How to Train Your Knight: A Medieval Romance Novel by Stella Marie Alden Read Free Book Online

at attention.
    “Did you hear that noise?” Marcus pounded on the ornate door.
    “Aye. The sound was a mechanism noise.” The good lad met his stare straight on.
    “And did she leave?”
    “By God, no sir. No, sir. I’ve been guarding this door as you’ve ordered. I’ve stayed awake all night, I have. It was just now, as the sun came up, that I even sat down.”
    “I well believe you.” He sighed. “As soon as I get dressed, you can go. There’s no sense in guarding an empty room.” He raised his eyebrows and waited for the intelligent boy to catch his drift.
    “Empty?” The knight’s face lit up. “Yes, sir. No doubt it’s empty. She escaped through some kind of sprung door, didn’t she? Would you like me to round up the men and search for her?”
    “No. She’ll be easy enough to find. Hurry, come help me with my clothes.”
    What in the world was she up to now? Was there any truth to what she’d told him last night? A woman capable of sneaking out of a manor and feigning to starve to death could lie about anything. After Bart helped him don his boots, he said, “Change tunics with me.”
    “But sir, m-m-mine is quite ordinary and much smaller.”
    “Aye, that’s the point. In the meantime, here. Take mine. If you meet up with Thomas, explain to him before he tries to gut you.”
    The coarse red tunic barely fit over his head and when he buckled his sword, the side seams split. He cursed as he handed Bart a coin. “This won’t do at all. Make haste. Go out and get me a large, hooded cloak. Make sure you pay well for it, then find me in the square.”
    “Aye, sir.” The boy jumped the stairs two at a time.
    Marcus dashed down the long hall until he found a steep upward flight of steps. At the top, a solid door stood sentry with a rusted iron lock. He shoved hard, it opened, and he spilled into a mess of pigeon shit. The doves cooed, complained, and fluttered their wings about his head.
    After he finished wiping his soiled hands on his arse, he decided that this turret was going to the top of his repair list, followed by pigeon pies. While they flapped around his face, he thrust his hands and toes into the small holes hewn into the rock tower until he reached the topmost ledge. A full view of the grounds was his reward.
    Just off to the right, behind him, stood the ancient bathhouse; to the front, the great square lawn where breakfast sat ready. Beyond that, mounds of thatched roofs lined up in a tidy village order. To the right of the green, in front of the baths, lay the abbey. The road out of town lined the left edge of the square.
    A young male, in a yellow tunic with brown cap, dashed across the green and into the church. The rest of the town was already there except for a few of his most able men. Damn his father. Was it too much to ask for a moment of peace in life? And where was the raven hair of his little witch? She must be at Mass. She must have a bit of faith about her, even if she cussed worse than most his men.
    But last night, her demeanor was sweet and her voice velvety. For the first time ever, he’d been able to go back to sleep without battles raging until dawn. He’d like to know if she could cure him, forever. What would it be like to wake up with her asleep in his arms? The bell in the tower gonged twice, and his well-fed, well-dressed people poured out of the church to break their fast.
    The same young man who was late to prayers hurried behind the bathhouse and manor. What was this? A stable hand bowed to the boy and helped him mount as if—
    That’s it. As if he were really a she , of noble birth.
    Thrusting fingers and toes into the handholds, avoiding birds’ nests, he climbed down. In three leaps, he descended the staircase. Several bounds more, a vault over a table, and he was out the front door. Bart waited with a cloak which he threw over a shoulder as he ran toward the stable. On the road that led north, his lady in men’s clothing, was almost out of