Lady Of The Knight. Tori Phillips

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      Rosie stared at him. “My lord?” His request seemed very odd.

      To her further amazement, the three did exactly what he had commanded them.

      “Tis old Andrew’s conceit, lass,” the tallest one explained, as he dropped his boots in a heap by the entrance. “He bought those new rugs before we left London and he is determined to keep them clean.”

      Her protector nodded. “Just so. Turkish, my dear. Imported on the humped-back camels all the way from the Ottoman Empire.”

      Rosie had no idea what Ottomans or camels were, but she could tell just from looking at the rugs, that they were the finest things she had ever seen. “If ye want to keep them new, my lord, methinks ye should roll them up, for they will surely grow filthy when it rains here.”

      The tallest laughed. “She has hit the bull’s-eye, Andrew.”

      “Ah!” The nobleman nodded as if deep in thought. “A point well-taken, mistress. However, be easy in your mind. I have a layer of waxed canvas beneath them.” He smiled again at her. “But I am most grateful for your consideration, sweetheart.”

      Her pulse skittered when he murmured the endearment to her. Rosie quelled the warm feeling. This man was too smooth to be trusted. He meant none of his sweet words. Ducking under the overhang, he carried her inside his pavilion.

      Rosie drew in her breath then exhaled slowly. The interior was even more lavish than its rich ground coverings. Rose-pink silk draperies masked the plain canvas walls. The color made the pavilion glow with a soft, heavenly light. A small, but elegantly carved table stood near the center pole. Beside it was a matching armchair with a red cushion covering its seat. A thin wisp of smoke curled from a brass brazier, perfuming the air with an exotic scent.

      A second tent of equal size and lavish appointments opened into the first. Rosie could see part of a large bed draped with billowing gauze. Its covers were turned back. Fat pillows nestled against the gilded headboard. Fear swept through Rosie. That bed would be the stage upon which she must act the part of a shy virgin.

      The nobleman set her down on one of the wooden stools that dotted the rug. “Keep your feet up for one minute, my sweet,” he instructed.

      Rosie obeyed, too stunned by her sudden turn of fortune to ask why. Her master opened one of the many chests that lined the walls of the tent and took out a piece of plain muslin. He spread it on the rug in front of her. “There now. Put your feet on that, but do not move an inch off of it. There’s a good lass.” He stepped back to the center of the tent and regarded her as if she were a horse for sale.

      Just then, a boy in his early teens stuck his head through the tent opening. “Good evening, my lord. I did not expect you to return so soon.” Then he noticed Rosie. “By the book, what’s that?”

      Jack replied, “Your master’s latest bauble, Jeremy.”

      One of his companions chuckled. “Tell him the price.”

      The boy gaped at his lord. “You paid good coin for that guttersnipe?”

      Before the gentleman could reply, Jack said, “Not a coin, but an angel. In fact, thirty of them.”

      “And three of my sovereigns,” the tallest one added.

      The servant blanched. “For her? With all due respect, my lord, have you taken leave of your wits? Why?”

      The youths laughed again. Then Jack caught his breath. “Are you so green that you cannot guess why a man buys a wench? Methinks we need to teach you the ways of the world, Jeremy.”

      The boy made a rude noise.

      Rosie huddled deeper inside the cape, despite the fact that the evening was very warm. She cast a quick glance at her patron to gauge his reaction. She wished they would stop talking about her as if she were a chamber pot. She shook her hair out of her eyes and returned their stares.

      The noble lord appeared to take no note of the conversation around him. Instead, he continued to look at her, cocking his head to one side then to the other. He took one of the lanterns and held it up close to her face. Rosie shied away. He winked at her, then he turned to his companions.

      “Well, gentlemen, there she is in all her muted glory. By my troth, she is too low for high praise, too brown for a fair praise and too little for a great praise. In short, she is perfect for our devices.”

      Panic welled up in Rosie’s throat.

      The gentleman continued, “She has a good figure—once we fatten her up a bit. Hair is a rat’s nest. Can’t even tell its true color.”

      Jack made a face. “I counsel you not to touch it, Andrew. The rats may still reside therein.”

      Rosie murmured an oath under her breath. That flapeared knave might look pretty but he was a double-dyed churl. Then she realized that Sir Andrew had heard her. She bit her lip.

      “I agree with you, sweetheart. Our Jackanapes is a bit rough around the edges,” he whispered to her. He took one of her hands in his, studied her palms and fingers then he whistled through his teeth. “Zounds, mistress, what have you been doing with these?”

      Rosie curled her fingers to hide them. “Plucking geese, scrubbing floors and washing foul linen, so please ye, my lord,” she retorted.

      Sir Andrew rapped her knuckles. “And biting your nails, I see.”

      Humiliated, Rosie sat on her hands to avoid further inspection by the other three who had drawn closer to look at her.

      “Methinks she would have a pretty mouth—if she ever smiled,” remarked the middle one.

      She glared at him. What reason did she have to smile? Any minute now, they were going to ravish her. She held her tongue and prayed that the nobleman would finish his strange examination. She wanted to get the bedding over with before she lost her nerve to hoodwink him.

      The serving boy cleared his throat. “May I inquire what does my lord intend to do with this piece of baggage?”

      Everyone turned toward Sir Andrew. Rosie’s heart pounded against her rib cage.

      He unbuttoned his beautiful doublet. “Why, bathe her, of course,” he replied. “Tell the pot boys to heat up more water. Fetch the tub!”

      Jeremy groaned. “I have just now cleaned it after your own bath.”

      Sir Andrew removed his coat and hung it over the back of the arm chair. “Excellent! Then you will know exactly where to find it. Be quick, sluggard! The moon begins to wane and we have not yet supped.”

      Rosie licked her lips. Food! She would bear anything Sir Andrew did to her, if he would only feed her afterward.

      Jeremy disappeared with a good deal of grumbling. The three youths settled themselves on the various chests.

      Jack chortled. “This will be good sport, Andrew. My thanks for providing us with such unusual amusement.”

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