Sandra Madden (3 page)

Urging her mare to one last surge of speed, Kate galloped past Edmund. His startled expression evoked a burst of laughter from Kate. She was unable to stop laughing, and tears soon streamed down her cheeks. When at last she felt herself under control, she looked back to determine if the astonished earl was gaining on her. 'Twas a mistake.

She did not see the low-hanging sycamore branch ahead of her.
Wop!

Kate landed on her back in the dirt.

Two of Edmund leaped from their mounts and ran to her side.

Two Edmunds! How wondrous!

But alas, she knew it to be only double vision from the blow to her head.

"Kate! Kate! Are you all right? Can you see me? Can you hear me?"

He was shouting in her ear. "Aye, aye."

Slipping an arm beneath her shoulders, Edmund lifted Kate to a sitting position. His emerald-green eyes reflected concern as he examined her for visible signs of damage. A cowlick stood upright in his dark, windblown hair.

Surely Kate could reach up and straighten the cowlick?

But no, what would he think of her?

If she were younger and unaware it was not the thing, Kate would not have hesitated to reach out and push back the unruly lock. As she would like to do now. The urge to touch him had possessed her ever since he'd taken her in his arms and whirled her about the day before. She yearned to be in his arms once more, crushed against the power and strength of him. How delicious his warmth would feel against the cool morning air!

And oh, how her feelings so quickly betrayed her. Kate closed her eyes as she felt her body warming and the blush rise to her cheeks. A body bruised and battered! How could she be thinking such scurrilous thoughts when she was more than likely near to death?

"I daresay you ride well for one who claims to be 'sadly out of practice,' " Edmund said, sweeping a distracted hand through his hair. The wayward midnight lock settled into place.

"Aye." Kate sighed as her fingers gently searched for the painful lump she felt protruding from the side of her head.

" 'Tis the last branch one must watch out for," Edmund added drolly.

"Aye."

"We are not far from the stream. Can you walk if I help?"

"I, I believe so."

But she did not walk. Apparently having a change of heart, Edmund scooped her up in his arms. Kate's pain vanished.

"I shall carry you to the stream," he declared. "As a precaution."

"God reward you," she whispered with all due humility.

Hey-ho! She was in Edmund's arms once again! Her heart danced a rousing galliard, leaping and twirling as hearts are not wont to do.

He carried her with ease, as if she weighed no more than a mayfly. Held close to Edmund's chest, Kate basked in the feeling of his lusty warmth—for some twenty paces.

Ever so gently, Edmund lay her down beside the stream and then fashioned a pillow from his folded jerkin.

Dappled light filtered through the trees in hazy splotches. Taking care not to move her head abruptly, Kate scanned the wooded area. If she listened well, she might hear the laughter of a young girl and a growing boy, woven through the winds of spring for all time. She and Edmund had returned to a place and time where happy memories dwelled.

Ancient oaks offered a canopy of sheltering branches on either side of the stream that splashed a greeting as it ran off into an even thicker copse and disappeared. This shaded spot where lush ferns, hog-weed, and dusky wild dog rose flourished was where Edmund and Kate had often fished for trout together. The Garden of Eden could not have been more idyllic.

"Would you like to return to Rose Hall, Kate?"

"Nay, my lord." The lump on her head throbbed unmercifully. A spot below her left cheek ached. "I shall be fine with a bit of rest."

"Would you mind if I fish while you rest?"

"Nay." As long as she did not have to bait his line, as she had in the past.

Edmund had always been an avid fisherman.

An hour later the earl had caught a twig but no trout, Kate had recovered sufficiently to watch his efforts. She leaned against a tree trunk, struggling to maintain a stoic expression. For some reason, she found his frustration humorous.

"The fish are not biting today," he growled, throwing down his pole.

"Aye, but look, my lord," she pointed to a stately oak several yards to the south of where they fished. "Your tree fort still remains."

Constructed haphazardly, the weather-beaten structure perched in the thick old tree was no more than a ramshackle ruin with only half a roof wedged between two giant limbs. At least two floorboards had rotted away.

"Fort?" Edmund repeated, feigning offense. " "Tis my castle, wench, where I ruled as king."

"A thousand pardons."

"And pray, Kate, when we are alone, call me Edmund. 'My lord' sounds odd coming from you."

"Aye... Edmund."

The Earl of Stamford regarded the remains of his youth, and chuckled. "I am astounded that even parts of my castle still stand. Mayhap I possessed some structural talents in my youth."

"You were always most clever."

His eyes met hers and his lips parted in a crooked grin.

Kate's heart fairly jumped from her chest. Disconcerted, she placed a protective, staying hand over the general area.

"I fear only you would say so, Kate."

"You
never allowed me up into your tree... castle."

"King Arthur could not allow females entry to his private chamber."

"You pretended to be King Arthur?"

"Aye. Who else?" He grinned, the sheepish grin of a boy caught stealing comfits.

Assuming the identity of a proud mythical knight of honor suited Edmund. As a girl, Kate had believed he possessed the most worthy qualities of a valiant knight. She still did.

"Who else?" she repeated, returning his smile, meeting the deep forest green of his eyes.

A languid warmth spread through her, leaving a bright burning spot at her core. 'Twas as if the sun had broken through the overcast sky in a fiery blaze. For a moment, even the lump on her head ceased its throbbing.

The knight of her girlish dreams contemplated Kate with narrowed eyes and a mocking half smile. "Did you ever trespass in my castle, Mistress Kate?"

"Never." Many times. Kate had found comfort by trespassing in Edmund's tree castle after he left Rose Hall.

"Would you like to climb with me into my castle?"

"Methinks a delicate female should not climb trees."

Edmund pressed his lips together and swiped back the wayward lock of sloe-black hair that had fallen across his forehead once again.

"Where is this delicate female, Mistress Kate?" he asked with twinkling eyes. "Who would she be?"

Undaunted by Edmund's merciless teasing, Kate laughed. " 'Twould most certainly not be me, for I am not known to be delicate," she replied. "And that's the shame of it."

"No shame," he countered with a roguish grin.

A grin, Kate was certain, that brought the ladies of the court close to a swoon. Edmund possessed charm enough for ten men. His playful manner and beguiling smile made the Earl of Stamford a dangerous man. A very dangerous man.

A thrum of excitement spiraled through Kate. 'Twas the thrill of challenge, she expected. "I should like to climb to your castle, Edmund."

"You are a rare female, Kate. But are you certain you feel steady on your feet?"

"I am fully recovered." Two broken legs would not have kept Kate from being with Edmund in his castle.

"I will go before you."

She watched Edmund climb, admiring his quickness, his strength and agility. When he reached the platform, he planted his hands on his hips, appearing full of himself and quite like a conquering crusader of old.

"If you will turn your back, I shall climb up and be settled in a matter of moments," she told him.

Once more, the dashing earl flashed a smile that transformed his rugged features into a striking, heart-pounding force. Edmund's pleasure showered down upon Kate like tingling beads of crystal rain.

'Twas not an easy climb in her cloak, heavy broadcloth gown, and voluminous petticoats. Fortunately, Edmund had not built his castle on the loftiest branches, and Kate had not far to go.

At the last moment, he turned, clasped Kate's hand, and pulled her up.

She stood before him on the platform, gazing at his extraordinary face, making each well-hewn feature familiar to her once again. Free from moustache or beard, the firm, square line of his jaw suggested an invincible masculinity.

The silence between them deepened, at once comfortable and uneasy. A ripple of pleasure skimmed down her spine. Kate longed to touch her fingertip to the vague cleft in Edmund's chin.

"Someone has been here before us," he said softly, breaking the spell.

Kate looked to the spot where he pointed. Obviously, Edmund's personal attendant had come ahead to deliver a small basket and folded blanket.

Edmund had promised refreshment, and he was a man of his word. A man who made Kate feel more like a queen than a gardener's daughter. Queen of a castle perched high in a tree.

She spread the blanket, and Edmund set out the contents of the basket.

" ‘Tis a feast," she declared, eyeing the generous chunk of cheese, crusty bread, jug of ale, cold roasted duck, and ginger cakes.

"Would you expect less from a king?"

Laughing at his feigned pretentiousness, Kate settled on the rough platform next to her childhood friend. She kept a discreet distance from him, something that would never have occurred to her when she was still a child.

Kate and Edmund sat but feet apart, yet they were worlds away from each other. A fact she must never forget.

A cool breeze rustled through the leaves of the trees. Kate caught a glimpse of granite sky through the heavily laden boughs. But the weather could not dampen the sunshine within her heart. Warmed by the ale, Kate slowly sipped from a pewter goblet.

Reunited with her childhood friend, 'twas a moment beyond all praise. A moment unforeseen by her astrologer. Alas.

"Are you not pleased with being an earl, Edmund?" she asked in a cajoling tone. "Must you be king?"

"Pleased?" He gave a wry twist of his lips. "At the time I constructed my castle, I had no thought of ever becoming the Earl of Stamford. My brother, Reggie, was the heir."

"Ah, then the good virgin queen has nothing to fear from you."

"Nothing, I assure you." Edmund sounded annoyed, like a man trapped in ill-fitting garments.

"Have you a contented life?"

"Life is... as it is. I take my pleasures at court and with friends."

"Do you fill your time with only the pursuit of pleasure?"

"There is no better pursuit."

Kate laughed at his glib reply, assuming he teased her.

The boy she had known possessed a quick intelligence and a keen curiosity about the world. He would not suffer long in a tedious state of indulgence.

There was so much she wanted to know about the man Edmund had become, about his life since last they had been together; she could not dwell on one frivolous reply.

"Do you attend Parliament and make certain our poor country peasants are not forgotten?"

"I fulfill my duties, Mistress Kate."

She raised her goblet of ale. "To Lord Stamford."

Edmund touched her goblet with his. He could scarcely credit that the beautiful woman beside him was the same gawky girl he had known as a boy. A gullible girl who had unfailingly supported him in deed or idea.

Each time Edmund looked into Kate's bright, tawny-gold eyes, whenever his gaze fell to her full berry lips, he felt a wave of fresh astonishment.

He remembered when Kate's two front teeth had been missing; he recalled when she was an awkward miss who fell over her own feet. He had known her when she had no flesh on her bones. Her body had been as thin and straight as the shaft of an archer's arrow.

But even then Kate had been different from other females. She'd flaunted a bold, free spirit that some of his male friends lacked. At the time, he'd believed her brazen behavior had something to do with being the gardener's daughter. He knew little about her class, a class he was forbidden to associate with. Nevertheless, he found the girl intriguing.

Kate knew all about flowers—and pollination. On one memorable afternoon, the young Kate passed on a lesson recently learned from her papa. She prosaically instructed Edmund on the virtues of stamen and pistil.

She displayed courage for her sex, as well. Occasionally Edmund took notice of her vulnerability. At those times Kate reminded him of a fledgling newly on the wing. He could not turn away from her, even when she annoyed him with her endless questions.

"Edmund? What are you thinking?"

Was there no end to her questions, even now?

"About you, Kate," he answered truthfully.

Her tentative smile broadened to brilliance. "Aye?"

"Aye. You have a bruise beneath your left eye. ‘Tis changing color."

"Aye?"

"Black-and-blue."

"Oh, fie!"

"Eh?"

"Nothing."

Edmund smiled. She did speak her mind. Too often, before thinking.

Kate had been a foundling. She'd come to John and Nell Beadle long after they had given up on having a child of their own.

"Why are you seeking a position as a nurse, when you should be seeking a husband?" he asked, knowing it was an impertinent question.

She did not remark on the impropriety of his question. She simply answered it. "A husband does not interest me... as yet."

"Every female is interested in securing a husband."

"Ah, but 'tis written in the stars that I first must find the woman who gave birth to me."

"The stars?"

"Aye. In every way but one, Nell Beadle was my mother. She mended my bruises and kissed away my tears. She nursed me when I ran a fever and taught me to mend with a deft stitch. I called her Mama, and I could always feel her love, even when she scolded me, when I had disappointed her. But now that she is gone... resting with the angels, as Papa says, I must find my natural mother and follow my destiny."