The Notorious Knight

Whatever the cause of their squabbling, Gillian tried to maintain an appearance of impartial serenity as the baker declared his grievances, and the miller, smug as always, defended himself.

“Has anyone else ever complained about my weights?” Geoffrey concluded. “No! Because everyone knows I don’t cheat and never have! I’m an honest, God-fearing fellow.”

“Honest?” Felton sneered, his round belly quivering with indignation. “How honest is it to have hollowed-out weights? To put your finger on the scales? To charge more than—”

“Enough!” Gillian had to say, or they would go on forever. “Dunstan will check the measures again, Felton. If they’re found to be false, Geoffrey will be punished according to the king’s laws.”

“But, my lady,” Felton protested, “that’s what you always say!”

Behind her, she heard the soft clink of metal, as if Sir Bayard had moved. She didn’t want to acknowledge his presence, yet she couldn’t resist the urge to see what had made that sound.

Sir Bayard stood in the same place, but now his arms were crossed and it was quite obvious that beneath his helmet, he was frowning with displeasure.

Felton blanched. “I—I beg your pardon, my lady,” he stammered, backing away. “I meant no harm. I just think Geoffrey’s…I thought that maybe…never mind!” he cried before he rushed away through the crowd.

Leaving an even more smug Geoffrey. And an even more annoyed Gillian. “Geoffrey, you had best hope your measures are utterly accurate, and if I were you, I would cease behaving as if you’ve won a crown, not a wife. Otherwise, I might be tempted to rescind my permission for you to operate the mill and give it to someone more humble.”

Now it was the miller’s turn to blanch. “Yes, my lady.”

“Next, please, Dunstan,” she ordered, once again trying to ignore the presence of the knight behind her.

Which proved impossible.

As the day wore on, Sir Bayard never moved from behind her chair. She didn’t look at him, yet she was always aware of when he frowned, crossed his arms, or shifted his weight, because of the reactions of the people coming forward for judgment and permissions. In spite of the rulings she made, she felt more like a doll dressed up and put on the dais for show than the chatelaine of Averette.

The moment Dunstan declared the hall moot concluded, she rose and faced Sir Bayard. She didn’t raise her voice, but each word was an icicle, sharp and cold. “Sir Bayard, to the solar. Now!”

Chapter Six

WHEN THEY REACHED the chamber in the keep, Gillian splayed her hands on her hips and her whole body quivered with the rage she’d been fighting to suppress. “Just who the devil do you think you are?”

“I am Sir Bayard de Boisbaston,” he answered with aggravating calm as he removed his helmet. He set it on the table and untied the ventail, the flap of mail that protected his throat. He just as calmly shoved his coif back, baring his head and revealing his tousled hair.

“Are you the lord and master of Averette?”

“No,” he replied.

He actually had the gall to smile at her! “I have no wish to try to command you, my lady.”

“Then by what right did you stand on that dais and act the part?”

He slowly and deliberately took off his gauntleted gloves. “I have no wish to be the master of Averette,” he replied, regarding her steadily with those deep brown eyes of his. “I was doing what I was sent here to do. I was protecting you.”

“Iain and the men of my garrison can do that,” she retorted, barely resisting the urge to knock his helmet from the table and send it crashing to the floor. “I thought I’d made that very clear. But no! The bold, the mighty, the notorious Sir Bayard de Boisbaston must come and stand behind me like a one-man praetorian guard, to frighten and intimidate my tenants, or to grant his august approval of my judgments!”

“I did no such thing. I simply stood there, keeping watch.”

Still glaring, she crossed her arms over her heaving chest. “Oh, yes, keeping watch, as if I’m a little girl who needs a great big man to help me!”

His lips thinned and she could see anger in his eyes. Let him be enraged. He’d enraged her. He’d treated her like a weak and helpless child!

“I played no part at all in your decisions, nor did I try to,” he said.

“Oh, no,” she scornfully replied. “You didn’t terrify Felton into silence with your stares or make the alewife start to cry, or frighten the chandler’s daughter half to death.”

“I was on guard, my lady, but I’m not a statue, nor deaf nor blind. I’m sorry if my reactions offended you, but I was not attempting to influence the proceedings.”

“Nevertheless, you did—by your very presence and especially in your armor with your sword at your side!”

“Then that could not be helped.”

She went to stand nose-to-chin with him. “Never, ever, presume to do that again!”

He regarded her quizzically and, to her further aggravation, she saw amusement lurking in those brown eyes. “What, stand behind you?”

“You know full well what I mean!” she charged, more annoyed than ever because he didn’t appreciate the enormity of what he’d done, the humiliation he’d caused her, the embarrassment she felt. “Don’t ever try to act the lord here!”

“I assure you again, my lady, that is not in my plans.”

“Don’t smirk at me, you…you man!” she exclaimed, her hands balling into fists. “With your chain mail, and your sword, and your handsome face! Don’t think I’m like every other foolish woman who’s fallen under your spell. That I’ll simply bow down before you and let you do what you will. I will never let any man rule me—or Averette!”

“Including the king?”

He was purposefully goading her, the cur. “You know I don’t include the king. But I won’t let you tell me what to do, or order me or my men about, or try to take control of what is mine to rule! I’ve waited years for this chance, to stand in my own light and not in the shadow of Adelaide’s beauty or Lizette’s charm. To show everyone what I can do. To be seen at last. But no, you must come here and take that away from me, too.”

“I watched as Armand vied for recognition from our father,” he answered slowly, an inscrutable expression on his face. “Attention that should have been Armand’s, but that came to me instead. I won’t do that to you.”

“So you say, but words are cheap!” she retorted. “You’re just like all men. I hate what you did today! I hate you!”

She raised her hand, wanting to hit something…anything…perhaps him. He grabbed her wrist, his long, strong fingers wrapping around her arm and holding her still. His gaze held hers just as strongly, as if challenging her to try to look away.

She couldn’t. She wouldn’t. She would stand there forever with his hand holding her, standing so close, his broad chest rising and falling as he breathed heavily, his face close.

His lips close, too. His whole body near, closer to her than she’d been to a man in a very long time.

Touching her. His eyes looking into hers as if seeking…what?

Her breathing quickened and grew shallow. She felt the pressure of his grasp and much more now. A desire, a need, long suppressed, almost forgotten.

Almost. Until now.

And he…what was he feeling, as he looked at her that way?

His Adam’s apple bobbed with a swallow. His breathing, too, had grown shallow and fast. His grip loosened, but he didn’t let go.

He didn’t let go.

He started to draw her forward. Pulling her toward him, as if he wanted to…was going to…