Romantic Legends

by Kathryn Le Veque

  A fair question. Tye didn’t appear to be teasing her; he seemed genuinely intrigued by the nuances of chivalry. “Normally, you would wait outside and keep knocking until you got acknowledgement from me. If I didn’t answer, you would come back later. Of course, if I were gravely ill, and under the effects of a healing potion, I might not hear your knock and therefore would not be able to reply. In that instance—my being ill—’twould be all right to enter my chamber without waiting for permission.”

  “’Tis good to know,” Tye said.

  “Our current situation, however, is a little different than usual,” she conceded. “While I may be a lady, I am also a hostage. The rules of propriety are undoubtedly different.”

  He grinned. “Undoubtedly.”

  His roguish grin softened his features. She fought the unwelcome flutter of her belly. “Now that I have explained—”

  “—in such an insightful manner,” Tye cut in, “I owe you an explanation. First, though, forgive me for not waiting for your response earlier. I will remember to be more gallant in the future. As gallant, that is, as a rogue like myself can possibly be.”

  Was Tye teasing her now? She couldn’t be sure.

  “My true purpose in coming to see you,” he went on, “was to ask if you would like a walk.”

  “A walk?” Excitement raced through her. ’Twould be wonderful to enjoy some fresh air. Also, ’twould give her a chance to see how the rest of the castle folk were faring. “’Tis a most pleasant and welcome idea, milord.”

  Astonishment glowed in his eyes. “You called me ‘milord.’”

  “I did”

  “It pleases me.”

  She’d only done so to pacify him. Still, Claire fought a ridiculous tingle of delight. “We are both pleased then, because I am very glad you offered a walk.”

  “At last something I have done pleases you.”

  Longing threaded through his words. It suggested that her respect mattered to him, even though he championed himself and his ambitions above all else.

  Discomfort trailed through her, and she averted her gaze, not quite knowing what to say next.

  The silence lagged. She became intensely aware of his gaze as it traveled over her, from the squared neckline of her fitted emerald green wool gown to the hem decorated with a graceful pattern of flowers embroidered in silver thread, to match the embroidery at the ends of her sleeves. She’d laced on brown leather shoes with pointed toes, and when he saw them peeking out at her hemline, his mouth twitched and he dragged a hand over his mouth as though to hide a smile.

  Claire set her hands on her hips. “What?”

  He chuckled.

  “Is my gown so amusing? I had thought it modest and well suited to a day alone in captivity.”

  “What you are wearing is quite lovely.” His tone became a husky growl that conveyed his full appreciation of the perfectly fitting garment that had been designed by a tailor who’d traveled from London, and who had also made gowns for Lady Brackendale and Mary. “However,”—Tye gestured to her shoes—“two steps outside, and those dainty bits of leather will be ruined.”

  “I will put on my boots. If I had known about the walk, I would have been sure to don them earlier.”

  Despite the hint of frost in her tone, Tye’s roguish smile didn’t waver. “I am certain you would have, milady.”

  For some reason, because of his smile, she was having trouble concentrating on what she must do. “’Tis still cold out, so I will also fetch my cloak.”

  “A wise idea.”

  “And my warmest gloves.”

  “Mayhap a hat, also?” He shook his head. “I cannot remember ever being so involved in a woman’s dressing.”

  Claire walked to her linen chest, opened the lid, and reached inside. “That is because you are usually busy with a woman’s undressing.”

  As soon as the words left her mouth, she stilled. Holy Mother Mary. Had she really said that aloud? She should have stopped herself.

  Tye’s laughter echoed. “Kitten, you know me so well.”

  Oh, God. She’d never, ever intended to be so coy or speak so bluntly. The folded garments before her became a colorful blur, and she squeezed her eyes shut and prayed for fortitude and wisdom. “I barely know you at all, milord. I do not know why I said those words.”

  Opening her eyes again, she searched for her favorite fur-lined gloves. She didn’t dare look at Tye—couldn’t look at him—while she continued to wrestle with her embarrassment.

  “I am not certain either why you said what you did,” he murmured, his voice akin to a purr. “Although, I can guess.”

  Anxiety clutched at her. “Do not trouble yourself—”

  “Were you thinking about me undressing one of my lovers?” His voice lowered to a seductive whisper. “My palms skimming over her gown. My fingers unfastening the ties down the side, one by one. My hands, drawing up her soft linen chemise—”

  “Cease.” Claire fought the traitorous heat tingling over her skin, snatched up her gloves, and slammed the lid of her linen chest. “I was not thinking such sinful thoughts.”

  Tye’s blazing gaze captured hers. “Mayhap, then, you were imagining—”

  “I was not—”

  “—me undressing you?”

  Her mouth fell open on a gasp.

  “Seducing you?”

  “Goodness!” Claire whispered.

  “Taking you?”

  Oh, dear God! She would have dropped the gloves but managed to catch herself and bring her focus back to the conversation, disastrous though it might be.

  “In your mind, you saw my palms skimming over your gown,” Tye rasped. “My fingers, unfastening the ties—”

  “Nay.”

  “—while my hands drew up the fine linen of your—”

  “Enough!” She shook with a mortifying rush of need and forbidden longing. She must stop his taunting, as quickly as possible.

  Lady Brackendale had been right to warn her last night; Claire mustn’t, for an instant, forget the truth of who Tye was. “Never would I imagine such a bawdy encounter between us,” she managed to say.

  He winked, a gesture that told her he knew she was lying. “You were imagining other scandalous occurrences, then?”

  She tamped down a frustrated cry. “How did our conversation get twisted onto such a path?”

  “I wasn’t the one who spoke of undressing.”

  “I am sorry. I will not speak of it again.”

  “Mayhap I will.”

  She threw up her hands. He wasn’t going to relent. He was going to make her squirm, until…what? She fell to her knees in front of him and begged him to kiss her, touch her, undress her as he’d described, because she longed for his attention? How appalling, that she wasn’t completely horrified by the notion.

  His smug smile hinted that he could read the emotions warring inside her, even though she’d never intended for them to be laid bare for his scrutiny.

  With clumsy fingers, Claire put on her cloak. Then she shoved her hands into the gloves, stretching each hand wide to ensure the leather was correctly settled on her fingers.

  Every silent moment was torture. He didn’t move closer, didn’t try to touch her, but watched her with his familiar, predatory stare.

  “I will not bother with a hat,” she said, “so I am ready for my walk.”

  “Not quite,” he murmured.

  He was going to kiss her again! He was going to demand it, in return for releasing her from her chamber.

  She couldn’t allow that physical contact; one devastating kiss, and she’d be lost—

  “Your boots.” He motioned to the floor beside her linen chest, where her knee-high leather boots waited.

  “Oh. Thank you.” Claire snatched up her boots, sat on the edge of her bed, and removed her shoes.

  “’Twas a curious look on your face,” Tye said, sounding amused. “What did you expect me to say just then?”

  Claire held aside the thick folds
of her cloak and gown so she could see her left foot and then shoved it into her boot. “’Tis not important.”

  “Allow me to judge that for myself.”

  Now he seemed annoyed. The last thing she wanted was to make him angry; he might change his mind about the walk, and she wanted it so very much. Tugging on the right boot, she said, “I thought you were going to set conditions on my leaving the chamber. Thankfully, I was wrong.”

  “Conditions? Such as a kiss?”

  “A-aye.” Her boots on, she rose, smoothing her cloak and gown back into place. Despite the calmness she’d managed to convey in her movements, her heart leapt and fluttered like a wounded sparrow. Her lips tingled, her flesh remembering how passionately he’d ravaged her mouth before, and knowing that he could easily do so again.

  Finally meeting Tye’s stare, she found him smiling. Her breath hovered, suspended, as his hungry gaze settled on her mouth. “This day is not over yet, Kitten.”

  She adjusted her gloves again to busy her hands. Was he planning to kiss her outside, mayhap in front of a bailey full of witnesses? What an unnerving thought. “True, the day is not over,” she said, “but that does not mean we will kiss.”

  He looked ready to disagree with her. Instead, he spun on his heel and strode for the doorway. “If you want a walk, you will come now.”

  Claire hurried after him.

  He yanked the door open and gestured for her to go first. As she swept past, he said, “A warning, Claire. Try to escape me on this walk, and you will not like the consequences. Understand?”

  “Aye.”

  His strides brisk, Tye took her down the smoky corridor to the landing and the steps leading down into the great hall. As she descended the stairs, she quickly glanced about the large chamber spread out before her, hoping to see that the celebrating conquerors had indulged in too much food and drink the night before, and thus wouldn’t be as effective today at maintaining their hold on the keep. However, the room appeared to be maintained to its usual standard, the tables and benches scrubbed and a generous fire burning in the massive hearth. Dogs dozed on the hearth tiles. At the lord’s table on the raised dais, a maidservant spread out a fresh linen tablecloth. Apart from the armed men standing near the entrance to the forebuilding, keeping watch on the stairwell that led down to the bailey, the room looked as it did every other day she’d lived at Wode.

  Tye nodded to the guards as he strode into the shadows of the forebuilding, Claire close behind. Torch smoke and a damp mustiness enveloped her as she descended the stairs, and then she was through the lower door and outside, into the brilliant sunshine.

  Claire couldn’t resist a smile.

  A wry chuckle snapped her gaze to Tye waiting several paces away.

  “Why are you staring at me?”

  “I have never seen you smile like that before,” he said.

  “’Tis such a glorious afternoon.” Unable to stop the rush of excitement, she added, “A day this lovely must have wondrous things ahead.”

  “A rescue, you mean?”

  ’Twas indeed what she was thinking. She didn’t bother to answer, merely smoothed hair away from her face. Tye didn’t seem to care. He gestured across the bailey, and she walked in the direction he’d indicated, across melting snow that had been trodden into whitish slush.

  Ahead, the kitchen doors were wide open and the scents of freshly baked bread and roasting meat wafted on the breeze. Maidservants were returning from the chicken coops with baskets of eggs, while outside the stables, young lads groomed horses, the animals’ coats gleaming in the sunshine. All appeared as it normally did, she noted with a shiver, except for the mercenaries on the battlements who were watching all that went on in the bailey below. More hired thugs guarded the gatehouse and entrance to the dungeons. She mustn’t forget to record those details in the journal.

  Tye took her to the keep’s garden. A waist-high mortared stone wall with a wrought iron gate separated the garden from the rest of the bailey. Lifting the latch, he pushed the gate open. He motioned her inside.

  Snow still spread like a downy white blanket over the raised beds where the cook grew vegetables and herbs. Bare-limbed apple, plum, and pear trees stretched toward the sky. As she walked farther into the garden, a large clump of snow dropped from a tree limb and landed with a loud thump, making her jump.

  The same instant, someone else yelped in shock. Claire saw a woman, frantically sweeping snow off her head, stumbling out of the shadows of a tree. Some of the snow had obviously gone down the back of her neck, for she squirmed and wriggled in an odd little dance.

  “Mary,” Claire cried.

  Her friend spun, her gloved hand still clutching the back of her cloak. “Claire?” Mary waved and ran toward her, but her strides slowed when she spied Tye, who’d shut the gate and was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, watching them.

  “’Tis good to see you,” Claire called.

  “And you.” Mary’s cautious gaze slid to Tye again. “All is well? You have not come to any harm?”

  An indignant snort broke from Tye.

  Claire closed the distance between her and Mary and drew her friend into a tight hug. As she inhaled her dear friend’s familiar scent of soap and floral water, tears pricked her eyes. “I am much better now that I have seen you.”

  Drawing back to arm’s length, Mary smiled. “I know what you mean. Spending all day alone in my chamber has been awful.”

  “A torment,” Claire agreed. “How are you? Are you well otherwise, apart from perishing from boredom?”

  “I am. What of Lady Brackendale?”

  “I saw her last night. She is well enough.” Sliding her arm though Mary’s, Claire drew her toward the snow-covered vegetable beds.

  “Tye is watching us so intently,” Mary said with a shudder.

  “I know. I refuse to let him ruin this walk, though, and most especially, my visit with you. Ignore him.”

  “I will do my best.”

  “’Tis what the courageous heroines in our stories would do.”

  Mary giggled. “True.”

  Snow collected on the hem of Claire’s cloak as she walked, crossing into a line of prints left by a bird. She paused next to rows of stakes that had been used last spring to support the green beans.

  “Do you think any of what Tye told us in the hall is true?” Mary asked quietly. “Do you think he really is the illegitimate son of Lord de Lanceau?”

  Claire leaned down and picked up a twig that had fallen on the snow. “I have been pondering that myself. I honestly do not know.”

  “He does look like his lordship, and he does have a similar, authoritative manner,” Mary said. “Many noble lords have spawned bastards, in and out of wedlock, so ’tis possible.”

  “If Lord de Lanceau lay with Tye’s mother.” Claire snapped off a bit of twig. “We have both met Veronique. While I do not know his lordship well…”

  “What would he have seen in her, you mean, to want to take her to his bed?”

  “Exactly.”

  “’Twas many years ago,” Mary said. “She may have been quite different back then.”

  “No doubt just as selfish and ambitious, though,” Claire said under her breath.

  “Aye, well, I suggest we find a safer subject to discuss,” Mary said, sounding nervous. “She is approaching the gate.”

  Claire welcomed a flare of mischief. “Well, then. With both of them watching, we must give them a good performance.”

  “W-whatever do you mean? If you are thinking of trying to escape—”

  “Not today. We are too closely watched.”

  Understanding brightened Mary’s features. “Like our heroines, though, we will be seeking the perfect opportunity.”

  “We will.” Claire bent, scooped up a handful of snow, and patted it into a ball. “In the meantime…” She hurled the snowball at a spindly bush, and a startled robin darted from its branches and up into the trees.

  “Did that bird offend
you, or was it the bush?” Mary asked.

  “That bush,” Claire answered with a grin, “is Tye.”

  Mary chuckled, before worry shadowed her gaze. “Are you sure ’tis wise to pretend such a thing? If he should realize—”

  “Courage, Mary.” Claire molded another snowball and threw it. Snow flew into the air in a white cloud, and she giggled. How good it felt to be silly and to laugh.

  “Suddenly, Tye is no longer as comely as he was before.” Mary scooped up some snow. “In fact, he looks rather scraggly.”

  “Nor is he as bossy and loud.”

  “Take that,” Mary said, her snowball slamming into the bush.

  Another from Claire quickly followed. “Ha!”

  Claire bent to gather more snow; a mound of icy wetness slapped against her head.

  “My hand slipped.” Mary’s eyes sparkled.

  “Mine is going to slip now,” Claire warned. She tossed snow in Mary’s face.

  Moments later, the air was flying with clumps of white.

  “Look at them.” Veronique’s mouth twisted with disdain. “They act like naughty children.”

  Watching Claire and Mary frolic in the snow, Tye smiled. “They are not causing any harm.” He’d always thought Claire beautiful, but with her tangled hair gleaming like the purest gold in the sunlight and her face lit with joy, she was more exquisite than he’d ever seen her.

  “Those two are prisoners. Ladies stripped of all noble rights and privileges. Hostages to be bartered for what we desire.” Veronique’s perfectly shaped brows lifted. “Have you forgotten?”

  “Not at all. There are ways, though, of getting what we want.” His voice lowered. “What I want.”

  “Willingly, you mean, rather than by force or coercion?”

  “Aye,” he said quietly. Claire had collapsed on her knees in the snow. As he watched, she fell onto her back to stare up at the endless blue sky. With a dramatic flutter of her hand, Mary fell down beside her. Both were breathing hard.

  His mother stared at him, her gaze unyielding. “Not by force? What foolishness do you speak?”

  Foolishness? Anger flared to life within Tye. He barely resisted the urge to snarl at her. “I speak what I know to be true.”