Knights Read Free Page A

steep trail that joined the castle road below. Only one man lingered. Dane’s friend, a red-haired Welshman called Maxen, was the best swordsman in the company, but for himself, and he wisely held his tongue.
    Maxen and Mariette’s servingwoman, Fabrienne, brought up the rear of the small procession, while Dane and his future bride led the way.
    Gloriana rode astride the small, spotted horse Gareth had given her at Easter, bent low over the animal’s back, her copper-gold hair a wild, tangled banner in the gentle breeze. Her kirtle, dark blue and richly embroidered at collar and cuff, was smudged and hiked halfway up her calves, revealing her bare, dirty feet.She laughed as Edward, her young brother-in-law and closest friend, drew up beside her on his own mount, a dun-colored gelding called Odin.
    “God’s blood, Gloriana,” the boy shouted, “will you pull up?”
    There was an agitated expression in Edward’s pale blue eyes that went beyond the loss of yet another race, on yet another summer afternoon. Concerned, Gloriana drew back on the bridle and brought her lathered pony from a gallop to a trot and then to a walk.
    “What is it?”
    Edward shoved a hand through his mane of shaggy brown hair and then pointed toward the hill rising beyond Hadleigh Castle. “Look,” he said, tight-lipped.
    Gloriana did so, and saw a gaggle of men descending the trail on horseback, their gleeful shouts little more than a pulsing echo in the fragrant air, because of the distance. “Visitors,” she said, turning her curious gaze back to Edward. His eyes were slightly narrowed, and his freckles stood out on his pale skin in complicated constellations. “How grand. They’ve come to pay you honor and celebrate your splendid achievement. Perhaps they will have tales to tell.”
    Edward stood in the stirrups of his saddle, which had belonged to both his elder brothers in turn before coming down to him. Gloriana had bought him a lovely new one at the summer fair, and it was hidden away in her chamber. Two days hence, when Edward and several other young men were to be knighted, she would present it to him as her gift. Now sixteen, he had worked toward his goal from the age of eight, and Gloriana, knowing the true measure of his accomplishment, was proud of him.
    “Not visitors,” he said, when some moments hadpassed, in a quiet and somehow odd voice. “Do you not see their colors? Green and white. These are Kenbrook’s men, Glory—your husband has returned.”
    Gloriana’s heart fluttered, for she had heard stirring tales of her mate’s exploits for years; even troubadours sang of his bravery, his chivalry, his strength of heart and mien. She resisted an urge to smooth her hair and straighten her torn and rumpled garments. She had long dreamed of Kenbrook’s homecoming, of course, and in her imaginings she was always clad in an immaculate gown of malachite-green velvet, wearing a circlet of gilded oak leaves in her hair and delicately embroidered slippers upon her feet. Her present state of grooming was sadly at variance with the fantasy, and a little cry of dismay bubbled into her throat and swelled there as she shaded her eyes and peered at the oncoming party.
    Dane St. Gregory rode well behind his rowdy army, his pale hair, a legacy of some Norse ancestor, gleaming brighter than burnished gold in the sunlight. There was about him an air of dignity and power and danger that gave weight to the many legends of his prowess.
    With another exclamation, Gloriana spurred her patient mount off the road, skirting the gaping village gates for the orchard of apple tress that grew along the ancient wall. With Edward galloping behind her, shouting in annoyance, she rode hard for the postern leading into the garden behind her father’s brick house.
    It was hers now, she thought with a pang of grief as, ignoring Edward’s bellowed protests, she bent from the mare’s back to work the stubborn iron latch and push the gate open. A great many