Under the Kissing Tree Read online

  An Englishman who would never expect Helling’s daughter to be out of the keep at night.

  She wondered if she should tell him who she was. Would he believe her? Would she then prove valuable after all? Would he take her away and force her to marry him, since the keep and lands would go to her husband?

  But if she didn’t tell him, what would he expect? He already knew she’d come to meet a man. Would he assume she was a wagtail? Hopefully, if she could keep her face hidden, it would never matter.

  She felt herself falling backward, then she was suddenly on her feet, her backside held carefully until she had her balance.

  “Unhand me!” she hissed. By the time she realized such an order might hint at who she was, it was too late.

  She took a step back from him and folded her arms.

  “I beg you, pardon me,” he said gently and gave a slight bow.

  How she’d ever mistaken his voice for Lars’s, even in a whisper, was a mystery.

  “I could not allow you to run away and believe there was some ogre living out here. And I never would have stumbled and brought you down as I did if you weren’t so fast on your feet. You run like an animal.”

  She doubted he meant to compliment.

  “I’ve hardly behaved honorably,” he continued. “But I hope you can pretend it never happened. And if you are amenable, I would very much like to begin again.”

  “Begin again? An inspired idea. You turn your back and count to a hundred.”

  He grinned, though all she could see was a bit of white teeth. “I do not mean to chase you again.”

  “And I do not mean for you to catch me again.”

  He laughed. She resented that the sound created bubbles in her toes and at the back of her head. She also resented that she wanted to hear more of it.

  “I vow,” he said, “you shall not leave until you are no longer afraid of me. As soon as I am convinced, you may go. And I will happily escort you home to be certain no real villains are lurking about.”

  “We have only one villain in Hellingsby,” she said. “Unless you brought friends.”

  Again, he laughed, and only then did she realize she’d been trying to amuse more than insult him.

  She shook her head, chiding herself. Making conversation with a man who would send her crashing to the ground was inviting more trouble. She would be wise to stop.

  A warm breeze passed around them and set the pine to swaying. It proved entrancing, and for a moment, they stood staring at each other’s shadows while the whisper of wind and leaves swirled around them in the blue cast of night.

  “There. I am no longer afraid of you. May I go?” A slight tremor in her voice betrayed her, but the tremor had little to do with fear and everything to do with the excitement of being somewhere she ought not be, with a stranger who was more unpredictable than he was dangerous. Or so she hoped.

  “Tsk. I remain unconvinced. We may as well get comfortable.” He gestured toward the opening beneath the kissing tree.

  “I shall remain uncomfortable, thank you.”

  “I can always carry you again.”

  He took a step toward her. She held up a hand to stop him.

  “If you carry me, I’ll only be more frightened.”

  “Then we would need to begin yet again.”

  She rolled her eyes and wished he could see it.

  “If I go inside, will that convince you?”

  “It will be a beginning.”

  “The final beginning?”

  He chuckled. “I shall do my best.”

  Astrid was awed at her own stupidity as she stepped into the inky blackness at the instructions of a man she could not see. But for all the world, she could not think of what to do otherwise. If she ran, he would chase her, and if it took him too long to catch her, who knew how he might think to bring her down?

  What intrigued her most was that the man sounded refined. And just why could he not have allowed her to go? What threat did she pose to a man she could not identify out of at least a dozen men in the village? What secret had she stumbled across?

  “Here,” he said, and took her arm, though gently. “Over this way there is a soft spot where we can sit.” Taking tiny steps, they shuffled to the left.

  “You come here often, then.”

  He snorted. “I looked around a bit, before you arrived.”

  “In the dark,” she said, doubtfully.

  “Touché. But now I fear you do not trust me.”

  “You never required me to trust you,” she said firmly.

  “True.” He released her. “Right at your feet. Soft pine needles. I will sit when you do.”

  She huffed and lowered herself. It was just as he’d said. The needles were soft. She realized he’d been preparing for someone else. But in all the time they’d been there, no one had come.

  “Who are we expecting? Besides Lars, of course.”

  He did not answer immediately. Perhaps it was his visitor that he preferred to keep a secret, but that was no reason not to let her go. Unless he thought she might pass some woman on the trail. Perhaps his woman was married.

  Needles crunched as he sat beside her. She sensed he was only inches away, but she dared not reach toward him to find out. Touching him might cause more bubbles, and bubbles kept her from thinking clearly.

  “I would rather not say,” he said finally.

  “I see.”

  “Do you? I am not so certain. Just why were you meeting Lars tonight? What difficult favor had you asked of him?”

  She snorted. “I would rather not say.”

  “Oh, come now. There is no one else to hear it. And I am a mere shadow.”

  A mere shadow? With the pounding her heart had taken in the past few minutes, Astrid predicted that in her future, she would never underestimate a shadow again.

  Chapter Four

  An idea presented itself, and Tam took a moment to consider whether it might not cause problems later. But since just the threat should do well enough…

  He sighed dramatically. “Perhaps I shall simply ask Lars about his appointment with you.”

  Considering the silence that followed, he thought it possible she had ceased breathing.

  “If I will not give you my name, sir—”

  “Oh, come now. How many midnight appointments do you suppose the fellow made for tonight?”

  “Since he has yet to appear, I would suppose he had at least one other.” She laughed, and he laughed with her. But instead of their laughter dying, it took on a life of its own. Her giggling amused him, and it seemed his laughter had the same effect on her.

  Their voices melded into a remarkable harmony, the like of which he’d never noted before. But then her laughter ended abruptly, and he wondered if she’d also noticed the phenomenon, or if it had been something else.

  The faint crunch of boots intruded from outside their dark haven. Tam considered putting a hand over the lass’s mouth but did not wish to frighten her more than he already had.

  Her breathing changed, now fast and shaking. Perhaps she wasn’t as afraid of him as she was of being caught in the darkness with a stranger. And a conversation with Lars would certainly reveal her name.

  “Are you there?” the visitor whispered. “I am sorry to be late …”

  Suddenly, a soft, slender hand clutched at Tam’s face, then found its way to his mouth, where it clapped securely across his lips. He grinned, knowing she could feel them, and gently kissed her palm. Still, the hand held tight.

  “Are you there?”

  “Please,” Tam’s mystery lass whispered quietly.

  He pulled her hand away and cleared his throat. Forcefully.

  “Uh, beg your pardon.” The boots ground against the path, then started away but stopped suddenly.

  The lass caught her breath and held it. With his fingers wrapped around her wrist, Tam could feel her pulse jump wildly.

  “Beg your pardon,” their visitor said again. “It seems the tree is occup
ied this eve.”

  “Oh?” came a woman’s voice. It could’ve been the barmaid’s. It had been hours since Tam had heard it. “Well, then, I don’t suppose you’d like a bit of company?”

  “To be sure. But I haven’t much time…”

  Their voices trailed away.

  Tam and the lass sat in silence. Of its own accord, his thumb began stroking her wrist, and she pulled it away. If only he’d held still …

  “Thank you,” she said, “for not giving me away.”

  “Was it Lars?”

  “Yes. And the woman you were expecting?”

  “Yes. I believe so.”

  “You believe—never mind.”

  She made no move, but he sensed she was preparing to leave.

  “They may not have gone far,” he said. “We should wait a bit.”

  A breath of laughter, but she did not argue. Eventually, she relaxed with a sigh.

  “About Lars,” he urged. “Tell me of this favor.”

  She made an impatient sound. “If I tell you, all of Hellingsby will hear it by morning.”

  He placed a hand on his heart, though she could not see it. “On my honor, I will tell not a soul.”

  “Your honor,” she said doubtfully. “Very well. If you must hear it, I asked Lars to teach me…how to kiss. I pray you, do not laugh at me, sir.”

  “I do not laugh. I only wonder if you meant something more than just kissing. For it hardly seems a sin worth the worry.”

  She had no reply.

  “I suppose you have not been kissed much, if you asked for instruction?”

  “You suppose correctly. Now that you know my secret, may I go?”

  “Now, now. Wait a moment. Perhaps we’ve stumbled upon a worthy manner in which I might make amends for my earlier behavior. Let me think on it.”

  “Certainly not. I’ll not allow a stranger to kiss me.”

  “What makes you believe we are strangers?” he asked slyly.

  “Because you are Scottish. I know no Scots.”

  “Scottish?” Except for one or two wee slips, he’d done a fine job of an English accent. If she knew no Scots, how would she know he was one? He decided to call her bluff.

  “I had a Welch grandmother. Sometimes a word or two slips through. But I am no Scot.”

  “Mmm,” she said. “Your voice is new to me. I say again, I will not kiss a stranger.”

  “Wise of you,” he conceded. “My name is Nimmo. And a stranger no more.” He hoped she would not recognize his dog’s name as being Scottish. “And you are?”

  “Hah!”

  He decided to try another tack, and he stretched out on the pine pallet, locking his fingers behind his head. “I am ready,” he said. “You may kiss me at your leisure. I promise not to kiss you back unless you ask me.”

  For all his luck, she was possibly snaggletoothed and past her prime, but he owed her something. If she were brave enough to collect a kiss, he would try very hard to envision the barmaid.

  He half expected her to flee, but she dallied. He wondered if it were so important to her, after all, to learn how to kiss. And why could she not wait until a husband could teach her, unless, of course, she’d given up hope of marriage. Then another thought struck and he fought from bolting upright.

  “You haven’t decided to take up…an old profession…Have you?”

  She gasped. At least she’d understood his meaning.

  “No! I have no plans to become a courtesan, you oaf! I am to marry…mmm…in the fall…and I would not like to seem…wanting in talent.”

  If she was betrothed, she was not the frightening creature he’d been imagining, and he was relieved for them both.

  “Come now. Practice upon me, and you’ll have no need of arranging another appointment with Lars. He is hardly dependable, after all.”

  “Practice?”

  “All talent needs practice.” Odin help him, he’d rolled his r!

  “And you’re certain you’re not Scottish?”

  “I believe my dog may be, but I vow never to introduce you.” First, it was an easy vow to make since Nimmo was much too old to leave Tam’s father’s estate. And second, since Tam was currently borrowing the dog’s name, he would prefer she never knew it—not that he’d ever see her again. And if he did, he’d never recognize her. Or she him, for that matter.

  He sighed. A lovely night, under a cool tree, with a lass who would never expect anything of him in the morning. Aye, a few kisses were all he needed to make his first day in Hellingsby a fine foot to start on.

  Her hand brushed the side of his leg, as if on accident. She was trying to determine where he lay, no doubt. He bit his lip to keep his foolish tongue inside his mouth, at least for the moment.

  There was movement. Needles crunched. The pungent smell of pine grew stronger as she reclined next to him.

  A hand pressed against his waist, then disappeared.

  Odin’s teeth! He hadn’t intended to be the one tortured this night!

  Her knuckles grazed his shoulder, then fingers brushed his ear before a hand lowered onto his face.

  She pinched his nose.

  He gave no response.

  She laughed.

  He smiled.

  Her fingers skittered nervously across his mouth as she felt that smile. He imagined her grinning in the dark.

  Any moment.

  His smile faded, and as if she were suddenly afraid again, her hand retreated. But he caught it, pulled it back, and kissed her palm. When she withdrew her hand again, she did so slowly, dragging it across his freshly shaved chin, then his collarbone, then his shoulder.

  He rolled toward her.

  “You may not touch me,” she said quickly. He guessed her lips to be less than a foot away.

  “I only make it easier for you to reach me,” he said. Then he said nothing more.

  His fingers ached to reach out and feather across her face, define her brow, trace her lips. He prayed he could control the temptation.

  Her hand found him again, slid along his skin until she found his lips. Then slowly, she closed the distance between them. Her fingers vanished just as her lips pressed against his own. Soft, insistent lips. Lips that hardly moved once they found his. He dared do little more than press back, hoping, from one heartbeat to the next, that the kiss might last a moment longer. Then longer still.

  He realized too late when his traitorous hand moved to the back of her head and cradled a thick mass of curls, but thankfully, she did not seem to notice.

  Their breathing melded as their laughter had done earlier, reinforcing his impression that they might have done well together if he were a simpler man.

  Suddenly, her lips were gone. His hand was empty. And when he listened, he heard her breathing from beyond his reach.

  “Well?” she whispered.

  “A lovely kiss, my lady. With a bit more practice—”

  “Lovely?” She still breathed heavily. He hoped it might cover the sound of him getting to his feet.

  “Yes, lovely, but—”

  “I am certain my husband will be satisfied with lovely.”

  “Aye…I would assume he would, but—”

  “Stop!”

  Her voice was to the side then, so he turned.

  “Just one more kiss, my lady, and I promise to let you go.”

  “Already I have met your conditions, sir.”

  Her shadow blocked the patch of stars in the opening. He must think fast.

  “You are correct, of course,” he blurted. “But how else will you bribe a promise from me? A promise not to come looking for you?”

  The shadow stopped.

  “Vow it,” she hissed. “Vow you will do no such thing. You have no notion of the trouble you could cause me. If you have any honor, sir—”

  He slid up to her, snaked his hands around her waist, and pulled her to him. She pressed her hands against his chest, but her protest was hardly convincing, considering the way her fingers moved against h
is tunic.

  “I vow it, but I must seal my vow with a kiss.”

  She hesitated. Then her hands came searching for his mouth again. He should have instructed her that hands would not be necessary, but truth be told, he rather enjoyed being touched so honestly.

  He lowered his head slowly so she might remove those hands in time, but she slid them into his hair instead. If she hadn’t been kissing anyone, she’d certainly been witnessing enough affection to have learned the proper way to hold a man. Either that, or it was more of the comfortable manner in which they seemed to fit together. Like a foot in a well-worn boot.

  He only hoped a different English lass, his bride-to-be, would fit half as nicely in his arms.

  The kiss began as it had ended. A gentle pressure. A small taste. He breathed deeply of her, to imbed some part of her inside him. Then he was loathe to breathe her out again. But if he did not, he’d faint at her feet like a weakhearted damsel.

  Determined to taste her thoroughly before allowing her to abandon him, he deepened the kiss, only to find her there waiting for him to do just that.

  It was a gentle devouring. A civilized conversation on the subject of passion. It was no surprise when they agreed.

  And suddenly, it was over.

  “Remember your vow,” she whispered.

  “I will,” he said, though already he regretted the promise.

  “I’ve lost my shoe,” she fretted. “Where were we sitting?”

  He moved back to the pine needles. On hands and knees, he searched, but without a bit of light, it was lost.

  “I have yet to find it,” he said, and stood.

  But no one was there to hear him.

  Chapter Five

  Two days later…

  Lady Helling did her best to rouse her daughter at an early hour, but Astrid resisted.

  “My lady mother, I could not sleep until after dawn. I beg you for a little mercy.”

  Her mother took a close look at her, then nodded. “An hour, no more. But if you are still abed when I come back, I’ll have you turned off your mattress.”

  Astrid tried to resume her unconscious state, but the memory of Nimmo set her mind to racing. Even a pillow over her head could not block out the shadowy image.

  She cursed her luck that the window of her bedchamber looked out upon the kissing tree. She’d seen it thousands upon thousands of times in her life but had never known what clandestine meetings were taking place beneath its boughs. And now that she knew, she could not keep from watching for the fleeting glimpse of some man or woman skulking about the hillside. The smallest movement of branches would set her heart to pounding, and since the morning after she’d visited the place herself, she could not seem to put the tree from her mind—or the man she’d encountered there.