The Lady and the Knight (Highland Brides)

by Greiman, Lois

  No. They could not have shared a dream again. Twas too eerie, too frightening. She shouldn't acknowledge his words, and she certainly shouldn't look at him, for with every moment that passed, the fantasy only seemed more real.

  "There was a maid with golden hair and eyes so blue they challenged the brightness of the heavens. Soft as satin was she in my hands. Warm as sunshine."

  She swallowed, lost in his words, the deep timbre of his voice, the depths of his eyes.

  "Lass," he breathed, rising to his knees. "What was your dream?"

  "I dreamed of a dark man, a man like none other. Strong he was, but kind, with eyes as deep as forever and hands that promised heaven."

  "Sara," he whispered.

  But in that moment the goat bleated. Reality flooded back, and with it a harsh reminder of her responsibilities. "Tilly!" She jumped to her feet. "I dreamed she had gotten into some poisonous yew and become sick. I—I must check on her," she croaked, and spinning grace-lessly away, scrambled into the brush.

  Chapter 8

  Morning dawned gray and still. Mists blanketed the world. Every serrated leaf was wet, every coiled frond heavy with moisture, bowing toward the earth.

  Sara awoke to Thomas's morning squeals. Pushing back the flap that covered his face, she drew him gently to her. He smiled toothlessly, but her thoughts were elsewhere. Once again, she had made a fool of herself, she thought, glancing toward Boden's empty pallet. But wee Thomas brought her attention back to him with a gurgle. She smiled, offering her little finger. He curled his fist around it and cooed.

  "Good morningtide, bonny Tommy," she murmured.

  His grin increased.

  "Are ye hungry this day?"

  His arms waved wildly and his legs joined in. Although twas the practice to swaddle babes tightly to teach them to walk upright instead of on all fours like the beasts, Sara's circumstances had negated that dubious practice, allowing his limbs to wave freely.

  "Poor bonny babe," she crooned, leaning closer still. "Left alone in this world with only a strange Scot to care for ye. And her riddled with unimaginable dreams and unforgivable fantasies. But I should not trouble ye with my problems, for surely ye be ready to break the fast."

  "Twill not be so simple."

  Sara yanked to a sitting position. Boden stood only inches away. The mists shaded him like a curtain of silver, but even so, she could see that his chest was still bare.

  How much had he heard? She tried to see through the fog to make out his expression, but there was little hope of that.

  "How long have you been standing there?" she asked.

  "Long enough to imagine your dreams and forgive your fantasies."

  She was on her feet in a moment. "You misunderstand. The dreams—"

  "Are the same as mine," he interrupted. "And I wonder, are they caused by the amulet, or by something deeper?"

  She found, to her dismay, that she was clutching Dragonheart in her hand again. Loosening her fingers, she let it fall against her chest. "They are caused by fatigue. Nothing more."

  "Are you certain, lady?"

  "Aye," she lied. Even now she wanted nothing more than to go to him, to feel the warmth of his skin against hers. But hardly could she give in to such insane fantasies. For if she went to him once, she would never have the strength to leave him.

  "I would gladly let you rest to prove you wrong," he said, his tone resigned. "But I fear there will be little enough time for that, for the goat has disappeared."

  "Tilly? It cannot be," Sara said, reeling from one crisis to the next:. "Thomas needs her."

  "And she has taken your gown and my own garments with her."

  "What?"

  "Twas either the goat, or the fairies have absconded with our clothing for their own amusement."

  Sara turned to pick up the babe who had begun to fuss. "Tilly took my clothes?"

  "You don't believe in the little folk?" he asked. "I thought twas your Scottish duty."

  Sara ignored his jibe. For God's sake, she was dressed in nothing but his tunic and cloak. She needed her clothing. "But how did she get loose? I tied her myself."

  "And a fine knot it was,'' Boden said, lifting a damp, frayed piece of rope for her to see. "Twas no easy task for me to untie it."

  "She chewed through it."

  "Aye."

  "What shall we do now? Thomas needs milk."

  Boden scowled in return. "Were she a normal beast I would think it likely that she would tire of a full udder and look to be milked."

  "Ye dunna suppose someone stole her!"

  Boden's expression was wry. "Even the fair folk would see no fun in that."

  Sara turned, searching the mists. "I must find her," she said. But just as she was about to take a step forward, Tilly bounded out of the mists and into their camp.

  Sara stumbled backward.

  Boden yanked his sword from its scabbard, then seeing no immediate threat, raised his brows in wonder. "You've a knack for this goat finding, lady."

  "You've come back," Sara said, squatting down to stroke Tilly's bony head. The goat bleated once, gazing up at the lady with round, marbleized eyes. Sara stroked her again. "Did ye mayhap miss our wee Thomas, Tilly?"

  "Saint Ephraem's ear!" Boden muttered. "More likely she missed kicking me in the shins.

  Secure the beast before she eats my cape."

  Thomas whimpered and kicked again, his movements agitated now.

  Sara reached for the jagged end of rope dragging from Tilly's neck and rose to her feet. "If ye'll hold the babe I will see to the milking."

  Boden's brows lowered quickly. He glanced toward the surrounding, mist-shrouded woods as if wondering which way to run. "The babe?"

  "Aye. Twill only be for a short time. Unless you would rather milk Tilly."

  His brows lowered still more. "There are many things I would like to do to that goat. Milking her is not amongst them."

  Sara chuckled. So what if her gown was missing? Thomas was well and Tilly had returned.

  "Take the babe," she said, extending him toward the knight.

  For a moment, Sara thought the brave Sir Boden Blackblade might run for cover.

  She drew Thomas back a few careful inches. "You're not afraid of him, are ye?"

  "Me?" Boden scowled even darker, looking huge and forbidding in the misty morn. "Lady, I am a knight, trained, true, and trusted."

  She laughed again and pressed the babe into his arms. "Tell wee Thomas all about it. I won't be but a minute," she said, and hurried off in search of the kettle.

  Boden shifted the babe uncomfortably about as he stared into the infant's eyes. They were midnight blue and very intense. Utterly solemn he was as he curled a tiny fist tight against his swaddled chest. The two studied each in silence as the seconds ticked away, but twas not a comfortable silence for the knight.

  Finally, feeling disconcerted under the babe's scowl, Boden cleared his throat. "Yer moth—ahh —Lady Sara has but gone to gain your meal."

  The babe's brows lowered a bit more, cliffing in pale, irregular lines over his eyes.

  "Twill only be a moment I'm sure."

  The babe's bottom hp protruded slightly. It was pink and bowed, and might seem comical if this were a humorous situation.

  Boden drew a deep breath. How had he gotten himself into such a situation? He had come to do his lord's bidding. A simple task, really—to escort a pair of ladies and one small babe to Cinderhall.

  That one task, and he would be well rewarded. What had gone awry?

  The babe's lip began to quiver. Panic welled in Boden's chest. "Don't cry!" he ordered.

  But perhaps he used the wrong tone, for the babe drew a deep breath and sent out a sharp squawk.

  In desperation, Boden tilted the baby up, bouncing him slightly. "She'll be back soon. Tis true,"

  he babbled. "She said as much, and she wouldn't lie. Not to you."

  Thomas inhaled again.

  Boden bounced more rapidly. Thomas's head jost
led slightly. "Truly. Though I see little to admire in you, she seems to cherish—''

  But suddenly all hell broke loose, and the baby erupted into a cacophony of discontent. His face turned brick red and scrunched up like a sausage left too long in the sun. His arms waved wildly and his legs kicked like a mule gone mad.

  At a loss, Boden held the babe at arm's length and forced himself not to drop him and run.

  "What's all this?" Sara asked, approaching from behind.

  Boden pivoted about. His panic was too sharp to allow him to wonder if there was laughter in her voice. "Take him. Take him," he ordered, shoving the child toward her.

  "Well..." Sara said, trying to shuffle aside the milk bowl and feeding gourd. Finally, she was forced to set them upon the ground as Thomas was pushed into her hands. "Am I to take this to mean that ye two didna get on?"

  "He just... He doesn't..." Boden began, searching hopelessly for words. "I am no nursemaid."

  She laughed. "Nay," she said, dipping her gaze momentarily to Boden's chest. Thanks to Tilly, the demon-possessed goat, it was still bare. He almost flushed under her quick perusal. ' 'Ye are no nursemaid. But surely even a knight must care for children sometimes."

  "Why?" The question sounded more panicked than he had intended it to, but—did knights really have to care for children sometime during their careers? he wondered. And if so, was it too late to become a wainwright?

  Her gaze met his and she laughed again. "If for no other reason, surely ye will wish to sire an heir," she said.

  "An heir?" To what, he wondered.

  "Aye." She had put the babe to her shoulder and rocked side to side in a movement that could have put Boden himself to sleep given the chance. "A man like yourself..." she began, then shifted her gaze momentarily to his bare torso, before snapping it back to his face.

  Was there a flush on her cheeks? Boden wondered, and realized suddenly that his heart was beating overtime, and his muscles were tense "A man like me what?" Boden asked, knowing he shouldn't, that a nobly borne man would back off and leave it alone.

  Her gaze lifted to his, striking him with its sapphire beauty. "A man like ye should sire children," she said, and awkwardly retrieving the milk and gourd, hurried into the mist.

  The morning slipped slowly away. Boden said nothing, but rode in silence. Sara, searching for a more comfortable position, had twisted slightly in the saddle in front of him. One leg was bent over the pommel and her face was turned slightly toward the side.

  That wasn't good, because the sight of her made it hard for him to think... or sit... or breathe.

  They'd never found the clothing Tilly had absconded with, his mail shirt included. Thus, Sara still wore the garments he had lent her. But they were traitorous things. His cape kept slipping open and his tunic was, in general, a lecherous garment that continuously slunk up her legs toward parts better left unthought of.

  She had no gown. He had no shirt. And his hands were beginning to sweat. God help him!

  But things could be worse, he assured himself. They'd had no signs of brigands for some days.

  Fresh water had been plentiful, and Tilly, perhaps thinking she had caused enough trouble for one day, was following peaceably along behind.

  What the hell had she done with their clothes? he wondered, trying to fix his mind on something that didn't involve yards of soft, silken skin. The goat would make a fine purse, or a milk bladder. But then, if he made her into a milk bladder, there would be no milk. He glanced behind him, making certain Tilly still followed. She twisted her neck to stare at him with her eerie, marble eyes. Her lips were turned up slightly as if she were laughing and waiting to see what would happen next.

  What indeed? Boden turned forward again, glancing over Sara's shoulder. Saint Patrick's pate!

  Her leg was bare again, even to the knee. Sweat popped out on his forehead.

  She was not for him! She was not for him! He closed his eyes. Sweet heaven. He was not a disciplined man, regardless of the image he managed to portray to the general populace.

  He opened his eyes and tried to stare straight ahead. She was a lady, a lord's daughter, and a duke's mistress. Yet, she was so much more. Her nearness did odd, frightening things to his heart. The sight of her face in the firelight made his knees strangely weak and his head quite light. He didn't need her kind of trouble. But her knee was bare and damn it if her hair, soft as morning, wasn't pressed against his bare chest and burning its way into his heart.

  Reaching out, he yanked his cape over her knee. His knuckles brushed the satiny skin of her calf. A shiver, fine as gold gossamer, ran up his arm.

  She roused, drawing away from him, pulling the heaven from his heart. "My apologies," she murmured, looking momentarily disoriented, as if she had slept in the arms of love and awakened in a strange bed.

  Dear God! Why did he let himself think of that?

  "I fear I fell asleep again," she said, blushing, like rose petals on ivory, as beautiful as springtime. "Tis sorry I am to burden ye so."

  Her gentleness scorched his heart. He ached to touch her cheek. What if he begged for her favors?

  She drew his cape firmly about her and refused to meet his eyes.

  "What did you mean about siring children?" His emotions were so unsettled, he knew he should not ask that question, but was unable to resist.

  ' 'I should not have spoken about such a personal matter," she murmured. Her words were barely audible, and for one wild moment, he wondered if he might use that excuse to lean closer still, to press his chest more firmly against the kitten-soft length of her hair.

  "What did you mean?" The words came of their own accord, certainly without thought, for it seemed all his concentration was directed at her lips. They were so full, delicate, begging.

  "Ye are a good man, Sir Boden," she said without looking at him.

  Never before had he thought simple words could wound his heart, but hell, his armor had disappeared. "You know little of what kind of man I am," he said, trying to make sure he kept breathing. In and out. In and out. "In fact, you met me only a week ago."

  "But it has been a long week."

  And soon she would be returned to Haldane. God, his chest hurt. "You know little of me," he said, wishing he could replace his armor.

  She turned slightly, looking into his eyes, and suddenly he felt as if her very gaze had pierced his heart.

  "Ye dunna believe ye are good?'' she asked.

  "I'm a knight and therefore you are safe with me. I merely meant that you're too trusting, for you've not known me long enough to judge whether I am good or evil."

  "Indeed?" she asked.

  "Aye."

  She smiled, just a corner of a smile as she faced forward again. "Then mayhap I merely meant yer physical attributes should not be wasted."

  Did that mean what he thought it meant? Sweat rolled down his back.

  "Ye are a great swordsman, sir," she said.

  Oh. She was speaking of his swordsmanship.

  "And ye defend those who are weaker than yourself," she continued. "Tis no small feat."

  It was not his lot to be modest, but her words pricked his conscience. If she had seen into his lurid dreams last night she would not think so highly of him. "A monkey can hold a sword," he assured her.

  "Ye found me," she said softly. "Though I tried to leave no trail, to lose all those who might follow, ye found me."

  "Any hound can follow a trail."

  "Ye protected wee Thomas."

  "He's my lord's son."

  "Ye bought the goat."

  "But I dream of drowning her."

  A smile flirted with her lips. "You are kind to your horse." Reaching forward, she placed a small, slim hand on Metde's neck. The charger snorted and shook his head, setting his mane to wagging.

  "A steed is a valuable animal," Boden said, scowling at Mettle's comment. "Only a fool would treat him poorly."

  "Ye loaned me your clothing," she countered.

  Memorie
s flooded over him. Her small bare feet, peeking out from beneath his garments. Her hair like molten gold, slick as golden ermine as she came into camp. Her legs bare as she rode before him, her cheek soft as a dream against his chest.

  "Twas for my own protection I gave you the garments," he said. "Tis in my best interest to keep as many layers as possible upon your back."

  She turned toward him. Their faces were only inches apart. Their breath mingled.

  "And how am I to protect myself?" she whispered.

  "I will protect you," he said, but who would protect him from her beauty?

  "Ye cannot be with me every moment."

  "Aye, I can."

  She shook her head. She was breathing fast, her berry-bright lips parted. "I would not have ye scarred again. One more near miss and ye might well lose your leg."

  Her words were very soft. Her lips so near. But suddenly her meaning permeated his mind.

  "What?"

  "What?" She sat very straight suddenly, and her eyes went wide.

  "How did you know of my leg wound?"

  "I... dreamt it."

  "You dreamt I had a leg wound?" But he had seen her dreams, and none of them involved a leg wound.

  "Aye." She blinked.

  "Oh." He nodded once. She nodded back and turned abruptly away, her cheeks red as summer apples.

  Sweet Saint Simeon! His body was stiff with rank desire. She'd watched him bathe in the nude!

  Chapter 9

  Sara hummed quietly as she rocked Thomas in her arms. He was sleepy and limp, a still weight that filled her arms and her heart. He stared up at her, lids droopy over his dark, wise eyes. The sun sank over a world just as full and just as sleepy.

  She sang a few words, humming and rocking until his eyelids slipped lower, covering the midnight blue windows to the freshness of his soul. Finding a sheltered spot on a bed of dry bracken, she laid Thomas upon it and stood, staring over the water that rustled and bustled past her. So fast.

  Where was it going? And what of her with wee Thomas? What lay ahead? Downstream, Boden watered Mettle, then turned the steed loose.

  What kind of man possessed that kind of loyalty from a steed, that he could trust him to come when needed? What kind of man would walk naked with the starlight shining like diamonds upon his wet skin?