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

he regathered his wool. When she interrupted, he was descending the hill toward the carse, making every effort to keep his horse and weapons quiet. With some reluctance, he picked up the story from that point.
    “We made it as far as the edge of the bog before the English outposts sounded their trumpets. With a roar that eclipsed the alarm, we surged forward—if you can call an assault on a muddy bog a surge…The startled English quickly formed into platoons, but, as hoped, the mire proved too much for the armored knights, who took refuge on an isolated hogback—the only spot suitable for their archers.
    “This was a boon for us, too, as their bowmen posed a serious threat. Unfortunately, someone in the English command realized the error and started herding the knights off the rise. When the archers started marching toward the knoll, I tried to head them off. We worked our way through the puddle-pocked sludge, stumbling, splashing, and swearing all the way. Some of the archers beat us there. Arrows whizzed past my ears. Several bounced off my helmet and breastplate. One struck my horse’s withers. He whinnied and faltered, but kept going.”
    He paused, considering his words, then drew a deep breath and let it out. She seemed interested in what he had to say, which gladdened his heart. “When we reached the mound at last, we rode down the bowman who attempted to hold the rise, swinging our broadswords like sickles. Those left standing fled into the bog. As I looked out over the bedlam, an arrow from out of nowhere pierced my armor. I slipped from my horse and must have lost consciousness, because the next thing I knew, the battle was over. I was buried so deep in the mire, I could scarcely move or breathe. Then, I heard an approaching horse and ringing bells. I wiped the mud from my eyes in time to see a bonny lass with long black hair jumping down from a pure white pony.”
    His mouth had gone dry, so he swallowed and licked his lips before continuing. “She pulled the arrow from my chest and gave me mead to drink from a golden cup, which healed my wound. I thought sure she was a Valkyrie, come to take me to Valhalla. When I was revived, she remounted, pulled me up behind her, and rode off—but to Avalon. And instead of becoming an einherjar —one of Odin’s immortal warriors—I was enslaved as a breeding drone to the queen of an Amazonian colony of faeries.”
    Her perfectly arched red eyebrows drew together. “Amazonian? Are there no men in Avalon?”
    “There are men, but they serve no purpose beyond pleasure and procreation.”
    Her wonder-filled green eyes held his gaze. “That must have been awful for you.”
    “ An rud a thig gu dona falbhaidh e leis a ghaoith .” He shrugged one shoulder.
    She squinted at him. “What does that mean?”
    “What cannot be helped must be put up with.” Handing back the book, he gave her an affable smile. “Are you interested in learning magic?”
    “Are you offering to teach me?”
    “I cannot teach you witchcraft, but I might be willing to pass along the basics of the sort of magic I practice—if you are truly interested in learning.”
    “ Might be?” Her radiant emerald eyes challenged him.
    “Aye.” He cleared his throat. “Depending on how things go.”
    Swallowing hard, he looked away from her bewitching stare. He was falling under her spell. Why else would he volunteer so much about himself? Why else had he offered to instruct her in runic magic?
    There was his quest to prepare for. The last thing he needed or wanted right now was to form a romantic attachment. Were he not already enchanted, he would have ordered her away and put the notion of bedding her out of his mind completely.
    When his gaze returned to hers, she batted her fiery red lashes at him. Something in her wrapped around something in him—a lustful serpent that wanted to be inside her more than it wanted her gone.
    Oh, to Helheim with fighting her pull on him. What the gods willed would