shadow and lace by Teresa Medeiros Read Free Book Online Page A

would prefer in the future that you obey me," he said. "Unless you would prefer to fall into the hands of another Sir Blaine."
    His barb stung. Rowena hid it behind flowery words that mocked his precise French without meaning to. "Where is our fair host? Has he no words of farewell to offer at our leavetaking?"
    Something like a grin touched Gareth's lips. "I fear Sir Blaine finds himself indisposed this morn. He bids us a safe journey with special good wishes for my new squire. He has even instructed his stableman to gift you with a horse for our journey to Caerleon."
    Rowena took the hand he proffered to guide her across the hall, wondering what fits of joy and jealousy it would give Mortimer to see Sir Gareth holding hands with his squire. She had always thought her blunt fingers ungraceful, but they were dwarfed in the cup of Gareth's palm. She heard a snuffling noise at her leg and looked down to find the yellow hound. She scratched him absently on the head, considering it a fitting farewell for a faithful friend.
    Horse was a kind word for the swayback nag Sir Blaine had provided her. The inverted hump between withers and rump was deep enough to hold three Rowenas. If the early morning silence had not been broken by a halfhearted stamp of one hoof at their approach, Rowena would have thought him dead. She heard a snort behind her far more lively than any she could expect from the horse. When she turned, Gareth's face was curiously stern.
    "Blaine's judgment of women has always exceeded his judgment of horseflesh," he said.
    A more experienced woman might have read a compliment in Gareth's words, but they sailed over Rowena's head. A warm muzzle poked at her hand. The yellow hound was still following her. He had been joined by a grizzled mutt and an oversized mastiff who stood as high as her waist.
    The mastiff jammed his nose into the sleeve of her tunic. "Begone, please," she hissed.
    Gareth frowned at her. His stallion pranced nearby, unnerved by the yelps and whines of the milling dogs. Rowena swatted at the hound. The mastiff tugged at her sleeve. Three tiny dogs came yipping down the drawbridge, their jeweled collars flashing in the morning sun. They made a straight path for Rowena. She decided this might be an opportune moment to ignore Sir Blaine's diabolical sense of humor and throw herself on the nag's back. She lifted one leg only to have the mastiff catch the cuff of her braies between his powerful jaws. She gritted her teeth and pulled, caught in an all-out battle of strength with the slavering beast.
    Rowena's waist slid nicely into the groove of the nag's back, leaving the foot not encompassed in the mastiff's jaws dangling helplessly. Gareth stroked his short beard, his stance one of complete relaxation.
    "Pardon me," she grunted. "I would be ever so appreciative if you would help me mount. I seem to be having some difficulty."
    He scattered the dogs with a masterful bellow. The yellow hound crept away, shooting Rowena a reproachful look. Gareth's arms circled her waist. He paused. Then sniffed.
    The ground beneath her feet was a more welcome sensation than Gareth's hand on her elbow as he spun her around. "I am not given to rudeness, but I must insist you bathe. When the dogs start following your scent, 'tis a hearty indication…"
    He trailed off. His nose quivered. His gaze slid downward, caught by the spectacle of half a roasted hen hanging out of her torn sleeve. He gingerly plucked it from her and cast it in the midst of the widening circle of dogs gathered in the courtyard. They attacked it with snarls of satisfaction.
    Gareth glowered at her. Rowena lifted her arms in mute surrender. He delved beneath the overtunic, fishing out a handful of bread crusts, two pork loins, a wad of stewed raisins and prunes, three whole onions and the rotting apple she had stolen from the boar's mouth. When he had removed the pudginess she had acquired so abruptly, he held out his hand. Rowena slipped out of her