Vow of Seduction. Angela Johnson

      When Alex’s barge pushed away from the bank, Kat turned and flounced away from the river. She had no idea where she headed, walking willy-nilly as she replayed every word of their conversation in her head.

      Kat groaned. She had behaved like a wanton, melting in his arms with just one brush of his sensual lips. She could no longer lie to herself. A traitorous part of her still yearned for his touch. Her heart raced with fear. If she were not very careful, Alex might succeed at slowly chipping away at her resolve to resist him. She did not doubt that he would besiege her until she surrendered her heart and soul, leaving only a ruined shell behind.

      Deep in thought, her brow puckered in concentration, she did not at first hear the muffled curses and shouts. A boy’s cry pierced the air.

      Kat looked around, bewildered. She stood in the middle of Lousmede, surrounded by a sea of grass and cuckoo flowers, their pale lilac petals bobbing in the breeze. Behind her to the southeast lay Westminster Palace, up ahead was an abandoned apple orchard not far from the leper hospital of St. James.

      She cocked her head. A sharp cry pierced her heart, followed by answering shouts and laughter coming from the orchard. She reacted without thinking. Hoisting the wet hem of her tunics to her knees, she crashed into the trees towards the sound of that pitiful wail.

      The orchard was deserted, its neglect revealed by the weeds and green shoots of new growth allowed to grow wild along with the rotten apples littering the ground. It appeared forlorn as nature’s bounty fought to grab hold and reclaim this forgotten, once fruitful Eden. Dashing down several rows of trees, Kat veered to the left when she spotted a splash of color in the otherwise barren orchard.

      A small boy about seven summers old was perched in a tree, trying bravely to cling onto the limb as a rotten apple pelted him. His dark head peeped out amid the flowering branches. Four boys of varying ages, all older than the lad, stood below harassing him. They were all dressed in the king’s livery.

      The oldest boy, about twelve, blond-haired and apparently the leader, hollered, “Come on down, Matthew. If I have to come up and drag you down—” he left his sentence hanging, making his threat that much more ominous.

      The others jeered and called him a coward. But the lad ignored them and sat in stoic silence.

      Kat hated bullies, no matter their age. When a child, she had been taunted and scorned for being different one too many times. The black-haired lad in the tree, smaller and outnumbered, had no way to defend himself.

      She moved stealthily closer until she had a view of the whole scene. Upon closer inspection, she recognized the blond-haired leader, knew who his father was. In this case, it was indeed true that the proverbial apple never fell far from the tree. Lord Calvert, the boy’s father, was a minor baron from the north, a petty and cruel man.

      The older bully, his threats exhausted, began to climb up the tree. Kat reacted without forethought. She removed the dagger from inside her boot in one smooth movement—metal hissed as the blade scraped the sheath. With his arms and legs wrapped around the tree, the blond boy shimmied up and reached for the lower branch. A thud sounded in the ensuing silence, the embedded blade quivering in the branch just inches above the lad’s outstretched hand.

      Crying out, he lost his grip and plummeted to the earth. He hit the ground with a loud thump, and a wail issued from his lips. His comrades yelped startled exclamations, turning to find the source of danger. Into this chaos, Kat strode boldly to the lad lying on the ground. The other boys scattered, their fallen friend left to fend for himself.

      Kat removed the dagger from the tree. She looked up and met Matthew’s wide-eyed gaze. “’Tis safe to come down, Matthew. No one can hurt you now.”

      “You are a girl!” the boy’s voice floated down to her.

      Kat laughed and returned her trusty blade to her boot. “Aye, the good Lord saw fit to make me so.”

      He swiped an arm across his nose and swallowed. “But how did you learn to throw a blade like that?”

      “I would tell you, but it is difficult to converse with one in a tree. ’Tis hard on the neck, you see.”

      A black lock of hair fell on Matthew’s forehead as his gaze shifted to the boy moaning at her feet. Then he turned and clambered down the tree like a monkey Kat had seen in the royal menagerie at the Tower of London.

      “Who are you?” he asked when he reached the ground.

      “I am Lady Katherine de Beaumont. But you may call me Kat. All my special friends do.”

      He smudged his toe in the dirt under the tree and looked up at her shyly. “I thank you, Kat. And I am Matthew of Oxford.”

      Kat smiled at him, and then knelt beside the injured boy to check his arm for broken bones. He cringed and tried to scuttle away. “I do not intend to harm you. Now let me see your wrist so I can determine the extent of your injury.”

      Not waiting for his assent, Kat grabbed hold of his arm and gently probed the wrist in question. As she thought, there were no broken bones, only a swollenness that indicated a mild sprain.

      Looking into the boy’s sullen black eyes, Kat admonished him. “You are most fortunate. ’Tis only sprained. I would recommend you find more honorable activities to pass your time in future. A word of advice—there is always going to be someone bigger and stronger than you. Let this be a lesson to you, although I doubt you will pay me heed. Now go, you are no doubt neglecting your duties.”

      The blond boy scrambled to his feet, scowling as he backed away. “I shall tell my father of your deeds this day. He is bigger than even you. He will make you pay for daring to harm me,” he spouted boastfully, then threw a hate-filled glance at Matthew and fled.

      Matthew looked at her with a worried frown. “He is trouble. Can his father really harm you?”

      “Don’t worry, Matthew. His father is a cowardly bully, just like him. And I can take care of myself. Besides, my husband is a powerful man and Lord Calvert would not dare cross him.”

      “Would you teach me to throw a knife like you do?”

      The sudden change in topic was understandable given the circumstances. He wished to be able to protect himself, so he would feel less vulnerable. Kat sympathized with his ambition, but he was a bit young to be wielding such a dangerous object. Still, there was a way she could help him and give him a safe haven from those who would torment him.

      “You are too young yet. Knifes are very dangerous and should be used with great care. Some day, when you are older, you will be trained as a squire and will learn all there is to know about handling weapons. But there is something I would like to show you instead.”

      “What is it?” Matthew asked, his warm brown eyes intrigued.

      “I cannot say. ’Tis something you must see for yourself.”

      His eyes sparkled with excitement and he nodded his acceptance. Kat turned back towards the river with Matthew. When his small hand slipped trustingly into hers, Kat’s soft heart thumped with happiness. She longed to have children of her own someday. It was the main reason she had decided to accept Luc’s offer of marriage.

      Whether boys or girls, she would love them equally. Though her parents had loved her, their endless attempts to sire a male heir, despite numerous miscarriages, finally resulted in her mother’s