Wicked (5 page)

“Good!” Sofia spun around. “Come along, then.” She snatched Edith’s hand and started to drag her back through the crowd.

“Wait! Your coins! And my sweets!” Edith snatched her hand from Sofia’s and scampered back to the booth. She grabbed her packages and the coins from the date seller, then rushed back to Sofia, who was determined to find the knight this time. She pulled Edith along with her. She was not going to lose sight of him. She would not.

Edith squeezed her hand to keep up and Sofia heard her making excuses and begging everyone’s pardon as Sofia half-ran, half-elbowed a path through the crowd.

“What
is
your hurry?”

Sofia looked in both directions. “The races are starting.”

“But the races are that way!” Edith tried to point toward the lists.

“Not this race,” Sofia muttered as they reached the spot where she had seen the knight. She stopped, looked this way and that.

Gone again. The man must be made of smoke.

Edith had her hand over her chest and she was trying to catch her breath. “There is nothing here. No races. See? I told you we were going the wrong way.”

“Stay here.” Sofia hopped up on a fieldstone wall as if she were a stable lad instead of a noblewoman. There she stood, wobbling at first, so she stuck out her arms from her sides to keep her balance.

“What are you about? Get down from there! ’Tis not safe.” Edith walked along with her, peering up with an expression of concern.

A few stones cracked under Sofia’s feet and she heard Edith take a sharp breath.

“I am fine.” Sofia moved along the wall with all the bravado of the rope walkers who performed at the May fairs. “Look! See?” She took a couple of quick steps just to prove to Edith that she was in complete control.

But Edith did not see because she had her hands over her eyes and she was hunched over as if Sofia had actually fallen.

No confidence there, Sofia thought, then eyed the way of the wall; it grew high, then even higher still to the north. Now if she could just move up to the highest part, where the wall met an archway that opened onto the lists, then she could see almost as well as from the castle walls.

She moved more carefully toward the highest section of the wall, taking smaller steps because the wall was steep and old, there from a century before and not puttied together as well as the newer castle walls. In fact, it was so old that it was made only of flat stones layered with a little mud and stacked atop each other.

“You have been lying to me.” Edith was looking at her with a scowl.

Sofia looked back to the wall before her and took the steady steps of a rope walker, her tongue out of the corner of her mouth, her arms out and stiff as she concentrated on her balance. “Just what is it I have been lying to you about?”

“Only a fool would believe you are not searching for someone. I should leave you. Right this moment. ’Twould serve you right.”

Sofia caught the hurt in her friend’s voice and she stopped and looked down. “Fine then. I shall tell you in a moment. I need to go a wee bit farther . . . ”

“Tell me what?”

“Not yet. I’ve no wish to break my neck.” Sofia had only two more easy steps, and if she concentrated she could reach the top, where the stones looked flat enough to hold her without crumbling. Once more she looked across the crowd; she almost lost her balance.

“Watch yourself, Sofia. Those stones are loose. Nothing could be important enough to risk falling. Please. Come down.”

“But it is important!” Sofia lowered her voice and whispered, “I am looking for a man.”

Edith’s eyes grew big as beef platters. “I knew it was something!” Edith tried to snap her fingers but they were sticky from the honeyed figs. She frowned down at them, then looked up. “Who is he?”

“I do not know him. Perhaps you will. Help me search for him.”

“How can I search for him? I do not even know what he looks like.”

“He is tall and wearing blue. Sky blue. He has black hair, the color of a raven, and a face so angular and beautiful that just looking at it, Edith, can make you forget to breathe.” She placed her hands on the higher section of wall and put her foot on a small ledge, ready to lift herself up. “If I can only stand a little higher, then surely I shall be able to see if he is nearby . . . ” Still gripping the stone, she cast a quick glance down.

Behind Edith, and looking squarely at her, stood that wonderfully handsome knight.

Chapter 3

Close up, he was even sweeter on the eyes, this man of her dreams whose intense looks made her blood boil and her head light.

He was looking at her now, even though he spoke to Edith. “Lady Edith. Your friend seems to have lost something.”

Aye, I’ve lost my heart.

“She has not lost
something
, but someone.” Edith pulled a fig from her bag and added casually, “She is looking for a man.” Edith bit into the fig. “A handsome man.”

The knight laughed, a deep rumbling sound.

If she could have stuffed the whole bag of figs, or better the whole tray of them, the whole booth of them into Edith’s big mouth, she gladly would have. Instead, she looked away for just a moment, only as long as it took to take the first of the ten steps that would get her down off the cursed wall.

That first step was fine.

The second step was not.

The rock cracked and crumbled.

She wobbled, gave a sharp squeak of surprise, then fell. It all happened too fast She closed her eyes and waited to hit the ground, her mind flashing with the wry thought that she would probably break her neck and die since she had finally found her true heart’s desire.

But it wasn’t the ground she hit.

She fell right into a pair of strong arms. His arms. She blinked, looking up into his face, knowing she had no time to hide the surprise on her own.

He had caught her so easily. ’Twas as if she weighed no more than a feather.

She took a deep breath, then another, searching for something to say. But her thoughts and words deserted her when his scent filled her nose, her mouth, her head and her heart. He smelled of clean male, rich Spanish leather, and dreams that come true.

“She is looking for a man, is she?” His voice was so very deep, as if it came from his soul or heaven, or perhaps, she thought, after catching the dark glint in his eyes, perhaps that deep voice came straight from hell.

She could think of nothing witty or snide to say. No quip flew from her mind to her lips. No wry thought. No jest to be made.

Sofia Howard was tongue-tied.

She had not thought it possible, she who prided herself on her ability to have the last word. She was not even certain she would be able to find her voice. It was as if her ability to speak flew out with her startled breath and was flying somewhere above her head and clear out of her reach.

He never took his eyes from her as he tightened his hold on her, slid one flat palm up the outside of her thigh, pulling her gown up a little in the process. Then he said softly, “I am a man.”

She could not look away. She could not think. She could do nothing but stare up at him for one of those lost moments when time seems to stand still.

Speechless, witless, defenseless, she could only look into those blue, blue eyes of his, because to look at them this close made her heart beat a little faster and her breath speed up. His eyes were the color of his tunic, the same blue as the sky on a summer morn. Then she spotted something there in those eyes, a spark of amusement, then a telling look that said the arrogant devil knew exactly who she had been looking for.

She prayed her face would not give away what she was thinking: how difficult it was for her to face this man, the first one in years whose good opinion meant something to her.

Sofia did not blush. She never had, and she was grateful for that many times over. ’Twas something that allowed her to act brave even when she didn’t feel brave inside. Or to hide from the world what she truly felt. Like now, when she had nothing but a mask of iciness to hide the truth: she had met the one man in the world she wanted and the knowledge scared her so terribly that she was shaken clear down to her bones.

“Put me down, sir.” She found her lost voice, and fortunately it sounded much cooler than she felt. She waited for him to obey her.

He did nothing.

“Now.” Her tone was sharp and she was glad.

His expression changed, as if he wanted to say something, but he did not speak. Instead, one of his arms that held her fell away, the one that was under her knees.

Her legs dropped like rocks. She inhaled sharply, but a moment later his other arm tightened about her back, held her hard against him, breast to chest, while her legs just dangled off the ground.

She looked up at him, trapped against his body. She felt like a cornered animal, penned more by what those eyes of his did to her than the arms that held her against him. He was watching her with that same intense expression, the fiery one she felt go through her earlier, when he was looking at her from all the way across the lists.

She took a breath, a small shallow one, but to her ears it sounded as loud as a scream.

His eyes narrowed slightly as his gaze shifted to her mouth, then he slowly let her slide down his body in mere inches, until her feet were barely touching the ground and her mouth was dry as sea salt.

She stepped back as if she were burned and dusted off her gown. “Sir.” She gave him a curt nod of thanks without meeting his eyes, because if he called her bluff she would just die. Right there in the center of the green. She would melt into the ground and cease to exist.

“You should thank Sir Tobin for saving your neck,” Edith told her distractedly, frowning down at her empty bag of sweets.

Sofia froze. Her words came out in nothing but a whisper. “What did you say?”

“This is Sir Tobin de Clare,” Edith said as if Sofia should have recognized him. “You have met before.”

Sofia’s head shot up and she stared at him. His look had not wavered, had not changed.

“I am off to the date seller again, Sofie. You will be fine with Sir Tobin to escort you. I shall meet you at the races, where we will look for your man.” Edith took off toward the booths, completely abandoning her with, of all people, Tobin de Clare, the Earl of Gloucester’s eldest son.

Oh, she had met him before.

But she had never seen his face.

Three years earlier, Camrose Castle

Sofia stood just outside the huge, carved oak doors of the great hall, away from the boisterous crowd of merrymakers that spilled from inside, where all were celebrating the wedding of Lady Clio of Camrose to Lord Merrick, Earl of Glamorgan, a de Beaucourt and her cousin Edward’s close friend and vassal.

Well into the wedding feast, the Glamorgan heralds had entered the hall and captured the company’s attention with a few long and triumphant notes on their horns, then Lord Merrick had presented his bride with a delicious and rare white-flour cake in the shape of Camrose Castle, complete with spun sugar towers, stone walls made of rose petals over almond cream, and with a working drawbridge over a golden honey moat that had sugar swans swimming atop it, a wedding gift from the earl to his bride, one that made Lady Clio look softly to Lord Merrick just before she began to laugh and cry at the same time.

Sofia had two pieces of that delicious cake, a trick that took some plotting on her part, since some would have accused her of Gluttony—one of the Seven Deadly Sins. But what foolery she thought that was. She was no glutton; she just happened to like cake. How could liking sweet white cake be a sin? Much less a deadly sin?

While she was deviously plotting a way to nab her third piece of cake, she had glanced up and to her surprise found that everyone her age, the youth of the group, squires and ladies, daughters and sons of the noble families, her friends and a few youths who were her cousins, had disappeared completely from the Great Hall.

So she left the hall to search them out and stood outside, looking and wondering where everyone had gone.

“Come, Sofie!”

She turned, recognizing her young cousin’s voice.

Princess Eleanor called out to her again. “Come join the game!”

Sofia had to step around a tall and robust acrobat who was shepherding a pack of dancing dogs through the crowd hovering at the doorway. She looked west, and there in the inner bailey, between the stable and the buttery, were most of her friends and all the other young people who had been arriving from every corner of the land just to attend this wedding.

“’Tis hoodman blind! Come! Quickly!” Her cousin Edward’s eldest daughter, Eleanor, was standing in a large circle with the other young people.

In the center of that circle stood a tall youth. He had a black hood covering his head and his arms were out in front of him. He turned slowly, cautiously, reaching outward. He stopped for a hair’s-breadth, ready, taut, then leapt out and snatched for Eleanor.

Her cousin laughed when the hoodman stumbled and grabbed only thin air.

Eleanor kept moving just out of his reach over and over, laughing as the others did, taunting, as was the way of this game, until finally her cousin ducked down and the hoodman’s hands hit the buttery wall.

Everyone laughed.

The hoodman turned around, then straightened and laughed, too. He made a mocking bow. “Ha! The Princess Eleanor is too swift for the plodding and lowly son of an earl!”

His jest made some of those in the circle laugh, the ones who knew who he was. Sofia looked long and hard at him, but she did not think that she had ever met him. The voice was unfamiliar. She would have remembered his height.

’Twas not surprising though, since most of the sons of the King’s vassals were fostered out when they were only seven.

While the daughters of nobility were sheltered inside a castle that made them almost prisoners, the sons were sent to serve the warriors of the land and to train as a new generation of warrior and knight, avowed to protect England’s future.

While Sofia tried to watch the hoodman, Eleanor laughed again with her distinctive giggle, then covered her mouth with her hand and shifted sideways so he would not catch her.