A Knight in Tarnished Armor (8 page)

Jagged rocks jabbed his shoulders, his back, his legs. He grunted. Bracken and sharp roots scratched his face and neck. He curled into a tight ball to keep from catching a limb and breaking bones.

Down he fell, faster and farther. Down, over more sharp granite edges and rough thorny bushes. Down until a mud pit stopped him. He lay there, mud oozing around him, the world spinning, and more stars than Linnet could count shooting past his vision. He didn't move for the longest time. He took one breath, then another, very slowly.

"William?" She was looking down from the edge of the roadside.

He opened his mouth.

"William, please. Answer me!"

He tried to speak. A moan came out.

"William? I'm coming down there."

"No!" he croaked.

Too late. Her muddy slippers crept over the edge and an instant later she was sliding down the hill on her backside, a fall of flaming red hair flying out behind her. "Ouch!"

He closed his eyes and mentally cursed.

"Oh!"

He heard the sound of tearing fabric.

"Heavens!"

Gravel rained down on him.

"Uh-oh!"

He could hear Linnet crashing through the bushes and winced. Before he could take another breath, she hit him with a grunt. He lay there, eyes closed, Linnet sprawled atop him. Her chest and belly were pressed against his and her legs lay between his own. He could feel her heart beating faster and louder than thundering horses.

Her nose was against his chest and her hair fanned out, twigs and leaves tangled in it. Slowly she raised her head and shook it. Leaves flew out and a twig slapped him in the chin. She shoved her hair out of her face and stared down at him. One small hand reached out to gently cup his cheek. "Are you terribly wounded?" she asked.

"Only my pride."

She whispered his name again, relief in her voice. Her lips were there. An inch away. He told himself not yet. But her body was soft and he wanted her. God, how he wanted her! He relied on pure concentrated determination to control himself. He closed his eyes, which only heightened his sense of smell, sound, and touch. Other than sight, that left one more sensation—taste. How would she taste?

He opened his eyes. There were tears in hers. Real tears. Worried tears. God's teeth. There was only so much a man could take. His mouth was on hers an instant later, his hand splayed across the back of her head, holding her to him. She went even softer against him, as if his kiss made her weak. He stroked her lips with his tongue and she gave a quiet gasp of surprise. His tongue sank into her sweet mouth, filled it, and the kiss was just as he'd thought.

She tasted of honey, of fire, and of everything he ever could need. His other hand slid over her shoulder and slowly down her slim back to caress her bottom. She moaned against the strength of his tongue. He held her hard against him and rolled with her, pressing her back into the soft mud, his mouth taking hers sweetly but firmly, mimicking the way he wanted to take her body—in long, slow strokes that lasted forever.

With her beneath him he pressed closer, feeling her sink into the mud but not caring, because she moaned against his mouth and gripped his shoulders. She didn't push him away. She held him fast and kept her mouth open, her curious tongue moving in answer to his. He shifted his hips, rocking slowly against her in a steady rhythm as old as time.

It was happening too fast. Too strong. Too out of control. He fought with himself, fought his primal urge and reason. He drew his mouth away, his breath coming as fast as his passion did. He looked down into those eyes, those wild golden eyes that looked up at him with such pure wonder. He wanted to show her what loving was, what a man and woman could be. He wanted to love her for all the days and nights left in this lonely lifetime. He wanted to die inside this woman.

But even in his heat of passion he wouldn't take her in the mud. He moved off her and she looked up at him with a look that was half-puzzled, half-hurt. "Here." He offered her his hand and helped her up.

She looked everywhere but at him. They were covered in mud and briars and damp grass.

He started back up the hillside, gripping onto the bushes as he tried to get a foothold. Again he gave her his hand. "Come," he told her. "I'll help you." She placed her hand in his, but he slipped and so did his grip on her hand.

Down they went again. He grabbed a bush and only fell to his knees. He heard a shriek and looked behind him.

She hadn't been so lucky. She was lying facedown in the thickest pool of mud in the ravine. Very slowly she pushed herself up.

Two bright and surprised yellow eyes stared at him from a brown face dripping in mud.

He burst out laughing. Her eyes narrowed and she sat back, resting her arms on her knees. He watched the mud drip from hair, nose, everywhere.

"You look like a sow," he told her honestly, not realizing that this was a stupid time for male honesty.

The mud ball hit him square in the face.

"What the hell did you do that for?" he roared and swiped at the mud.

She gave him a honeyed smile and threw another handful. Now she was laughing, laughing hard and flinging mud at him so quickly he would never have thought she could move that fast.

"Here!" she shouted. "Catch!" She hit him square in the forehead.

He sprang from the hillside and tackled her. They rolled together in the mud, Linnet shrieking while he tried to rub more mud in her face.

A few minutes later they both lay on their backs in the mud, a truce called. She was still laughing. "You didn't play fair, William. You're stronger than I." She slapped a muddy hand on her chest and gave him a wide-eyed stare. "I am a puny and weak woman."

He snorted. "Puny and weak. Ha! We could have used you at the siege of Acre, Linnet. I would have put you in charge of the catapult."

She smiled. "That is the first time you have ever called me by my name."

He hadn't realized he'd done so.

She reached over and touched him on the shoulder. "I prefer Linnet to sow."

He grinned, then stood and eyed the hillside. A second later he swept her into his arms and carried he through the ravine, heading for a place where the hill side wasn't so steep.

"William! Put me down!"

"Stop squirming and let me carry your 'puny' self."

He tossed her and grinned when she shrieked. Finally, she wrapped her arms around his neck and laid her head on his shoulder.

And he liked it so much that he carried her all the way up the hill...the long way.

He had never laughed with a woman like he had with Linnet. ‘Twas a strange feeling to call a woman friend. But that was how he felt about her. Aside from her beauty, aside from her charm and the odd hold she seemed to have over him, aside from the passion she could spark in him with only a touch or a look, William actually liked her. He liked being with her.

They spent the next few nights staying in inns, each in their own room, a place where Linnet could have the comforts he should have thought of to begin with, baths, clean beds, warm food.

And he was loathe to admit it but he had missed her at night. He missed sleeping next to her, missed her piling enough covers atop her to thaw Hinterland, missed her punching the pillows and tossing and turning until he had to talk with her if he ever wanted to get a wink of sleep. He missed her incessant chatter about the night sky and stars and the shapes they form. He missed waking and watching her sleep.

He didn't miss the cats. That was his one peaceful thought. Some of the animals were with her, some were boarded at the inn's stables.

They were two days ride from the abbey when he heard of the fair. 'Twas midsummer's eve and the town of Noddington was having a fair—a grand event if all they had heard was true.

He had one day and one night left to win her.

So he took her to the Midsummer's Fair.

Noddington was a busy little town of stone, brick, and timber, with shops and inns that lined the small cobbled streets. Houses cuddled in close lanes with jutting roofs and bayed windows. Because of the fair the town was teeming. And Linnet could hardly take it all in.

They crossed the stone bridge to a meadow where the winding river was fringed with trees and where the fair was bustling.

Each booth, decorated gaily with batting of bright colors, sold something new and different—lengths of raye, a fabric that fairly took on the sheen of the stars, an odd- looking mechanical clock that wouldn't freeze in winter like the water clocks did, and powerful crossbows, weapons of such deadly accuracy that they had been forbidden by Rome until recently.

There was hot spiced wine, fresh bread, and meat pies. Country vegetables and sweet Eastern dates. And William bought her one of everything scrumptious. There were lively dancers and minstrels who sang songs of the magic of midsummer's eve. Puppeteers and actors became fairies and sprites, forest animals that took on human form, all to celebrate this special time of year—a time when flowers bloomed and hearts were light.

Linnet and William watched the acrobats tumble and trained dogs frolic. There was even a huge gray and wrinkled elephant that roared like a trumpet and spit water high in the air.

William bought her lengths of fine cloth, two of the raye, and a silver comb, to keep the sunset in her hair, he had told her. He filled her with comfits and sweetmeats until she thought she might burst. He showed her every sight and every new thing with patience and laughter and care. Many was the time she caught him watching her closely, as if her happiness were the most important thing to him. But it was his smile and laughter that were the true gifts of the day.

'Twas one of
the best times of her life
, and she knew she would never think of midsummer's eve without remembering William. As she strolled through the fair, she wished, somehow, to repay him. She knew his pride would accept nothing from her, nothing valuable. She had been trying to find a gift for him when she spied a man with pilgrim badges sewn to his hat and coat. He was hawking pardons from Rome which he carried in a sack on his bent back.

"William?" She tugged on his shirtsleeve.

"Aye?"

"I think we should buy some pardons."

He frowned.

She pointed toward the pilgrim and he laughed and handed her a handful of silver coins. She shook her head. "This purchase is mine," she told him. She bought William a pardon for every curse he had spoken this past week, and a few extra for the future.
She ran back and tucked them in his arms.

He looked at them. "God's teeth! What the devil are these for?"

She gave him a wry look. "I doubt there are enough pardons in the world, William, to assuage your blasphemous tongue."

"Christ in heav
en . . ." he swore with a grin.
"That might just bloody damn well be."

She shook her head and followed him until he stopped to eye a collection of mail in a booth set up by the local armorer. She watched him barter and banter and bluster, and she jabbed him with her elbow when he tried to trade her cats for a mailed tunic. Finally he asked her to choose the mail and she picked one in less time than it took to blink.

"That was simple," he said, surprised. "Why that one?"

"Because it shines the most," she replied, thinking secretly that he was a knight who should have shining armor.

He bought the mail she had chosen, saying he thought he'd need it if he were challenged again.

And he was.

They had left the fair hours later, filled with drink and fresh food and fun. They were riding back to the inn to fetch her pets when the yellow knight appeared near a bend in the river. The knight never had a chance.

William took one look at him, roared an ungodly string of curses that used seven more pardons and attacked. His mail shone in the bright sunlight and his sword flashed with deadly precision, but when he sheathed his sword and drew out the crossbow he'd purchased, the knight stopped cold, turned his mount around, and rode away so fast it was almost as if he had never appeared.

William was in a better mood after that.

Soon the sun had slipped down behind the trees and the moon had risen in the dusky sky. A cart with nail studs clicked over the stones of a small bridge and haymakers were walking home with their long pitchforks resting on their shoulders.

William rode off the highway and over toward a grassy hillock.

"I thought the inn was this way," Linnet said.

"It is!"

She turned her palfrey and followed. "Then why are we traveling this way?"

"Consider it a surprise," he said with an edge of challenge, and he spurred his mount and disappeared over the hillock.

If she hadn't already been in love with William, she would have fallen the moment she saw the tent. 'Twas a tent from the Midsummer's Fair, the largest and finest tent she had seen. Made from brightly colored fabric with red and blue and yellow stripes, it had pennants waving from the sharp peaks at the top and corners.