomas. It was a kiss to befuddle her senses, a kiss of skill and hunger, and when she stepped back, she blinked at him, finding her breath had left her entirely.

With a wicked smile that was as far from boyish as it could be, Johnny winked. "Think on me, fair Mary. I'd like me a wife, and I'd like her to be you."

Then he went off, whistling cheerfully, his new spurs clinging lightly against the stones.

Lyssa could not bear the thought of supper. She could not stomach the idea of cold ham. She also recognized the thin thread that kept her nerves from snapping entirely, and did not trust herself to sit nobly in the company of that cold knight from the king's court without giving way to screaming. Nor did she wish to see the gloating in Isobel's eyes. The girl had got her wish—Lyssa would suffer a marriage, just as Isobel would.

Thomas had come to her door twice, but she had not let him in, ignoring his voice until he went away. She feared if she allowed herself to see him, to listen to his rich, dark voice; if she saw the yearning of her own heart reflected in his eyes, she would not have the strength to do what she must.

In the morning, she would tell him he must go away.

Now alone in her chamber, with her trunk ready for the journey to her king, she curled on the wide seat of the embrasure and gazed out over her lands, her hands touching her belly, where a secret grew.

In all her time with her husband, she had never known a quickening, and had not given the matter a moment's thought when Thomas came to her. But in the past week, she had noted the changes in her body with a secret joy and trepidation. Joy that she would bear his babe; trepidation that it would be born a bastard.

And now she found that double-edged sword had sharpened.

If not for the babe, she would have gone with him—gone wherever his life lead him. She would have donned the robes of a peasant girl and gone as his whore, or a servant, or even as his sister if need be.

She would have done it, knowing the life would be hard. Done it knowing she would die young in some nameless place, with none but Thomas himself to grieve her. She would have followed him to the ends of the world, just to be with him, and breathe the same air with him at night.

But since earliest childhood, she'd been trained to put duty first, for the lives of nobles were graced with beauty earned only by virtue of serving the kingdom and keeping it whole. She'd been taught to put the needs of the land first, which meant caring for all those in her realm with as much conscience as she might muster, for the land was nothing without bodies to work it.

Duty and desire had ever been in conflict. As a young bride, she had mourned the loss of her childhood play and freedoms, as well as her secret hope of a handsome young husband with whom she might fall in love. But at the bidding of her father and her king, she had made the brilliant match, linking two families and wealthy estates.

As a young widow, faced with the choice between serving her king by fleeing the encroaching plague, or serving her village by staying to fight it, Lyssa had chosen to serve her king, leaving the villagers to fend for themselves.

In two things only had Lyssa chosen to serve her own needs. Her weaving and tapestries served the gift God had given her to find and recreate beauty.

In thai there was no conflict, for with it she served something beyond herself.

Only Thomas was a selfish choice, the only thing she had done in all her life that was not done for duty. And now she must bear the price of that selfishness.

She would let Thomas, armed with the pretty manners he had so mockingly embraced, and his knightly bearing, and even his strong sword, go on to find his true life unfettered by a woman and her babe. He would never know she carried his child, nor that she ached with all she was to follow him. To give him his life, she would let him think what he wished of her choice.

The summer with him had been a rich and golden time. She had known genuine happiness, and embraced her true love, and would even bear him a child. How many women were given such riches?

Tears rolled over her face. Now, for love of Thomas, she would take this husband her king had chosen, a husband who would never know the babe she bore him early was not his own. None would ever know but Lyssa herself.

"Lyssa!" Mary's voice was strong through the door.

Hastily, Lyssa wiped her face and hurried over, opening the door to find both Mary and Alice standing there. They swept in, Alice with a tray of food, Mary bareheaded and barehanded, and looking sober. Lyssa had not the will to make them leave. She watched Alice pour ale into a silver chalice, wondering vaguely why she'd brought such finery for a simple meal.

"Drink, my lady," she said, brooking no argument.

Mary closed the heavy door and settled on a stool near Lyssa's knee. "I heard the news," she said. "Who is your new husband to be?"

"You would not know him," Lyssa said, looking into her cup, seeing the ferret-shaped face of Lord Harry. She gave an involuntary shudder and her stomach roiled. Bolting, she made it to the basin before losing the contents of her belly.

Holding hard to the table's edge, she burst into tears, trying vainly to keep her body upright against the onslaught of sorrow and fear she'd held at bay the whole afternoon.

And Mary was there, prying her fingers from the table, taking her into a deep, engulfing embrace. Lyssa buried her face in her friend's shoulder and wept. "I love him," she cried. "I cannot bear to send him away. I cannot bear to have that pig as a husband!" Waves of revulsion and sorrow welled through her, and the more she fought for control the more completely she dissolved, until not even Mary could hold her, and settled her on the bed and lay down next to her, stroking her hair, letting her cry.

At last, Lyssa grew ashamed and managed to halt her storm to a small, hiccuping aftermath, taking more comfort than she ought from the simple, repetitive movement of Mary's hand in her hair. Alice carried over a cloth soaked in cool water and put it on Lyssa's forehead, then settled on the bed beside her.

Lyssa took her hand. "Thank you. Both of you." Tears still leaked from her eyes, but she could speak at last. "I am such a fool."

"Nay," Mary said, and sat up on one elbow to touch Lyssa's cheek. "Only a woman in deepest love. In truth, my Lyssa, I did not know it went so deep for you."

Closing her eyes against the cool cloth, Lyssa said quietly, "Do you remember the day you and Isobel grew so heated and jealous and stormed out of the solar?"

Mary chuckled. "I do."

"I thought it wiser, watching you, to stay free of such passions. And here I am, scant months later, embroiled in my own. What power does he wield over us all?"

"Lyssa," Mary said urgently, "you must listen to me now."

Lyssa turned, taking the cloth from her head. "What is it?"

"'Tis not the same, for Thomas and you, as it is for the rest of us. Between you there is rare and deep love, a love that has bound you for all of time." She inclined her head. "I wanted that with him, but it did not happen. Not even from my side. I wanted him because he is beautiful."

"Yes," Lyssa whispered, the pain stabbing through her again as she thought of him—only this afternoon!—shedding his tunic with that teasing light in his eyes, his skin gleaming, his eyes twinkling. "He is that."

"But more, too," Alice said. "And you lit the fire in him, my lady. You made him who he is."

"Nay," Lyssa said fiercely. "He was who he was before he ever came to my realm. And he's given far more than he ever took."

Mary's smile was sweet. "There! Do you see? Do you not
see
, Lyssa, how you love him?"

Lyssa's head hurt. "Aye, I said as much for the whole of my storm."

Alice chuckled. "But you do not see, my lady, that you will waste away without him. You must not let him go."

"I have no choice."

"You do!" Mary cried. "Go… marry the king's choice, and let the creature wander as he will, and keep Lord Thomas here, your captain of the guards, to warm your bed when your husband roams."

"Oh, no!" Lyssa protested. "I could not. Not humiliate him that way."

Alice said, "He would ne'er take that post." She took Lyssa's hand and petted her fingers a moment, as if in deep thought. "Well you know my stakes in this, milady, and I vow to you now I speak from my heart, not my greed."

In the indigo eyes, Lyssa saw sincerity. In truth, she would trust Alice Bryony with her life. "I trust you."

"What if, milady, you go to that cousin of yours, who was so fond of you when you were a child. And tell him you claim Thomas of Roxburgh as your husband. You gave him one marriage—mayhap he would give you choice in this one."

A thread of hope leapt in Lyssa's breast. "Thomas looks like his father, does he not?" She squeezed Alice's fingers. "And the true heir was killed in the plague."

"Aye, What could be more plain? 'Tis Thomas of

Roxburgh, himself." She gave a cockeyed grin. "Who is to know the difference?"

Lyssa narrowed her eyes. "What did the true heir look like? Would any know him?"

Alice frowned. "He was younger by five years. And not so sturdy as my own boy."

"You are his mother?" Mary squeaked. "Ah, me!" She fell back on the bed, her hands over her face.

Laughing, Lyssa pulled her up again. "You need only look at them."

"Here is the disguise." Mary tugged the wimple from Alice's head, letting black hair spill out, black hair as thick and lively as her son's. "It tells the truth."

Alice spatted Mary's hand and took back her scarf, but held it in her lap as she leaned forward earnestly. "The trick is a simple one. We see what we think we see, no more, no less. I was peasant, he was knight, so none put us together."

'Twas the first hope Lyssa had felt since this all began, but she knew better than these two the penalties for their deception if it were discovered. "If the king does learn the truth, he will kill Thomas."

Alice met her eyes. "'Tis a large risk," she agreed.

"But think if it is won," Mary said. "Your love will be your husband."

"And your babe will know his true father," Alice added.

Lyssa looked at her. Of course Alice would know. She likely knew before Lyssa herself had guessed. "But if we lose, we lose all."

"All is lost now," Alice said. "There is in our plan a little hope, at least."

"Oh, God," Lyssa breathed, closing her eyes. It was so large a deception! To think of brazenly lying to her king—nay, not only her king, but her cousin whom she had adored since childhood—and to the world, fearing at every step they would be found out…

"I do not know if I have such courage," she said.

Mary kissed her head. "You have the heart of a knight, my lady," she said. "Sleep now, and decide in the morning what you will do."

"Aye," Alice said. "Think on it."

They left her.

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