A Knight Most Wicked

“The English king rewards knights who win battles, not knights who guard royalty. I am afraid I will receive no such reward, no matter how valuable the princess is to my sovereign.”

Something in his answer did not settle well upon her ears. She had told enough lies in her time to recognize one when she heard it. Tristan was obviously a strong warrior. Anger swelled in her belly where desire had been. With an effort, she forced a few tears from her eyes, desperate to make her ploy work.

“I am rejected again, no matter how prettily you spoke to me at dinner.” With a broken cry, she lunged for the chamber door, hoping he would stop her. She even paused on the threshold.

“Good night, my lady.” His feet remained firmly planted until Rosalyn had no choice but to leave. She would try another approach tomorrow, or perhaps she would shift her attentions to Tristan’s second in command.

Departing the chamber and closing the door softly behind her, Rosalyn heard a startled gasp in the hall. She turned around to see a wide-eyed Mary drop her eyes quickly to the floor. Of all the blessed, wonderful good fortune.

Hiding a smile, Rosalyn feigned embarrassment as she straightened her drooping gown and wiped false tears from her eyes.

“Oh please, Lady Mary,” she begged. “Do not tell anyone.”

Chapter Six

Arabella stretched contentedly in her bed beneath the sun’s warm rays. She must have slept late for the sun to be so high. She was loath to wake because her dreams were so inviting. So hopelessly inappropriate for a woman who did not wish to draw attention to herself.

Throwing off the covers, she walked to her chamber door and peered out into the corridor, just in time to see Tryant Hilda bustling toward her.

“Well, look who we have here. If it isn’t the sleeping beauty. I was beginning to think we’d have to call in a prince to wake you, Arabella.” Hilda pushed her way into Arabella’s chamber after calling for a maid to help her dress. “I hope you don’t mind I didn’t wake you for the hunt—”

“Hunt?”

“I could not imagine you wanting to shoot down a wild boar, so I let you sleep on.”

Arabella could not envision herself shooting a wild boar either, but she knew the party would be hunting on horseback, and she would very much have liked the chance to sit her own horse.

“Did Mary go?” Arabella asked, thinking her gentle friend would not want to participate in the bloody sport.

“Yes, my lady. But I think it was more for the arm of the knight who asked than for the sport itself.” Hilda winked.

“A knight?” Memories of her moonlight dance rushed over her, filling her with a warmth she knew she should not feel. Her mother had warned her all her life, yet Arabella had foolishly made herself vulnerable to Tristan’s touch.

His kiss…saints preserve her, she did not know how she would ever put those heated moments out of her mind.

“The English guard’s second in command. Sir Simon Percival, I believe.”

Arabella nodded, although she only had one knight on her mind this morning.

“Did anyone else stay behind?”

“Hmm…I think several women did not go. And the English captain stayed behind. Of course, very few of the servants were needed.”

Tristan had not gone. Arabella wondered if he would have ridden if she had.

“May I go down now, Hilda?” Arabella asked. “I am frightfully hungry now that it is so late.”

Obtaining the lady’s approval, Arabella excused herself to steal a muffin from the sideboard in the great hall, but she did not bother to sit down to break her fast. She wished to wander about the grounds, although she would stay close to the keep since Tristan had warned her away from solitary walks.

Besides, who would wish to steal her from the countess’s home? Arabella might possess a noble connection, but she did not have any great wealth. Mary might have to be more careful as the emperor’s ward, but Arabella Rowan did not fear for her own safety, especially not in the comfort of woodland terrain where she knew how to keep herself safe.

Outside the keep, she could almost forget she was halfway across Europe from her Bohemian home. The forest surrounding Countess von Richt’s home was beautiful. More lush than the woodlands Arabella had known, the forest seemed alive even in the middle of December. The sun’s warm rays felt more like those of early autumn, and the dense trees beckoned. The smell of the woods and dry leaves soothed her. Arabella realized how much she missed the quiet solitude of a forest after the endless days in a carriage full of other women.

She had wandered into the trees when she remembered her muffin. Taking a bite of the still-warm pastry, she hastened ahead, enjoying the crunching of the leaves under her feet. But as she listened, that sound mingled with another, more threatening noise.

Hoofbeats.

Someone approached at a breakneck pace. Turning to see the rider, she discovered Tristan Carlisle astride his fearsome beast of a horse. Her muffin dried in her mouth at the sight. He did not look pleased.

“What in the name of all that is holy are you doing out here?” He halted a mere foot in front of her.

“Gathering the herbs I dropped yesterday, when you scared me out of my wits.” She dusted the crumbs off her hands and peered about the clearing.

“Do you not remember my command that you leave the keep only with an escort?”

“I can see the towers from here.” She pointed to the roofline, where the countess’s men-at-arms guarded the walls and could surely see her. “I purposely remain close to the keep.”

“And you expect those men to protect you?” He slid from the back of his horse and stood a hand’s span from her. “What makes you think one of them would not spy you alone out here and decide your foolishness makes you fair game for their sport?”