The Stolen Bride

by Susan Spencer Paul

  “Sir Gwillym…I…did not mean to…” She couldn’t think of what to tell him, being caught in so obvious an act of spying.

  “Nay, of course you did not,” he replied easily, pushing from the door to stroll a few steps forward. “The fault is my lord, Sir Kayne’s. He left rather quickly this morn, and so did not take his usual care to properly close all his closets.”

  “All?” Sofia repeated, gazing about the room. “You mean to say there are others?”

  “Two others that he showed me this morn, as I helped him to pack for his journey. They are well concealed in the paneling, but here—” he reached out to touch a certain wooden panel “—is a prayer closet, and beside it—here, you see?—is another closet filled with clothing chests. If I knew the secret to opening them, I would prove that I speak the truth, but he did not show me how ’tis done, and as there are no latches, you must simply believe what I say. ’Tis quite extraordinary, is it not, how ’twas all built to look so plain and innocent? But, then, my lord, Sir Kayne, is a man uncommon in all things, and ever has been, since the day I first knew him.”

  Sofia pushed slowly to her feet. “Kayne has gone away?”

  Sir Gwillym gave a curt nod. “Aye, and will not return for several days—perhaps a fortnight or more. He has left me here to guard over you, mistress, and keep you safe from my former master, Sir Griel. I admit that I did not expect the task to be so simple—for here I find you beneath my hand, and not, as I had thought, out and about where I must follow your every step.”

  Sofia flushed at the meaning in his tone. She knew how damning it was that he should find her here, in Kayne’s bedchamber, going through his personal belongings.

  “I came in search of Master Kayne,” she said, “and grew worried when he gave no reply to my calls. I nursed him once when he was very ill,” she told him with a measure of some insistence, as if he would not believe her, “and thought mayhap he might be abed and in need of…of…” Her voice died away as she thought of what her explanation seemed like. Just to speak of Kayne being in his bed was beyond all that could be allowed an innocent maid.

  Sir Gwillym’s expression was filled with interest. “Of more nursing?” he finished for her, his appreciative gaze wandering the length of Sofia’s figure until she burned with even greater embarrassment. “I should think any man would be pleased for such as that. I must pray to fall very ill before my lord makes his return.”

  “You misunderstand me!” she retorted. “I only meant to see if he was ill, and in need of care. When I saw that he was not here, I surely should have left at once, but the door was ajar, and—I fully admit my sin in looking where I had no right.”

  “I do not condemn you,” he said, lifting his hands up in a shrug. “Sir Kayne told me what manner of woman you are, and warned that I must not expect any meek, mild maiden who keeps to her own path. He also told me that you would come today, asking questions and demanding replies.”

  “Did he?” Sofia said, suddenly angry. “I did not realize he held me in such contempt as that.”

  Sir Gwillym’s frowned slightly. “’Twas so far from contempt when he spoke of you that I can but wonder how you would think it. He said these things with all admiration, mistress, and—perhaps I should not admit the truth of this—with more even than that.”

  The insult Sofia had felt died, to be replaced by hopefulness and wonder. “I see,” she said softly. “Well—” she turned away to hide her smile “—I will close this door and Kayne’s secrets may be hidden again. I am glad that he warned you of my curious nature, for I do intend to ask you many questions.” She turned back to face him. “Will you answer them?”

  “My lord gave me permission to speak of certain matters to you, but only if I can first gain your solemn vow never to tell anyone what you hear.”

  Sofia nodded. “I so vow, by God above, that I will tell no one.”

  “Then mayhap you will be so good as to come belowstairs and offer me some of the food I saw in the basket you left?” Sir Gwillym stepped back and swept his arm toward the door, making an elegant bow as he did. “I am sorry if you meant it for Sir Kayne and not for me, but ’twould be a sin to let it go wasting, when here you have a man both glad and willing to sate his hunger with it.”

  “Of course I shall be pleased to feed you,” Sofia said as she moved past him and toward the door, adding, “in exchange for the tale of how you came to know Master Kayne, and what you know of him.” A thought occurred to her, and she stopped to look at him. “Did you not think an intruder had come into the dwelling, when you saw the door opened and the basket on the floor? A dangerous thief?”

  “Nay,” Sir Gwillym said with a laugh, taking Sofia’s elbow to guide her to the stairs. “I was afeared of no such thing. Thieves do not usually smell of sweet roses, my lady.”

  Chapter Eight

  “You are not truly cousins, are you?” was Sofia’s first question as she cleared the table of the dirty plates.

  Sir Gwillym shook his head. “Nay. ’Tis the first lie I have ever heard my lord speak, though he did not utter it to save himself, but me, and there was little else to be done.”

  Sofia carefully laid out two linen cloths, one before Sir Gwillym and one for her own use. “You call him your lord,” she said as she began to lay food upon each cloth. “Is he, in truth, a nobleman? For I know he is of the knighthood—all in the secret closet abovestairs proved the truth of that. But then why would he come to Wirth to live in such a manner? To be a common blacksmith?”

  “Please, mistress, I beg of you,” Sir Gwillym said, holding up a staying hand, “give me time to make answers to all of these. Much of it I do not know, but that which I do, I will tell.”

  He accepted the goblet of wine she gave him, and began to speak.

  “I first met Sir Kayne seven years ago in France, where I had gone with my older brothers to fight in the king’s army. We are Welsh, loyal to England, and my father the baron of a large estate in Caermarthen. My brothers had already gained the knighthood, but I, being but ten and seven then, was only their squire.

  “We joined Sir John Fastolf in Normandy to receive his orders as to whose command he desired us to follow, and to our very great fortune, ’twas to Sir Kayne’s service we were given. He was captain over five hundred men, well-loved by all.”

  “That’s why you called him captain,” Sofia murmured. “I heard you say it on Midsummer Night.”

  “Aye, that is why. ’Tis far too old a habit for me to be broken of it. He was my captain and I thank God for it, for Sir Kayne kept me alive while I fought beneath his command—me and both my brothers, as well—and because of him I attained the knighthood. Sir John Fastolf himself dubbed me, because Sir Kayne asked it of him, and now I am one of the few men to have attained that great honor. But Sir John would do such as that for my lord, for Sir Kayne was among his own most honored warriors. Sir Kayne,” said Gwillym, lifting his goblet, “is known to be one of the greatest knights in the king’s service.”

  Sofia watched him as he drank deeply from the cup. When he set it aside, she asked, “But how can this be? How has he come down to such as this? To be a mere blacksmith?”

  “I do not know the full answer to give you, mistress,” Gwillym told her, “but I know why he left France, and a little of why he left the knighthood.

  “You see, there were four of them who went to France, seeking their fortunes—four friends, of whom Sir Kayne was one. Each was a great warrior and proved himself on the field of battle, and each was knighted and received great boons for their brave deeds, save one. They were Sir Kayne, Sir Senet Gaillard, Sir Aric, and a man who was only ever called, within my hearing, John Ipris. Each of them, save John Ipris, were given command of several hundred men, and for the friendship they bore one another, their troops were kept closely together, so that those of us beneath Sir Kayne’s hand fought beside Sir Senet’s men, and also Sir Aric’s. John Ipris fought bravely upon the battlefield as well, but he performed other duties
for Sir John Fastolf which were secret even to his friends. Often he would disappear for many days, and then suddenly reappear, with no explanation, to rejoin Sir Kayne and the others.

  “In time, John Ipris and his wanderings began to take us—those of us who were beneath Sir Kayne’s hand, and Sir Senet’s and Sir Aric’s—away from the main battles to more dangerous tasks, and most especially our troops, for Sir Kayne’s command often led the others. We scouted villages and searched for traitors, or, worse, the enemy, and destroyed those places that harbored spies. When trouble came, we were the first to find and fight it, and Sir Kayne, being by no means a coward, never let his men do what he would not do first. I tell you, mistress, that you have never seen a man fight as our captain could do.”

  “You speak the truth,” she murmured. “Two nights past, I saw him fight against you, and never saw the like.”

  Sir Gwillym made a scoffing sound. “That was as naught compared to how he fought in France. He but defended himself two nights past, but in France he both defended and attacked. He fought, mistress, like one of God’s mighty angels, come down from the heavens. And all I know of such fighting I learned from him, else how could I have even hoped to match him as I did on Midsummer Night?”

  “A lesser man would have been felled far more quickly,” Sofia agreed. “He bested several others earlier in the day with great ease.”

  “Aye, that is how he is,” Sir Gwillym said with pride. “A great knight. A true knight. Not a man without honor or skill such as Sir Griel, who purchased the knighthood for a great deal of gold. I was proud indeed, and yet proud, to have served under Sir Kayne’s command. And, yet—” he sighed and gave a shake of his head “—in time, it began to be hard for him. We could all see it, the great despair he would feel after each battle was done, though he had fought well and bravely throughout. ’Twas the killing—the endless killing, month after month.”

  Sofia leaned forward. “He killed many?”

  Gwillym nodded. “Hundreds—hundreds upon hundreds of soldiers and fighting men. It did not seem to bother Sir Senet or Sir Aric, but for Sir Kayne and John Ipris, ’twas a hard thing. They were in France ten years, mistress, serving the king upon the battleground.”

  “God’s mercy,” she whispered with horror. “Ten years. Almost from his youth, then…”

  “Aye, and his life for each of those years was spent killing—and having little in return for it. Sir Kayne grew rich in time, for he received many boons from the crown for his brave deeds, but the fight itself—the cause of England—never went forward. ’Twas all but useless foolishness, and naught was gained for all the blood that was spilt upon the soil of France.”

  “This, then, is why he left France, and the knighthood?” she asked.

  “In part, I think. Another part, perhaps, is what he began to be called by many of his men and some of the other captains. ’Twas done by them as a matter of pride, for proud they were, indeed, of Sir Kayne’s abilities upon the battlefield. But he hated the name—nay, even more than that, he full despised it, my lady—and each time he heard it I saw the darkness that already filled his eyes grow darker yet.” Sir Gwillym gave a dismal shake of his head. “By the time he left France, Sir Kayne had become as hard and cold as any living man might do, and yet still be called living.”

  Sofia was almost afraid to ask the question, but she did. “What did they call him?”

  Sir Gwillym lifted his gaze to meet her own. “Kayne the Bloody. Kayne the Destroyer.”

  “How could they have named him such?” she murmured with horror. “So kind and gentle a man as he is?”

  “’Twas a badge of honor, just as I have told you, and any other man might have seen it so and accepted such titles gladly. But not Sir Kayne.” Gwillym gave a great sigh. “But that was not the worst of what he suffered. The worst came but a month before he left us—a terrible thing that touched us all. I could only thank a merciful God that I was not the one who stood the responsibility for what happened. Sir Kayne was not entirely to blame, either, but he was our captain, and therefore took the blame upon himself.”

  “What happened?”

  “I’ve told you that John Ipris often went out alone, engaged in some manner of spying, and what information he returned with often led us to destroy those places where our enemies were hidden. And not once—not once, mistress—was he ever in error about such things, so that we never made the mistake of killing innocents. But there came a day when John Ipris was taken ill, and another was sent in his place to see what might be discovered about a small village that Sir John Fastolf wished to take.”

  Even without hearing the full of the tale, Sofia began to feel a sense of dread.

  “This other man returned from his spying with the news that dozens of French soldiers were encamped within the walls of a small estate near the village, being harbored there by a French lord. There was no reason to doubt the truth of this, and Sir John Fastolf gave orders accordingly to my lord, Sir Kayne, that everything within the walls of the estate was to be burnt to the ground.

  “It was our way,” Gwillym continued, distractedly fingering the goblet he held, “to start such blazes very early in the morn, while ’twas yet dark, and by this means catch our enemies more fully unawares. This had worked to our benefit many times before—at least when John Ipris had been our guide—and this is how Sir Kayne set about fulfilling Sir John Fastolf’s orders.”

  “But it was a mistake?” Sofia whispered.

  “Oh, aye,” Gwillym said grimly. “A vile, horrible mistake. For there were no soldiers within those walls that we set flame to—making certain when we did that no one should come out alive. There were only a few women and a great many children. ’Twas a convent, you see, and, because of the war, also a refuge for orphaned children.” He closed his eyes at the memory. “None of them survived the blaze. We heard them screaming behind the walls, crying for mercy and rescue, but ’twas impossible to save them. Sir Kayne tried—God above knows the truth of that. He sent Tristan time and again into the flames, striving to make his way past the gate, but each time failed. At last, only Sir Senet and Sir Aric could keep him from trying once more. If they had not done so, I believe my lord would have perished in the blaze, himself.”

  “Merciful God,” Sofia said, setting trembling fingers against her lips. “Now I understand why he risked all to save Harold Avendale and his family from fire. And why he was visited by so many nightmares.”

  “Nightmares, mistress?”

  “Yes, during the nights following a village fire from which he saved an entire family, at great cost to himself. But surely you’ve seen the scars he bears for yourself, having been with him these past two days. I was the one who cared for him until the gravest dangers had passed. He was in terrible pain, and rest was hard-won, but even when he slept he was tormented by such dread nightmares of fire and death. I thought he dreamt of the fire in the village, but now…I can but believe ’twas that other fire he remembered.” She strove to control her grief. “He suffered so greatly…but I think this must have been as nothing compared to what he suffered in France, following such a grave tragedy.”

  “Aye, mistress. He was not the same man afterward. He nearly killed the man who’d given such false information, though the fellow pleaded that ’twas all a foolish mistake. But it could never be foolish for Sir Kayne. And some of the other captains who had ever been jealous of my lord began to hail him aloud by those names that he hated so—Kayne the Bloody, and Kayne the Destroyer.”

  “Cruel, wicked men,” Sofia uttered furiously. “’Twas no fault of his own that any perished!”

  “’Twas not,” Gwillym agreed, “but Sir Kayne would not have it so. He blamed himself and said nothing when those names were spoken, for I think he had begun to believe they were true.

  “He disappeared for a full week after the fire, and no one knew where he had gone, not even Sir John Fastolf or his close companions, though they diligently searched for him. He returned just as
suddenly and took up his duties again without a word, so solemn and dispirited that we none of us dared to question or disobey him.

  “Then, perhaps a fortnight later, he vanished again, but this time with Sir Senet and Sir Aric and John Ipris. One of my brothers was appointed captain over Sir Kayne’s men, but even he did not know where Sir Kayne or the others had gone. No one spoke openly regarding them, though there were rumors among the men that they had left the King’s service and returned to England. But those of us who had been beneath Sir Kayne’s command could not stop our fears and worries for him, and we determined that we must know what had become of our lord. To this end, I gathered up all my courage and approached Sir John Fastolf myself, asking the bold question. He rebuked me most angrily and sent me away, telling me not to pry into matters that were none of my concern. It convinced us—all of Sir Kayne’s men—that our worst fears were true. Our captain never would have left us in such a manner, with no word, if all had been well.”

  “He should have bidden you farewell,” Sofia agreed. “’Twas wrong of him not to do so.”

  Gwillym shrugged and shook his head. “He was not himself, mistress. Indeed, I think he was not whole for many months, even after returning to England, until he came here, to this small village, and found a measure of peace.”

  “Is he a nobleman, then? He could not have gained knighthood, otherwise.”

  “I have told you that I do not know the full of who or what he is, mistress, only that part which I knew of him in France, but I do not believe he is a nobleman. He has only spoken of the place where he was fostered, which is called Talwar, and of the lord who trained him for knighthood, Sir Justin Baldwin. Have you never heard of it or him?”

  The names were vaguely familiar to Sofia, but she frowned and shook her head. “Perhaps, but I cannot remember.”