Betrothed by Renee Rose Page A

bigger man collapsed on top of her small figure.  Closing the distance, he watched as she struggled frantically to get out from under him. 
    He'd nearly reached them by now.  “HOLD!” he called out, but the boy— girl—woman— whatever looked at him with pure terror and took off running into the woods.  He cursed and gave chase, his knights and soldiers stopping to see to the stab victim.  “Hold!” he demanded again.
    It was easy enough to head her off on mount.  He simply blocked her path, putting the chest of his huge destrier close enough that she had to back up against a tree to avoid being stepped on.  He dismounted.  She was breathing in little sobs and her eyes looked wild.  He took a good look at her.  Her cap had fallen off to reveal hair was cut short like a boy's.  She was dressed in the fine clothes of a knight's page, which were now covered in blood. 
    “Easy now,” he spoke reassuringly.  He took her shoulders gently.  “I saw what happened.”  In a lower voice, “I saw what he was trying to do to you.”
    Her eyes snapped up to his, wide with question.  Probably wondering if he knew her secret.  He was surprised to find he felt a strong urge to protect her.
    As he inspected her up close, he was almost certain that she was female.  She had fine, delicate features, small ears and slender fingers.  Her skin shone with good health and breeding— a peachy cream sprinkled with freckles.   Her hair was the most amazing color— neither brown nor blond, nor red, but something in between all three— a burnished copper that literally shone in the filtered summer light.  The eyes were a startling shade of pale green with thick, dark lashes.  If she wasn't female, then she was the unluckiest boy ever born.  It was possible.  The dead man might have assumed him to be female and been wrong.  And if that were the case, he wasn't about to unman the boy more by saying anything.  He'd wait until he was absolutely certain.   
    “He did not succeed, did he?”  he asked her gently.
    She shook her head.  She'd been hurt in the fight— one cheek was already swelling with what would be a nasty bruise and her lower lip was bleeding and swollen.
    “What's your name?”
    “Jake.  It's Jake.”  Her eyes pleaded with him not to contradict her.  Definitely a lady.
    He allowed his eyebrows to rise just a little.  Andrew and John, his two most trusted knights joined them. 
    “What happened back there, Jake ?”
    “I had stopped for supper and to make camp there and he—” the girl swallowed.  “He came out of the trees and attacked.  He robbed me—took the jewels I was carrying.”  She didn't go on and he couldn't blame her. 
    “Who are you and why are you traveling alone?” 
    “I was a page to... the Duke of Pembridge...”
    Andrew snorted.  Bronson shot him a warning look and kept his own face perfectly straight.  The Duke of Pembridge, indeed.  Clearly she had no idea she was standing before said Duke.
    “...but he wasn't happy with my services, so I'm returning home.”
    Bronson's eyebrows came together.  A strange twist to her lie, condemning herself in that way.
    “You ran away?”
    “Yes, my lord.”
    “Were the horse and jewels yours to take?”
    She hesitated and flushed a little.  “The jewels were.  The horse I will return as soon as I am able.”
    Another snort from Andrew. 
    She was looking up at him through her lashes in a way only a woman would.  She lacked talent at her charade as a boy.  Naming him as her former master was an unlucky choice, but the rest he would guess she kept as close to the truth as she could.  She had stolen a horse and run away, with her own jewels.  She had pluck, he'd give her that.  And he was determined to get the rest of the story out of her.
    “I am Bronson, Earl of Montmore.  These two men are my knights Andrew and John.”  He was the Earl of Montmore.  In addition to being the Duke of Pembridge.  It