Knight's Prize (4 page)

"You
must eat now, keep up your strength."

Miriel
pursed her lips. Why did everyone think they could issue commands to her, even
her servant? "I have no time, Sung Li."

One
of his white brows arched up in silent accusation. "Yet you have time to
take a walk in the woods."

Miriel
scowled in exasperation. "Fine." She snatched up the cheese, bit off
a hunk, then shoved a chunk of bread into her mouth, so large she could barely
talk. "Satisfied?"

Sung
Li's
eyes narrowed to slits. "You are a foolish, foolish child."

With
a growl of anger, she pushed past Sung Li and opened the door of the workroom.

"Once
and for all." she declared, her words muffled by the wad of bread, "I
am not a child!"

Then
she slammed the door behind her.

************************************

Rand
stood in the middle of
Rivenloch's enormous practice field with his arms crossed self-consciously over
his chest. He'd drawn the glances of many a wench in his two dozen years, but
none to match the scrutiny to which he was now subjected.

So
this was Helena, Muriel's sister. She was a comely lass, with her emerald eyes,
wild tresses, and generous breasts. Were it not for the armor and the menacing
sword buckled about her hips, not to mention the bridegroom she had waiting
somewhere, she might have been dangerously tempting.

At
the moment, however, all he could think about was the fact she was circling him
like a stable master shopping for a horse, narrowing her eyes at his chest,
staring at his legs, nodding in satisfaction, clucking her tongue in disfavor.
He half expected her to pry open his mouth and take a good look at his teeth.

"So
you've come to court Miriel?" she asked, stopping in front of him and
crossing her arms in challenge.

Miriel.
Not Muriel. Or Miriam. Or Mirabel. By the Saints, he
had
to
remember the lass's name. "Aye, with your leave."

Since
Lord Gellir's wits had grown feeble, Miriel's suitors were apparently required
to seek the approval of the two older sisters.

"And
do you think you can protect her?"

"Protect
her?"

"Can
you fight?"

He
stifled a smile. He'd been a mercenary for six years. Of course he could fight.
"If need be."

Then
in one fluid movement, she drew her sword and faced him. "Prove it."

His
arms fell out of their fold. Surely she wasn't serious. He furrowed his brow.
Mayhap, he thought, 'twas a trick.

"Let's
see what you've got," she urged.

He glanced
toward the spectators. Sir Rauve and his companion were there, a couple of
other knights, a wee lad sucking his thumb, and a trio of maidservants. None of
them looked surprised by
Helena
's
challenge.

"My
lady, I don't think—"

"Come
on, fight me." She poked his chest with the point of her sword.

He
retreated a step. God's blood! She
was
serious.

"With
all due respect, my lady, I cannot—"

"Cannot
what? Protect Miriel? Then you may not court her."

"Of
course I can protect her, but—"

"Then
prove it." Reaching across with her left hand, she tugged his sword from
its sheath. "Show me." She handed him the weapon, hilt first.

He
took the sword, but refused to wield it. "My lady, 'tis not a matter
of—"

Her
sword slashed toward him so swiftly that 'twas all he could do to block the
blow with his own blade. Reel
ing in
astonishment, he almost
missed deflecting her sec
ond
strike
as well. He stepped back,
but she followed, her
weapon
swinging with such
unexpected speed that he
could
scarcely keep it from biting
him.

This
couldn't be happening, he marveled. He couldn't
be
sparring
with a lady. 'Twas unseemly. And undignified.
And
unchivalrous.

Naturally
he could have beat her soundly. He was far more powerful than she and surely far
more experienced, no matter how quickly she moved. But he dared not unleash the
full measure of his strength.

"My
lady, I beg you, stop!"

She
jabbed him in the shoulder. "What? No ballocks?" she taunted.

"God's
breath! I will not fight with a woman."

"And
what if that woman means to kill you?"

Her
eyes glinted like green fire, and he wondered if she
did
mean
to kill him. Perchance that was what Rauve meant when he predicted
Rand
wouldn't last an hour.

Still,
when he'd earned his spurs, he'd sworn to do no harm to a lady. He might be a
half-Scots bastard and a lowly mercenary, but he proudly upheld the vows of
knighthood.

So,
praying he was making the right choice, he cast his sword to the ground in
surrender.

"
Helena
!" came a
scream from outside the lists.

He
glanced away from
Helena
's
eyes, which had taken on a wicked gleam, and looked toward the source of the
outburst. A lovely little lass was rushing across the sward, her unwieldy blue
skirts gathered in her fists, her unbound hair streaming out behind her like a
dark pennon. Her face was beautiful, as delicate and pale as an apple blossom,
but her pretty features were twisted with worry.

"Don't
kill him!" she cried, skidding to a stop beside the others at the wattle
fence.

Helena
called back over her shoulder.
"I wasn't going to kill him." One corner of her lip curved up.
"I was only going to maim him."

************************************

Miriel
wasn't about to let
Helena
slice one hair from
Rand
's head. "Nay!" She hoisted up her skirts
and began scrambling over the wattle fence.

"My lady."
Sir
Rauve protested, seizing her shoulder,
" 'tis best you
stay
out of it."

His
patronizing
tone tested Miriel's good nature. None
theless,
she managed to smile sweetly
at his restraining fist as she bit out, "Unhand me, you great oaf."

His
black eyes widened in surprise, and he let her go at once.

As
she rushed across the field, 'twas all Miriel could do to keep her temper in
check. Curse it all! She'd had enough of being treated like a helpless babe. It
had been
she
who'd
saved Rivenloch from the English, after all. It had been
her
secret
passageway. Her weapons. And her genius. Even if no one knew it. She was not an
infant to be coddled and swaddled in a smothering mantle. Especially not by a
sister only a few years older than she.

Helena
was going to ruin
everything.

As
Miriel drew near, her sister sighed, her gaze softening in condescension.
"Silly lass, I was only going to
teach
him a lesson."

Mayhap
'twas
the years of being silent when Miriel
wanted
to
scream. Or pretending she
was helpless when sh
e could easily
overcome
men twice her size. Or standing in the
long
shadow of her illustrious
sisters. Whatever the reason,
against
all Sung Li's training in
self-control, count
er
to
everything
she knew about the
importance of serenity,
contrary
to her usual complacent
behavior, when Miriel felt the
blood simmer in her veins,
she acted on

With a great
heave
of rage, she shoved
Helena
away.

S
u
rp
rise
made
Helena
stagger backward, but her
warrior
instincts
were strong. Out of habit,
she swept the point of
her
sword to Miriel's throat,
eliciting a huge gasp from the onlookers at the fence, who'd never seen anyone
brandish a weapon at meek Miriel.

Equally
stunning was the speed with which a second blade knocked
Helena
's aside.

'Twas
Rand's dagger that did the deed, and both Miriel and Helena swiveled their
heads toward him in awe.

The
exchange happened so fast, Miriel hardly knew what to say. And poor
Rand
, his brow creased with confusion and distaste and
amazement, stood suffering in indecision, his fingers clenching reflexively
around the dagger handle.

Helena
's wonder quickly turned to
disgust. She silently fumed, her pride doubtless stinging from the fact that
Rand
had gained the upper hand. Her humiliation was made
complete when Rauve called out from the fence, "Do you require assistance,
my lady?"

"Nay!"
she snapped. Then she muttered to Miriel, "Now see what you've done? Why
did you come between us?"

Miriel's
jaw dropped. That
Helena
would so readily lay the blame at Miriel's feet only made her more determined
to defy her sister once and for all. "Because, you overbearing, meddlesome
wench," she snarled, "this is not your affair. 'Tis mine."

The
shock on
Helena
's
face was priceless.

Before
she could lose her nerve, Miriel turned to Rand, who looked as bewildered as a
fox cornered by a pair of mad hens. Tossing her hair over her shoulder, she
reached forward, snagged him by the tabard, and hauled him toward her. Then she
planted a kiss hard on his mouth.

Chapter 3

M
iriel
intended to lay
claim to Rand before
Helena
could gainsay her.

She
didn't anticipate becoming waylaid.

But
she'd never kissed a man before. Once she pressed her lips against
Rand
's, a wave of amazing sensations that completely
distracted her from her purpose began to wash over her.

A
man's mouth was much warmer and softer than
she'd
imagined,
and he tasted faintly, pleasantly of honey. His ragged sigh of pleasure sent a
sultry shiver along her flesh.

Curiosity
compelled her to tilt her head, deepening the kiss, and as she did, a strange,
delightful warmth flooded her body.

"Here
now!" someone scolded.

But
Miriel was too engaged to pay heed. She felt as if she quenched an unknown,
eternal thirst. She drank more and more, happily drowning in the dizzying wake.

"Stop
that!" came the irksome protest again.

Rand
, unresponsive at first, now
returned the kiss, slanting his mouth over hers, and suddenly the current
swirled to sweep her away completely. The real world diminished around her as
she swam in a languorous pool of feeling.