Knight's Prize (10 page)

But
'twould be a mistake. 'Twas too soon for more than kisses.

"My
love," he gasped, "you sorely tax my restraint."

"Must
you restrain?" she breathed, her eyes glazed with desire.

"Aye."

"Why?"

"Oh,
lady," he said, half-groaning, half-chuckling, "if you have to ask,
then I must not be the man I think I am."

Her
gaze lowered then, taking in the blatant evidence of his need. "Oh." Her
cheeks flamed at once, and she retreated another step.

"Fear
not, my lady," he bid her. "I am not quite so wild a beast as
that." He blew out a hard breath. "Yet."

He
had made his point. The fire in her eyes cooled, and she began looking anywhere
but at him, crossing her arms defensively over her bosom.

"Mayhap
we should return to the keep," he
suggested, adjusting his
braies,
"before that vigilant maid of yours com
es to see
if
I've
ravaged you."

Miriel
nodded in agreement, looking flustered and quite eager to quit the forest. She
brushed past him, then paused, fishing in her purse for the silver coin. She
turned and pressed it into his palm.

He
favored her with a one-sided grin. "Sweetheart, my kisses are not for
purchase." He clasped her hand and turned it over, leaving the coin in her
palm.

A
troubled wrinkle creased her brow.

He
stifled a chuckle. He rather liked leaving Lady Miriel out of balance. She was
delightful, this naughty little spy who could match him in a battle of wits,
set him aflame with her kisses, and keep an entire household in order, down to
the penny.

Forsooth,
he found himself almost wishing he could extend his stay at Rivenloch, to
better acquaint himself with the intriguing lass.

Their
discourse was suddenly interrupted by the heavy footfalls of an intruder
tromping through the forest tow ard them. Miriel quickly tucked the coin back
into her purse.

""Mind?
Miriel!"
'Twas her meddlesome maid, thank
fully late to
arrive. "Miriel!"

How such a
small
woman could make so much noise,
Rand didn't know.

“I’m
here,
Sung Li!"
A
note of
slight
irritation colored
Miriel
's
voice.

When the old crone came
shuffling
angrily through the leaves, she narrowed her
already
narrow
eyes at Rand in accusation, then elbowed
her way
past him to address her charge.

"You
should not be wandering about," she said, planting her fists on her hips,
then adding pointedly, "where there are wild beasts."

"That's
what I told her," Rand chimed in, giving Miriel a sly wink.

He
could almost see the hackles rise on the old woman's back. "You come
now," she said, grabbing Miriel's forearm.

To
her credit, Miriel pulled her arm away. "Sung Li, I'll come when I'm
ready."

For
a long moment, there was a standoff between the two, Sung Li with her squinting
scowl and Miriel with her superior glower. Finally, Miriel decided, "All
right. I'm ready."

Sung
Li crossed smug arms over her flat chest. "I am glad you could tear
yourself away. Meanwhile, the keep is drowning in wine."

"What
do you mean?"

"Your
half-wit kitchen boy does not know how to count."

Miriel
frowned. "What's he done?"

"He
brought more bottles of wine."

"That's
fine. I told him to."

"Eighty
more
bottles?"

"Bloody
hell."

Miriel
rushed past Rand in a blur of blue skirts. If owing him one piece of silver troubled
her, he could only imagine her distress at having a surplus of twoscore
bottles of wine for the wedding.

He
trailed after them, done with searching the forest for the moment. Clearly no
one had camped in recent days, at least in this part of the woods, which was
where Lord
Morbroch
said they'd all been robbed. 'Twas possible the
outlaw lived
in
the outlying forest and only ventured close
for his
thieving,
which meant that Rand would have to widen his search over the next few days.

But
for now, it might serve him better to learn more about The Shadow from the folk
who knew him best, the denizens of Rivenloch.

Chapter 6

A
s she
hurried back to the keep,
Miriel's heart raced with...
was it panic or excitement? She couldn't tell. But she found herself
alternately annoyed with and grateful for Sung Li's interruption. Sweet Jesu,
she'd never felt so warm and giddy and wanton, enfolded in Rand's arms, at
least not without the benefit of a great deal of ale. But neither had she felt
so vulnerable. His embrace left her curiously powerful and weak at the same
time. Her body sang with strength, yet it seemed her knees would collapse
beneath her.

'Twas
a wonderful sensation. And yet terrifying.

In
warfare, self-control was everything. So Sung Li had taught her. Discipline of
one's emotions was essential. Mastery of one's body was key.

Miriel
had worked for years, learning to shut out pain and fatigue and doubt,
increasing her physical and mental strength, focusing her body to perfect
obedience and her mind to a point as sharp and effective as a sword.

How
could something as simple as a kiss so effortlessly destroy her concentration?
How could a single smile from a stranger, a wink, a nod, shatter her serenity?
How could the touch of his hand so radically disturb the balance of her
chi?

Aye,
she decided, 'twas good Sung Li had come when he did. Miriel needed time away
from Rand, time to meditate, to realign her senses.

She
knew what she had to do. Just as she'd done with pain and fatigue and doubt,
she needed to inure herself to Rand's influence. As Sung Li often said, One
does not conquer fear by running from it but by embracing it.

She
would embrace Rand then. Often. And thoroughly. Until she ultimately conquered
him.

By
the time they reached the keep, Miriel was already feeling more in control.
After a quick midday repast, Rand set off for the tiltyard to try his sword
against the Rivenloch knights again, and absent his unsettling presence, as
Miriel began issuing gentle orders in the great hall, her sense of calm and
quiet authority returned.

By
nightfall, Miriel had collected herself and was actually looking forward to
Rand's company at supper. Then he appeared with Sir Rauve, chuckling companion-
ably,
his
face freshly washed, his hair slightly damp and dark, his broad chest draped in
a brown surcoat that per
fectly
matched his laughing eyes,
and 'twas all she could
do to keep
her heart on a steady
course.

Twas
ridiculous
how naturally her body responded to
his presence. After
all,
she'd only just met the man. Yet it took all her strength of will not to skip
up from the bench at the high table and rush into his arms, as if to announce,
he's mine. 'Twas disgusting, really, and yet she could no more curb her
feelings than she could stop rain from falling.

When
he spotted her, his face lit up with a wide smile.
He
came
up to take her hand and pressed a kiss to the
back
of
her knuckles. "I've missed you, my sweet."

His
words affected her more than she cared to admit, more than she'd let him know,
certainly. She quickly withdrew her hand. "Pah! No doubt Pagan and Colin
kept you so busy in the tiltyard, you had no time to miss me."

He
grinned and slid in beside her. "They did keep me busy. But every time I
drew my sword, 'twas to battle in your honor, my lady."

"Indeed?"
Pagan grunted from down the table. "Then you'd better keep a close watch
on your honor, Miriel."

"Pagan!"
Deirdre scolded.

"He's
not very good," Pagan replied with a shrug.

Colin
came up in back of them and clapped Rand on the shoulder. "He'll improve.
Remember how the Rivenloch knights were when we arrived?"

Helena,
close behind her bridegroom, swatted him hard enough on the buttocks to make
him yelp. "The Rivenloch knights were quite capable when you arrived,
Norman."

"Come,
you two," Deirdre said with a chuckle. "A lover's quarrel, so soon?
You aren't even wed yet."

When
Miriel's father arrived, Pagan and Rand stood to help him to his place between
them. Miriel hoped Lord Gellir wouldn't object to Rand. Sometimes in his feeble
state of mind, he was troubled by the sight of unfamiliar faces at his table.

"Who's
to wed?" Lord Gellir asked, looking in confusion at the diners around
him.

Pagan
answered
in a loud, slow voice. "Colin and Helena are to be wed in two days, my
lord."

"And
he can't fight?"

"Colin
can fight," Pagan replied. "'Tis Miriel's new suitor who can't
fight."

Deirdre
protested again. "Pagan!"

"Well,
he can't."

Lord
Gellir turned slowly to look at Rand. "Who's this?"

Rand
smiled and offered his hand. "I'm Sir Rand of Morbroch, my lord."

"You
can't fight?"

Miriel
had heard about enough. "What does it matter?" she said impatiently,
unfolding her napkin onto her lap. "Why is everyone so interested in
whether he can or cannot fight? Fighting isn't everything. I'm sure—"

"What?"
Lord Gellir roared.

Miriel
flinched.

Deirdre
intervened, reaching past Pagan to lay a calming hand upon Lord Gellir's
forearm. "Father, 'tis Miriel," she explained. "You know Miriel
doesn't approve of fighting."

"Miriel?"
he mumbled.

"Aye,"
she
assured him. "And this is Sir Rand, Miriel's...
friend."

Miriel
didn*t realize she'd been holding her breath. But
as
Lord
Gellir
relaxed, she let out a sigh of relief. The last
thing she
wanted
to do was offend her father. Lord Gellir was of Viking stock, born and bred a
warrior, and though his days of glory were long gone, he'd never lost his warrior
spirit. To question the importance he attached to battle was to question his
very existence.

Thankfully,
in his present state of mind, Lord Gellir usually forgot within a moment or two
whatever he'd been discussing. But he could be so unpredictable at times. She
only prayed he wouldn't ask Sir Rand any embarrassing questions.

"What
business do you have with my daughter?"

Like
that.

Miriel
smiled tightly. "I met him at the tournament, Father. Remember the
tournament?"

He
grunted. "I thought you said he couldn't fight."

"He...
He..."

Rand
saved her. "I was knocked from my horse in the melee, my lord. I never got
the chance to fight in the tournament."