The Stolen Bride - Susan Spencer Paul Mills & Boon Historical

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I used to watch you with your mother—you and Aric and all the others. ’Tis true that they were all women who’d suffered a great deal, and almost all of them bearing children out of wedlock, but they were alive and loving—and I was tormented with a jealousy that you cannot begin to know. I had neither mother nor father nor any kin to claim me. To have had only a mother, such as you had, would have meant everything in the world. I would have gladly given my life to know but a week of such joy.”

      “I know that, John,” Kayne said with heartfelt sorrow. John had been abandoned as a newborn babe, left to die in a filthy ditch on a dark London night. He’d been rescued by the owner of a nearby tavern, and spent his earliest days living on London’s streets more like an animal than a human. If Sir Justin hadn’t discovered him and brought him to Briarstone—a place of refuge for all the unwanted—he’d surely have died long before reaching his tenth year. “But you did have a family at Briarstone. All of us were kin to one another there.”

      “Aye, and a blessed thing it was, too,” John agreed. “And, yet, for all that I knew of goodness there, I was jealous. Of you more than any other, for you had not only a mother, but also a father who was faithful to send money and goods and even gifts at Christmastide, and who made certain that you and your mother were comfortable and well-kept.” John moved nearer, holding Kayne’s gaze. “If there is a man on this earth who would step forward this very day to reveal himself as my father, and who was full sorrowed at having lost me and pleaded, as your father has done, that I come to him, I vow by God above that I would move mountains to see him just once. Just once. Kayne,” he said, setting a hand on Kayne’s arm, “you don’t know what you have—what someone like me has dreamt of all my life. Don’t throw it away as if it were naught.”

      Kayne was stricken to his soul. He said nothing, but only continued to gaze into John’s set face.

      “Go to see him,” John pressed. “Speak to him. Give him a chance, Kayne. I beg it of you not for his sake, but for mine, if you bear me any love at all.”

      “You know I do,” Kayne said. “You are as my own brother. All of you.”

      “Then I ask it of you as a brother,” John said somberly. “I cannot tell you how it will grieve me if you turn so precious a gift aside.”

      Kayne’s resolve crumbled. John had never asked anything of him before, not even during the many years when they’d all been together, fighting in France.

      “Aye,” he murmured, setting his fingers over the hand that John yet held on his arm. “For you, my brother, I will go. If it will ease your mind, you may come with me.”

      “Surely you didn’t think we’d let you go alone?” Senet said from where he stood, leaning against a tree, his arms folded over his chest in a relaxed manner. “You’re a brave fool, Kayne, but even you will admit to dreading such a first encounter. We know you too well to think that it would be otherwise.”

      Kayne smiled at his friend’s teasing tone. “Aye, you knave, I admit it. Any man would feel the same, I vow. ’Twill be much like going into battle. But I have done that many a time before, and can do so once more. You need not go with me, to coddle me as if I were a child.”

      Senet sighed and pushed himself upright. “Nevertheless, we will. Why do you not come with us now, back to Lomas? We’ll spend Midsummer Day there and begin for Vellaux the following morn. I’ll send your father, Lord Renfrow, a missive telling him of our coming.”

      “Nay, do not,” Kayne said with a shake of his head. “’Twould be easier to meet him without formality. He must take me as I am, when I come to him. Give me a week to prepare and close my shop. I will meet you at Lomas on the seventh day.”

      “Are you certain?” John asked. “Can you not come with us now?”

      “Nay,” Kayne said. “There is something of import that I must do tomorrow—on Midsummer Day. Someone I must meet.”

      Both Senet and John looked at him with open interest.

      “Someone?” Senet repeated with a grin.

      “Aye, someone,” Kayne said testily, “and you may keep your thoughts to yourself, my lord. You’ve no need to fear that I will be delayed in coming to Lomas. I’ll meet you there at the end of next week, and we can begin for Vellaux. On my word of honor, we will.”

      Chapter Five

      The dancing began at midday, even before the feasting had taken place. Sofia refused the first few requests to join in the merriment when the music filled the air, hoping yet that Kayne would change his stubborn mind and arrive. She knew that he would be reserved—if he came—and would feel an outsider to the other villagers. It was her intention to stay by his side every moment, bearing him company to make his time as pleasing as possible. If he could but see that there was naught to fear from knowing and communing with his neighbors, mayhap ’twould be easier to lure him to such festivities in future.

      It was a perfect day. The sun was bright overhead, but not too hot, and a cool breeze carried the many delicious scents of the faire across the fields where the festivities were taking place, down to the banks of the river, where children were already making small boats out of leaves and twigs, and even into the forest, where young couples sought the shelter of the trees to share stolen kisses or begin searching for the fern blossoms which became imbued with great power in the coming darkness of this most magical of nights.

      Sellers had set out their wares—jewelry, flowers, toys, herbs, medicines, crafts of every kind and a variety of foods. Great mounds of wood were being set out for the bonfires that would later be lit, and many smaller fires were already being used to roast whole pigs and haunches of venison and beef.

      All the village maidens, Sofia included, had twined ribbons in their hair and adorned themselves with circlets of flowers, and were brazenly teasing and dallying with the young men. The young men, apart from admiring the maidens, were waiting for the contests to begin in order to prove their strength and prowess in such skills as archery, running and wrestling. There were prizes for the winners of each contest, all to be awarded with great ceremony by Sofia’s father, Sir Malcolm, who was already strolling amongst the feasters, merrily jesting and laughing and drinking far too much ale and wine. When the dancing began, Sofia noted, her father was one of the first to take a pretty maiden by the hand and draw her in among the other dancers.

      “Will you not dance, Mistress Sofia?” Olvan, the cobbler’s handsome eldest son, cried out as three maidens laughingly pulled him toward the music.

      Sofia smiled and shook her head—then laughed along with the maidens as Olvan stumbled at their urgent tugging and quickly righted himself, flushed with pleasure at being so sought after by the fairer sex. Everyone, it seemed, was smiling and laughing, and Sofia suddenly twirled about with her arms wide, uncaring of who saw. She felt gladsome and free and happy beyond measure. Could anything be better—or rarer—than a day of ease and pleasure?

      She stopped spinning and closed her eyes, feeling the warmth of the sun upon her upturned face, thinking of what was to come. The feasting and games and contests, the sailing of wishes, and then, as night fell, the bonfires and music and merriment throughout. Oh, how she wished Kayne would put his stubbornness aside and come. He would enjoy himself so very much—

      “Sofia.”

      A cruel hand closed over her arm, pulling her about. Sofia’s eyes flew open to see the man who’s voice she’d already recognized.

      Sir Griel.

      He was dressed, as he always was, in black, and surrounded by a half-dozen of his fighting men. They were the only men present who were fully armed, as if for battle, and silence began to fall over the assembly as their daunting presence was noted.

      Sofia drew herself up full height, refusing to let anyone see the fear that welled up at the memory of her last meeting with Sir Griel. His fingers gripped her in the same steely manner as he had done then. Sofia made one effort to wrench herself free, saw

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