To Kiss in the Shadows (9 page)

“We're wrestling, my lady,” he said solemnly. “Harmless encounters. And as I was saying, I always used to come out on the bottom of such friendly skirmishes.”

“And then you grew.”

“I grew,” he agreed. “And my brothers grew fat and lazy. You can imagine why the temptation to best them now at every opportunity is almost overwhelming.”

“Kendrick does not seem overplump to me. Has your other brother gone to fat?”

“Gone to seed is more like it,” Jason said with a snort. “Nay, Phillip is not fat either, though he's become somewhat less tidy than he used to be. He used to shun wrestling for fear of mussing his clothes.” Jason strummed thoughtfully. “I suppose that he's since worn enough of his children's meals to no longer care about the condition of his tunics. Happily for me,” he said, looking up at her with twinkling eyes, “such slovenliness and weariness leave him ripe pickings for being vanquished. And Kendrick can be distracted with insults, leaving him vulnerable as well.”

“Not that you need to rely on such tactics, of course,” she said. “Being so intimidating yourself.”

“What with my reputation and all,” he agreed.

She nodded but found herself quite abruptly unable to speak further. Thinking on Jason and his brothers and what closeness they shared made her think on things she hadn't in months. A horrible longing for her family rose up and washed over her, a yearning so strong that all she could do was bow her head and bury it in her threads. A tear slid down her cheek and dripped onto her hand.

She heard some part of Jason creak as he drew closer to her. Blinking rapidly revealed that he was kneeling before her. His large, strong hands came to rest over hers.

“Lianna,” he said softly, “what ails you? Are you unwell?”

She shook her head.

“The thread doesn't please you.”

“'Tis lovely,” she managed.

“Then what?”

She blinked furiously and wanted to shout at him
what ails me is that being near you gives me a sense of home for the first time in almost a year, and you're too much a fool to notice that you're responsible for it!
She dragged her hand across her eyes to clear them, then glared at him—only to find that he was looking at her with an expression of surprise. And that made her want to slap the look straight from his face.

'Twas no wonder his family skirmished so often.

“Don't you have a crusade to attend to?” she asked shortly.

He studied her closely, wriggling his jaw a time or two as if he considered whether or not he should let it loose and speak.

“Well?” she demanded.

And then he laughed at her.

She growled and gave him a mighty shove. But apparently she was not up to the Artane standards of battle, for she found herself pulled right along with him. Her basket of thread went flying, and she found herself sprawled atop him, having left her dignity and her good sense behind her.

“Let me up, you fool,” she said.

“Lianna of Grasleigh,” he said, shaking his head in wonder, “you surprise me with your foul tongue. I suppose I should have known your true nature would show itself soon enough.”

“If you seek to compliment me,” she said, trying to pull away, “you're failing miserably!”

“Then what if I ask you to wed with me?”

It was as if someone had dumped a bucket of winter water on her, so startled was she. She looked down into his face so close to hers and could find nothing to say. He sat up, pushing her back to her knees. He got to his knees as well and took both her hands in his.

“Is the thought so horrifying?” he asked softly.

“Saints, nay,” she breathed.

The smile he gave her was so brilliant, she could scarce look at him. She found that she was smiling in return, a smile so wide she felt that her face might split in two. And when he reached up and trailed his fingers over her cheek, she only spared a brief thought for the ruin of her face.

“You are beautiful,” he said.

“Nay, no longer.”

“Scars mark the passage of battle,” he said simply. “I don't see them. I see a woman I love, a woman I want to mother my children, a woman I want by my side for the rest of my days. What are a few scars in comparison?”

“You, my lord, have a remarkable vision.”

“And you, my lady—”

“Oh, by all the bloody saints, kiss her, won't you? I can scarce stomach any more of this drivel.”

Lianna blinked and looked to her right. Who should be standing there but Kendrick himself, dressed in normal garb. That was odd enough to merit attention.

“Where are your skirts?” she asked.

Jason laughed heartily, and Kendrick took a step closer, his fists at the ready.

“Nay,” Lianna said, holding out her hand, “do not ruin his mouth until he's sealed his offer.”

“Did you say him aye?” Kendrick asked.

Lianna looked at Jason. “Mine is not the will you must bend to yours.”

“Best kiss her anyway, Jason,” Kendrick advised. “It may be all you get.”

“Thank you for that,” Jason grumbled.

Lianna would have added her thoughts as well, but she found herself suddenly quite occupied, and overcome, by the miraculous event of Jason of Artane taking her face in his hands and kissing her.

And kissing her.

And kissing her yet again.

Indeed, though she was excruciatingly aware of Kendrick standing there making noises of impatience, Jason seemed to take no note of anything but her mouth. And her hair, which he was fingering into complete disarray.

And when he let her breathe again, she wondered if she would ever manage a normal breath again.

“By the saints,” Kendrick said in disgust, “that was overdoing it, don't you think?”

“You needn't watch longer,” Jason said pointedly.

“Ha,” Kendrick replied. “Think you I would leave you alone with her now? The poor girl must have a chaperon, and who better than me to fill those shoes? Take your groping hands off the lass, there's a good lad. Come, my lady, and let me see you safely back to the keep. Your love can press his suit with the king whilst your virtue is still intact.”

“Her virtue is safe with me!” Jason bellowed.

“Hrumph. I'll judge that for myself. And how is it you intend to convince the king to give this prize to a bumbling clod such as yourself?”

“You were supposed to be giving it helpful thought,” Jason snapped, helping Lianna to her feet. He gathered up her sewing and his lute, then nodded pointedly at her chair. “Carry that,” he said to his brother.

Kendrick looked ready to protest but seemed to think better of it. Lianna soon found herself walking back to the castle flanked by two Artane brothers, who were fighting over her head as to how best win her hand. Jason was holding one of her hands, Kendrick the other. She wondered, as she noted the looks the guardsmen were giving them on their way through the barbican gates, if her reputation would be so ruined that it wouldn't matter who was offering to wed her.

Or perhaps when Maud and her ladies found out whose hands she was holding, she would be too dead for that to matter.

She was left in Kendrick's care while Jason went to stow her stitchery with his gear upstairs. Kendrick found her a place at the table, then sat next to her.

“He agrees with you?” he asked seriously.

The look of earnestness on his face was so surprising she smiled.

“Are you so concerned?”

“Of course. You deserve a happy home, Lianna.”

“And you don't think he'll give it to me?”

He did smile then, a rueful smile. “Aye, I suppose he will. ”Tis difficult for me to think of my younger brother being able to do the like, but I suppose he's man enough now.”

“But you'll forever look on him as a lowly squire fetching you this and that when you came to visit his master, aye?”

“He told you, then.”

“The tortures were described in great detail,” she agreed. “And I understand. I could never look at my younger brother that I did not see him as a lad of six or seven, hanging on my mother's skirts.”

Kendrick nodded, then looked at her solemnly. “This will be difficult. Whether you'll admit it or not, your lands are vast. The king would prefer to make a more advantageous match for you, no doubt.”

“Think you he can be convinced?”

“I've been studying his weaknesses for months. We'll strike at those and see if he cannot be persuaded—”

“By the saints, what filth have we here?”

Lianna blinked in surprise at the harsh voice that cut through their peaceful conversation like a dull knife ripping through linen. She looked at the man who was standing before their table, staring at Kendrick with nothing less than pure hatred.

“Sedgwick,” Kendrick said flatly.

“I would call you
Artane,
but that is your brother's right, isn't it?” the other man said. “Have you any title? Ah, how foolish of me to have forgotten. The second son, the one with nothing to call his own but his father's charity.”

Kendrick snorted. “William Artane—your memory fails you. My
father,
not my brother, is your father's liege-lord. He will be
your
liege-lord when drink and whoring send your sire to his early death. And then you will be master of Sedgwick, and all the luxury that entails, won't you?”

“At least I'll have a keep,” William snarled.

“By my father's charity as well, so that makes you no better than I, does it?” Kendrick returned. “Cousin.”

William turned his furious gaze on Lianna. “And who is this? Your latest whore?”

Kendrick rose.

“You're losing your skill, cousin,” William said with an unpleasant laugh. “Is this all you could woo to your bed? This pock-marked, uninteresting by-blow of a kitchen lad?”

Lianna watched, open-mouthed, as Kendrick vaulted over the table and planted his fist in William of Sedgwick's mouth. She watched them push, shove, and hurl insults for several moments before they both drew swords and began hacking at each other.

“By the saints,” Jason said, skidding to a halt at her side, “what madness is this?”

“Sedgwick,” she said. “He insulted Kendrick.”

“What else did he say?” Jason demanded. “Kendrick wouldn't be using his blade for a mere insult to himself.” He looked down at her. “Did he say aught to you?”

She winced. “Naught that I haven't heard before.”

“Damn,” he breathed. “I should have been here.”

The herald suddenly bellowed the king's arrival.

“Could matters worsen?” Jason said tightly.

Lianna watched the events before her unfold with a dizzying sense of unreality. Jason sat next to her, clutching her hand under the table, as the king made his way to his place, sat, and demanded a recounting of the dispute.

She listened with growing distress as Kendrick bargained for a chance to see to William on the field. She was certain the king wouldn't allow it. But apparently His Majesty was either overtired or he thought it would make a public example to let the two fight it out, for he agreed.

And then the worst came.

“And to the winner?” the king asked, picking at his tabard. “What prize shall there be?”

“Besides life?” Kendrick asked.

The king looked at him dispassionately. “You fought over a woman. You must value more than just life for that.”

“The woman, then,” William said. “I'm in need of a wife.”

Kendrick opened his mouth to speak, but the king was swifter and his edict was law.

“Lianna of Grasleigh to the one of you who can show us you're canny enough to win your own life. Then perhaps you'll be worthy of her wealth.”

Lianna wished with all her heart that she had a constitution that was prone to fainting, for she would have done it at that moment gladly and not found herself hale and sound and perfectly capable of understanding what had just transpired.

Two men were fighting each other for their lives.

And for her.

While the man she wanted sat next to her, cursing fluently and clutching her hand with enough strength to bruise it.

 

 

 

 

Jason stood on the edge of the field next to the woman of
his heart and cursed his brother's damned chivalry. And he cursed his own. Had he not been fool enough to trouble himself seeing to Lianna's bloody gear, he would have been in the great hall, ready and willing to avenge his lady for the insults paid to her by that great buffoon, his cousin, William of Sedgwick. Instead, where did he find himself?

Standing on the side of the field, wringing his hands like a woman.

Lianna fared no better, though she seemed to be able to keep herself from wringing her hands. They were clasped together before her so tightly that her knuckles were white. They matched perfectly the pallor of her face.

Jason moved and his mail squeaked. He really should find himself some kind of squire to see to that. Pity he never could find a lord willing to sacrifice his son to Jason's care. Perhaps in time Jason would find himself lord of an obscure keep and some poor lad would come to him then.

Though none of that would matter if he couldn't manage to discover a way to keep Lianna from either Kendrick or William's greedy hands—and he wasn't sure at the moment who would have been worse!

He fingered the hilt of his sword and gave himself over to furious thought. If William prevailed, he could demand a challenge to avenge his then-dead brother, and surely he would emerge the victor. He could worry about his grief over losing Kendrick later. He would have Lianna and repay Sedgwick for Kendrick's death with the same stroke.