The Maiden and Her Knight by Margaret Moore Page B

she teetered on the brink of a dark and bottomless chasm.
    â€œDon’t accuse Baron DeFrouchette even if you have proof.”

Chapter 8
    C onnor drew backed abruptly, as if she had hit him. Her words had been as sharp and firm as if they had been a blow, another shock in a morning of confusion. No woman had ever raised such a tumult inside him, of joy and anguish, hope and despair. One moment, he was sure she shared his desire, the next she was calmly telling him she was betrothed to another.
    â€œHe has powerful friends and allies. He will not hesitate to destroy you if you become his enemy.”
    She spoke quietly, presumably so that her brother wouldn’t hear, but to him she sounded as she would nestled against him, sharing his bed.
    He had guessed she was unhappy, but this hinted at something far worse. “He is the sort of man who threatens people who oppose him?”
    â€œJust believe me.”
    So he would—and there was the reason she would look with loathing at the man, yet become his wife. Lady Allis was the sort of woman who would do whatever she must to protect her family. She would never ask a man like him for help or protection, and he was in no position to offer it unasked, but as she had no call to warn him about DeFrouchette, he would let her know that she had an ally, if she so desired. “You do not have to explain to me. I have met his sort before.”
    She faced him squarely, as one warrior to another, although they fought different battles, with different weapons. “Let the matter rest. You will heal and live to fight in other tournaments, against other wealthy men. As a knight, I’m sure you understand duty and know how to accept it—as do I.”
    â€œYes, I understand duty and sacrifice very well, as I know you do, my lady,” he said softly, but not with pity. Pity would be an insult to her, as it would be to him.
    Then he saw her sister standing awkwardly by the tents, a large basket in her hand. She looked very young and fresh as the dew in her pretty lavender gown, as Lady Allis must have when she was that age, before the years and responsibility had brought out her womanly beauty.
    â€œIsabelle, what are you doing here?” Allis demanded, caught off guard again.
    Since meeting Sir Connor in the garden, it seemed as if the very ground beneath her feet had become as unstable and unsteady as sand, and the most disconcerting thing of all was not the desire he aroused in her, powerful and undeniable though it was. It was his sympathetic understanding, offered not with pity, but with respect, as he might a comrade-in-arms.
    â€œI thought Sir Connor might need some refreshment,” Isabelle murmured, blushing and looking at the ground.
    Isabelle was right, and Allis wished she had thought of that.
    â€œHow kind of you to remember me, my lady,” Sir Connor said, giving Isabelle a warm smile. “However, I feel capable of walking to the hall, if I may have the pleasure of your company.”
    His good-natured, deep voice stirred the embers of desire Allis hadn’t been able to extinguish. Excitement, hot and turbulent, simmered anew.
    And she was not the only one affected, for Isabelle beamed and blushed even more. “You will join us for mass, too?”
    â€œThank you, but I prefer to sit near the door of the chapel. The scent of incense…” He paused, then began again. “The scent of incense can be a little overpowering.”
    Thank God for small mercies , Allis thought, telling herself she was glad. She didn’t need the complication of Sir Connor near them in the chapel. “Edmond, it is time to go to mass.”
    He reluctantly left the horse and came to stand beside her. “You don’t have a squire, do you?” he asked Sir Connor.
    â€œNo, I don’t.”
    â€œI could be your squire.”
    â€œEdmond!” she cried, aghast at his bold request.
    â€œFlattered as I am by your