The Stolen Bride. Susan Spencer Paul

kind,” he said. “I shall pray to meet all your expectations.”

      “Not mine, nay,” she replied at once. “You already labor far too long and hard.” She took a few steps about the large, airy building, admiring its cleanliness and purity of form. How different it was from what such places usually were—dark, foul-smelling and filthy. But both this building and Kayne the Unknown’s dwelling were open, spacious and inviting, always clean and in perfect order. “You are ever here in your smithy. Do you never have a day for rest and pleasure?”

      “I need none.”

      She turned to watch as he deftly prepared the ax-head for further work.

      “You have lived in Wirth for fully a year now, yet you have never attended any of the fairs or celebrations. Tomorrow is Midsummer Day, and there will be much to do.” She took a step toward him, suddenly bold. “Come to the feast tomorrow and be merry for a few hours. Will you?”

      Intent upon his work, he gave a shake of his head. “Nay, I’ve too much to do.”

      “But you’ll have no custom brought to your door tomorrow,” she said persistently. “All the villagers will be there, dancing and feasting. ’Twill be a fine and pleasant day, I vow.”

      “And you will dance around every bonfire once darkness falls, no doubt,” he said, still turned away.

      The words—and what they implied—made Sofia blush hotly. A young woman seeking a husband would be married within a year if she but danced around seven bonfires on a Midsummer Night, or so it was believed. Sofia had ever scorned such tales, but Kayne’s speaking of it seemed to reveal some unspoken truth hidden away in her heart—one that she could not admit, even to herself.

      “Nay,” she said firmly, pushing such foolishness aside. “I have no desire to wed.”

      He put his work down and turned to look at her, surprise written on his handsome face.

      “Never?”

      She shook her head. “My father has too much need of me, as do the people of Wirth.”

      His expression darkened. “You are unjustly burdened, Mistress Sofia. A woman such as you should wed and seek her own happiness.”

      “It is not so easy a thing, Master Kayne,” she said with a weary smile. “But I am happy as I am. And content, in my own way.”

      He was clearly dissatisfied by her answer. “What of Sir Griel?” he asked. “He has made it known to one and all that he will have you for a wife before the year has gone.”

      Sofia tensed with anger. “I will never be wedded to such a man,” she vowed. “No matter what he may do to me, or how he may strive to terrify my father.”

      Kayne drew nearer, searching her eyes.

      “He’s the one who did this to you, is he not?” He lightly touched her shoulder, where her flesh had been scratched.

      Sofia moved away, unable to tell him the truth of what had happened. No one outside of Ahlgren Manor knew the fullness of her shame, for her servants had remained loyal in saying little. But she knew that rumors were being whispered among the villagers, and feared that it would not be long before everyone knew Sir Griel had given her such grave insult. And once the truth was known, the citizens of Wirth would fear him even more than they already did. Sofia would have no one to turn to for help and protection.

      “I have kept you from your work for too long, Master Kayne. Forgive me.”

      “Sofia.” His hand curled around her arm, gently, holding her still. “I give you my word of honor that you can trust me, even if you can trust no one else. If Sir Griel has threatened you—”

      “I’m not afraid of Sir Griel,” Sofia told him tautly, “or of any man.”

      “You should be,” Kayne said. “He is a man of great cruelty, and therefore a man to fear. If he dares to set a hand to you again, come to me and I will deal with him, for your father will never do so.”

      Sofia pulled free. “You are kind, Master Kayne, but I would not ask that of you. ’Tis too much, and you owe me naught.”

      “For all you did for me after the fire,” he said, “I can never fully repay you. But it is not for that alone. I will not stand aside and watch any man bring harm to a woman. I have sworn before God that I would always defend—” He fell suddenly silent. “Only tell me if he should trouble you, mistress. Promise me that.”

      Sofia touched her arm over the place where his fingers had curled, holding her in so careful a grasp. How strange he was! Had he sworn, as a knight did, to protect and defend women? But he had been a mere soldier. He’d just told her so.

      “I will give you my promise,” she said slowly, “if you will promise to attend the Midsummer Day feast. And to dance with me.”

      “I do not make merry,” he told her stonily.

      Sofia gave a curt nod. “Then I will likewise make no promises. Good day to you, Master Kayne.”

      “Good day,” he murmured, adding, before she could leave, “I will return the basket to you on the morrow.”

      “I will be busy on the morrow. Dancing and feasting and having a fine day. And you will be here alone, as ever.”

      He made a sound of aggravation. “Then I will return it the day following.”

      “As it pleases you, Master Kayne,” she said, and turned to walk away.

      Chapter Four

      It was nearly midnight when Kayne rode out of Wirth, cloaked in a heavy black cape and riding atop Tristan. He knew that the destrier’s heavy hooves made a great deal of noise, but the pleasure he experienced at riding his magnificent steed far overtook his fear of unsettling the villagers.

      A powerful mount, Tristan readily bore Kayne’s muscled weight, moving with a speed and grace that made it seem as if he carried nothing at all. Once clear of the village, he gave the horse full rein, bending low over the animal’s neck as it lengthened its strides, galloping for several long minutes with clear enjoyment.

      When they neared the forest, Kayne at last reined the majestic beast in, slowing his pace by degrees. Just as he had been during their years together in France, Tristan was instantly obedient to his master’s will. Without such obedience, Kayne knew, he’d have been long dead. More times than he could recall it had been Tristan’s perfectly honed skills as a warhorse that had kept them both alive.

      It was an easy matter to find the place where he needed to turn in, though it was not always so in the midst of those nights when he journeyed to the forest. Tonight, however, the moon was nearly full, giving plenty of light for such late wanderings. Tomorrow night, Kayne thought, glancing upward, ’twould be even brighter, and all those celebrating Midsummer Night would rejoice to have their dancing and feasting made that much more pleasant.

      Sofia, especially, would enjoy herself. She had a gift for happiness; one that he envied greatly. He could almost envision her now, with her long golden hair unbound and flowing free, crowned with a circlet of flowers and swaying like the finest silk cloth as she danced about the bonfires. She’d have no lack of partners. Nay, she’d suffer quite a different trouble by having far too many vying for her hand, both young and old alike.

      It wasn’t far to the clearing which was his destination. Senet and John were there before him, waiting.

      “Where is Aric?” Kayne asked as he brought Tristan to a halt. He dismounted with ease as the other men approached, and held out a hand in greeting.

      “His wife, Magan, is heavy with child,” Senet Gaillard, the lord of Lomas, replied, clasping Kayne’s arm in the manner of long friendship, “and he will not leave her for fear that the babe might come with him gone. ’Tis good to see you again, Kayne. You are well?”

      “Most