Beyond the hut where he slept, the moonlight glanced off the surface of the old fishpond. This antique structure was supposed to date from the Middle Ages. It had nothing to do with the layout of the present manor—it had just never been filled in. The land must have been leveled down when the new house replaced the old, for the fishpond was now elevated several feet above the height of the gardens. There was an outflow pipe to prevent it flooding over its crumbling brick edges.
The pallor of the moonlight on the water made it look cool and inviting. Kit realized he still felt warm from his exertions and the heat of the day. The idea of immersing himself in the soothing waters was remarkably attractive. He looked behind him. Orange lights sparkled from the direction of the house—they were probably about their evening entertainments by now. He wondered what Alys was doing. Was she singing, playing her instrument or reading?
He gazed around him. A turn of the walled garden screened part of the old fishpond from view. If he used the wall as cover, he could simply step through the gate and be into the water without being seen. Not that any of the household was likely to be about at this hour. He headed for the grassy bank that flanked the water, stripped off his clothes, and slid into the cool depths, breaking the moon’s reflection into a thousand pieces. Oh, but it was good! Once his body had adjusted to the cold, the strain began to leave him.
He could have stood upright in this weed-clogged pond, it was so shallow—but he preferred to swim, to enjoy the freedom of movement that could be gained by letting the water support his body. Smooth as a salmon, he knifed through it, then ducked his head and came up dripping and breathless.
When he opened his eyes, a light was flickering across the ripples of the pond. Turning slowly, he saw it came from a lantern held by someone just inside the garden door. It was Alys, and she was staring straight at him.
Kit crouched low in the water, concerned his nakedness would shock her.
“What are you doing there?”
“I’m taking a swim, my lady. To clean up after all the dust and heat.” Perhaps he should invite her to join him. The idea of Alys in a clinging wet shift…
“I can see what you’re doing, but what if someone saw you?”
“Had I better come out?” Her face was blurred by the gloom, but he hoped she was blushing.
“Lest anyone else see you, I think you had better.”
“Indeed, my lady.” He waited, but Alys made no move. Had she any idea how much she was provoking him? And what the consequences of that provocation might be? Despite his resolve to trifle with her no more, to take himself off, away from her delicious influence, he was enjoying this moment. Enormously.
“I’ll be out just as soon as you’re gone,” he promised.
“But if I go, how do I know you’ll get out? I’m not joking, Kit. Kate would be furious if she caught you. You’re lucky it was me.”
Whose luck? His, or hers?
“Very well, since you insist.” Abruptly, he stood up and splashed through the weeds towards the bank. The lantern light reflected off his wet skin.
“No, Kit, you’re naked! Stop!”
“Of course, I’m naked. My clothes are right by your feet. Why would I want to get them wet?” He didn’t stop—he was enjoying the game too much.
As he climbed up the bank, Alys let out a squeak. “Come no closer.” She seized his clothing in a bundle and waved it at him. “If you don’t back away, these are going in the pond.”
“You wouldn’t dare.” His voice was a growl. Now, they were adversaries, and he was damned if he was going to give in. He stood on solid ground now, right in front of her.
He could see her face clearly now, her lower lip trembling. How he wanted to taste it, nip at it, plunge his tongue into her mouth. He leaned in… and saw his clothes sail past him. The pond received them with a greedy splash.
“You may come to regret that.”
She tilted her chin at him, her expression a delightful mix of alarm and determination. “Yes. Because I shall throw you in after them.”
She gaped at him a moment, then tossed her head. “That is hardly the behavior of a gentleman.”
“But here at Selwood, I am no gentleman, remember?”
Before she could react, he pulled her sharply against him and applied his hungry lips to hers. She resisted for barely an instant before her hand tangled in his wet hair, pulling him closer.
He drove the kiss deep and long, fired by the excitement of the day, pushed to the brink by the battle with his desires. And was thrilled to discover he was right—there was latent passion in this woman. She met his tongue, stroke for stroke, moaned and pressed her body against his. It was exquisitely erotic, his naked body against her clothed one, although the urge to redress the balance was powerful. But here, now? That would be madness.
“Ouch!” He dragged his lips away.
“Oh, Kit, I’m so sorry!”
The lantern had swung against his bare thigh, scorching it.
“No matter.” He reached for her again, but she pushed him off.
“Seriously, Kit, you’re hurt.”
Charmed by her concern, he stamped down the flames of his ardor. “I’ll cool it in the water when I go to fetch out my clothes.”
“Is there anything I can do?” She was all solicitousness.
Yes. Stay with me. Let me kiss you again. “Indeed. Go to my hut and seek out my comfrey and goose grease salve. I’ll meet you there.”
She hurried off, leaving him to the miserable task of retrieving his sodden clothing and trying to struggle back into it. He’d change as soon as he got back to the hut.
And what happened after that was anybody’s guess.
Chapter Seventeen
Alys gazed around the tiny hut, wondering which of several pots contained the ointment for burns. She was shaking with remorse—she’d played an idiotic game, and he’d ended up hurt.
Moments later, he joined her, leaned over her shoulder, and selected a small earthenware pot with a pig’s bladder tied tight over the top.
“You might want to stay facing the wall.”
Cheeks burning, she mused that there was little point, as she’d seen a fair bit of him already, despite attempting to keep her eyes at the level of his. But there was no need to make things worse. Eventually, the pot was replaced, and a soft voice beside her ear announced, “You can look now.”
When she turned around, Kit was sitting across his bedding, knees pulled up, strong bare feet planted firmly on the planking floor. He’d thrown on a long shirt, and his head rested back against the wall. He looked weary, but a smile flickered at the edges of his mouth.
Her lantern was now being used to weigh down Kit’s damp shirt. On the corner of a table, his leather jerkin steamed slightly from the heat of a candle beside it. His smart day clothes were draped forlornly over rake handles and scythes.
“I should apologize—”
“You have a good heart, Mistress Barchard. Alys.”
She loved the sound of her name on his tongue. Even though she should reproach him for such familiarity. But what would be the point? They’d both thrown propriety to the Four Winds.
“I should not have taken the jest so far. But then again, you should have obeyed me, and stopped coming on. Only, I should be grateful, as you saved me from those footpads.”
He chuckled. “I fear I’ve confused you. Forgive me—it has been a strange day. I’m weary but not yet ready to sleep. Will you stay and talk a while?”
She was dying to find out more about him. “I shouldn’t.”
“Will you be missed at the house?”
If only! “Not for a while. They don’t trouble themselves overmuch about me.”
Kit gazed at her for a moment, then patted the heap of bedding next to him. “Come, tell me about them, how they treat you. How do they go on, this household? What is Sir Thomas to do with you all, and Richard Avery?”
Her heart skittered. But the bedding looked far more invit
ing than the low stool. She sat next to him, curling her legs beneath her, tempted by his nearness but, at the same time, disquieted.
“I suppose if your tale of being a nobleman is true, you must have already heard of them. Have you never seen them at court?” Good, her voice wasn’t coming out as a nervous squeak.
“They’d not be seen dead at court.”
“Then you know their feelings better than I. It seems odd, for they often mention people in Elizabeth’s circle.”
She felt him tense. “Have they given any names?”
Why was he so interested? “None that I can remember.”
“If you think of any, I’d like to know. It’s important to keep abreast of the court gossip—’tis a place of intrigue and danger, so it’s best to know to which faction a man belongs. Or a woman.”
“I cannot imagine you belonging to any faction. You are too much your own man.”
He gave her a quizzical look. Then his gaze softened. “What else do you think of me, my lonely little Alys?”
Presumptuous! “I’m not lonely. I have plenty of people to talk to.”
“But not cut from the same fine cloth as yourself, my lady.” His shoulder brushed hers. “You flatter me.” She hoped the contact was accidental and prayed he’d notice it soon and move. It was far too unsettling—each time he breathed, she felt the movement against her body. Little tingles of anticipation buzzed along her spine.
“Not flattery—the truth. You could rival any of the ladies at court, Alys.”
Her treacherous body leaned closer to his, increasing the contact. Heat emanated from him. “Tell me of the ladies at court.” Anything to distract her.
“No. I’ve just told you what I think of you. Now you should return the favor.”
The tingling had slipped down her spine and now centered in her womb. When he took her hand and rested it on his bent knee, she couldn’t restrain a shudder of excitement.
“I think you handsome.” She wasn’t prepared to admit to anything else.
“Is this how a man wins your heart? Through good-looks?”
“Oh no, for that is a first impression only. A man’s character must be handsome, too.”
“And how would you describe a handsome character? Must the elements be evenly mixed in one?”
“I’m not certain. I know little of humors and elements, but if the elements in equal measure create the perfect man, he would be a very difficult fellow to measure up to.”
“Perfection is overrated.” There was a smile in his voice.
“Indeed. One might grow bored with perfection. There would never be anything to complain of, nothing to make one feel superior.”
“Cynic. But if you loved this perfect man, you would never want to find fault with him. Everything he did would be acceptable to you.”
“Only if he was perfect for me. What I’m saying is that the perfect man, by general standards, would probably not be my perfect man.”
“I’m glad you have some sympathy for those with flaws in their characters.”
Kit stroked her hand, and she watched the play of muscles across his chest, enjoyed the little pools of shadow beneath his collarbone. She was running out of clever remarks, falling slowly under the spell of the rhythmic stroking, the warm body beside her, the deep, rumbling voice.
“We are all flawed,” he went on, “but you have fewer faults than many. You have not yet been out into the world—you’ve been closeted here, unable to reveal your true colors. Only when you are put to the test will your true mettle be seen. I am certain you will triumph.”
She prayed his words were genuine. They thrilled her to the core. “Thank you.”
“Any man would be fortunate to have such a one for his wife. Is there a husband in the offing?”
“That is a very delving question.”
“Considering our situation, ’tis a little late to be shy. Tell me.”
His hand tightened reassuringly over hers and, once again, she watched the interplay of muscles in his body, the slight flexing of the stretched biceps beneath his sleeve. Then the stroking resumed.
“I believe Richard Avery has a slight interest in me.”
Kit’s hand stilled. “I think you might find, on further acquaintance, that you have some very decided differences.”
Was that a hint of jealousy? “Indeed? I doubt there are any differences we could not plaster over in time.”
Suddenly, he released her hand and turned to face her. “This is no jest, Alys. As your friend, I advise you to have nothing to do with Avery. He could cause you great harm.”
The night had turned cool. Kit’s body no longer radiated that satisfying, sensual heat.
She pulled away to focus on his face. “Why? How could he harm me?”
He held her gaze, and fear speared through her. He was deadly serious. But all he said was, “I’m weary, and you must be, too. I think ’tis best you seek your bed now. For me, there is still much labor to perform before I leave at the end of the week.”
The fear was replaced by numbness. He was going, of course, he was. She’d forgotten. He must return to his real life… and their moment, their unexpected connection, must end. Pride kept her spine straight as she rose and collected her lantern.
“Goodnight, Kit. I have enjoyed our conversation. Shall I see you tomorrow?” She kept her face averted, afraid he’d see the moistness in her eyes.
“Perhaps it is best you do not. There are too many pairs of eyes in this household, too much jealousy and deceit. And you have your journey to Norfolk to think of—but remember, you must be wary of Kirlham and Avery. Even of your cousin. Should you ever be in need of my help, send a message to Whitehall, asking for Sir Christopher Ludlow. I will come. But I beg you, tell no one that you know me.”
She turned then, hearing the catch in his voice. Before she could snatch a breath, she was clasped in his arms, his lips on her hair. Her heart twisted.
“I’m sorry, Kit. I’m so sorry.” Her words were mere gulps, muffled against his chest. She didn’t even know what she was sorry for, unless she was apologizing in advance.
This hurt too much. Thrusting him away, she hurtled through the door of the hut, and ran back to the house, never once looking back.
Chapter Eighteen
It had taken Kit no time at all to tie his meager possessions into a bundle and slip away. But he had to wait until the early morning bustle of the household was over, and they were all gone to church before making his escape. Even then, he couldn’t be sure of making his departure unnoticed—Mistress Aspinall had claimed illness again and kept to her room, so Bess informed him, and he’d no idea where Kirlham and Avery were.
He hadn’t seen Alys. A blessing and a curse. He’d become far too fond of her, and in so short a time, too! She’d fairly captured his heart. To ease the distress of leaving her behind, he reminded himself of the physical comforts that awaited him on his estate in Shropshire. How he missed the hills! This eastern country was far too flat, and a field of corn held less interest than one of cattle or sheep.
At home, he would sleep on a flock-filled mattress with a down pillow beneath his head. There would be drapes around the bedstead to keep out drafts, and a bottle of fine wine to his hand, whenever he wished for it. And when he was officially permitted to return to court, there’d be congenial company, enjoyable exercise, and lively dances. Perhaps he should think seriously about a wife when life returned to normal—every minute would have greater meaning if there was someone with whom to share it.
All was quiet around the house. From habit, he peered into the stables to see who was at home and who was not. Kate’s mount, as well as those of Avery and Kirlham, remained inside. Perhaps they’d made the excuse that they didn’t want to leave their hostess when she was unwell.
It looked increasingly likely the two men were the traitors he’d been sent to uncover.
There were too many times when they just seemed to vanish from the face of the earth, even tho
ugh their horses were still in the stables. Mistress Aspinall must be guilty, too, through harboring them—Walsingham’s suspicions about Selwood must have been based on excellent information.
Kit hefted his bundle over his shoulder and turned his back on the house, marching determinedly across the moat bridge and down towards the highway. He would not look back. He would not think of Alys. But what would become of her when the authorities moved in? Would she automatically become mistress of Selwood, once her cousin was executed? Or would the estate be attainted?
A pox upon it! He must come back as soon as he could, to make sure she was all right.
Having made this promise to himself, his conscience sat a little easier as he set his chin towards Cheyneham and strode on. He must hurry—they’d be coming back from church soon, and he didn’t want to be caught absconding. God’s teeth! He had missed so many services himself in order to spy on his prey that his own soul was probably now in danger. Wryly, he wondered if that had not, in fact, been the case for many a long year. Perhaps he’d learned his lesson now and could become a good and dutiful Christian, and servant of his queen.
He was a few hundred yards down the road and about to round the bend when a dark-clad figure stepped out of the hedgerow onto the road and glanced around. With lightning speed, Kit threw himself into the ditch before the stranger caught sight of him. After a few seconds, he raised his head, but the man was hurrying down the highway ahead. Peering between the stems of grass and cow parsley, Kit saw the cloaked figure glance behind him again, affording him a glimpse of a round face, with a swarthy olive complexion.
Seemingly satisfied he wasn’t being followed, the man then continued at an easier pace, his body more relaxed, so Kit clambered out of the ditch and followed at a distance, trying to look as nonchalant as his quarry. Any stranger was of interest to him, particularly one wearing a long cloak on a summer’s morning, who appeared out of nowhere and did not wish to be observed. When he reached the place where the fellow had emerged from the hedge, he heaped up some loose pebbles to mark the spot, then continued stalking his prey.
Lord of Loyalty (Trysts and Treachery Book 2) Page 7
