The Stolen Bride

“Aye. It is one of the reasons I came. To eat and dance and…and to make merry.” He sounded as if he were embarrassed by the words. Before she could reply he added, in a firmer tone, “You have not yet given me your promise, Sofia.”

“Please, let us not speak of Sir Griel now,” she said, handing him a linen napkin filled with the choicest bits of meat. “Let us eat and dance and prepare our boats for making wishes.”

He looked stubborn, as if he would press the matter, but Sofia touched his hand and murmured, “Please, Kayne. Only let us enjoy the day. I will give you my promise when ’tis done, I vow.”

“Very well,” he agreed reluctantly, “I will wait. But only ’til dark falls. Then I will have your promise regarding Sir Griel.”

“Aye,” Sofia agreed demurely, “you will have it then.”

Chapter Six

Sofia found reason upon reason long after dark had fallen to put off making her promise—there was dancing to be taught, more feasting to be done, and they most certainly had to watch all of the contests and games—until Kayne began to wonder why so simple a matter troubled her so. But those moments that he did think of it were fleeting. Sofia had a talent for making him forget everything…save her.

He had dallied with pretty maids before, especially at Briarstone and while he was in France. He knew the pleasure of a woman’s smile, of holding a soft, feminine body close to his own as they twirled about in a dance—despite his great clumsiness and lack of skill. But what he had experienced before was as nothing compared to receiving Sofia’s smiles, or of holding her as closely as he dared before so many watchful and interested eyes.

He had never seen her like this before. Today, she wasn’t the lady of Wirth, ever concerned with the welfare of those beneath her care. Today she was all laughter and gaiety, so carefree and open and free of spirit that he couldn’t think of words to describe it, and so beautiful—God’s mercy, she was so very beautiful. He could look at her forever and never grow weary, regardless of what time would do to age her. Sofia’s beauty was far beyond the physical, though heaven knew that she was passing all pleasure to gaze upon. It was something that shone out from within, from her beguiling blue eyes and that bewitching smile. And that was just what he felt she had done—cast some spell to captivate him so entirely. It was a feeling Kayne didn’t like in the least, but knew himself as being helpless against.

Teaching him to dance properly was the first task Sofia set herself to once they’d finished their afternoon repast. Kayne was terrible at such a fine skill, and knew it. More times than he could remember he’d made the attempt to learn the simplest steps, but it had ever proved impossible. In the end, he’d merely moved about as best he could and tried not to knock anyone over. He had noticed, with a measure of relief, that he wasn’t alone in his clumsy attempts, and that others dancing near him had seldom taken offense at his lack of grace.

It was much the same in the waning afternoon of Midsummer Day as Sofia tried to teach him to dance, but a far greater pleasure than any previous attempt Kayne had made. She held his hands and made him watch her movements—this he did willingly and with much interest—and physically turned him about in time to the music. To be so exposed to the curious eyes of the villagers would have been a torment to him before, but Sofia’s joy-filled smiles and bright laughter held him too enchanted to think of how badly he might be humiliating himself. Indeed, after but a few moments she had him laughing, too, most especially at his many missteps and mistakes. Being clumsy had never been so great a pleasure.

They danced for what seemed like hours, laughing, twirling, gasping for breath until Kayne had to cry for mercy. Sofia shook her head and called him a very poor creature, but took his hand and led him to a nearby booth where ale was being sold. Bearing their tankards in their hands, Sofia next drew him to the shade of a tree where they sat and watched the contest of archery. At first, Kayne’s years of warring came back to him and he began to think of the hundreds of archers who’d fought beside him in the king’s army, but the contest soon became so close between two of the men that he forgot the war altogether, and watched intensely as each of the archers strove to best the other.

“Do you know how to shoot?” Sofia asked.

“Aye,” Kayne answered absently, fixed upon the archers.

“Did you shoot often during the war?”

“Not often. I was not so exact as others were. The sword is where my skill lies.”

“That I well believe, Master Kayne,” she said, gazing at him with a teasing smile, “having seen the proof with my own eyes. Will you like to see the wrestling contest that follows this? Or perhaps one of the races?”

“Whichever pleases you best,” he replied, though he hoped she’d choose the wrestling. She did.

As darkness began to fall the bonfires were lit with great ceremony, and there was a great deal more feasting. Sir Malcolm had finally returned and greeted Kayne in his cheerful, lordly manner. He gave Sofia permission to bring Kayne to eat at the manorial table, where Sir Malcolm and several of his favorite ladies sat, and there they enjoyed the choicest victuals to be had at the faire.

Sir Malcolm toasted Kayne’s earlier valor as if he’d actually been present to see it, in such a loud, boisterous manner that Kayne began to wish he could find a way to escape. When Sofia suggested that they join many of the other festival goers in search of St. John’s fern in the forest, he happily agreed.

Kayne had never believed the rumors that told of St. John’s fern being graced with magical powers on Midsummer Night, but Sofia clearly did. She pulled Kayne into the darkest part of the forest in an effort to leave the other searchers behind. With only the light of the moon to guide them, it was very dark, indeed.

“’Twill be impossible to find any of the fern without a lantern,” Kayne told her, to be hushed by Sofia.

“Shhh, else the others hear us and know where we search. Look for the fern’s yellow blossom. It should be easy enough to see, for tonight it will shine like gold.”

Kayne uttered a sigh, but dutifully began to peer through the darkness at the bases of trees and shrubs in search of a golden blossom. He tried to keep his thoughts on his task, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself from glancing time to time at where Sofia was searching, her long, unbound hair falling forward as she bent over, inspecting promising spots. The light-blue surcoat she wore was luminous in the dark, turning her elegant form into that of a ghostly spirit.

He felt again the strength of the pull she held for him, and was unsettled by it. ’Twas well enough to dally with a lady such as Sofia on a night like this—aye, and even expected, for dallying was a large part of merrymaking days—but this one indulgence was all that he could allow. On the morrow, he must put aside every thought of Mistress Sofia Ahlgren save that which was most noble—to protect her from the cruelties of Sir Griel. Apart from that, there could be nothing else between them.

A loud cheering in another part of the forest revealed that someone else had found the first blossom of Saint John’s fern and, hearing it, Sofia straightened and made a sound of great unhappiness.

“By the Rood!” she muttered. “They’ve won the greatest measure of magic, but there will still be plenty for the rest of us. Hurry, Kayne! We must find one before ’tis time to set our wishes to sail in the river!”

“Before that time comes,” he said, setting his fingers about her arm to gently pull her to face him, “there is another matter you must tend to. You have not yet given me your promise regarding Sir Griel.”

Sofia was silent, her face turned up to him, and then she sighed and pulled free. She leaned against the nearest tree, still looking at him.

“’Tis hard for me to put myself in the care of a man. Any man,” she said in a soft tone. “I have never done so since I passed my childhood, and the thought of it…makes me afeared. I have seen how other women suffered, even my own mother.”

“Oh, Sofia,” Kayne murmured, drawing near. “You have naught to fear from me.”

“You do not know what it is like to have to depend upon the whims of a man. To be beneath his hand just as his vassals and hounds and cattle are. I have taken care of myself and those people within my father’s boundaries, and have been blessed to do so. I know that you mean only good for me, to protect me from Sir Griel, but if I do not face him myself and find the way to turn him aside, then I lose part of what is most dear to me. My very freedom.”

“It would not be so,” Kayne vowed. “I know more than you think of what a woman’s life may be like when the man whom she has put her trust in betrays her. Upon my honor, I will take naught from you. None will ever know of it if I should be called upon to take Sir Griel to task for his misdeeds. But you must give me your promise, Sofia, for if he should harm you—when you have no champion to turn to—what good will your freedom do you? If he should force you to become his wife, you may be certain he will keep you well beneath his hand, and that hand will be heavy and harsh.”

She shuddered at the words and looked away. When she spoke again, her voice was filled with unshed tears.

“It is not only for myself that I fear, Kayne. If I give you this promise, mayhap you will kill Sir Griel, for now that you have humiliated him he will relentlessly push at you with all his power and might, and you know what would happen if you, a common man, should so much as raise a hand to a knight of the realm. You would be hanged without question…and I could never let that happen.” Her voice fell to a whisper. “I would rather suffer the torment of becoming his wife than to ever see you harmed.”

The words made Kayne’s heart beat more rapidly. He felt strange and warm—and deeply stirred. Something within him responded to her sweet declaration with the same strong emotion, like for like.

Gliding his fingers along the silken skin of her cheek, he whispered her name and lifted her face, meeting her mouth with his own. Gently, tenderly he kissed her, sliding his fingers into her unbound hair, enticing her to draw closer. She did, and met his kiss with an ardent murmur. He felt her slender fingers, trembling, come to rest upon his shoulder, and somehow she turned so that she pressed up against him fully. Kayne’s other hand found the curve of her waist, and the feeling of her, so feminine and soft, nearly undid him. He pulled away before he lost control altogether and did something that would surely shock and offend her.

“Forgive me,” he murmured, pressing her away with the hand at her waist, dropping the other hand free of her hair. “I should not have done that.”

“Not?” she whispered. “Why? ’Tis Midsummer Night, and a man may kiss any maid who is willing.”

“This is so, but you are not any village maid.” He swept a few stray strands of hair from her forehead with a careful finger. “You are a born lady, and I naught but a commoner—far more than you can begin to know. Your father would rightly have my head did he learn that I’d taken such liberty with his daughter.” With the same finger, he lifted her chin up a bit higher. “Give me your promise, Sofia, regarding Sir Griel.”

“Kiss me again first,” she said, going up on her toes to find his lips.

Kayne firmly pushed her back down. “Nay, I have told you that I should not have done so. And I cannot trust myself to kiss you again. ’Tis because you are so innocent that you do not understand what follows such embraces. But each man has his boundaries, and I’ve nearly reached mine.”

This, rather than alarming her, as he had meant it to, only seemed to awaken her interest.

“In truth?” she asked, all amazement. “I have never been kissed before in such a way—so that it was a pleasure and not a torment. But even beyond that, ’twas very different for me than what you describe. I felt as if there was so much more to know…so much more to discover. ’Twas most exciting, Kayne, and I did not want it to end.”

He tried to push her even farther away. “Do not speak in such a manner,” he begged. “I am no saint to resist such words. Nay, I will not kiss you again, Sofia—cease—oh, very well.” He gave way as she continually strove to press nearer, and leaned down to press a firm, brief kiss upon her lips. “Now, cease climbing all about me and give me your promise, else we leave the forest this very moment.”

She subsided, and gave a wistful sigh. “Aye, Kayne, I give you my promise. If Sir Griel should offend me in any manner, I will come to you, and let you be my champion. Will you promise me, likewise, that you’ll not harm him?”

“Nay,” he replied truthfully. “I cannot do so, for I have no assurance that he will not dare his worst, for that is the manner of man he is. But I will bring him no fatal harm if it can be at all costs avoided. This I do promise, upon my honor.”

“Thank you,” she said, relief evident in her tone. She suddenly grasped his hands. “The fern blossoms! We’ve not yet found one, and soon ’twill be time to set our wishes upon the river. Hurry!”

Ten minutes of searching followed before Sofia at last cried out that she’d found one of the precious blossoms. By the time Kayne caught up to her, she had already kneeled upon the ground and spread out a delicate white linen cloth to catch the small golden flower as she pinched it from the stem.

“Now I’ve captured some of the night’s magic,” she said with satisfaction as she carefully folded the napkin and tucked it into the neckline of her surcoat. She accepted Kayne’s hand as he helped her rise to her feet.