The last thing—or person—Kayne expected to see when he returned to Wirth on a sunny afternoon twenty days after he’d left on his journey was Sofia, standing in the center of the village, covered head to toe in mud and caught in the midst of a rampaging herd of cattle. Every man, woman and child in the village—including Gwillym—was either screaming wildly, jumping about helplessly, or, as in Gwillym’s case, striving desperately to gain some measure of control of the cattle and rescue Sofia. But it was to no avail. Sofia was well and truly beyond the reach of their hands, and no one could push through to save her. She was being knocked in every direction, close to being trampled to death. When the realization of this struck, Kayne’s heart nearly stopped.
Without thinking upon what he did, he withdrew the small sword at his side and took Tristan’s reins in a strong, steady grip. Tristan would not want to enter the tight, pressing confusion of the loudly protesting cows, but he was too well trained to disobey commands. Any smaller, weaker steed would never have been able to withstand the butting and shoving of the heavy cattle, but Tristan, calling upon his great strength, plowed into the midst of them and, striving mightily, forced a path. Kayne helped as best he could, shouting orders to the villagers to herd the beasts to the south and reaching down to thump the half-maddened creatures on their heads with the hilt of his sword.
Sofia saw him coming, but had little reaction. Clearly suffering both shock and fear, she but stared at him wide-eyed. Gwillym, from Kayne’s left, understood at once what was best to be done, and he physically reached into the frantic, directionless herd and grabbed the head of the nearest cow, forcibly pulling it away from the rest and driving it south. Giving loud protest, the creature ran mooing down the street. Two others blindly followed behind it.
Gwillym grabbed another cow, wrestling with it until it at last turned and ran after the first three. Immediately, every man who dared joined him in the task.
Kayne continued to force Tristan forward, bringing his hilt down on the cows’ great, lumpy heads to make them move as he inched a path toward where Sofia stood. Her slender, muddied form swayed against the force of the great, heavy bodies that buffeted her. Her face was white, and Kayne knew that she was very near to fainting.
“Sofia!” he called out to her. “Wait…wait for me. I’m coming.”
He spurred Tristan on, and the brave steed responded nobly, straining even harder to push forward through what seemed like a never-ending sea of bone and flesh.
Almost at the same time as Kayne neared Sofia, reaching down one long arm to scoop her up, the cows finally began to disperse, thanks to the efforts of Gwillym and the others. The confusion and pressing turned into a stampede, all going southward, but by the time it began Kayne had Sofia safely before him on the saddle, cradled against his chest. She lay limply, saying nothing, but he could hear the gasping of her breath as she strove to draw in air, and feel the trembling of her body.
Gathering her more closely, he shouted back to Gwillym, “I’m taking Mistress Sofia home!” and, without waiting for a reply, he set Tristan into a firm, steady trot out of what remained of the herd and the village in the direction of Ahlgren Manor.
“Are you all right, Sofia?” he asked once they were well out of the village. “God alone knows how you came to be in the midst of such a dire circumstance.” The hand that held her patted along her shoulder and arm, as if to discover whether anything was broken. “Were you hurt?” He kept patting, striving to reassure himself that she was well. “By the Rood! What were you doing there? How came you to be in such danger—and with Gwillym standing there like a very fool, when I commanded that he never let you out of his sight.”
“T-take me to the r-river,” she stammered, still trembling fiercely.
Kayne was certain that he’d not understood. “What? To the river?”
“Aye, t-to the r-r-river. P-please, Kayne.”
“To the manor is where you should go,” he told her, but he was not proof against her pleas. When they reached the forest, he turned Tristan into the trees and rode toward the river, coming to the place where they had set the small boats bearing wishes afloat on Midsummer Night.
Sofia hardly waited until he’d brought Tristan to a halt before she pushed out of Kayne’s arms and slid down from the saddle. Without so much as glancing at him she rushed into the darkness of the forest, leaving Kayne in a state of utter bewilderment.
“Sofia?” he called out as he dismounted.
“I’m all right,” she shouted back from somewhere behind the trees.
Kayne wasn’t quite so certain, especially when he heard a great deal of rustling. What in the name of heaven was she doing? With a sigh and a shake of his head, he led Tristan to the water and let him drink.
“This is not the manner of welcome we had thought to have, is it, old boy?” he murmured, patting the great steed upon the neck. “But, considering it was Sofia involved, ’tis no great surprise. Eh? She has a way of—”
A loud splash of water farther downriver made him jerk his head about in alarm. The next moment, he had dropped Tristan’s reins and gone racing toward the sound.
“Sofia!” he shouted frantically, pushing through where she’d disappeared into the trees. “Sofia!” Her surcoat and soft boots, both yet heavy with mud, had been thrown across a low branch near the riverbank. The sound of more splashing confirmed his worst fears—that Sofia had somehow fallen into the river and was desperately striving to stay afloat.
Kayne knew how to swim, but was full aware just how rare a thing that was. Death by drowning was among the most common occurrences in the land—and it happened very quickly.
Without hesitating a moment to pull off even his boots, he flung himself forward, through the screen of trees and straight into the wide river, thanking a merciful God as he splashed through the cold water that it was slow-moving and not too deep.
He was up to his thighs in water when Sofia, who was in the midst of rinsing her hair of mud, stopped what she was doing and looked up at him with surprise.
“Why, Kayne,” she said, her eyes wide with amazement, “what is amiss?”
He was momentarily shocked beyond all speech, and stood where he was, water swirling all about him, and stared.
She was clothed only in a white linen chemise, which had become nearly invisible in the water, though she was very modestly sitting deeply enough in the water so that everything below her shoulders was covered. Not that it mattered to Kayne. The sight of her thus, nearly undressed and sitting such a short distance away, made him forget almost everything else.
“I thought you were drowning,” he said stupidly, blinking and striving to pull his gaze from her wet arms and shoulders. She might not have been wearing the chemise at all for the good it did in hiding her flesh.
She smiled and calmly began to wash herself again, rubbing her fingers through her long, golden-brown hair to rid herself of mud. “I’m sorry if I gave you a fright,” she said, carefully leaning back to rinse her scalp the better. Kayne watched, fascinated, as the swell of her breasts rose from the water at the movement, just enough to tease and tantalize and make him feel maddened.
“I learned to swim as a child. My father insisted upon it, though many of the villagers declared it a great evil. You know how ’tis said that the devil lives within the water, only waiting to snatch away the spirits of those who dare to enter.” She closed her eyes and disappeared briefly beneath the water, resurfacing faceup so that water glistened on her skin and eyelashes, and her hair was sleek and wet. “Ah, ’tis better now,” she murmured with clear contentment. “Much better.” Her eyelids opened and she looked at him, all blue-eyed innocence. “Will you fetch my gown and shoes for me please, Kayne? I wish to wash them, as well. My father will be furious if I do not make myself clean before entering the manor. ’Twill not be pleasant to explain how it is that I come to be wet, but he has ever had a special dislike of filth.”
Glad for a reason to hide the proof of his burgeoning desire, Kayne abruptly turned about and climbed out of the stream. A few moments later he returned, but rather than leave them on a rock where she might fetch them, he walked back into the river, mindless of his boots and clothes, and waded in until he stood nearly beside her.
Now it was Sofia’s turn to stare in shock. “Kayne! I did not mean for you to become even wetter than you were before. Pray, leave them here with me and get you out to dry.”
Ignoring this, he handed her the heavy surcoat, and then began to clean the boots himself, careful not to lose one or the other as he scrubbed the mud from each.
“The water is good for me at present,” he told her. “And as it is cold, much the better. Now, tell me, Sofia, how you came to be in the midst of all those cows.”
“Oh, ’tis such a foolishness that I cannot think you wish to hear the tale,” she replied, busily rubbing at a particularly bad stain on her surcoat. “They were Mar Halliway’s cattle, I think, for I seem to recall that he meant to drive them to the Portertown market today. They came running into the village in a mad rush, with a dozen dogs or more yipping at their heels and causing an even greater confusion. Gwillym and I had been out making my daily visits, and had just left Mistress Losley’s—you know how painfully she has suffered the gout these past many months—when we saw them coming toward us.”
“Did Gwillym not try to keep you from harm?” Kayne asked, unable to believe that his former soldier had done anything less.
“Oh, aye, he did,” she assured him, glancing up from her work, “and most valiantly, I vow. But the cattle were maddened and causing every manner of damage, and no one could stop them, or was even brave enough to make the attempt.” She looked up at him once more. “Though I do believe Sir Gwillym would have done so, if I’d only had the sense to give him the chance.”
“You thought you could stop a herd of maddened cows,” Kayne stated flatly, most unhappy at the idea of such misdirected bravery, regardless how greatly he admired the quality. She could have so easily been killed, and the very thought made his heart ache with a deep distressing pain.
“I know ’twas all foolishness,” she admitted, frowning at the stain which stubbornly refused to go, “but I was in the midst of the cattle before I had truly thought of what I did. And then ’twas too late. I thought—I thought I would die,” she said, her voice growing solemn and sad, “and this saddened me not only for my own sake, but because it meant that I would not see you again.” She looked up at Kayne, her gaze sparkling with tears, though she smiled. “And then, what a greater fool I acted after you saved me, for I could not bear that you should see me in such a state, so covered with filth.” She uttered a laugh. “And so I bade you bring me to the river, and now here we are, the both of us, because of my sinful pride and vanity.”
Reaching out, she touched his hand, which had fallen still in the task of cleaning her boots. He had simply been standing, gazing at her.
“I did not tell you yet, Kayne, but I am so glad you are home. Each day I prayed for your return. I had meant our first meeting to be far different than it was, but that cannot be helped now. There is so much I have to tell you. Did you have a pleasant journey? And to where did you go in such a hurry?”
Whatever measure of control he’d held upon himself melted away, leaving Kayne defenseless against what he felt. Without a word, he turned and strode back up to the bank, water swirling all about him, and set Sofia’s boots upon a large, safe rock. Then he walked back out into the river again. Sofia had no warning for what was to come, but, then, Kayne reasoned, it was the same for him. He was helplessly in love and helplessly aroused, and it was all her fault.
“Sofia,” he said as he neared her.
She was yet smiling up at him. “Yes, Kayne?”
“Come here.”
He grabbed her shoulders and pulled her up against him, half out of the water so that her wet chemise dampened what little of him was left dry. His mouth found her own and he kissed her with the fervent need that had haunted him for the past twenty days and nights. She responded with equal need, and, murmuring against his lips, slid her arms about his neck and held him tightly.
He had no idea how long it went on, though it seemed like hours. Long, lovely, blissful hours. His hands moved restlessly over the thin, wet cloth covering her body, caressing, stroking, barely constrained in seeking out those places that he most longed to touch. When he touched her lips with his tongue she opened for him—first shyly, and then more eagerly as he showed her how that sweet manner of intimacy was shared.
Her hands moved over him, too—indeed, her whole body did. It was as if she were trying to climb onto him, into him, and Kayne didn’t discourage the attempt. Instead, he helped, pulling her closer, kissing her even more ardently.
In time, the kiss came to an end, not because Kayne wanted it to. Far from it. But because Sofia at last pulled away and, with a happy sigh, rested her cheek on his shoulder.
“My gown has floated off,” she told him, as if the news didn’t distress her in the least.
It distressed Kayne, however, and most greatly.
“By the Rood!” he swore vehemently, coming to his senses and setting Sofia away. He looked all about, ready to swim after the accursed surcoat in hopes of regaining it, but it was nowhere to be seen.
“It’s gone,” Sofia told him simply. “I lost hold of it several minutes ago.”
“But why didn’t you tell me?” he demanded.
Her smile was openly amused. “I fear that I was most distracted, Master Kayne, by far more important matters.”
Kayne set a hand to his forehead and groaned, wishing he’d never given way to the temptation to touch her, no matter how strong it had been.
“Sofia, you cannot return to Ahlgren Manor so unclothed, and certainly not when you left the village in my escort. Any and all who saw you in such a manner would believe that we had…that I had…” He couldn’t even think of the way to finish what he meant, so close it was to the truth. “God help me,” he muttered, turning and striding out of the river. “You make me crazed, Sofia. You drive every bit of sense and forbearance from my head.”
He could hear her behind him, splashing to keep up. “But there is no trouble with that, Kayne. Not now, when I have learned the truth of who you are…or once were. Gwillym has told me the full of all that he knows, and it is more than enough. You are not a commoner, and there is naught to keep us from—”
He abruptly turned. “There is everything—” he began, falling silent at the sight of her body, now fully revealed as she stood out of the river, the wet-tight chemise molded against her form. Swinging about again, he grit his teeth together and tried mightily to push the vision out of his mind. If he hadn’t been wet, and cold, it would certainly have been a losing battle. “There is every reason why we cannot come together—ever.”
“But, Kayne—”
“Wait here,” he commanded curtly, striding toward where he’d left Tristan, praying that the steed hadn’t wandered off. “I will fetch a blanket so that you may cover yourself, and then you will sit in the sun until you are dry enough to go home.”
Ten minutes later, Sofia sat on a large rock in the warmth of the sun, a blanket wrapped so tightly about her that she could scarcely move. Kayne had done the wrapping, not looking at her while he did it, with such deftness and vigor that she had felt more like a child being swaddled than a woman full grown.
Kayne had removed his boots and some of his own wet clothes—his cloak and tunic, so that his chest was bare. He had unpacked and unsaddled Tristan and let the horse graze in the tall grass nearby. At present, he was kneeling on the ground, digging through one of his bags. Finally, he drew out a small, cloth-wrapped bundle and tucked it under one arm. Then he picked up a leather wineskin and rose.
“Drink some of this,” he said, uncorking the skin and holding it out to her. “’Twill keep you from falling ill.”
With great difficulty, Sofia extracted one of her arms from Kayne’s wrapping, and took the wineskin from his hand.
“Is this the same man who scoffed at the superstitions held on Midsummer Night?” she asked, putting the wineskin to her lips and sipping a small amount. The wine was dark and rich, of a fine quality, and she drank of it again before handing the wineskin back. “A little water will not make me ill.”
Kayne knelt upon the ground again and untied the bundle he’d carried from his bag. A small loaf of bread and a hunk of soft white cheese were within, and Kayne withdrew a dagger from the belt at his waist to cut them into even smaller portions. Sofia watched as he bent over the task, his blond hair white in the sun, long and silky, falling over his heavily scarred but well-muscled shoulders. Except for the scars, which showed white, he was as darkly tanned as a field worker might be, and she thought of how many hours and days and months he’d labored upon a far different kind of field—one of battle.
He set a slice of cheese upon a bigger slice of bread and handed it to her. Sofia held his gaze for a moment as she took it, staring deeply into his blue eyes.
“Kayne,” she said, carefully unearthing her other hand so that the blanket did not fall below her breasts, “I saw the hidden closet in your dwelling. The one with the armor and sword and other…things. And Sir Gwillym told me the truth of what you once were.”
“I know,” he said, busying himself with preparing his own modest repast. “I knew that you would ask a great many questions of Gwillym, and perhaps rightly so. I gave him my leave to tell you what he would. And now you know the truth.”
Rising, he took his share of the bread and cheese and the wineskin and moved to sit behind her on the rock. She felt his warmth, so near, but wished that she could see his face.
They ate their meal in silence, with the wineskin set between them so that she could easily reach it when she wished. The sun above was pleasant and warm, and she felt her chemise begin to dry. When she had finished the bread and cheese, she parted the blankets a bit to let the greater length of the garment dry. Beneath her feet, the grass was soft and inviting. A breeze picked up the scent of the river, caressing her face, and over her head, clouds, white as snow, drifted lazily across a brilliantly blue sky. To be here with Kayne on such a day, in such a way, should have brought nothing but joy. Yet Sofia could feel only fear.
She had confessed that she knew the truth, but his reaction had not been what she’d expected. Did he not realize, then, what it meant? That there could be no obstacle to part them now? Or perhaps…perhaps he did know, but did not care. Perhaps he did not want to wed her…perhaps he did not even love her, as she had thought he must.
The idea was worse than the knowledge of a certain and painful death. Indeed, she thought such a death might almost be preferable.
“Kayne,” she whispered, her voice trembling badly, just as all of her trembled, and her heart pounding with dread foreboding in her chest. “Kayne, you must only tell me, if you…if you do not…”
“I love you, Sofia,” he said so softly that she almost didn’t hear it. Reaching back, she felt him searching for her hand. With a sob of relief, she offered it, and his fingers closed about her own tightly. She leaned backward against him, and felt, with an indescribable joy, him returning the loving pressure. “You need never fear or worry for that. I love you as I have never loved a woman before. In truth, I had begun to think I was not capable of caring so deeply for anyone. But I loved you almost from that moment after the fire, when I opened my eyes and found you hovering over me like a very angel. My angel. Each day since then, I have loved you even more greatly. And will continue to love you until that day upon which I last draw breath.”
“As I love you,” she murmured, able to breathe once more, her eyes filling with tears of relief and thankfulness.
“But it matters not,” he continued in a tone both sad and weary. “We cannot wed, Sofia. I would not ask such a thing of you, to bind yourself to a man as I am. You are filled with light and goodness, while I am filled with naught but darkness. You cannot begin to know how.”
Sofia scooted around to look at him, and saw the dispirited set of his handsome features.
“I love you,” she repeated. “I know some of what you suffered in France.” She pushed her fingers between his own, sealing their hands together tightly. “If there is light within me, then let that light—and the love I bear for you—dispel this darkness you speak of.”
“I fear it would not be so. In truth, I think ’twould be the other way. That I would bring naught but darkness into your sweet life. That I could never bear to do, Sofia.” He released her hand and stood. “Never, may God help me.”
He walked a few steps away, running both hands through his hair, then at last turned to face her.
“You wish to believe that I am a good man, perhaps even a noble man, but I am bastard born, a commoner among commoners, even though the man who sired me was wealthy and well-born. I come from a place called Briarstone. Do you know of it?”
“Nay,” she said, giving a shake of her head. “But I thought you were fostered at a place called Talwar, or so Sir Gwillym told me, with your close companions, Sir Senet and Sir Aric and a man named John Ipris.”
“Aye, and that I was,” he said with a somber smile. “But before we went to Talwar, John, Aric and I were raised at the nearby estate of Briarstone. ’Tis a singular place, where any who are alone or poor or hungry are welcomed and given the chance to earn a plot of land and a dwelling in trade for work. None who come are turned away, unless they are of a violent nature, and none are asked to give an accounting of themselves.
“Women, most especially, are welcomed, and even moreso those who have no other place to go. Whores, thieves—criminals of every kind, I vow—and any who have been cast aside, as my mother was. All are given a place at Briarstone. These, Sofia,” he said, gazing at her very directly, “are the ones who raised me from a babe. They are my people, my family, who I shall ever name my own. Can you tell me now, looking into my eyes, that you would welcome such a family? That you would wish to visit at Briarstone and be embraced as a daughter by such people? Can you think that your father—or the people of Wirth, so upstanding and right—would accept that you had taken criminals and harlots to your bosom as relatives?”
Her heart told Sofia to say the word at once—yes—but her mind, so treacherous and logical, made her hesitate. She had been prepared to hear that Kayne was basely born, but to know that he had been raised by such people—the very lowest in society, scorned by one and all, most especially the Church—this she had not expected.
Kayne’s face showed that he understood her feelings well. He gave a curt nod and looked away.
“I went to Talwar from Briarstone, as did Aric and John and many other boys. The two estates are very close, and the lords of them like brothers. They have a common goal—to make a better way for all those who are less fortunate. Sir Christian, who is the lord of Briarstone, oversees the raising of promising boys, and Sir Justin Baldwin, the lord of Talwar, takes them on to train them for the knighthood. Whether these lads attain the knighthood or not is their own decision, but the chance for it is there, and a guidance and encouragement that could scarce be had from any natural father.”
“Sir Gwillym told me something of Sir Justin Baldwin,” Sofia murmured. “He is a very great man, I think, to do what he has done.”
Kayne looked up at her again with a fierce expression such as she had never seen on him before. “He is the finest man on God’s earth,” he declared, “and I have named him my lord and will ever do so. Even when I served the king in France, ’twas truly Sir Justin I served. He gave me all that I have, even Tristan, who was his parting gift to me when I left for France. What I know of blacksmithing, Sir Justin taught me—aye, and all those who are fostered in his care, for he knows full well that few attain the knighthood, but many may be blacksmiths. If it had not been for Sir Justin and Sir Christian, I would have been as naught, for that is my birthright. I might have become the basest manner of criminal, a man you would scarce deign to look upon, Sofia, unless you could avoid looking at all.”
It was true, she thought with growing distress. All that he said was true.
“But you are not a criminal, Kayne. You became a great knight—a captain in the king’s army, commanding hundreds of men. And your father…you said that he is a rich man, and also well-born. Surely his lineage is acceptable, even if he is but a merchant.”
He uttered a humorless laugh. “Oh, aye, his lineage is fully acceptable. He is a great lord of a fine estate. Sir Ronan Sager, who is also called Baron Renfrow, the master of Vellaux.”
Sofia’s eyes widened. “Lord Renfrow is your father?” she repeated, hope welling up once more.
“My sire, as I have ever called him,” Kayne replied curtly. “My mother was a servant in the castle at Vellaux, and very young when she took her place there. Lord Renfrow had made her his mistress before she had attained sixteen years of age, and soon thereafter got her with child. But this is a common tale. I doubt it surprises you.”
“Nay,” she admitted. “’Tis not unknown to me that this is the fate of many young women.”
He gave her a long, searching look. “Of poor young women,” he said. “Of common village girls, as my mother was. No man possessed of any sense of honor would defile a born lady in such a manner, but he will not hesitate to take his pleasure of someone like my mother. She thought Lord Renfrow loved her, as she loved him, and she believed, when she agreed to lie with him, that he would never abandon her. But while he was bedding so innocent and ignorant a maid he was also courting a young and proper lady to be his bride. ’Twas his great misfortune that my mother happened to get with child just when the proper lady had at last agreed to be his wife, for he could not have brought her to share the same dwelling with his whore and bastard child.”
“But surely,” Sofia murmured, “surely he could never have sent your mother away to Briarstone? To a place filled with thieves and harlots? Could he have been so heartless?”
Kayne’s blue eyes, which had grown so very cold, softened a small measure. “Until only a few days past, I believed that he had been so cruel, though I love Briarstone dearly, and would not name it so harsh a place as it sounds. My mother never told me the truth of what had occurred, that she learned Lord Renfrow meant to make her leave the castle, and in her grief ran away from her family and her great shame—and most especially from him.
“Thanks be to a merciful God that she found her way to Briarstone, where she was safe from the dangers that so often befall such young women. For his part, Lord Renfrow was greatly distressed to find his mistress flown, and in desperation searched for her, meaning to bring her back to Vellaux and settle her in a dwelling of her own near the castle, with servants to care for both her and the child she carried, and to provide them with every manner of luxury. It was his intention—or so he swore to me in holy oath only a few days past, for it was he I journeyed to see—to maintain her as his mistress, even after the child was born and despite his marriage, and to raise the child with full acknowledgment, though certainly as his bastard. It was, I grant, an understandable determination for a man who had every expectation of gaining legitimate children out of his young wife. I would fault him for it if I could, but I cannot.”
“Nay, for that is the way of men, to desire legitimate heirs,” Sofia said sadly. “He must have loved her a little—your mother—to be willing to do so much for her, and to acknowledge you as his son, though bastard-born. Not every man will do as much.”
“This is so,” Kayne admitted. “For many years I thought he had abandoned us both, but now I believe that he meant only the best for my mother and me, and to do as much for us as he could. If she had not run away to Briarstone, and if she had agreed to return to Vellaux when Lord Renfrow at last found her, her life would have been very different than what it was.”
“And yours, as well,” Sofia said. “She would not return with him?”
He shook his head. “She could not bear to see him living with his beautiful new wife. She loved him too greatly to do so. And ’twas as well, I vow, for we were content at Briarstone, being among our own kind.”
“Oh, Kayne,” she said miserably, “they are not your people, though you lived among them. Your father is a great and most noble lord.”
“And my mother the daughter of a lowly vassal. You cannot make me what I am not, Sofia. I am bastard-born, and naught can change that, despite my father’s desire that I attain the lordship of Vellaux one day—”
“Attain the lordship?” Sofia repeated, sitting upright. “Your father has acknowledged you? He desires to make you his heir?”
Again, he nodded. “I am the only living child born from his flesh. His wife gave him no children, and the two other bastards born to his mistresses died in their youth. This being so, it is Lord Renfrow’s desire to petition the crown that I be made his legitimate heir. But, Sofia,” he went on firmly as she rose, filled with complete joy at the knowledge, “it yet makes no difference to us. Lord Renfrow will not make me legitimate unless I once again embrace the knighthood, and that I cannot do.” His expression was somber. “When I put that holy ordination aside, ’twas forever. And thus I vowed before God, for the sake of the darkness within me.”
“But ’twill not be thus forever,” she murmured. “One day, this darkness you speak of will leave you—if you desire that it be so.”
“I desire it above all things, but I cannot see how ’twill ever be changed. It is a part of me, perhaps even born of me. You cannot begin to know what manner of man I am.”
Sofia pulled the blanket modestly about her, and walked straight up to him, staring him in the face.
“I know far better than you what manner of man you are, Kayne the Unknown, and despite all that you have told me, my love for you has not altered in the least.”
“That is because you do not know the full of it,” he murmured, lightly touching her cheek. “I am a foul murderer. My hands—these very hands,” he said, lifting them up, “are covered with the blood of innocents. Women and children and more fighting men than I could begin to number. Hundreds upon hundreds I have sent to God—plucking them away from their families and those who loved and needed them. And all,” he said in a husky tone, the words hard to speak, “for naught but the vanity of fancy noblemen who dream of conquering thrones, not knowing or caring what the cost may be. Those dreams came to naught, for France is lost, and every man and woman and child who died upon her soil lost their lives for nothing but foolishness.”
“Kayne, you have no part in that. You were a soldier,” she murmured tenderly, setting a gentle hand against his bare chest, in the place where his heart beat most fully. “You did as a good soldier must do, and served your king with perfect obedience. No one can find fault with that, or blame you for doing as you were commanded. I will never blame you.”
He set his hand over her own, pressing it hard against his chest.
“You don’t know, Sofia.”
“But I do,” she insisted. “Gwillym told me about the convent, about the mistake made by the man who’d taken John Ipris’s place. None of that was your fault.”
He lowered his head. “I was the captain of those men. I led them. And I am the one who must take the blame for what occurred. I should never have trusted any man’s word apart from John’s. I should have made certain of the truth.” He closed his eyes, squeezing them tightly shut. “I hear them still, when I dream at night. The screams. So many children—screaming for someone to save them—and babies crying, and the nuns praying and weeping…”
Sofia lurched forward, throwing her arms about his neck and hugging him tightly, not caring that the blanket fell to the ground, pooling about her bare feet.
“Don’t think of it now. Don’t speak of it. I won’t let you.”
“You can’t stop it,” he said harshly. “There’s too much darkness within me to stop it. Nay, Sofia.” Taking her shoulders in his hands, he gently pushed her away. “You cannot begin to know the half of it. Ten years I was in France. Ten years killing.” His hands slid from her shoulders to her wrists, and he gazed at her solemnly. “The memory of it will never go away, no matter how you or I or even my father may wish it. And without the knighthood, I am but a commoner, whom you can have no part of.”
“I don’t believe that,” she told him. “I will not believe that.”
“There can only ever be friendship between us. And if you cannot accept that, then I must leave Wirth.”
Slowly, she shook her head, filled with both anger and pain. “I’ll not let you leave. You promised to be my champion against Sir Griel, and I will hold you to that promise until your dying day, may it be many long years in coming.”
Kayne gave a solemn nod. “So be it. I will remain and be your champion, but you must no longer come to the smithy to speak to me, Sofia. I cannot seem to master myself when you are near, and therefore the temptation must not be placed before me. If I see you coming to me, even with custom, I will lock my gate against you.”
“You would not!” she cried with disbelief.
“I will, indeed. Now, set the blanket about you once more and I will fetch your shoes. ’Tis time for you to return to the manor.”