“Sir Justin Baldwin has gained a wide reputation for fostering boys who are from poor families—or even those that are basely born, with no family at all—and training them for the knighthood. This is the only way in which such boys could ever hope to attain such stature, and Sir Kayne was among them, though I do not know which.” Then he added, somewhat more dolefully, “He has never spoken of a family name, but only his Christian one—Kayne. And even here he is called Kayne the Unknown, is this not so?”
“Yes,” she answered with a sigh. “He has only ever given his one name, and no other. And he would not say where he had come from, much to the frustration of the villagers. If they only knew that he is a famed knight of the realm, how amazed they would all be. Even I am yet amazed, though I knew he was not like other men.”
“He is not, but my lord is no longer of the knighthood, mistress,” Sir Gwillym reminded her gravely. “He put such honors aside when he came here, and has made solemn vows—before a priest, yet—that he will never again take up arms against another man, unless it is for his own defense or that of the most innocent and helpless, most especially women and children. In this way he means to make some amends for what he yet believes was his fault in the burning of the convent.”
“Yet, though he has put away that very thing which would have set him amongst the nobles, you still call him ‘my lord,”’ Sofia said softly.
Sir Gwillym met her direct gaze. “Aye, mistress, and will ever do so. He was, and will remain, the man to whom I owe my very life. Even two nights past, he could have readily killed me. Do you not think I wondered in all amazement to find myself bested by a man who so easily evaded my greatest efforts?”
Sofia gave a laugh. “You are too humble, sir. It did not look easy. Indeed, I thought you would kill him several times over, for he did naught save defend himself.”
“Then you do not know much of such contests, mistress. For all my efforts, I should have killed him, but he slipped from my grasp over and again, until I began to think him some kind of spirit called up from the ground in the magic of Midsummer Night. The truth of it is, I am the one who is fortunate to be alive after our encounter, and know it well. Apart from that, he saved me from public disgrace before Sir Griel and the people of Wirth, at no small cost to his own sense of honor, for, as I told you, ’twas the first falsehood that ever I heard pass his lips. A man such as that is worthy to be called ‘lord,’ mistress, whether he has put all titles aside or not. ’Tis a great honor to name him thus.”
Something suddenly occurred to Sofia as Sir Gwillym spoke—something astonishing and wonderful.
“Kayne is of the knighthood,” she said, staring wide-eyed at her companion. “Whether he is of noble birth or not has no bearing—and no one need ever know of it even if it did. My own father is not descended of any noble line, nor was my mother. And, come to that, neither is Sir Griel. Kayne is as good as any of them, and—if all you say is true—he is possessed of some money. Why, this very dwelling,” she said, standing up and looking all about her at the fine, expensively built home, “is proof of that.”
“Mistress Sofia,” Gwillym murmured in a warning tone.
She ignored him and continued, wonderingly, “There is no reason why we cannot be wed, Kayne and I.”
“Mistress…”
“Even my father must surely see that ’tis true. Indeed,” she added, turning back to look at Gwillym, “no one could dispute it—neither Church nor Crown nor anyone in Wirth.”
Gwillym laughed and set his wine goblet aside. “I would not dare to do so, then, either, mistress. But you might wait to perceive what Sir Kayne wishes before making such declarations. I do not think he will take up the knighthood again, having set it aside, and if he does not his fitness to wed you will fly away once more.”
Sofia thought of all that had occurred between herself and Kayne, and remembered his kisses. He had never told her that he loved her, but surely he felt as she did. She had recognized how he’d struggled to restrain himself in the forest on Midsummer Night. His longings then had matched her own—Sofia was certain of it. She had not spoken openly of her love, either, and yet love him she did.
“He’ll take up the knighthood again,” she murmured. “I know that he will, once I’ve explained all to him.”
“And what of the vows he has taken never to fight again, nor to bring harm to any man save in the direst circumstances?” Gwillym asked. “Such as that is not the way of the knighthood, especially to a man in service to the king, as Sir Kayne was. And what of the smithy? Sir Kayne has gone to great effort to secure the peace he’s found here. You would ask him to give it up for your sake?”
“Nay, never,” she said fervently. “I am content to dwell here, and to let Kayne follow his heart’s desire, until my father, may God keep him, passes on. After that, we must do what is best for the people of Wirth, and Kayne would agree that this would be so.”
“Move into Ahlgren Manor and become lord of the estate?” Gwillym asked. “He would make a fine lord, I grant you, but whether he would wish to be one is another matter.”
“He will,” Sofia said with a nod. “By then, he will have wearied of smithing, and will accept what he must do.”
Sir Gwillym looked unconvinced. “You are very sure of yourself, mistress.”
“Oh, aye,” Sofia agreed, smiling at him, “where Kayne the Unknown is concerned, I am certain of all things. Have no fear for that, sir. I know what I am about.”
Chapter Nine
The last thing—or person—Kayne expected to see when he returned to Wirth on a sunny afternoon twenty days after he’d left on his journey was Sofia, standing in the center of the village, covered head to toe in mud and caught in the midst of a rampaging herd of cattle. Every man, woman and child in the village—including Gwillym—was either screaming wildly, jumping about helplessly, or, as in Gwillym’s case, striving desperately to gain some measure of control of the cattle and rescue Sofia. But it was to no avail. Sofia was well and truly beyond the reach of their hands, and no one could push through to save her. She was being knocked in every direction, close to being trampled to death. When the realization of this struck, Kayne’s heart nearly stopped.
Without thinking upon what he did, he withdrew the small sword at his side and took Tristan’s reins in a strong, steady grip. Tristan would not want to enter the tight, pressing confusion of the loudly protesting cows, but he was too well trained to disobey commands. Any smaller, weaker steed would never have been able to withstand the butting and shoving of the heavy cattle, but Tristan, calling upon his great strength, plowed into the midst of them and, striving mightily, forced a path. Kayne helped as best he could, shouting orders to the villagers to herd the beasts to the south and reaching down to thump the half-maddened creatures on their heads with the hilt of his sword.
Sofia saw him coming, but had little reaction. Clearly suffering both shock and fear, she but stared at him wide-eyed. Gwillym, from Kayne’s left, understood at once what was best to be done, and he physically reached into the frantic, directionless herd and grabbed the head of the nearest cow, forcibly pulling it away from the rest and driving it south. Giving loud protest, the creature ran mooing down the street. Two others blindly followed behind it.
Gwillym grabbed another cow, wrestling with it until it at last turned and ran after the first three. Immediately, every man who dared joined him in the task.
Kayne continued to force Tristan forward, bringing his hilt down on the cows’ great, lumpy heads to make them move as he inched a path toward where Sofia stood. Her slender, muddied form swayed against the force of the great, heavy bodies that buffeted her. Her face was white, and Kayne knew that she was very near to fainting.
“Sofia!” he called out to her. “Wait…wait for me. I’m coming.”
He spurred Tristan on, and the brave steed responded nobly, straining even harder to push forward through what seemed like a never-ending sea of bone and flesh.
Almost
at the same time as Kayne neared Sofia, reaching down one long arm to scoop her up, the cows finally began to disperse, thanks to the efforts of Gwillym and the others. The confusion and pressing turned into a stampede, all going southward, but by the time it began Kayne had Sofia safely before him on the saddle, cradled against his chest. She lay limply, saying nothing, but he could hear the gasping of her breath as she strove to draw in air, and feel the trembling of her body.
Gathering her more closely, he shouted back to Gwillym, “I’m taking Mistress Sofia home!” and, without waiting for a reply, he set Tristan into a firm, steady trot out of what remained of the herd and the village in the direction of Ahlgren Manor.
“Are you all right, Sofia?” he asked once they were well out of the village. “God alone knows how you came to be in the midst of such a dire circumstance.” The hand that held her patted along her shoulder and arm, as if to discover whether anything was broken. “Were you hurt?” He kept patting, striving to reassure himself that she was well. “By the Rood! What were you doing there? How came you to be in such danger—and with Gwillym standing there like a very fool, when I commanded that he never let you out of his sight.”
“T-take me to the r-river,” she stammered, still trembling fiercely.
Kayne was certain that he’d not understood. “What? To the river?”
“Aye, t-to the r-r-river. P-please, Kayne.”
“To the manor is where you should go,” he told her, but he was not proof against her pleas. When they reached the forest, he turned Tristan into the trees and rode toward the river, coming to the place where they had set the small boats bearing wishes afloat on Midsummer Night.
Sofia hardly waited until he’d brought Tristan to a halt before she pushed out of Kayne’s arms and slid down from the saddle. Without so much as glancing at him she rushed into the darkness of the forest, leaving Kayne in a state of utter bewilderment.
“Sofia?” he called out as he dismounted.
“I’m all right,” she shouted back from somewhere behind the trees.
Kayne wasn’t quite so certain, especially when he heard a great deal of rustling. What in the name of heaven was she doing? With a sigh and a shake of his head, he led Tristan to the water and let him drink.
“This is not the manner of welcome we had thought to have, is it, old boy?” he murmured, patting the great steed upon the neck. “But, considering it was Sofia involved, ’tis no great surprise. Eh? She has a way of—”
A loud splash of water farther downriver made him jerk his head about in alarm. The next moment, he had dropped Tristan’s reins and gone racing toward the sound.
“Sofia!” he shouted frantically, pushing through where she’d disappeared into the trees. “Sofia!” Her surcoat and soft boots, both yet heavy with mud, had been thrown across a low branch near the riverbank. The sound of more splashing confirmed his worst fears—that Sofia had somehow fallen into the river and was desperately striving to stay afloat.
Kayne knew how to swim, but was full aware just how rare a thing that was. Death by drowning was among the most common occurrences in the land—and it happened very quickly.
Without hesitating a moment to pull off even his boots, he flung himself forward, through the screen of trees and straight into the wide river, thanking a merciful God as he splashed through the cold water that it was slow-moving and not too deep.
He was up to his thighs in water when Sofia, who was in the midst of rinsing her hair of mud, stopped what she was doing and looked up at him with surprise.
“Why, Kayne,” she said, her eyes wide with amazement, “what is amiss?”
He was momentarily shocked beyond all speech, and stood where he was, water swirling all about him, and stared.
She was clothed only in a white linen chemise, which had become nearly invisible in the water, though she was very modestly sitting deeply enough in the water so that everything below her shoulders was covered. Not that it mattered to Kayne. The sight of her thus, nearly undressed and sitting such a short distance away, made him forget almost everything else.
“I thought you were drowning,” he said stupidly, blinking and striving to pull his gaze from her wet arms and shoulders. She might not have been wearing the chemise at all for the good it did in hiding her flesh.
She smiled and calmly began to wash herself again, rubbing her fingers through her long, golden-brown hair to rid herself of mud. “I’m sorry if I gave you a fright,” she said, carefully leaning back to rinse her scalp the better. Kayne watched, fascinated, as the swell of her breasts rose from the water at the movement, just enough to tease and tantalize and make him feel maddened.
“I learned to swim as a child. My father insisted upon it, though many of the villagers declared it a great evil. You know how ’tis said that the devil lives within the water, only waiting to snatch away the spirits of those who dare to enter.” She closed her eyes and disappeared briefly beneath the water, resurfacing faceup so that water glistened on her skin and eyelashes, and her hair was sleek and wet. “Ah, ’tis better now,” she murmured with clear contentment. “Much better.” Her eyelids opened and she looked at him, all blue-eyed innocence. “Will you fetch my gown and shoes for me please, Kayne? I wish to wash them, as well. My father will be furious if I do not make myself clean before entering the manor. ’Twill not be pleasant to explain how it is that I come to be wet, but he has ever had a special dislike of filth.”
Glad for a reason to hide the proof of his burgeoning desire, Kayne abruptly turned about and climbed out of the stream. A few moments later he returned, but rather than leave them on a rock where she might fetch them, he walked back into the river, mindless of his boots and clothes, and waded in until he stood nearly beside her.
Now it was Sofia’s turn to stare in shock. “Kayne! I did not mean for you to become even wetter than you were before. Pray, leave them here with me and get you out to dry.”
Ignoring this, he handed her the heavy surcoat, and then began to clean the boots himself, careful not to lose one or the other as he scrubbed the mud from each.
“The water is good for me at present,” he told her. “And as it is cold, much the better. Now, tell me, Sofia, how you came to be in the midst of all those cows.”
“Oh, ’tis such a foolishness that I cannot think you wish to hear the tale,” she replied, busily rubbing at a particularly bad stain on her surcoat. “They were Mar Halliway’s cattle, I think, for I seem to recall that he meant to drive them to the Portertown market today. They came running into the village in a mad rush, with a dozen dogs or more yipping at their heels and causing an even greater confusion. Gwillym and I had been out making my daily visits, and had just left Mistress Losley’s—you know how painfully she has suffered the gout these past many months—when we saw them coming toward us.”
“Did Gwillym not try to keep you from harm?” Kayne asked, unable to believe that his former soldier had done anything less.
“Oh, aye, he did,” she assured him, glancing up from her work, “and most valiantly, I vow. But the cattle were maddened and causing every manner of damage, and no one could stop them, or was even brave enough to make the attempt.” She looked up at him once more. “Though I do believe Sir Gwillym would have done so, if I’d only had the sense to give him the chance.”
“You thought you could stop a herd of maddened cows,” Kayne stated flatly, most unhappy at the idea of such misdirected bravery, regardless how greatly he admired the quality. She could have so easily been killed, and the very thought made his heart ache with a deep distressing pain.
“I know ’twas all foolishness,” she admitted, frowning at the stain which stubbornly refused to go, “but I was in the midst of the cattle before I had truly thought of what I did. And then ’twas too late. I thought—I thought I would die,” she said, her voice growing solemn and sad, “and this saddened me not only for my own sake, but because it meant that I would not see you again.” She looked up at Kayne, her gaze sparkling wi
th tears, though she smiled. “And then, what a greater fool I acted after you saved me, for I could not bear that you should see me in such a state, so covered with filth.” She uttered a laugh. “And so I bade you bring me to the river, and now here we are, the both of us, because of my sinful pride and vanity.”
Reaching out, she touched his hand, which had fallen still in the task of cleaning her boots. He had simply been standing, gazing at her.
“I did not tell you yet, Kayne, but I am so glad you are home. Each day I prayed for your return. I had meant our first meeting to be far different than it was, but that cannot be helped now. There is so much I have to tell you. Did you have a pleasant journey? And to where did you go in such a hurry?”
Whatever measure of control he’d held upon himself melted away, leaving Kayne defenseless against what he felt. Without a word, he turned and strode back up to the bank, water swirling all about him, and set Sofia’s boots upon a large, safe rock. Then he walked back out into the river again. Sofia had no warning for what was to come, but, then, Kayne reasoned, it was the same for him. He was helplessly in love and helplessly aroused, and it was all her fault.
“Sofia,” he said as he neared her.
She was yet smiling up at him. “Yes, Kayne?”
“Come here.”
He grabbed her shoulders and pulled her up against him, half out of the water so that her wet chemise dampened what little of him was left dry. His mouth found her own and he kissed her with the fervent need that had haunted him for the past twenty days and nights. She responded with equal need, and, murmuring against his lips, slid her arms about his neck and held him tightly.
He had no idea how long it went on, though it seemed like hours. Long, lovely, blissful hours. His hands moved restlessly over the thin, wet cloth covering her body, caressing, stroking, barely constrained in seeking out those places that he most longed to touch. When he touched her lips with his tongue she opened for him—first shyly, and then more eagerly as he showed her how that sweet manner of intimacy was shared.
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