Knight's Prize (3 page)

The man grinned
companionably.
By the Saints, Miriel
thought, his smile was absolutely
stunning,
wide and
bright,
complete with endearing
dimples. "That depends
on who
is asking."

Rauve drew himself up to his
impressive
height. "Sir Rauve of Rivenloch, Knight of
Cameliard, defender of this keep."

"Sir
Rauve." The stranger put his hand forth in greeting. "I am Sir Rand
of Morbroch."

Morbroch.
Miriel knew that name.

When
Sir Rauve only eyed him with suspicion, he added hopefully, "You might
remember me from the tournament last month?"

Miriel
frowned. The Lord of Morbroch had attended the tournament at Rivenloch with a
half dozen knights. She recognized the crest on the man's tabard now, a boar's
head on a ground of sable. But she didn't recall Sir Rand. And his was a face
she wouldn't have easily forgotten.

At
Rauve's lack of response, Sir Rand withdrew his hand and lowered his eyes with
a sigh. "Then again, perchance not. I was knocked witless in the melee.
Didn't recover for two days."

Miriel
caught her lip beneath her teeth. That might be true. Someone was always
getting knocked witless in a melee.

But
Rauve was not convinced. "You've not answered my question."

"Why
am I here?"
Rand
's brows wrinkled in
charming discomfiture as he scratched at his temple. " 'Tis a matter of
some... delicacy. I'd rather not say."

Rauve
crossed his beefy arms over his chest. "And I'd rather not let you
pass."

"I
see."
Rand
took a deep breath and let it
out in a bracing rush.

In
that instant, Miriel saw his hand drift subtly yet purposefully toward the hilt
of his sword. By the wink of danger in his eyes, she suddenly feared he was
about to
do
something
rash, like single-handedly challenge Rauve and Kenneth to battle.

But
at the last moment, he hooked his thumb harmlessly into his leather sword belt
and flashed them a sheepish grin. "If you must know then, sir...I've
come... courting."

Miriel
raised a brow. Courting? Then why had he been foraging through the leaves as if
he were tracking prey?

"Courting?"
Young Kenneth made a moue of displeasure, as if he'd said he'd come to swallow
live eels.

Rauve
only grunted.

"Aye."
Sir Rand let out a long, lovesick sigh that would curdle honey. "You see, I
fear one of Rivenloch's bright angels has stolen my heart."

Miriel
scowled. If there was one thing she despised, 'twas sappy proclamations of
love. Especially when they were full of deceit. As this one was.
Rand
might have said the words, but she could tell by the
amused glimmer in his eyes that he meant none of them.

But,
of course, the guards didn't know the difference. Men could never smell
deception the way a woman could.

"One
of Rivenloch's angels?" Rauve growled, jutting out his bearded chin.
"Well, it had better not be Lucy."

Both
Miriel's brows shot up. Lucy? This was a surprise. Was the bearish Sir Rauve
admitting a fondness for saucy Lucy Campbell?

Kenneth
issued his own warning. "And if you've come for Lady Helena, 'tis too
late. She's to wed in two days."

"Fear
not,"
Rand
said with a lighthearted
chuckle. " 'Tis neither, good sirs."

When
the varlet pressed a hand to his chest as if to still the beating of his
beguiled heart, Miriel couldn't resist rolling her eyes. Who was this alleged
ladylove then? The widow Margaret Duncan? Joan Atwater? Young Katie Simms?

"I
fear my hapless heart has been claimed," he gushed, "by none other
than the youngest daughter of Rivenloch..."

Miriel
almost choked on her surprise. Her?

He'd
come for
her?

How
could that be? God's blood, she didn't even know the man.

Apparently,
he didn't know
her
either.
He finished on a dramatic sigh of pure adoration. "Lady Mirabel."

Chapter 2

A
s
soon as
he breathed the name
,
Rand
sensed something was wrong. The long silence was telling.

"You
mean Miriel?" the younger knight asked.

Rand
blinked, his composure
thrown. Satan's ballocks! How could he have gotten the wench's name wrong?
"Aye, Miriel." He furrowed his brows in confusion. "Is that not
what I said?" He smiled in chagrin. "I fear I'm a bit nervous."

"As
you should be," Rauve said. "You
have
heard
of the Warrior Maids of Rivenloch?"

"Warrior
Maids?" Disquiet tingled at the base of his skull. Who the hell were the
Warrior Maids? He was beginning to suspect there were details about this
mission that Morbroch had omitted, details that were going to make his generous
reward seem like a pittance by the time he was
done.
"Oh,
aye, certainly," he bluffed. "Who has not?"

The
younger knight's eyes twinkled. "I'll give him two hours," he said to
Rauve.

"With
Helena
's warm
welcome?" Rauve shook his head. "One hour."

Rand
glanced from one man to the
other. What the Devil were they talking about?

"Come
along then," Rauve said. "If you hurry, you can be on the road back
to Morbroch before noon."

"Back?
But I've only..."

The
guards exchanged knowing smirks before they turned to go, and
Rand
fought the urge to knock their insolent heads together. He supposed 'twas his
own fault. He'd chosen to play the lovesick lad. Now he'd become the butt of
their jest.

"I
hope you're good with a blade," the young knight called over his shoulder,
grinning.

Rand
smiled back grimly. Good
with a blade? He could have drawn his sword and run the lad through before that
mocking grin left his face. But experience had taught him 'twas wise to keep
one's best weapons hidden until they were necessary.

He
wondered how soon his blade
would
be needed. Already this undertaking was
proving troublesome. He'd hoped to spend a few days at Rivenloch, courting the
lady for appearance's sake, a few more hunting the thief, and have his prey
well in hand by the end of the week so he could return to collect the rest of
his pay.

What
he
didn't
want
were complications. Already, the idea of leading an innocent maid down the path
of courtship when he had no intention of wedding her left a sour taste in his
mouth. Not to mention the fact that he'd be spending a great deal of time with
a lass about whom he knew naught.

Morbroch
had assured him that the damsel was comely and sweet and, most important,
malleable, that she'd easily play into his deception. But now he wasn't sure he
entirely trusted Morbroch.

Retrieving
his mount's reins, he clucked to urge the animal forward.

As
far as he knew, Miriam might be a sharp-tongued shrew. Or a pouting child. Or
an old crone with rotting teeth and shriveled breasts. He shuddered inwardly.

He'd
gone a good five yards when he suddenly remembered the wench in the tree. He
turned back, scanning the heavy-laden cedar branches overhead, still unable to
see anyone amid the thick green. But he could sense her presence.

He
grinned. "Farewell, imp," he called softly, blowing her a kiss. Then
he turned to face whatever fate awaited him at
Rivenloch
Castle
.

************************************

The
moment he'd called her Mirabel, Miriel's eyes had flattened with displeasure.
If the knave was going to pretend infatuation, he could at least have the
decency to get her name right.

Yet
despite her irritation, another part of her was intrigued. Numerous men in the
past year had expressed an interest in Miriel, but none had dared request to
court
her
Between
Sung Li guarding her like a mother hen
and her
sisters
greeting any suitors with a
blade, men t
ended
to
keep
their
distance. Only Pagan Cameliard h
ad gone
so far
as to
offer
marriage, albeit a marriage of
political convenience,
and
even
that had been usurped
by
Detrdre,
who was now happily
wed
to him and plump
with
his babe.

Her
sisters would
doubtless
have this prospect slinking back to Morbroch with his tail betwixt his legs
quicker than she could say, pleased to meet you.

She
couldn't let that happen. Sir Rand had been up to some mischief here in the
woods, and she needed to know his true intentions.

Still,
'twas a shame, she thought as she leaned her cheek against the soft moss
covering the cedar, watching the three men below converse. He
was
rather
handsome. His shoulders were broad, his hips narrow, and he looked nearly as
tall as Rauve. Between his brilliant smile, his perplexed brows, and his
adorable dimples, he was surely the most attractive man she'd ever seen. His
eyes sparkled like dark topaz. His voice was at once soothing and arousing.
And his tousled chestnut hair seemed to beg for the untangling touch of her
fingers.

How
terrible would it be, she mused with a guilty blush, to play along with his
overtures, to overlook the likelihood that he had ulterior motives, and let
him court her anyway? Let him put his broad hands upon her waist... Let him
press gentle kisses upon her mouth and whisper endearments in her ear... Let
him unsheathe that dagger in his trews again and...

In
the next moment, she was wrenched back to her senses. The men were leaving. But
as they turned down the path, and the horse's tail flipped in farewell,
Rand
paused, angling his head to look directly up at her.
Of course, he couldn't quite see her through the thick cedar boughs. But the
impact of his gaze made a queer shiver go through her. And when he blew her a kiss,
she almost felt the warmth of his breath upon her lips.

The
instant they were out of sight, she clambered down and raced back through the
woods the way she'd come.
 
Mayhap Sir
Rand of Morbroch
was
a
knave and a varlet and a cad. Mayhap he was entirely unfit and unqualified as a
suitor. But 'twas not for her sisters to decide. Or her father. Or her
xiansheng.

Besides,
the man was definitely up to some mischief. If it meant she had to pretend to
be receptive to his advances to discover the nature of that mischief, then by
the Saints, she'd do it. For the good of Rivenloch.

When
she finally burst from the passageway into her workroom, her heart pounding
from the thrill of the chase, she was so distracted, she nearly crashed into
her servant.

"Oh!"
She started guiltily. "Sung Li."

"Breakfast."
He thrust a platter of bread and cheese at her.

"I'll
eat it later." She tried to skirt around the old man, but he subtly
blocked her way.