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Authors: Sarah McKerrigan

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BOOK: Knight's Prize
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Of
course
he
hadn't tripped over the roses. He'd tripped
over the
foot she
'd
swept behind his heel.

He blinked
and
sat up. utterly perplexed.

Before he
could
think too much on what had happened,
she reached down
to
help him
up.
"Perchance
you fainted
from
hunger.
 
Would
you like another piece of pandemain?
Sung Li left
the platter."

"I
'm
not hungry," he said as he struggled to his feet, study
ing
the
ground, trying to ascertain what had tripped him.

"You're
not?" She brushed the dirt from his shoulder, then said carefully,
"You seemed hungry in the forest."

He
looked keenly at her. "Indeed? What makes you say that?"

She
gulped. When Rand smiled, he was irresistibly handsome. His dimpled cheeks were
boyish, and his eyes twinkled like stars. But now, pinning her with a dark,
questioning stare, he seemed possibly dangerous.

She
forced a nonchalant shrug. "Isn't that what you were doing in the woods?
Hunting for something to eat?"

His
eyes narrowed slightly, and she got the feeling he was trying to read her
thoughts. Then he lightened his grip on her hand and let amusement creep into
his gaze. "You know perfectly well what I was doing in the woods,
sweetheart."

Miriel
blushed at the memory. She hadn't meant
that.

"And
anytime you'd like to take another peek at what's in my braies..."

She
nervously withdrew her hand. "Sir, we've only begun to court," she
chided. "You move too swiftly. I am a maiden, after all. Mayhap later,
when we are better acquainted—"

"Better
acquainted?" He plucked up a tendril of her hair and wound it around his
finger. "Why, my lady, I'd have thought, looking after me night and day in
Morbroch's pavilion, you'd be very well acquainted with my every aspect."

Lord,
the deceit dripped off his tongue as smoothly as honey from a comb. She'd never
looked after him. She'd invented that. And he knew it. Forsooth, she was beginning
to wonder if the scheming varlet had ever come to Rivenloch at all.

He raised the lock
of her
hair
and kissed it. "At any r
ate, forgive me,
my
lady,
if I frightened you. I'll try to temper m
y
passions
in the future." He
stroked her cheek
with
the
back of one finger. "Though 'tis devilishly
hard."
Then
he
leaned forward to whisper in her ear. "Devilishly.
 
Hard.”

There
was no mistaking his meaning. God's blood, he
was
a
knave. She should have cracked him across his handsome face for such vulgarity.
But 'twould not serve her purposes. If she meant to wheedle information from him,
she had to play his game. So she gave him a deceptively timid smile.

"Fear
not, dear heart." He gave her a benign kiss on the brow. "I'll take
my leave now before your ill-tempered maid reports that we are unaccompanied.
Your kin do not seem the understanding kind, and since I've been summoned to
the tiltyard..." He sighed. " 'Twill seem an eternity till we meet
again."

With
a sly grin and a cursory but suggestive appraisal of her from head to toe, he
saluted and strode out the garden gate. Miriel was gratified to note that the
varlet's tabard bore an incriminating stain where he'd landed bottom first in
the mud.

No
sooner had Rand gone than she started plotting. She
had t
o
find
out
what
mischief he intended. Where were his th
ings?
She'd
seen a pack
of supplies on his horse.
Something
 
in that
pack
might give her
a
clue as to his business.
What had
happened
to it?

'Twas
likely still with the horse.

Scattering
the remaining pandemain for the birds, Miriel stole from the garden and made
her way toward the stables. Peeping inconspicuously around the corner of the
kennel toward the practice field, she glimpsed Rand crossing swords with Pagan.
Deirdre and Helena leaned against the fence, looking on. Out of curiosity, she
watched him for a moment.

He
wasn't very good.

Not
that it mattered. 'Twasn't as if he was going to be her husband. But she could
see that his clumsiness aggravated Pagan, and her sisters were murmuring
together in concern.

She
supposed she shouldn't have judged them so harshly. They could sometimes be
unbearably smothering, but 'twas only because they cared for her. 'Twas her
own fault in a way for pretending to be so helpless all these years. Yet what
else could she do? 'Twas that very perceived vulnerability that enabled her
secretly to control the workings of Rivenloch, to gain access to rumors leaked
by careless servants, and to run surveillance on suspicious strangers like Sir
Rand without attracting attention.

She
was in charge of the castle accounts, but not even her sisters appreciated just
what that entailed. She managed all the goods and services, doled out and
collected payments, monitored the supplies of grain and cloth, ale and arms,
meat and firewood. And she made certain the accounts were always balanced, not
an easy feat, particularly with her father's penchant for wagering. The fact
that she made it look easy fooled everyone into believing she was essentially
powerless.

Which
was why, when she casually ambled by the stable lad and into the stables with
a timid smile, he only bobbed his head and let her pass, not even curious as to
her business.

Once
she found Rand's mare, her nonchalance vanished. 'Twas a spirited creature, and
she had to calm the beast several times with soothing murmurs and gentle pats
to the neck before she could access the rest of the stall.

His
things were in the far corner—the pack, a thick wool blanket, his saddle. She
dragged the heavy satchel through the straw into the sunlight, crouching to
take a look inside.

Most
of the pack's contents were common enough, not incriminating in the least.
There were spare clothes, an iron cooking pot, a spoon, a firestone, a wooden
cup, a few knives, rope, things any traveler would carry on the road. Farther
down were strips of linen and a bundle of herbs, probably for medicinal
purposes. Rummaging deeper, she found a small purse full of silver and a pair
of worn leather gloves. Then her fingers alit upon a heavy metal chain.

She
tugged it out of the satchel and held it up to the light. She frowned. There,
clanking before her eyes, was a rather sinister pair of iron shackles.

The
chiding cluck of a tongue behind her startled her, making her shove the
shackles quickly back into
the pack.

“Find
something
useful?" She glanced up to see Sir
Rand
looming
over her, his arms crossed
over his chest,
a
smirk
on
his
face.

God
's blood!
How had he managed to steal
up on her like that
?

“I... I
..”
she floundered. "Why aren't you sparring with Pagan?"

He
shrugged. "His patience wore thin." He arched a brow. "Why are
you rifling through my things?"

"I
wasn't rifling." She gulped. 'Twas exactly what she was doing. "I
was..." Inspiration hit. "I was just wondering," she said
softly, dipping her eyes and running an idle fingertip around the opening of
the satchel, "if you might have... brought me something."

The
doubtful squint of his eyes said he wasn't convinced by her excuse, but he
gave her the benefit of the doubt anyway. "You mean a token of my
affection? A lover's gift of some kind?"

She
sucked her lower lip beneath her teeth, a shy gesture that always brought out
the protectiveness in men.

But
he only chuckled, then hunkered down beside her, stuffing his things back into
the pack. "Greedy lass."

Miriel
pretended embarrassment, but as he closed the top of the satchel and propped it
against the stable wall, she couldn't help but feel a shiver of unease. Why
would he carry such a grim item as a pair of shackles?

He
rubbed his chin. "A while ago, I heard one of the maids say something
about a fair."

"A
fair? Oh, aye, in the town. In a fortnight." She narrowed her gaze,
trying to discern what he was plotting.

"I
promise I'll buy you something there, my sweet." He caught her chin
affectionately between his thumb and finger. "A gift fit for the loveliest
damsel in all Scotland."

Her
smile quavered uncertainly. Never mind his engaging grin. The man carried
shackles in his pack. What the bloody hell was he up to?

He
cocked his head and squinted one eye. "Unless, of course, you've stolen
the silver from my satchel."

She
gasped, pretending great offense. "What? You think I would steal another's
coin?" Yet even as she reacted in hurt, she felt a warm glow flush her
cheeks. She
had
been
rummaging through his belongings, after all. He had every right to be suspicious.

************************************

Aye,
Rand
thought, the pretty little damsel was definitely a thief. She
'd
probably
stolen dozens of hearts with
that
innocent smile and those
wide blue eyes that could summon tears at the slightest provocation.

Rand
wasn't
fooled for a moment. He knew her kind
well.
She was the kind of woman
who used her affec
tions for barter,
trading
adoring glances and kisses for
silk
ribbons
and
precious jewels, bleeding
one lover dry
of
resources,
then
moving
on to the next. She was the sort
of wench he could
love and
leave
without remorse. Which
was perfect for
his plans.

Still,
the lass was a bit too
curious
for his comfort.

"I'm
jesting,"
he
assured her
with a wink, holding out his hand for hers.

She
placed her hand tentatively in his palm, and he stood, helping her to her feet.
He dusted the straw from her skirts, taking secret pleasure in swatting her on
the backside as he did so, eliciting a gasp from her.

He
feigned innocence, unhanding her, then bent to
retrieve
his
pack. "Will you show me where I'm to put my
things?"
he asked,
then
added slyly, "Somewhere they'll
be
...safe"

BOOK: Knight's Prize
9.52Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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