Lord of Loyalty (Trysts and Treachery Book 2)

by Elizabeth Keysian

  “So, you think to dispute my assertions?”

  “Of course, I do. As soon as we’re somewhere private, I’ll defend myself.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “I look forward to that.”

  Sloping his shoulders, doing his best to look deferential, Kit began walking the horse forward. “Have you voiced your thoughts to anyone else?”

  “Nay. That would be unfair, when I have not yet heard your explanation.”

  Fair. And clever. He should be grateful for her forbearance. “Thank you, my lady.” He turned his back to her, cutting off any further chance of conversation, giving him time to think. He needed to deal with her suspicions, but he also had his dispatch to deliver. How was he to do it without her knowledge? She had yet to fully earn his trust.

  Eventually, the uncomfortable silence was broken by the lively sounds of the market at Cheyneham. The general hubbub of human voices was interspersed with snatches of music and song, the shouts of peddlers, and the varied hoots, moos and hisses of livestock. Part of the village green had disappeared beneath a fortress of hurdles, penning up the animals for sale. Opposite these were the stalls of the traders, some of them bright with color, others rustic in their simplicity. Local people stood behind tables groaning with honey jars, ale barrels, the hard local cheeses and seasonal fruits. The more exotic wares occupied silken pavilions where well-dressed merchants cried their Eastern fabrics, island spices and expensive perfumed oils.

  Kit reached up to lift Alys down, deliberately holding her away from his body.

  Immediately, an urchin came running to care for the horse.

  He looked the boy up and down, then felt in his purse. “Here’s a groat to feed and water the mare, and there’s another waiting for you when you return her to us unharmed.”

  “Aye, sir. I shall not stir from her side.”

  Kit doffed his high-crowned felt hat as he turned to Alys. “Do you wish for refreshment, or shall we have our discussion straightway?”

  “Oh, I’ll brook no delay. But I know not where we can be private in such a throng.”

  He knew exactly where they could go. Risky, but necessary. “If you would care to follow me, my lady.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Alys allowed her companion to lead her through the crowd to a series of small pavilions. He strode right up to a gap-toothed old woman wearing the most fantastic motley of clothes, who was seated next to a sign proclaiming her skills as a wise woman and fortune teller.

  He handed the crone a coin. “God give you good day, Goodwife Tyler. This for the private use of your tent.”

  The woman nodded and grinned, displaying the black hole of her mouth. She seized the coin and vanished into the crowd with surprising speed. Kit held aside the tent flap, and Alys ducked inside.

  The splendid peculiarity of the room caused her to stare around, open-mouthed, before accepting a seat beside the heavily draped table. An expensive-looking bowl filled with water reflected the subdued sunlight filtering through the white canvas walls. All kinds of occult paraphernalia littered the room, from unrecognizable dried animals dangling suspended over her head, to outlandish rocks, feathers and plants. Strange symbols had been painted on the inside of the pavilion, intermixed with suns, moons, and the beasts of the zodiac. A pack of cards was strewn across the table, strangely illustrated.

  Kit seated himself in what must normally be the wise woman’s place, draped as it was with rich fabrics, brass bells and bone talismans. Placing his hat out of sight by his feet, he then stared into the scrying bowl, a wry smile pricking at his lips.

  She gazed at him, noting with a skip of the heart how different he looked today. He was smartly attired in matching doublet and hose of bottle green, with brown stockings and a sleeveless leather jerkin. He’d undone the ties of his shirt and the top buttons of his doublet, a concession to the heat of the day. It puzzled her that he’d brought such a heavy hat, in preference to his straw sun hat, which would have been much cooler.

  He glanced up and caught her staring. She tried to look haughty.

  “Tell me why you think me an impostor, and I’ll answer you.”

  Alys held up her hand to count off ideas on her fingers. “You’re very fastidious in your toilet for a gardener.” His long locks were always well-groomed. “You have opinions about things not relevant to your alleged class. You speak to me in a way that ought to earn you a flogging. What say you to that, Master Kit, if that is, indeed, your name?”

  He narrowed his eyes. “I am, indeed, called Kit. I never lied about that.”

  “You know how to handle both horse and hawk, you commanded a groom with no expectation of being disobeyed, and your hands are soft—too soft for one used to manual work.” She reached for his hand, turning it over to reveal the palm. There were fresh blisters there, which had not yet become the hard calluses one would expect from frequent labor. He sighed and took her fingers in his. There was a tremor in them, showing a disquiet he was keen to hide.

  “Very clever, Mistress Barchard. Your observations are astute. It is a relief to me that I don’t have to be secret any longer, with you at least. But I dare not tell you my story.”

  No! She wanted to know everything about him. “Why? I’ll tell no one. And if you’re leaving, it matters not who you actually are, or what your story might be.”

  “It shames me.” He dropped his gaze to her fingers.

  “It shames me that I allowed an undergardener to kiss me. I would rather think I’d been kissed by a gentleman.”

  He laughed softly. “Of course, you would. Then be assured a man with the lineage of—but not deserving the name of—gentleman, kissed you. But he does not wish to reveal his true identity or title.”

  Kit had a title? Whatever could have happened to reduce him to such circumstances?

  And why was she still letting him hold her fingers?

  “However, I can tell you that I am undertaking a kind of penance for a misfortune at court—”

  “Court? You’ve been to court?”

  “Aye, but I will only say more if you promise your lips are sealed.”

  She nodded, her fingers tightening involuntarily on his.

  “To make amends, the queen required me to take myself away from court and learn to do something useful for a change. Total abstinence from the company of women was to be part of the punishment.”

  He’d met Queen Bess? Her confidence tumbled. Here was a man of superior standing, perhaps even more important than Sir Thomas. She hardly dared recall some of her past behavior towards him.

  Her voice caught as she asked, “Why were you banished, sir?”

  “Don’t call me that.” The hardness of his voice alarmed her.

  He stroked her hand. “Forgive me, but no one must know. You promised, remember?”

  She nodded, transfixed by the movements of his fingers. Each touch ignited a sizzling flame, sending pulses of sensation up her arm. What would it feel like if he were to kiss her again?

  “If I tell you, you’ll snatch your hand away. Or laugh.”

  “I shall do neither.”

  He leaned closer, fixing her with his dark brown gaze. “I had one too many passionate embroilments with young women.”

  She felt a blush steal over her cheeks but steadfastly refused to remove her hand from his mesmerizing caress. “So, you hope to impress the queen by learning gardening skills, sleeping in a hut, and avoiding women?”

  “That’s the sum of it.”

  She wasn’t convinced he was telling her everything. “Then you haven’t succeeded yet, have you? What will happen now? Will you go on to some other household next week, and try and take them all for fools?”

  “Mayhap when the queen sees the blisters upon my hands and hears my knees creak in damp weather, her heart will melt a little, and my punishment will be over.”

  He must be a favorite, if that was the only penance she required of him. “A lady who rules as firmly as Elizabeth has a heart well beyond danger
of melting.”

  “We shall see. They say fortune favors the brave, or perhaps the brash in my case. I am glad the masque is over. I have not enjoyed deceiving you.”

  She steeled herself against the tenderness in his voice. She now knew Kit to be both a liar and a seasoned seducer—one needed to be careful around such men.

  “Have you learned your lesson?”

  “I have certainly learned to take Bess at her word.”

  He looked so forlorn at this, she couldn’t help but chuckle, earning herself a reproachful glare.

  “While I’m delighted to discover you do have a sense of humor, Alys Barchard, I’m not pleased to be the butt of it.”

  “Wasn’t that the idea, that you should be humiliated? I’m helping with that.”

  “No, the idea was that I should be humbled, not humiliated. In my book, they’re not the same thing at all. I wonder how you can be so cruel when I have looked after you so well.”

  This last was true, even if he had taken advantage and kissed her. She withdrew her hand from his grasp—now that she knew who and what he was, she ought to allow him no more liberties. He’d been exiled from court for his licentiousness, and she should have nothing to do with such a man.

  Yet, he was the most exciting thing that had ever happened in her secluded existence.

  And it amused her to think how he’d taken everybody in—Kate, Sir Thomas, even the servants. Everyone but herself.

  “You said you’d speak of it to no one,” Kit reminded her, so forcefully the amusement vanished. There was more to this story than he was prepared to admit. There had to be.

  “So, what woman caught your eye so irresistibly, you were prepared to risk your good name?” Womanizer he might be, but he didn’t strike her as a fool.

  “I’ll name no names, for the lady’s sake.”

  She thought his mouth flickered with distaste. Whoever the lady had been, she’d not been worth the sacrifice. “So, I am not to know her name, or yours?” She let out a huff of annoyance. “Then answer me this—how came you to be banished to Selwood Manor. Only Sir Thomas Kirlham has a connection at court—is it with his contrivance you come to be here?”

  Kit’s eyebrows shot up. “Most certainly not.” He glanced around the pavilion, frowning slightly, before his gaze came back to hers. “Nay. ’Twas the lady’s father who advised the queen on my place of exile. He chose Selwood as being dull and obscure—pardon my frankness. He knew it would thoroughly frustrate me.”

  “And has it?”

  His eyes sparkled and a smile played about his lips. “Not so much as I feared.”

  She thrust away the pull of attraction—he was merely trying to divert her from her questioning. “If Selwood is so obscure, how came anyone at court to think of it? Unless, of course, the lady you toyed with has some connection with us.”

  Was it someone who had known Kate’s late husband? It was infuriating that Kit wasn’t prepared to speak out—she didn’t like mysteries. Until he gave her those names and connections, it would be rash to trust him. There was a stubborn set to his jaw now, hinting that any further questions would not be answered.

  At that moment, there was a jingle of bells beyond the tent flap, and a loud drumbeat started up. Alys sucked in a breath. “It’s the Mummers.” A welcome escape from the taut atmosphere that now flooded the wise woman’s pavilion. “Shall you mind if we go and watch?”

  Kit nodded, his smile warming her. “You are very polite, now that you know my true status. Even if you do despise the man beneath.”

  “If you’re fishing for compliments, you’re wasting your time.” She wasn’t going to admit that she liked him, was fascinated by him, even. In fact, God forbid, she was sinfully attracted to him.

  He held the flap aside for her, and they followed the colorful troupe.

  The rest of the visit was spent watching a hilarious performance of the play Mankind and exploring the rest of the market. With Kit’s tall figure by her side, Alys felt safe and protected, enjoying the truce that had settled between them. He bought his seeds, she, her ribbons, they ate sweet pastries, listened to the ballad singer, and applauded the dances of the tinkers—and she dreaded the moment she’d have to return home. Never before had she felt so free of her usual constraints.

  When she’d run out of reasons to linger—and remembered how vicious Kate might be if she didn’t hurry home—Kit offered to escort her back to the manor. It was almost dusk by the time he lifted her onto her horse, and the crowds had dispersed. The high road leading back towards Selwood Manor and the neighboring villages was virtually empty.

  The peace of the evening descended over Alys as the horse slowly trotted its way homeward. Night birds had awakened and soared noiselessly overhead, bats chirruped faintly, and small insects began their relentless cacophony from the wayside grasses. She watched Kit’s back as he walked her mare, Pennyroyal, enjoying his confident stride, the upright fluidity of his lean, well-shaped body and the swing of his over-long hair.

  Thus she couldn’t help but notice, the closer they got to the manor, the more his shoulders drooped, the slower his step. He looked for all the world like a down-trodden estate worker straggling home to his rest—for the benefit of the Selwood household, mayhap?

  Suddenly, she noticed he’d left his hat behind.

  “Kit—” Her words died in her mouth.

  Up ahead, the roadway was occupied by three stocky men, all looking decidedly unsteady on their feet. Kit pulled the horse to a stop, and gazed intently ahead.

  Footpads? Surely not even Kit could hold off three of them?

  Chapter Sixteen

  The strangers ignored Kit and gave Alys all their attention. Foolishly.

  “What have we here?” slurred one, a ruffian who seemed almost as wide as Kit was tall. “A lady and her groom returning from market? Just the pair of you, eh?”

  “I’m sure you could spare a penny or two in alms for us poor unfortunates.” Another fellow slyly took hold of the horse’s girth.

  “We have spent all our coin at market. We have nothing for vagrants.” If Alys was afraid, she masked it well.

  The third man, whose scraggly beard obscured much of his face, came so close, she whipped her face away from his foul breath. Kit readied his fists.

  “We wouldn’t object to some of your pretty purchases then, precious lady,” the bearded one said in a wheedling voice. “They’d be almost as useful to us as coin.”

  Not beggars. Thieves. Squaring his shoulders, Kit confronted the three drunks. “Step aside.” He kept his voice soft.

  They either failed to hear the menace in his tone or chose to ignore it. One of them whipped out a hand to grab the horse’s bridle. In a second, Kit had him on his back in the roadway, groaning and clutching at his jaw. The others made a grab for Kit’s arms, but he caught them by their greasy collars and lifted them off the ground. Their heads came together with a satisfying crunch.

  “Keep the horse away if you will. We don’t want to harm these fools any more than necessary.” He spoke louder now and shot a significant look at Alys. Brave girl! She saluted him with her riding crop as she eased the horse to one side, clearing the field of battle for him. But he knew, whether he approved or not, she’d enter the mêlée with no other weapon than her crop if she was needed.

  Kit’s first assailant had levered himself off the ground and was now charging at him like a maddened bull. He stepped aside at the last moment, caught the fellow by the coat as he sailed past and diverted him into the ditch. There was a thick splash, then a noise of much thrashing and swearing.

  The “drunks” seemed to have sobered up remarkably quickly. Another of them swung a punch at Kit, but he stopped the fellow’s fist in midair and twisted sharply. This caused the man to perform an inelegant cartwheel before landing upside-down in a deep pothole. He flopped there, moaning.

  Kit was more than ready for the final robber, despite him being armed with a wicked-looking knife, as well as an ev
il grimace. Kit threw himself at the fellow’s legs, grappled the knife from his grasp, and so unbalanced him that he stumbled straight on top of his accomplice, who was struggling to get clear of the ditch.

  There was more cursing and grunting as the two floundered around in the stinking water. Kit sauntered over to the only one of his attackers who was still dry. Swaying a little, the man was just emerging from his pothole as Kit caught him by the collar and the waistband of his hose. Carrying him like an awkward sack of flour, he dumped him down upon his sodden confederates, eliciting more splashing and groaning. Then he stepped back and made a show of wiping his hands on his doublet.

  When he checked to make sure Alys was all right, he spied an admiration in her look that almost undid him.

  “Let’s get you home as speedily as possible.” It was as well she had no knowledge of his thoughts. Right now, he was battling with himself not to simply throw her side-saddle into the bushes and mount up behind her. Thus, the ride would be accomplished with less wear on his feet, and he could enjoy the feel of her slender young body clasped in front of him.

  It was a battle not easily won. The sight of Alys clapping delightedly at the Mummers’ antics, the sound of her sweet voice singing the balladeer’s chorus, the elegant sway of her hips as she moved, her quick wit—all these things had entranced him today.

  A new vitality flowed through his veins. It was as if being with her had stirred him to a higher level of life, an invigorating plane of existence. But it was too dangerous to care for her, too risky to remain at Selwood. She might change her mind about keeping his secret or give it away accidentally. It would be safer if he left tonight, or slipped away in the cold light of dawn.

  Having seen her safe to the door, and given Pennyroyal over to the care of a groom, he strode back to the gardens in the encroaching twilight, eager for some task on which to vent his restless energy.