Silverhawk by Barbara Bettis Read Free Book Online Page A

was the only place Giles needed to be. He shrugged.
    “Then rest here until I finish,” Henry said.
    Giles leaned against an adjoining rock, the unexpected contents of the king’s message replaying in his mind. Neither Richard nor Mercadier thought to mention that one salient point to him. They intended he stay in England, assist Lord Henry with the search for traitors? God’s blood, no. He couldn’t postpone his own mission any longer. And once Lord Osbert was dead, England would be no place for Giles.
    A claw of disappointment scored his chest. His fist rubbed at the sensation. The one man in the world he trusted, Mercadier, hadn’t warned him. But perhaps Richard failed to tell the mercenary captain. Or perhaps Mercadier had known Giles would refuse outright, ending his chance of being sent to England.
    Now that sounded like his mentor. Giles’ sense of betrayal eased. He’d refuse the King’s suggestion—it hadn’t been an order. He’d return to Langley with Henry and his sister. Inform Henry when they arrived that he’d not be remaining. Then he’d wait until the wedding guests departed before making a move against Lord Osbert.
    The decision made, Giles found a more comfortable position and closed his eyes only to have them fly open. Lady Emelin. He’d see her again. Unexpected energy flared through him, and he felt the side of his mouth lift. He’d witness her marriage. That image doused the flames. He swallowed a groan.
    He reminded himself once more that ladies like her were not for a bastard whose own father never claimed him.
    A pity.
    ****
    Emelin’s eyes opened, then snapped shut. For a moment, memory of her dream lingered—the silver-eyed devil who held her, warm lips pressed to hers. She sighed. Only a dream.
    She jumped at a pounding on the door. Oh, heavens, she’d meant to rest, not sleep, after the mid-day meal.
    “My lady,” came Ortha’s voice. “Lord Osbert bids you come at once. More visitors approach. He says it might be your brother.”
    Garley. Her stomach fluttered with apprehension, and despite the coolness of the tiny chamber, moisture dotted her upper lip, her forehead. Then she sat upright. She refused to allow fear to rule her any longer. In the last five years, she’d found strength of purpose. He would not destroy it.
    She put aside the sturdy bar and opened the door.
    Ortha spoke as she stepped inside. “Lord Osbert asks that you wear a more, ah, worthy gown.”
    “I fear my lord will be disappointed. I have two gowns. They are identical.”
    Without a blink of disapproval, Ortha said, “Then you might wish to consider your second. The one you are wearing is rather travel-stained, if I may say so.”
    Looking down at herself for the first time since she arrived, Emelin gasped. Bloodstains dotted the front of her skirt, and one streaked across her bodice, where she must have held the injured knight.
    The other brown gown must do. She donned it, then wrapped the cumbersome wimple around her hair. As for the bright dream? Forget it. Forget him.
    She would do her duty. Not to her brother. He didn’t deserve her duty. But she owed one to herself. No matter how much she loved the nuns, her future lay elsewhere. This marriage was her chance.
    “Thank you, Ortha. Shall we go down?” As she maneuvered the stairs, a sudden shout reached her.
    “Troops arriving.”
    Footsteps pounded. She grabbed her skirts to race down the final steps. When she reached the bottom, she froze.
    This was her brother. She just knew it. She touched the wimple, tucked up a curl that sneaked free, then pressed her hand to her midriff. Pinpricks danced across her shoulders, squiggled through her stomach. She lifted her chin and sucked in a breath.
    “Come,” she said to Ortha, “let us see who arrives.” Forcing herself to move at last, Emelin maintained a ladylike gait across the hall. If only she could prolong the journey to the door. No chance.
    It was Garley. His shoulders had gained