Under the Kissing Tree

by L. L. Muir

  Then, last night, just before her mother’s clock chimed midnight, someone carried a torch to the massive tree. And waited.

  She’d seen a single shadow moving about on the far side. Standing, pacing, sitting. It made no matter. The shadow remained alone. But more importantly, he’d remained for hours.

  There was no doubt it was him—Nimmo—silently inviting her to come practice.

  She sighed and pushed the pillow aside, and her silly musings with it. Today was the day her suitor would arrive. The Scottish knight who wanted her lands and would have to take her with them. But only if she approved of the match.

  She had never been so nervous at meeting a suitor before, but she and Bronwyn were nineteen. In a week they would be twenty. There was only one year left before Bronwyn would be taken to the abbey and Astrid would be forced to marry whomever her father favored. If she was going to marry a man of her own choosing, she must do so and soon. It only irked her to have this Scotsman delay the next suitor down the line, for surely she would never choose a man who might well believe a blanket to be a suitable way to clothe himself. And the sooner she swept him from her doorstep, the sooner she could give serious consideration to the next man.

  In truth, she might just as well have delivered a message to the Scot on the outskirts of town and not bother meeting him at all. But her mother reveled in a bit of excitement now and again, and Astrid would never deny her—even if that meant sitting next to a Scot as he debated which meat-covered bone to gnaw upon first.

  Bronwyn arrived in time to help with Astrid’s hair.

  “You’ve been avoiding me, Astrid. I thought you might wish to tell me about your discussion with Lars.”

  “I decided not to take your advice,” Astrid said casually.

  If her sister could keep secrets from her, Astrid would do the same. Besides, Bronwyn would have a lesson on virtue at the ready should Astrid ever confess to kissing a stranger.

  Bronwyn raised a brow. “No? Well, I suppose you could invite the Scottish knight to give you a lesson or two before you send him on his way. You are going to send him on his way, are you not? Before he and his company eat too much?”

  Astrid and her sister rarely fought, so it was a surprise to find herself resenting so much of what came out of Bronwyn’s mouth that morning. She even resented the way her sister was twisting her hair around her head, weaving it into a crown. While it was true that Astrid usually wore the regal style when meeting a suitor for the first time, she now felt it would be silly to do so. Besides, she hardly wished to give the man the impression she was some sort of royalty now within his reach.

  “I shall wear it straight today, I think.” She reached for the pins, and soon her hair was a dark fall of curls down her back.

  Bronwyn plucked a flower from the vase and tucked it behind Astrid’s ear. Then she leaned down and smiled at their reflections in the polished glass. Astrid resisted the urge to remove the blossom. She knew her sister was only trying to make her happy.

  “Come,” said the angel at her shoulder. “You’d best discourage the man before he has his household unloaded.”

  “His household?”

  “Yes. It seems your knight misunderstood. He believes you are presently betrothed, so you’d best correct him quickly.”

  And just because her sister suggested otherwise, Astrid thought perhaps it was only right to give the man a chance.

  When Bronwyn would have walked down the stairs arm in arm, Astrid paused and fussed with her slipper until her sister started down without her. But as she followed behind Bronwyn and noted the look on the handsome stranger’s face, she realized she’d made a horrible mistake.

  The man looked pleasantly surprised as he gazed at her angelic sister, which vexed her particularly because her first Scottish suitor looked frighteningly similar to how she’d imagined Nimmo might look in the light of day. And Nimmo’s attention was something she did not care to share with her sister.

  When she caught sight of the blueness of his eyes, she nearly swooned and reached out to steady herself against the wall. Unfortunately, those eyes were staring at Bronwyn.

  The man frowned when her father introduced her sister by name.

  “This is no’ your eldest?” he asked.

  “No,” her father said. “Bronwyn is meant for the abbey.” He raised a hand to ease Astrid down the final step. “This is Lady Astrid, our eldest.”

  Astrid gave her best impression of Bronwyn’s angelic smile, but the man looked disappointed. His smile was more of a grimace.

  “Sir Tamhas Monroe, at yer service,” he said with a stiff bow. There was no mistaking his brogue.

  And to think she’d accused Nimmo of being Scottish.

  The man straightened and stepped away from her, and only then did she notice his knees. He was wearing a blanket, but it had been cleverly attached to him. Unfortunately, it closely resembled a rather short skirt. Considering his rather manly knees, she supposed the ridiculousness of the clothing was forgivable.

  “Sir Tamhas.” She nodded. “Welcome to Hellingsby.”

  “I thank ye.” He tried again to stretch a smile across his lips, then turned his back on her and led her father outside as he began to list the things he’d brought along with him. She was left standing with her mouth hanging open.

  “Astrid.” Her sister turned to her with wide eyes and put her hands on her hips. “I think if you do not wish to marry this barbarian, you had best jump up on his wagon and drive it to the bottom of the hill.” Her sister frowned. “And if you will not, I believe I will.”

  “He’s not a barbarian, he’s a knight. Or have you forgotten?” Apparently, she was not finished being annoyed with her twin.

  “I have not forgotten,” Bronwyn said. “But I fear there may be a barbarian beneath this knight’s armor.”

  Tam considered his first meeting with his bride to have been a grand success. He’d known full well she’d be the dark-haired lass, so he’d favored the redhead with his appreciation. There was something about the redhead’s sister that unnerved him. When the father had said Bronwyn was meant for the abbey, he’d felt strangely relieved. But if one was considered lovely and the other kind, his bride-to-be might be a bit of a shrew, for she was the fairest of the two.

  When they’d met, he’d given her no time to speak, and she had yet to complain. Since he thought it best to begin as he meant to go on, a quick show of his control had been necessary. But what he truly hoped was that the woman—who had been coddled all her life, by her parents and her queen—might welcome a bit of direction. He had enough experience to know that a broken, well-trained horse was a happy horse, after all.

  If he’d fawned over her, she would have added him to the list of people in her life she could bend to her will. He’d have been no better than any of the simpering suitors before him. Of course he’d be free to lavish his attentions on her later, after the woman, the castle, and the land were truly his. Since, by then, she would be well and truly trained.

  Lord Helling left him to direct his men to their supposedly temporary quarters, so Tam had a moment to himself. And as with the last two days, a moment to himself allowed his mind to wander to his encounter with that other woman. He doubted she would take the bit, doubted she would ever allow a man to tame or train her. She’d been the one to kiss him that first time. The second kiss had been his doing, but she’d only allowed it because he’d blackmailed her.

  He’d been a fool to return to the tree the night before, hoping in vain that she might be driven back out of curiosity. Hours of sleep had been lost to him, and his household had very nearly arrived without him.

  But tonight would be different. Tonight he risked nothing by taking a stroll to the grandfather pine. If he took a small nap before supper, he would not find himself overly weary in the morning. And there was no need to meet his men at the outskirts of town. Besides, after a pair of days to think about him, the mysterious woman would surely be wishing to happen across
him again. Perhaps she’d even be wanting a bit of practice.

  Chapter Six

  He slept through supper.

  Astrid had never had a suitor fail to attend her. Never.

  The entire household, including his own men, were seated and waiting when his squire had arrived in his stead and announced that Sir Tamhas was overtired from his long journey and could not be roused. For some reason, his men considered their leader’s fatigue to be humorous. They laughed themselves nearly off the benches bowing beneath their weight. Astrid laughed along, but from surprise and relief.

  She was surprised by the fact he did not seem to understand the tradition of wooing a woman, but she was relieved she would not have to fight for his attentions, because that evening, Bronwyn seemed particularly lovely. Astrid considered the possibility that her sister looked the same as she did every day, but this was the first day Astrid resented her for it.

  Lord Helling stood and invited the broad-shouldered Scots to share some tales of Sir Tamhas to help them know him better.

  There was a strange silence wherein even their chewing ceased.

  “Perhaps they consider it rude, Father, to speak of a man when he is not present.” Astrid offered a cheerful smile to the long table, despite the fact that half their number were wrapped in blankets just like their leader’s. But few of those blankets were as well pleated, and even fewer appeared as clean as Sir Tamhas’s.

  One of them stood. “Nay, my lady. It is not that we are loathe to speak of the man, but few of the stories we could tell…should be recounted in the presence of ladies.”

  The food-covered table shook from laughter and the odd pounding of a man’s hand.

  Astrid caught her father laughing as well. But instead of showing embarrassment, he simply winked at her.

  Winked at her!

  Lord Helling smiled often, but he rarely laughed as the Scots were doing. And he certainly never winked. Heaven only knew what sort of manners her father might acquire if she did not send these Scots back across the Border on the morrow.

  She finished her meal in silence while she contemplated some illness that might change a man’s behavior when surrounded by far too many other men. Her contemplation of men in general led her to think of one man in particular, and that was the man who had haunted the kissing tree last eve. She wondered how he might behave when surrounded by dozens of his fellows.

  One of the Scots dropped his tankard, and the sound drew her attention. And from the recesses of her mind, the question came unbidden.

  What if one of these men is Nimmo?

  Her heart pounded loud in her ears, drowning out any other conversation.

  She was almost too frightened to look, but since her sister and mother sat at the other side of the table, no one was paying much attention to her. It was the perfect opportunity to observe Sir Tamhas’s men-at-arms.

  She started with the man closest to her and considered. Nimmo’s speech had been as refined as her own. That eliminated at least half a dozen of them, since she could not possibly understand a word they said.

  Then she recalled that Nimmo’s stomach had been flat and hard when he’d pulled her against him for that second kiss. The memory of it caused her to hide her hot face behind her own tankard. A moment or two later, after she’d composed herself, she began at the far end of the table and found only seven men who might have been similar in body to her man of shadows. Two of those men had already been eliminated due to their speech, so that left five possibilities.

  The problem was, if Nimmo was one of the five, if he’d hidden his Scottish brogue while he’d been with her, then to send Sir Tamhas home on the morrow would be to send Nimmo home as well. She simply was not prepared to do that yet.

  Astrid called one of the serving women to her. “Attie, I’d like you to find out, discreetly, whether any of Sir Tamhas’s household arrived in Hellingsby before the rest. Can you do that?”

  “Yes, my lady.”

  Astrid played with her food and listened to voices mingling across the long table, hoping she might recognize Nimmo’s laughter among the rest. The conversations began to take on a rhythm. A sentence here. A reply there. Then laughter. It was an amusing way to pass the time, even though she could not understand many of the words, let alone the funny bits.

  She was smiling to herself when she glanced up and locked gazes with one of the five. His smile matched hers, and she wondered, Is he Nimmo? And is he perhaps thinking pleasant thoughts about a woman he kissed under a tree?

  Attie returned and drew Astrid’s attention away from the man.

  Her voice shook as she asked, “What did you learn?”

  “My lady, a squire told me that not all of Sir Tamhas’s household arrived this morning.”

  Astrid looked at the smiling Scot at the table, but he had turned his attention back to the men and was laughing with the rest. She watched, but he did not glance her way again.

  “Anything more? A name, perhaps?” But she already knew the man’s name, unless he’d been lying. After all, he’d likely been lying about being a Scot.

  “That was all the boy would say, my lady.”

  Astrid did not want Nimmo to come looking for her, even if he were a handsome Scot in the employ of her current suitor. Especially if he was in the employ of her current suitor.

  But if that were true, why couldn’t she bear to send them all away in the morning?

  She decided to remain awake until midnight, to watch for the man with the torch to return, the man she believed to be Nimmo. For surely, it would mean his thoughts were as consumed by her as her thoughts were consumed by him. But since Bronwyn’s finely appointed quarters had been lent to Sir Tamhas, her sister would be sleeping with her that night. She would need to find another window from which to observe, because going to the tree herself would be worse than foolish. Now that the moon had waxed a bit, she would be recognized from twenty feet away.

  No. She could never go to the kissing tree again. Even if she wanted to.

  Chapter Seven

  Tam woke when his squire stumbled into the chamber to find his own rest on the floor at the foot of the bed. Tam suspected he would have roused at that hour had the lad made a ruckus or not, since his body was just as interested in the mysterious woman as his mind was.

  “Here, Barnaby. Sleep in the lady’s fine bed. I’m getting out of it in any case.”

  The boy dragged his wee body off the floor and plopped his torso onto the sheets, and just in case he might fall asleep that way, Tam picked up a foot and swung the rest of him onto the bed as well.

  “Thank ye, Sir Tamhas.”

  Tam smirked. The boy was at an age when it would be a show of weakness to find one’s bed early. And heaven forefend a future knight be thought weak. Tam dragged his boots to him and paused. What must young Barnaby think of him taking naps in the evening?

  Hellingsby was a large enough estate that few men-at-arms were left to sleep in the great hall. Due to generous quarters for a larger garrison than Helling would ever need, Tam’s men were given beds, and at the moment, he was grateful they were in them. He took a torch from the hall and made his way out of the keep. He thanked Odin only Helling’s men were guarding the gate.

  As he took the now-familiar road, then the break in the heather, he tried not to think too hard upon his task. He was compelled to be at the tree on the chance she might come looking for him. If she happened to come, he had no thought as to what he might say to her. If she did not come, he could feel better about putting her from his mind.

  “Aye. That is the remedy,” he mumbled to himself. And a remedy was just the word for it, for in truth he hadn’t felt like himself since that night. Whether it was something he ate, or too much kissing of the wrong lass, he’d not eaten well since. Even now, as he rounded the corner and arrived at the grandfather pine, he could think of no food that might appeal to him. If he failed to find some remedy, and soon, he might waste away to skin and bones and resemble these English
blokes!

  This night, one way or another, I will have my cure of her.

  He moved away from the tree lest the fire from his torch accidentally spread. The log he’d perched his arse upon the night before was as he’d left it, but he kicked it for good measure. It rocked back into place, and he wondered if that was a sign that this night would go much the same as the previous one. And suddenly it was no longer acceptable for the log to lie as it was. He settled the handle of the torch in the hole he’d made last eve and picked up the end of the log, hefted it up to his waist, and tossed the end of it to the side like a wobbly caber. A poor toss by any Scot’s judgment, but at least it now lay somewhere new.

  He then used a small stick to make a new hole for his torch, not because the first one was not acceptable but because he had little else to do while he waited for a bit of time to pass. When he was finished, however, the torch stood much straighter than before. He took that as a fine omen, even though he hadn’t been looking for omens, of course.

  If someone asked, Tam could not say how long he planned to wait for the woman. He would simply linger until the fancy struck him to go. Or until she showed herself. But not long this time. Perhaps an hour…

  Odin’s teeth! What was wrong with him?

  He paced before the tree, until he realized he had done the same before. He wandered back toward the road, then stopped and searched for any sign of the place where she’d fallen—or rather, where he’d tripped her. He then recalled carrying her back to the tree, tricking her to go into the hollow, then using a threat to win a second kiss.