Joining by Johanna Lindsey

church, by their king, by their families—by their husbands. Those who did question it, like Milisant, would never be happy with their lot.

Fourteen
    They stopped in
a small clearing to release the falcons. There would not be many birds for prey at this time of the year, not that many small animals either, for that matter, but whatever there was, the falcons would spot them from their soaring height and swoop down for the kill.
    For a hunter, it was a compelling sight, to witness a regal falcon in action. Though Milisant preferred to hunt using her own skill rather than that of a bird, she could still appreciate the sight of a born predator trained to perfection.
    The Dunburh knights all had their own birds; the visiting knights did not, however. Though many people did travel with their own falcons, Wulfric and his men had not traveled with hunting in mind.
    Most of the nobility, though, men and women both, owned such creatures, and some were so prized and beloved that they were never left at home. In fact, such birds would be regularly brought to table, no matter whose table, andwere hand-fed the choicest meats. A prized falcon could usually be found on its owner’s wrist or the back of his chair.
    But like Milisant, Wulfric was there merely to watch. Ironically, she found herself watching him instead of the falcons in flight.
    She wished Jhone had not pointed out how handsome he actually was, for she found that she could not disagree with that fact. The lines of his face were clearly defined and clearly masculine, even though he adhered to the old Norman fashion of keeping his cheeks and jaw smooth of hair. King John sported a beard, and most nobles followed the fashion of their king, but not Wulfric.
    His hair was a bit longer than usual as well; actually, was as long as her own. This made her feel somewhat—strange. Though she did not begrudge him such a thick mane of lustrous, raven dark locks, she found herself wishing her own hair were a bit longer—actually a lot longer, which was absurd really.
    He looked quite regal, sitting on that fine black stallion, his voluminous gray cloak spread back over the animal, halfway down its tail. Even when he was relaxed, Wulfric’s posture was straight, emphasizing the broadness of his shoulders, the trimness of his waist.
    Jhone had spoken true; there was no excess flesh on his body. She had not mentioned the muscles, though. Verily, he had those aplenty. They rippled beneath his black tunic. They were prominent on his long legs. Even his knee-high boots seemed too tight because of them.
    There really was naught about him that wasnot pleasing to look upon. It was too bad that he was a typical brutish knight, and that she expected much better than that for a husband. She knew she was being unrealistic in wanting a man who was violent
only
on the battlefield, but there it was, that
was
what she wanted—and what she could have if she could have Roland instead of Wulfric de Thorpe.
    She had stared at Wulfric too long. He must have sensed it, for his dark blue eyes fixed on her suddenly and stayed there, as if he were now taking stock of her as she had done to him. It gave her a funny feeling to think so, and an even stranger feeling when he did not approach, just continued to gaze at her intently.
    She tried to look away but could not. His gaze was too magnetic. She barely felt the cold, felt warm actually … That very fact chilled her and had her wrapping her cloak tighter about her body, an action that caused him to smile, as if he
knew
he was responsible for her discomfort.
    And then he was riding toward her. She was only surprised that he had waited this long to approach her, after he had
ordered
her presence in the hunting party—then proceeded to ignore her as soon as they left the castle.
    It took him a few moments to reach her side, since she had kept the greatest distance between them that she could manage while still being considered present. But reaching her, he