The Maiden and Her Knight by Margaret Moore

mass.” He pointed at Connor’s sling. “My sister told us what happened to you. Yours is the worst injury,” he noted, as if that should be a great comfort.
    Connor bowed in acknowledgment of his superior harm.
    â€œAll the wounded must stay here until they are well again.”
    â€œUntil we are well?”
    Edmond nodded. “It’s our duty as hosts, and Allis says you must always do your duty. Without complaint,” he added as a grudging afterthought.
    Connor suppressed a sympathetic grin.
    â€œEdmond?”
    They both turned to see Lady Allis marching toward them, her plain, pale blue gown whipping about her ankles with her brisk pace. A simple leather girdle around her slender waist was her only ornament, and she wore no scarf or wimple; her bountiful hair was drawn back in a single, long braid. Despite her simple attire, she still looked astonishingly lovely and very regal, as if she were a princess masquerading as a commoner.
    His chest tightened. Had he spoken aloud his praise of her hair? Was that why she had not covered it—and if so, what did that mean? Or was this a mere coincidence?
    â€œIs it time for mass?” Edmond asked as his sister came to a halt.
    Allis kept her attention on Edmond and not on the tall, handsome man beside him. “Not yet. You should have told Merva or one of the other servants where you had gone.”
    When she had discovered that Edmond was not in his chamber, she had guessed that speaking with a man who had been on Crusade had been too tempting to resist.
    Edmond slid his toe back and forth over the dew-damp ground. “I’m sorry, Allis.”
    â€œHe wants to know about the Crusades, like a good many other people,” Sir Connor said. He turned to Edmond. “I have an apple in my tent for my horse, his usual reward after a melee whether I win or not. Would you like to feed it to him before you go?”
    Edmond nodded eagerly and went to fetch it.
    She told herself that there was no reason she should be afraid to look at Sir Connor. She had seen him half naked, after all, and she had pledged herself to another. That should strengthen her against Sir Connor’s potent fascination, which should not be so strong when he was simply standing in the ward waiting for her brother—to whom he spoke with such genial good humor, although she could tell he was still in pain. “How is your shoulder this morning?”
    â€œIt aches, but not so bad as yesterday.”
    And surely it was only right that she examine him. By touch. “May I?” Without waiting for his answer, she put her fingertips on the wrist of his left hand. His blood pulsed beneath her fingertips and his flesh was warm and strong. Like him.
    She must control these wayward thoughts and concentrate on her task.
    Despite her inward admonitions, she envisioned his naked chest. The small scars, the muscles, the dark hairs circling his taut nipples.
    She then took his right hand and pressed her fingers to that wrist. The pulse beat beneath her fingertips as vibrantly as the other. How tempted she was to let her fingers linger there, feeling the life force within his virile body.
    â€œMy lady?” he queried softly.
    So would his deep voice sound if they were alone in the same bed, whispering after a night of passionate intimacy.
    God help her restrain these wicked thoughts, these sinful longings! She belonged to Rennick DeFrouchette by her own decree, and to have such thoughts about another man was wrong.
    She let go of his hand as if it burned hot with the flames of hell itself. “They are both the same still. That is good.”
    â€œMy head aches a little, from that medicine, I think.”
    â€œYes, it can do that.”
    â€œI had some very strange dreams,” he continued, and his brown eyes, as deep and intriguing as his voice, studied her intently.
    She warmed beneath his steadfast regard, for there was more gentleness and kind concern