Susan Paul - The Stolen Bride

“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?”

“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.”

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.