Kit’s first assailant had levered himself off the ground and was now charging at him like a maddened bull. He stepped aside at the last moment, caught the fellow by the coat as he sailed past and diverted him into the ditch. There was a thick splash, then a noise of much thrashing and swearing.
The “drunks” seemed to have sobered up remarkably quickly. Another of them swung a punch at Kit, but he stopped the fellow’s fist in midair and twisted sharply. This caused the man to perform an inelegant cartwheel before landing upside-down in a deep pothole. He flopped there, moaning.
Kit was more than ready for the final robber, despite him being armed with a wicked-looking knife, as well as an evil grimace. Kit threw himself at the fellow’s legs, grappled the knife from his grasp, and so unbalanced him that he stumbled straight on top of his accomplice, who was struggling to get clear of the ditch.
There was more cursing and grunting as the two floundered around in the stinking water. Kit sauntered over to the only one of his attackers who was still dry. Swaying a little, the man was just emerging from his pothole as Kit caught him by the collar and the waistband of his hose. Carrying him like an awkward sack of flour, he dumped him down upon his sodden confederates, eliciting more splashing and groaning. Then he stepped back and made a show of wiping his hands on his doublet.
When he checked to make sure Alys was all right, he spied an admiration in her look that almost undid him.
“Let’s get you home as speedily as possible.” It was as well she had no knowledge of his thoughts. Right now, he was battling with himself not to simply throw her side-saddle into the bushes and mount up behind her. Thus, the ride would be accomplished with less wear on his feet, and he could enjoy the feel of her slender young body clasped in front of him.
It was a battle not easily won. The sight of Alys clapping delightedly at the Mummers’ antics, the sound of her sweet voice singing the balladeer’s chorus, the elegant sway of her hips as she moved, her quick wit—all these things had entranced him today.
A new vitality flowed through his veins. It was as if being with her had stirred him to a higher level of life, an invigorating plane of existence. But it was too dangerous to care for her, too risky to remain at Selwood. She might change her mind about keeping his secret or give it away accidentally. It would be safer if he left tonight, or slipped away in the cold light of dawn.
Having seen her safe to the door, and given Pennyroyal over to the care of a groom, he strode back to the gardens in the encroaching twilight, eager for some task on which to vent his restless energy.
Beyond the hut where he slept, the moonlight glanced off the surface of the old fishpond. This antique structure was supposed to date from the Middle Ages. It had nothing to do with the layout of the present manor—it had just never been filled in. The land must have been leveled down when the new house replaced the old, for the fishpond was now elevated several feet above the height of the gardens. There was an outflow pipe to prevent it flooding over its crumbling brick edges.
The pallor of the moonlight on the water made it look cool and inviting. Kit realized he still felt warm from his exertions and the heat of the day. The idea of immersing himself in the soothing waters was remarkably attractive. He looked behind him. Orange lights sparkled from the direction of the house—they were probably about their evening entertainments by now. He wondered what Alys was doing. Was she singing, playing her instrument or reading?
He gazed around him. A turn of the walled garden screened part of the old fishpond from view. If he used the wall as cover, he could simply step through the gate and be into the water without being seen. Not that any of the household was likely to be about at this hour. He headed for the grassy bank that flanked the water, stripped off his clothes, and slid into the cool depths, breaking the moon’s reflection into a thousand pieces. Oh, but it was good! Once his body had adjusted to the cold, the strain began to leave him.
He could have stood upright in this weed-clogged pond, it was so shallow—but he preferred to swim, to enjoy the freedom of movement that could be gained by letting the water support his body. Smooth as a salmon, he knifed through it, then ducked his head and came up dripping and breathless.
When he opened his eyes, a light was flickering across the ripples of the pond. Turning slowly, he saw it came from a lantern held by someone just inside the garden door. It was Alys, and she was staring straight at him.
Kit crouched low in the water, concerned his nakedness would shock her.
“What are you doing there?”
“I’m taking a swim, my lady. To clean up after all the dust and heat.” Perhaps he should invite her to join him. The idea of Alys in a clinging wet shift…
“I can see what you’re doing, but what if someone saw you?”
“Had I better come out?” Her face was blurred by the gloom, but he hoped she was blushing.
“Lest anyone else see you, I think you had better.”
“Indeed, my lady.” He waited, but Alys made no move. Had she any idea how much she was provoking him? And what the consequences of that provocation might be? Despite his resolve to trifle with her no
