Her hands moved over him, too—indeed, her whole body did. It was as if she were trying to climb onto him, into him, and Kayne didn’t discourage the attempt. Instead, he helped, pulling her closer, kissing her even more ardently.
In time, the kiss came to an end, not because Kayne wanted it to. Far from it. But because Sofia at last pulled away and, with a happy sigh, rested her cheek on his shoulder.
“My gown has floated off,” she told him, as if the news didn’t distress her in the least.
It distressed Kayne, however, and most greatly.
“By the Rood!” he swore vehemently, coming to his senses and setting Sofia away. He looked all about, ready to swim after the accursed surcoat in hopes of regaining it, but it was nowhere to be seen.
“It’s gone,” Sofia told him simply. “I lost hold of it several minutes ago.”
“But why didn’t you tell me?” he demanded.
Her smile was openly amused. “I fear that I was most distracted, Master Kayne, by far more important matters.”
Kayne set a hand to his forehead and groaned, wishing he’d never given way to the temptation to touch her, no matter how strong it had been.
“Sofia, you cannot return to Ahlgren Manor so unclothed, and certainly not when you left the village in my escort. Any and all who saw you in such a manner would believe that we had…that I had…” He couldn’t even think of the way to finish what he meant, so close it was to the truth. “God help me,” he muttered, turning and striding out of the river. “You make me crazed, Sofia. You drive every bit of sense and forbearance from my head.”
He could hear her behind him, splashing to keep up. “But there is no trouble with that, Kayne. Not now, when I have learned the truth of who you are…or once were. Gwillym has told me the full of all that he knows, and it is more than enough. You are not a commoner, and there is naught to keep us from—”
He abruptly turned. “There is everything—” he began, falling silent at the sight of her body, now fully revealed as she stood out of the river, the wet-tight chemise molded against her form. Swinging about again, he grit his teeth together and tried mightily to push the vision out of his mind. If he hadn’t been wet, and cold, it would certainly have been a losing battle. “There is every reason why we cannot come together—ever.”
“But, Kayne—”
“Wait here,” he commanded curtly, striding toward where he’d left Tristan, praying that the steed hadn’t wandered off. “I will fetch a blanket so that you may cover yourself, and then you will sit in the sun until you are dry enough to go home.”
Ten minutes later, Sofia sat on a large rock in the warmth of the sun, a blanket wrapped so tightly about her that she could scarcely move. Kayne had done the wrapping, not looking at her while he did it, with such deftness and vigor that she had felt more like a child being swaddled than a woman full grown.
Kayne had removed his boots and some of his own wet clothes—his cloak and tunic, so that his chest was bare. He had unpacked and unsaddled Tristan and let the horse graze in the tall grass nearby. At present, he was kneeling on the ground, digging through one of his bags. Finally, he drew out a small, cloth-wrapped bundle and tucked it under one arm. Then he picked up a leather wineskin and rose.
“Drink some of this,” he said, uncorking the skin and holding it out to her. “’Twill keep you from falling ill.”
With great difficulty, Sofia extracted one of her arms from Kayne’s wrapping, and took the wineskin from his hand.
“Is this the same man who scoffed at the superstitions held on Midsummer Night?” she asked, putting the wineskin to her lips and sipping a small amount. The wine was dark and rich, of a fine quality, and she drank of it again before handing the wineskin back. “A little water will not make me ill.”
Kayne knelt upon the ground again and untied the bundle he’d carried from his bag. A small loaf of bread and a hunk of soft white cheese were within, and Kayne withdrew a dagger from the belt at his waist to cut them into even smaller portions. Sofia watched as he bent over the task, his blond hair white in the sun, long and silky, falling over his heavily scarred but well-muscled shoulders. Except for the scars, which showed white, he was as darkly tanned as a field worker might be, and she thought of how many hours and days and months he’d labored upon a far different kind of field—one of battle.
He set a slice of cheese upon a bigger slice of bread and handed it to her. Sofia held his gaze for a moment as she took it, staring deeply into his blue eyes.
“Kayne,” she said, carefully unearthing her other hand so that the blanket did not fall below her breasts, “I saw the hidden closet in your dwelling. The one with the armor and sword and other…things. And Sir Gwillym told me the truth of what you once were.”
“I know,” he said, busying himself with preparing his own modest repast. “I knew that you would ask a great many questions of Gwillym, and perhaps rightly so. I gave him my leave to tell you what he would. And now you know the truth.”
Rising, he took his share of the bread and cheese and the wineskin and moved to sit behind her on the rock. She felt his warmth, so near, but wished that she could see his face.
They ate their meal in silence, with the wineskin set between them so that she could easily reach it when she wished. The sun above was pleasant and warm, and she felt her chemise begin to dry. When she had finished the bread and cheese, she parted the blankets a bit to let the greater length of the garment dry. Beneath her feet, the grass was soft and inviting. A breeze picked up the scent of the river, caressing her face, and over her head, clouds, white as snow, drifted lazily across a brilliantly blue sky. To be here with Kayne on such a day, in such a way, should have brought nothing but joy. Yet Sofia could feel only fear.
She had confessed that she knew the truth, but his reaction had not been what she’d expected. Did he not realize, then, what it meant? That there could be no obstacle to part them now? Or perhaps…perhaps he did know, but did not care. Perhaps he did not want to wed her…perhaps he did not even love her, as she had thought he must.
The idea was worse than the knowledge of a certain and painful death. Indeed, she thought such a death might almost be preferable.
“Kayne,” she whispered, her voice trembling badly, just as all of her trembled, and her heart pounding with dread foreboding in her chest. “Kayne, you must only tell me, if you…if you do not…”
“I love you, Sofia,” he said so softly that she almost didn’t hear it. Reaching back, she felt him searching for her hand. With a sob of relief, she offered it, and his fingers closed about her own tightly. She leaned backward against him, and felt, with an indescribable joy, him returning the loving pressure. “You need never fear or worry for that. I love you as I have never loved a woman before. In truth, I had begun to think I was not capable of caring so deeply for anyone. But I loved you almost from that moment after the fire, when I opened my eyes and found you hovering over me like a very angel. My angel. Each day since then, I have loved you even more greatly. And will continue to love you until that day upon which I last draw breath.”
“As I love you,” she murmured, able to breathe once more, her eyes filling with tears of relief and thankfulness.
“But it matters not,” he continued in a tone both sad and weary. “We cannot wed, Sofia. I would not ask such a thing of you, to bind yourself to a man as I am. You are filled with light and goodness, while I am filled with naught but darkness. You cannot begin to know how.”
Sofia scooted around to look at him, and saw the dispirited set of his handsome features.
“I love you,” she repeated. “I know some of what you suffered in France.” She pushed her fingers between his own, sealing their hands together tightly. “If there is light within me, then let that light—and the love I bear for you—dispel this darkness you speak of.”
“I fear it would not be so. In truth, I think ’twould be the other way. That I would bring naught but darkness into your sweet life. That
I could never bear to do, Sofia.” He released her hand and stood. “Never, may God help me.”
He walked a few steps away, running both hands through his hair, then at last turned to face her.
“You wish to believe that I am a good man, perhaps even a noble man, but I am bastard born, a commoner among commoners, even though the man who sired me was wealthy and well-born. I come from a place called Briarstone. Do you know of it?”
“Nay,” she said, giving a shake of her head. “But I thought you were fostered at a place called Talwar, or so Sir Gwillym told me, with your close companions, Sir Senet and Sir Aric and a man named John Ipris.”
“Aye, and that I was,” he said with a somber smile. “But before we went to Talwar, John, Aric and I were raised at the nearby estate of Briarstone. ’Tis a singular place, where any who are alone or poor or hungry are welcomed and given the chance to earn a plot of land and a dwelling in trade for work. None who come are turned away, unless they are of a violent nature, and none are asked to give an accounting of themselves.
“Women, most especially, are welcomed, and even moreso those who have no other place to go. Whores, thieves—criminals of every kind, I vow—and any who have been cast aside, as my mother was. All are given a place at Briarstone. These, Sofia,” he said, gazing at her very directly, “are the ones who raised me from a babe. They are my people, my family, who I shall ever name my own. Can you tell me now, looking into my eyes, that you would welcome such a family? That you would wish to visit at Briarstone and be embraced as a daughter by such people? Can you think that your father—or the people of Wirth, so upstanding and right—would accept that you had taken criminals and harlots to your bosom as relatives?”
Her heart told Sofia to say the word at once—yes—but her mind, so treacherous and logical, made her hesitate. She had been prepared to hear that Kayne was basely born, but to know that he had been raised by such people—the very lowest in society, scorned by one and all, most especially the Church—this she had not expected.
Kayne’s face showed that he understood her feelings well. He gave a curt nod and looked away.
“I went to Talwar from Briarstone, as did Aric and John and many other boys. The two estates are very close, and the lords of them like brothers. They have a common goal—to make a better way for all those who are less fortunate. Sir Christian, who is the lord of Briarstone, oversees the raising of promising boys, and Sir Justin Baldwin, the lord of Talwar, takes them on to train them for the knighthood. Whether these lads attain the knighthood or not is their own decision, but the chance for it is there, and a guidance and encouragement that could scarce be had from any natural father.”
“Sir Gwillym told me something of Sir Justin Baldwin,” Sofia murmured. “He is a very great man, I think, to do what he has done.”
Kayne looked up at her again with a fierce expression such as she had never seen on him before. “He is the finest man on God’s earth,” he declared, “and I have named him my lord and will ever do so. Even when I served the king in France, ’twas truly Sir Justin I served. He gave me all that I have, even Tristan, who was his parting gift to me when I left for France. What I know of blacksmithing, Sir Justin taught me—aye, and all those who are fostered in his care, for he knows full well that few attain the knighthood, but many may be blacksmiths. If it had not been for Sir Justin and Sir Christian, I would have been as naught, for that is my birthright. I might have become the basest manner of criminal, a man you would scarce deign to look upon, Sofia, unless you could avoid looking at all.”
It was true, she thought with growing distress. All that he said was true.
“But you are not a criminal, Kayne. You became a great knight—a captain in the king’s army, commanding hundreds of men. And your father…you said that he is a rich man, and also well-born. Surely his lineage is acceptable, even if he is but a merchant.”
He uttered a humorless laugh. “Oh, aye, his lineage is fully acceptable. He is a great lord of a fine estate. Sir Ronan Sager, who is also called Baron Renfrow, the master of Vellaux.”
Sofia’s eyes widened. “Lord Renfrow is your father?” she repeated, hope welling up once more.
“My sire, as I have ever called him,” Kayne replied curtly. “My mother was a servant in the castle at Vellaux, and very young when she took her place there. Lord Renfrow had made her his mistress before she had attained sixteen years of age, and soon thereafter got her with child. But this is a common tale. I doubt it surprises you.”
“Nay,” she admitted. “’Tis not unknown to me that this is the fate of many young women.”
He gave her a long, searching look. “Of poor young women,” he said. “Of common village girls, as my mother was. No man possessed of any sense of honor would defile a born lady in such a manner, but he will not hesitate to take his pleasure of someone like my mother. She thought Lord Renfrow loved her, as she loved him, and she believed, when she agreed to lie with him, that he would never abandon her. But while he was bedding so innocent and ignorant a maid he was also courting a young and proper lady to be his bride. ’Twas his great misfortune that my mother happened to get with child just when the proper lady had at last agreed to be his wife, for he could not have brought her to share the same dwelling with his whore and bastard child.”
“But surely,” Sofia murmured, “surely he could never have sent your mother away to Briarstone? To a place filled with thieves and harlots? Could he have been so heartless?”
Kayne’s blue eyes, which had grown so very cold, softened a small measure. “Until only a few days past, I believed that he had been so cruel, though I love Briarstone dearly, and would not name it so harsh a place as it sounds. My mother never told me the truth of what had occurred, that she learned Lord Renfrow meant to make her leave the castle, and in her grief ran away from her family and her great shame—and most especially from him.
“Thanks be to a merciful God that she found her way to Briarstone, where she was safe from the dangers that so often befall such young women. For his part, Lord Renfrow was greatly distressed to find his mistress flown, and in desperation searched for her, meaning to bring her back to Vellaux and settle her in a dwelling of her own near the castle, with servants to care for both her and the child she carried, and to provide them with every manner of luxury. It was his intention—or so he swore to me in holy oath only a few days past, for it was he I journeyed to see—to maintain her as his mistress, even after the child was born and despite his marriage, and to raise the child with full acknowledgment, though certainly as his bastard. It was, I grant, an understandable determination for a man who had every expectation of gaining legitimate children out of his young wife. I would fault him for it if I could, but I cannot.”
“Nay, for that is the way of men, to desire legitimate heirs,” Sofia said sadly. “He must have loved her a little—your mother—to be willing to do so much for her, and to acknowledge you as his son, though bastard-born. Not every man will do as much.”
“This is so,” Kayne admitted. “For many years I thought he had abandoned us both, but now I believe that he meant only the best for my mother and me, and to do as much for us as he could. If she had not run away to Briarstone, and if she had agreed to return to Vellaux when Lord Renfrow at last found her, her life would have been very different than what it was.”
“And yours, as well,” Sofia said. “She would not return with him?”
He shook his head. “She could not bear to see him living with his beautiful new wife. She loved him too greatly to do so. And ’twas as well, I vow, for we were content at Briarstone, being among our own kind.”
“Oh, Kayne,” she said miserably, “they are not your people, though you lived among them. Your father is a great and most noble lord.”
“And my mother the daughter of a lowly vassal. You cannot make me what I am not, Sofia. I am bastard-born, and naught can change that, despite my father’s desire that I attain the lordship of Vellaux one day—”
Again, he nodded. “I am the only living child born from his flesh. His wife gave him no children, and the two other bastards born to his mistresses died in their youth. This being so, it is Lord Renfrow’s desire to petition the crown that I be made his legitimate heir. But, Sofia,” he went on firmly as she rose, filled with complete joy at the knowledge, “it yet makes no difference to us. Lord Renfrow will not make me legitimate unless I once again embrace the knighthood, and that I cannot do.” His expression was somber. “When I put that holy ordination aside, ’twas forever. And thus I vowed before God, for the sake of the darkness within me.”
“But ’twill not be thus forever,” she murmured. “One day, this darkness you speak of will leave you—if you desire that it be so.”
“I desire it above all things, but I cannot see how ’twill ever be changed. It is a part of me, perhaps even born of me. You cannot begin to know what manner of man I am.”
Sofia pulled the blanket modestly about her, and walked straight up to him, staring him in the face.
“I know far better than you what manner of man you are, Kayne the Unknown, and despite all that you have told me, my love for you has not altered in the least.”
“That is because you do not know the full of it,” he murmured, lightly touching her cheek. “I am a foul murderer. My hands—these very hands,” he said, lifting them up, “are covered with the blood of innocents. Women and children and more fighting men than I could begin to number. Hundreds upon hundreds I have sent to God—plucking them away from their families and those who loved and needed them. And all,” he said in a husky tone, the words hard to speak, “for naught but the vanity of fancy noblemen who dream of conquering thrones, not knowing or caring what the cost may be. Those dreams came to naught, for France is lost, and every man and woman and child who died upon her soil lost their lives for nothing but foolishness.”
The Stolen Bride Page 11
