Knight of Pentacles (Knights of the Tarot Book 3) by Nina Mason Read Free Book Online Page A

licked his lips and ran a hand through his hair. “Do you want to hear about the battle or the part where I was taken?”
    “All of it.” She gave him a dreamy smile. “I’ve always been something of a history buff, and don’t get the chance every day to hear a first-hand account of what it was like to fight alongside Robert the Bruce.”
    Her answer pleased him. No opportunity to share his tale of the battle had arisen since Sir Leith was banished from Avalon. Perhaps that was why he dreamed of it so often.
    He stroked his beard as he called the day from his memory. “I remember it all vividly. Every step along that foggy, mile-long descent. Listening with my heart in my throat for the braying of their bugles—a sound that could spell our doom. Fortunately, I heard naught apart from the muffled thumping of hooves, the squeak of saddles, the soft clinking of bridles and chainmail, and the gentle clicking together of the runes in the pouch on my belt.”
    Her puzzled expression stopped him. “Runes? What are those?”
    He cupped the pouch on his belt and gave it a shake. “Stones, bits of wood, or bones bearing the letters of the Futhark, the ancient unspoken language of the Vikings.”
    “What are they used for?”
    “Divination and spell-casting, mostly.”
    She smiled and set her hand on his chest. “As much as I would love to hear all about the runes, I’ve interrupted your story of the battle. Please, do go on.”
    The strong desire to kiss her fountained within him. Resisting the urge, he licked his lips. “You have made me forget where I was.”
    Her sweet smile warmed him to the cockles. “You were descending the hill toward the enemy camp, listening for the sound of their bugles.”
    “Oh, aye. I remember now.” He put himself back on his garron and took a moment to recall all he sensed on that long-ago morning that still felt like yesterday. “I had on a helmet, which, truth be told, was about as comfortable to wear as a bucket. The air carried the scents of trodden grass and stinking quagmire, but no fires or cooking.” Her bright gaze was glued to his face. “That was a good thing. If they stirred too early, we stood no chance, being vastly outnumbered and outmatched. They had four times our numbers, as well as long bowmen and armored destriers. We had only light horses and ponies, the pikesmen who clustered into hedgehog-like formations called schiltrons , and the shrewdness of our king to rely upon.”
    “Why was it so important that you confront them where they camped?”
    She seemed to be genuinely interested in his account, which pleased him immeasurably. Most of the women he had bedded in recent years had vexingly short attention spans. He enjoyed telling stories—his own as well as the ones he had grown up on—and needed a companion who appreciated a good yarn as much as he did.
    Taking a breath, he returned his focus to her question. “Because without the soggy ground and the element of surprise, we had little chance of winning the day. Or the freedom we had fought so hard to win for so many long and bloody years.”
    She touched his chest. “If I recall my history correctly…didn’t you booby-trap the battlefield in advance of the attack?”
    Her knowledge of their strategy impressed him further. “We did indeed. By digging pits we lined with spikes before covering them over again.”
    “Another reason you needed to engage the English in the carse?”
    “Aye,” he said, delighted once more by her cleverness.
    Her mouth quirked and she shook her head before pulling her gaze from his. “I still can’t believe the outcome of the referendum.”
    Frowning, he ran a hand through his hair. He had no idea what a referendum was or how it might be relevant to what he just said. “What are you talking about?”
    She shook her head and gave him a tight-lipped smile. “Never mind. It doesn’t matter. Just continue with your story.”
    Turning away, he rubbed his furrowed forehead as