Knight's Prize Read Free

Rivenloch's guards had likely spotted him as he'd approached
the castle, and now they'd, come to investigate the stranger lurking in their
woods. They'd find him in another few moments.
    He
needed to act quickly. He stepped to the side of the path and casually began to
whistle. Hefting his chain mail, he unlaced his braies. Then he swiftly yanked
them down to relieve himself upon a bush.
    A
sudden loud gasp sounded from the branches high above him, his heart bolted,
his whistle suddenly turned to air, and he almost missed the bush.
    God's
eyes! Someone was there.
Nearly on top of him.
    And,
he realized in wonder, by the sound of the gasp, that someone was distinctly
female.
    But
the shrubbery along the path was already parting to make way for the
approaching men. There was no time to confront the naughty spy hiding in the
tree.
    "Wicked
lass," he softly chided, casting an amused grin up toward the concealing
foliage.
    Then,
shaking his head, he resumed whistling and returned unabashedly to his task.
The way he looked at it, if the sight of a man pissing offended the maid, she
deserved as much for her mischief.
    ************************************
    Miriel
was appalled. Not by the man's rude display, though 'twas most audacious and
disconcerting. But by the way she'd gasped.
    For years
she'd ranged these woods, as silent as mist, as invisible
as air. Thanks to Sung Li's guidance, she knew how to
make herself imperceptible, even to the keen-eyed owls that inhabited the
trees. She could flit from branch to branch as nimbly as a squirrel and blend
seamlessly into the foliage.
    How
the stranger had startled such a loud gasp from her, she didn't know. True,
she'd never seen that part
of a man before, but 'twas not so much different than she'd imagined.
    Worse,
she'd almost caught her breath again when he'd peered up in
her direction with that smug grin. Not because he'd discovered her presence,
but because his handsome face—that strong jaw, those curving lips, the unruly
hair, the perplexed furrow between his brows, and those dark, sparkling
eyes—literally took her breath away.
    "Good
morn!" Sir Rauve's booming voice almost toppled her out of her perch. She
watched as the giant black-bearded Knight of Cameliard, dogged by young Sir
Kenneth, tromped forward, one cautious hand on the hilt of his sheathed sword.
    "Good
morn!" the stranger called back cheerfully. His voice was
rich and warm, like honey mead. "And pardon me," he apologized,
making a show of hauling up his trews. "Just taking care of a
bit of business."
    Sir Rauve nodded,
wasting no time and mincing no words. "And what type of
business do you have at Rivenloch, sir?"
    The man grinned companionably.
By the Saints, Miriel thought, his smile was absolutely stunning,
wide and bright,
complete with endearing dimples. "That depends on who is asking."
    Rauve drew himself up to his
impressive height. "Sir Rauve of Rivenloch, Knight of
Cameliard, defender of this keep."
    "Sir
Rauve." The stranger put his hand forth in greeting. "I am Sir Rand
of Morbroch."
    Morbroch.
Miriel knew that name.
    When
Sir Rauve only eyed him with suspicion, he added hopefully, "You might
remember me from the tournament last month?"
    Miriel
frowned. The Lord of Morbroch had attended the tournament at Rivenloch with a
half dozen knights. She recognized the crest on the man's tabard now, a boar's
head on a ground of sable. But she didn't recall Sir Rand. And his was a face
she wouldn't have easily forgotten.
    At
Rauve's lack of response, Sir Rand withdrew his hand and lowered his eyes with
a sigh. "Then again, perchance not. I was knocked witless in the melee.
Didn't recover for two days."
    Miriel
caught her lip beneath her teeth. That might be true. Someone was always
getting knocked witless in a melee.
    But
Rauve was not convinced. "You've not answered my question."
    "Why
am I here?" Rand 's brows wrinkled in
charming discomfiture as he scratched at his temple. " 'Tis a matter of
some... delicacy.