Betrothed by Renee Rose Page B

was his second title and he'd rather not call her out on her lie yet. 
    “My lord... could you use a page?”  She shifted nervously.  “Not a permanent one, but for now, while you travel?  What I mean is, mayhap I could travel with you and be of some service?” 
    He folded his arms across his chest.  “Tell me, why was the Duke of Pembridge unhappy with your services?”  As he spoke his name he gave the slightest lift of his eyebrows, for his knights' benefit.  He saw them smirk. 
    She blinked at him.  “Well, to be honest,” she said, “The Duke is a difficult man to please.  He has a ghastly temper and he beat me indiscriminately.”  She looked at him, wide eyed and serious. 
    He nearly choked, himself, at that.  Andrew's shoulders shook with silent laughter and John rolled his eyes and shook his head.
    “Well, how do you know I wouldn't be the same sort of master?”
    Her eyes dropped to the ground and she kicked at a stone with the tip of her very feminine looking calf-skin boots.  “I can just tell.”
    “How old are you?”
    “Thirteen, my lord.”
    “How could you be of service to me?  What talents do you have, Jake?”
    “I'm a better archer than most, and I'm great with horses.”
    “Not bad with a dagger, either,” Sir John muttered. 
    At that, she looked stricken.   “Is he dead?” she asked in a very quiet voice.
    “Aye.”
    She paled and then turned a shade green.  She turned away from them and vomited.  Again that protective urge swept over him and he put a hand on her back, lending his strength through its touch.  “Your first kill?” he asked gently. 
    “Aye.” 
     
    * * *
     
    The man who had chased her down had the kindest eyes.  Once she'd looked into them, she'd felt all the terror drain out of her.  He was young and handsome in a rugged sort of way— curly brown hair, strong jaw, broad chest and shoulders.  He couldn't be more than five and twenty years old and had the dress and command of nobility. 
    He put his hand on her back while she vomited, waiting patiently for her to finish, comforting her in the way a man comforts a boy.  But he knew she wasn't a boy, didn't he?  He'd seen what that ruffian had been trying to do to her.  And although it should have upset her that he knew, for some reason she found it reassuring.  As if she wasn't in this alone, anymore.  Since she'd run away from the king's castle to avoid her marriage, she'd felt unbelievably alone and lost.
    And he hadn't revealed her secret to his men.  As soon as the words had come out of her mouth asking to be his page, she knew she wanted desperately for him to take her on.  She felt safer near him.  She wanted to stay with this man, or at least travel with him until she figured out where to go. 
    “Let me think about taking you on as a page.  In the meantime, though, I'm going to advise you not to tell that story again about you being page to the Duke of Pembridge.  It doesn't speak in your favor.” 
    She thought she heard his knights snickering at that.
    “Yes, my lord.”
    “Come,” he said, leading her back toward the dead man.  “The dead man is your burden now.  You must deal him.” 
    Though her gut clenched at that, Julia followed him as commanded.  There were twenty men or so by now— an entire troop of his, gathered around the body.  They had rolled the man onto his back and the blood had soaked through his clothes and pooled around him.  So much blood.  She threw up again to the snickering of his men.  Then she panicked. 
    “Where are my jewels?”
    “These jewels?” asked one of the men, holding up the leather pouch that held her valuables.  She felt the threads of desperation creeping back into her voice.
    “They're mine!  I swear it!  I can describe every piece to you!”
    The hand on her shoulder was the Earl's again.  “Relax, young Jake.  It is not our habit to steal.  If you can, indeed describe the jewels they will be returned to