Angel Of The Knight. Diana Hall

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СКАЧАТЬ face turned white with rage, making the wound even more pronounced. His jaw clenched and a blue-white vein pounded in his neck.

      Titus motioned a ragged boy forward. He carried a mahogany stool with an embroidered top. The boy positioned the ottoman on the ground, then guided the grossly overweight knight’s foot to the pad.

      Curiosity drove Falke closer. His aunt and the crowd of noblemen followed him. Titus swaggered forward, a gleam of pleasure in his small, swinelike eyes. The hair on the back of Falke’s neck prickled. The old codger had nothing but ill wishes for Mistedge, and anything that brought happiness to him could not be good for the keep or Falke.

      “I can see you’re eager to meet your bride.” Titus waved his hand impatiently. “Cyrus, fetch her.”

      A gray-haired man approached. Although past his prime and dressed in cast-off clothes, he walked with dignity and strength. Behind him, a charger followed. Aged with gray, the warhorse moved with the same regal assurance as the elderly servant. A small form perched on the back of the beast. Lady Celstine gasped and covered her mouth with her hand. A fist of shock slammed into Falke’s gut.

      Titus kept his gaze on Falke and ordered, “Come, Niece. Climb down and let your betrothed get a good look.”

      The girl wrapped her arms around the horse’s throat, leaned forward and slid to the ground. She kept one hand on the horse and with the other leaned on Cyrus’s arm. It took her several minutes to balance on her own feet.

      Falke had never seen anything so pathetic. Matted with tangles and knots, her mud-brown hair bushed out wildly and covered her face. An earth-colored kirtle, patched with bits of rags, strained to cover the girl’s ample girth. A dirty toe stuck out from a hole in her leather slipper.

      Titus’s chilling cackle brought Falke back to reality. His aunt’s fingernails sank into his arm and he felt her tremble. In a hoarse whisper, Lady Celestine said, “By the saints, she wasn’t like this as a child.” Then loudly, she demanded, “What did you do to her?”

      “Me?” Titus raised his eyebrows in surprise. “I did nothing. Many a towheaded child’s hair has darkened with the years. And sadly, after her mother’s death, in the throes of bereavement the child threw herself against a stone wall. Now she’s an imbecile, an idiot. Suffers fits and such. There’s a body, but no soul.” Every word was uttered with undisguised relish and stabbed at his aunt’s strained resolve.

      “Enough, Titus.” Falke refused to allow the base knight to hurt his aunt further. He motioned an attending lady forward. “Take Lady Celestine to her chamber.”

      “Falke, believe me, she was a beautiful child.” His aunt’s voice faltered, and tears came freely. “So like Isolde.” Her attendant led her away and into the protection of the castle.

      Titus clicked his tongue as he gave his niece a fatherly gaze. “Such a dreadful accident.”

      “Like her father’s death?” Falke let the tone of his voice resound with recrimination.

      “Like your uncle’s death?” Titus threw back the innuendo. The silence the statement drew from the crowd made him crow louder. He grabbed hold of his niece’s shoulder and pulled her forward. “Come, Gwendolyn, let the crowd see your pretty face.”

      The girl dug in her heels and fought Titus’s touch. The stallion stretched his bony head forward, bared yellow-stained teeth and clamped down on Titus’s hand.

      “Damn you, demon of hell.” Titus’s roar of curses and pain caused the ladies present to blush. Cravenmoor knights and villeins clustered around in a vain attempt to free their lord. Using his other hand, Titus clobbered the animal’s head. Still the horse held on. Not until the gray-haired servant gave a brisk command did the stallion free his prisoner.

      The crowd parted suddenly with another of Titus’s curses. “Let the devil take the animal. He’ll not taste my blood again.” Cradling his injured hand, Titus whipped a long thin dagger from the folds of his mantle. “’Twill give me pleasure to slit the devil’s throat. Grab the reins so the beast can’t move.”

      Ferris jerked the leather strips from Cyrus. The deadly sharp blade was raised high in the air. Falke raced forward, ready to protect any warrior, man or animal, that drew Titus’s blood.

      “Nay!” As the blade descended, the docile girl lunged at her uncle’s arm, deflecting the blade. It swooshed harmlessly in the air.

      Titus’s ham-sized fist swung at her, but she had expected the blow and rolled away. Knights that should have served and protected her actually kicked at her as she scrambled beneath the feet of her charger. Falke noticed that none of the men dared to venture within striking distance of the stallion’s wartrained hooves.

      Titus bellowed, “You’ll not escape this beating.”

      “Aye, she will.” Falke positioned himself between the horse and the furious knight. Serving as a shield and protector, Falke ordered, “Ozbern, take our guests inside and have someone look at Lord Titus’s injury.”

      “Get out the way, Chretian. That whelp is getting a whipping, then she’ll watch me feed that horse of hers to the dogs.” Titus wrapped a dirty cloth around his mangled hand and took one step toward Falke.

      The sound of twenty blades leaving their scabbards stopped the old man’s advance. Falke’s trusted regiment of men widened their stance. A few knights and lords of Mistedge aligned themselves with Falke’s men. The majority waited with Laron, offering no aid.

      “Fine.” Titus backed off. “Have your show of chivalry.” He peered around Falke at the girl still under the stallion. “Don’t think he’ll protect you, girl, not when it counts. I’ll have my day with you yet.”

      Ozbern gave a cavalier wave of his hand toward the castle door and did a fair imitation of Falke’s sarcastic smile. Titus snorted, then marched toward the castle. His men followed, their gazes staying on the line of armed Mistedge soldiers.

      “Milord.” The elder man’s voice from behind him startled Falke, his perfect French betraying his birth and nobility. “I and my lady thank you for your intervention on her behalf.”

      “No thanks are necessary. You are a knight?”

      “Was.” The aged man nodded to the girl, and she crawled from the protection of the horse’s feet. “I served Lord William and Lady Isolde. Now I and my wife, Darianne, serve their child, Gwendolyn.”

      Falke started to address the girl but stammered to a stop midsentence. She stood staring at the back of her uncle. For the first time, Falke could see her face uncloaked by hair. And what he saw took his breath away. Her eyes, large and wide, shone with the fires of consuming hate. Titus was wrong about the girl—a soul did reside deep inside her. Only a soul could hate so completely.

      “My wife is riding in the cart and will be along soon. Pray, Lord Falke, is there a place where we and the child could chamber? Somewhere out of the way, where no one will bother us?”

      The knight’s questions tugged Falke’s attention from his bride. “She can sleep in the women’s dormitory.” His gaze flickered back toward the girl, but she had once again hidden her face behind the wild tangle of hair.

      “We do better on our own. A high tower room or a cell in the pantry.”

      “Those СКАЧАТЬ