The Stolen Bride

Sir Griel’s face had turned red. “By my own law and none other!” he shouted. “Fool! I’ll see you dead for such insult!”

The biggest of Sir Griel’s fighting men lifted his sword and moved as if to strike Kayne. Sofia cried out with dismay, but Kayne moved so quickly that the other man never had a chance to so much as touch him. With an easy, fluid movement, Kayne bent, avoiding the blow of the gleaming sword, and picked the big man up. Just as easily he tossed him in a wide arc to the ground, where he landed with a loud thump.

Before Sir Griel’s other soldiers could fall upon him, Kayne had snatched up the fallen man’s sword and turned to face them. The first two were dispatched as quickly as the first, without an exchange of swordplay, and the other three stood back, holding their swords aloft and staring at Kayne warily, clearly unnerved by his calm and confident manner.

“Why do you wait?” Sir Griel shouted. “He is but a village blacksmith! Take him!”

One of the remaining men made the attempt, running at Kayne in a furious charge. Kayne didn’t move until his opponent’s sword was nearly at his chest, then with a flick of his own sword pushed the sharp blade aside and, using his fist, struck the man soundly on the head so that he crumpled to the ground beside his groaning comrades.

The remaining two men stood their ground. One was shaking his head and staring at Kayne with disbelief.

“He is no common blacksmith, my lord,” he told Sir Griel.

“Nay,” Sir Griel muttered, eyeing Kayne with a thoughtful frown. “That he is not. But we will see what he is.” He shoved Sofia away so abruptly that she stumbled and nearly fell to the ground. Keeping his sword at the ready and his eyes on his opponents, Kayne reached out a hand to pull her near, and Sofia gladly went. The warmth and strength of his body were a comfort beyond measure.

She was as shocked as everyone else present at the deftness Kayne the Unknown had displayed in dealing with Sir Griel’s seasoned fighters. It had been almost too simple a matter, as if they’d offered him not the least cause for trouble or worry. And the way in which he held the heavy sword in his hand—as if it weighed less than a feather—was even more amazing. She knew that Kayne had been a soldier once, but he fought like a much greater man.

Sir Griel rubbed a heavily gloved hand over his dark beard and considered Kayne thoughtfully. At last, with a nod of satisfaction, he spoke.

“It was once the custom on Midsummer Day for two men to take up the separate halves of the Sun King—his dark and light sides—and battle for the favor of a lady. I challenge you to such a battle.”

“That is a pagan custom,” Kayne replied, “and not countenanced by the Church. I will not fight you without just cause.”

Sir Griel’s shaggy eyebrows rose. “You fought my men.” He swept a hand at the pile of groggy men who, with the help of their two unwounded friends, were finally beginning to come back to their senses.

“Nay,” Kayne replied, shaking his head. “I defended myself, as well as Mistress Sofia. I will fight no man for game or pleasure. It is a vow I have taken.”

Sir Griel’s eyes widened with amazement, and then, after a short silence, he began to laugh, loud and lustily, as if he’d never heard anything so amusing in his life.

“A vow?” Sir Griel repeated after some minutes, still chuckling. “N-not to fight? But you jest, blacksmith. Surely you do.”

“I do not,” Kayne stated. “I will not fight you.”

Sir Griel’s black eyes still glittered with amusement. “I did not intend to attempt the task myself. There is one whose fealty I own—a knight of great renown—who I meant for the contest.”

“You would send another to take your place?” Kayne tilted his head to one side as if this amazed him. “But surely you, being also of the knighthood, are not afeared?”

Anger possessed Sir Griel’s features once again, and he replied tightly, “I’m afeared of no man, blacksmith, and far less of you. But I’ll not make a contest of what is already mine, as Mistress Sofia is.” He cast a threatening glance at Sofia that made her tremble. Kayne’s strong hand steadied her. “And I’d never lower myself to fight a knave such as you are. I was knighted by the hand of the king’s own regent, and have fought more battles than you could ever begin to dream upon, blacksmith.”

Kayne smiled at this, though very grimly. Standing so close beside him, Sofia could feel his body tensing at Sir Griel’s words.

“Mistress Sofia is her own,” he said in a low voice, “and no one else’s, until she decides otherwise. Take your sword and go in peace.” He held the weapon out to one of Sir Griel’s men, all of whom were now standing once more.

“I will go,” Sir Griel said, “but I will return with my warrior. And then we shall see whether you will fight.”

Kayne held his gaze. “If your man attacks me, even though I am unarmed, I will defend myself. If you should threaten harm to Mistress Sofia or any innocent person, I will stop you. And any man who will accost or bring harm to a woman, be she child, maid, mother or grandmother, him I will justly punish and not know a moment’s sorrow. These are promises I give you, my lord. You would do well to heed them.”

Sir Griel’s expression was as hard as stone. “I heed no man save the king, and such insolence as you possess invites challenging. I begin to think my man is right. You are no common blacksmith.” He stepped closer. “Why do they call you Kayne the Unknown?”

“That is for you to decide,” Kayne said. “I will bid you good day, my lord, and wish you a pleasant Midsummer Day.”

“Wish it to me later—if you are still alive to do so.” With one last glare at Sofia, Sir Griel turned and strode away, his men fast on his heels.

Slowly the crowd began to murmur, but once Sir Griel and his men had ridden away the murmuring turned into a loud chorus of voices, most of them filled with awe. Kayne turned to Sofia and opened his mouth to speak, but before he could utter a single word he was surrounded by dozens of onlookers, slapping him on the shoulder and heartily congratulating him.

Sofia watched with a measure of amusement as Kayne nodded and thanked his sudden admirers. He tried to maintain his usual stoic, somber manner in the wake of such much good cheer, but his cheeks were pinkened and he looked fully discomfited by so much attention.

When the well-wishers moved away, he looked down at Sofia and asked, “Are you well?” He released the hand he’d yet been holding and gingerly touched her arm where Sir Griel had gripped it. “Sir Griel gave you no harm?”

“Nay, I am fine,” she assured him, “though only because of your great bravery. I am in your debt again. Thank you.”

His clear blue eyes regarded her steadily, as if he didn’t quite believe her. “You’re still shaking. Come and sit in the shade.” He lightly grasped her elbow and led her toward the river. As they walked, he looked about and said, somewhat grimly, “Your father disappeared almost as soon as Sir Griel and his men arrived.”

“He’s not very brave,” Sofia admitted.

“Nay, he is not,” Kayne agreed. “Not even for the sake of his own daughter—his only child.”

Large oak trees grew along the riverbank, and their shade was much sought after by the feasters. But as Kayne and Sofia approached, all those near the river stood aside, making way for them with broad smiles and knowing winks. Kayne scowled and ignored them, choosing a private place to sit a bit farther from the water, beneath a tree where a small patch of grass made a more comfortable place to sit.

Sofia gave a sigh of relief as she tucked the skirt of her surcoat about her legs. “It began as such a wonderful day,” she said. She looked up to where Kayne was standing, leaning against the tree with his arms folded across his chest. “You came,” she said, as if she’d only just realized it.

“I came,” he replied, “and now that I am here, you will do as you said and make me your promise.”

Sofia didn’t know what he meant at first, but finally she remembered. “You are good to have helped me today—and also before, but I cannot ask you to rescue me every time Sir Griel behaves in such a manner. I am already afraid that he will do what he can to kill you for what you have done this day alone.”

“Sir Griel is a knave to be wary of, just as I told you,” he said, “but I am a careful man.”

Sofia gave a slight shake of her head. “You have just told him that you will not fight, save to defend yourself and others. ’Tis a powerful advantage you’ve given him.”

“Mayhap,” he said with a slight shrug. “But mayhap I have taken an advantage, as well.”

“I do not understand you, Kayne the Unknown. I dislike sharing any belief with Sir Griel, but he spoke aright when he said that you are not a common man. And not a common soldier. You fight like no other I have seen.”

“And you have seen many battles, then?” he asked, a smile tilting his lips.

“Nay,” she said, frowning, “but I have attended tournaments in plenty. Not even the most seasoned knights had such skill as you showed this afternoon.”

“Then they never served in France. Even common soldiers learn how to fight well—very well—when enough battle makes it necessary. If they do not, they die.”

Two young women approached them, one carrying two tankards of ale and the other a basket brimming with choice bits of roasted meats, chunks of bread and cheese, and a variety of the many sweets being offered at the faire. They were gifts from many of the sellers, in gratitude for what Kayne had done in keeping Sir Griel from ruining the day.

“Thank you,” Sofia said, accepting the basket and setting it on the ground. The young women blushed and smiled at Kayne as he held out his hands to receive the tankards. When he murmured his own thanks, they giggled behind their hands and then curtseyed and hurried away. Kayne gave a shake of his head, watching them depart, and Sofia laughed.

“You will have every maid in Wirth in love with you,” she told him, “and every man jealous of you.”

Kayne sat beside her, handing her one of the tankards. “I will pray it is not so. Women destroy a man’s peace more easily than swords and arrows. Especially women in love.”

Sofia smiled to cover the pain the words wrought in her, and said, a little too merrily, “Are you hungry, Master Kayne?”