Tori Phillips by Silent Knight Read Free Book Online Page B

large.”
    Her gaze roved unashamedly over him, pausing at his shoulders, then moving down across his chest. Though she stood more than three feet away, he swore he could feel a searing heat wherever she looked. The lady blinked, then glanced away, instead of pursuing her assessment below his rough hemp belt. “In truth, you are quite the tallest of our company,” she concluded with a delicate shrug of her shoulders, a careless movement that Guy found too enchanting.
    “Your wretched beast has my deepest sympathies” Celeste thrust the food at him. “Eat, good Brother. Here is wine—good French wine.” She held out a small clay cup, brimming with a ruby liquid. The sweet wines of France had been one of his earliest downfalls, when he first encountered them years ago, while attending King Henry at the fabulous Field of Cloth of Gold. Guy’s taste buds quivered treacherously.
    Shaking his head, he gently pushed the cup away, pointing to the spring. Her black-winged brows rose high across her forehead. “You drink water? Fah!” She wrinkled her face in disgust as she regarded the sparkling stream gushing a fat jet from the rocks. “The water of England is not drinkable,” she pronounced in clear tones of authority. “And even if it were, this damp climate would not encourage the drinking of it. Here, Brother Hardhead.”
    She placed her food and wine on the grass beside him, then turned away with a wide sweep of her burgundy skirts. “Eat, and give thanks.” She tossed the words over her shoulder as she picked her way back through the grass. “Or starve and so go to the devil!”
    Guy struggled to repress his grin. What a little spitfire she was! Good! The lady would need every spark of spirit, if she was to survive the gloom of Snape Castle and the hands of her betrothed, Walter Ormond. The sweet taste of her apple turned sour in Guy’s mouth as he remembered the last time he had seen Walter.
    Ormond had been near twenty then, though his behavior had suggested five or six years younger. His father’s eldest son, Walter had fancied he cut a fine figure amid Great Harry’s sumptuous court, when, in truth, the nobles had laughed at him behind his back. Their humor had turned to mocking soon enough, and from there to animosity, except for Walter’s small group of preening hangers-on. In a self-indulgent court where the royal pleasure commanded dancing, cardplaying, masques and hearty good times, Walter’s gambling debts, overindulgence in expensive wines and obnoxious behavior had soon drawn disgust within the highest circles.
    As to women, the servants had gossiped that young Ormond mounted them like a shameless dog—here, there and everywhere. Such behavior had made a deep impression—and one not long tolerated. Within two short years, Walter had managed to get himself banished not only from court, but from London, as well.
    That had been four years ago, and if the rumors wafting around the gaming tables and the tiltyard were to believed, “Ormond’s Spawn” had not yet learned his lesson, but, instead, continued his wastrel ways in the north. There, far from the refinements of the courtly life, Walter had sunk into coarser pursuits.
    Guy could barely swallow the crusty bread as he considered the odious embrace into which he led the lady. How long would it take Ormond to curb her saucy humor? When would those twinkling purple eyes be filled with perpetual tears? How soon would the bloom in her cheeks turn to ashen gray and dark circles settle themselves under her eyes? And how many years would it be before the little French bird would give up her light spirit within Snape’s cold stone walls?
    Unthinking, Guy snatched the cup from the grass and downed its contents in one ferocious gulp. The Bordeaux’s unaccustomed tang smarted, making his eyes water. By Saint George, he hadn’t meant to drink her wine! Nor to eat her good cheese and sweet fruit. He had promised himself to dine only on bread and water,