Once a Knight Read Free Page B

head maid. I’d heard the serving women gossip that Lady Alisoun had brought her out of kindness, because she had a babe but no husband, but I cared nothing forthat. I only knew Philippa had been kind to me, and I liked her even more now, for her first thought was for our lady .
    â€œ Alisoun?” Reaching out, she ran her hands lightly over Lady Alisoun’s body. “Alisoun, did the arrow hit you? ”
    Sir Walter hadn’t stepped for enough away, it seemed, for she had attracted his attention, and he returned in time to hear the question. “It hit her sleeve, you stupid woman.” Sir Walter picked up the material and stuck his stubby fingers through the hole. “Can’t you see? ”
    But Philippa held Lady Alisoun’s hand up. A little puddle of shiny red had formed in her palm and trickled through her long, thin fingers. Sir Walter gave an exclamation, and Philippa pushed Lady Alisoun’s sleeve up. “Stupid woman?” she answered him smartly. “Stupid man. Let’s see the damage .”
    Then Lady Alisoun did the strangest thing. With her good arm, she grasped the neck of Philippa’s cotte and brought her face close. I didn’t grasp the meaning of their conversation then, but I heard what they said and remembered, and eventually I comprehended every word .
    Lady Alisoun said, “I’ve got to do it, Philippa .”
    And Philippa whispered, “I brought this misfortune on you .”
    â€œ Don’t you dare apologize!” Obviously, Lady Alisoun’s voice came out louder than she wanted. She glanced frantically at Sir Walter, who strained to hear, then lowered her voice. “It’s not you, it’s him. I’ve never let a man frighten me, and I’m not going to start now. I made a vow to protect you. Now I’m going to keep it. I’m going to Lancaster. I’m going to hire the legendary Sir David of Radcliffe .”

2
    â€œ Are you the legendary Sir David of Radcliffe?”
    A woman’s melodious voice broke his stupor and a toe prodded him in the middle of his back. Cautiously, David opened his eyes a slit. Tall yellow trees flooded his vision. Then he blinked, and the trees transformed themselves into straw spread on the floor around his head.
    Groaning, he remembered. Sybil’s alehouse. A morning spent deep in a foaming cup. Then blessed, drunken oblivion.
    He closed his eyes again. This was just where he wanted to be.
    â€œI repeat myself. Are you the legendary Sir David of Radcliffe?” The lady’s voice lowered in disdain. “Or are you dead?”
    This query came accompanied by a kick in the ribs, and before he could stop himself, he flipped over and grabbed the slippered foot in one smooth motion. “I’m not dead yet. But you will be if you don’t stop kicking me.”
    The slender, white form above him didn’t shriek or flail her arms or gasp in fear. She simply shifted her weight to maintain her balance and signaled to halt the rush of the two men who guarded the door. Muttering and glaring, the burly fellows retreated, and when they had returned to their posts, the woman repeated patiently, “Are you Sir David of Radcliffe?”
    He must be losing his touch. He didn’t even frighten her. His grip tightened, then he released it. Bringing his hands to his face, he rubbed them over his throbbing forehead. By the saints, even his hair hurt. “If I say aye, will you go away?”
    As relentless as the famine which had destroyed his dreams, she asked, “Are you David of Radcliffe, the king’s own champion?”
    Fury roared through him, sudden and cleansing as a storm across the Irish Sea. He found himself on his feet, shouting right in her face. “Not anymore!”
    She considered him without flinching, her cool eyes as gray as a wash of winter fog. “You’re no longer Sir David, or you’re no longer the king’s