Warrior's Deception. Diana Hall

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       Chapter Three

      “Hamlin, take your pick. They are all the same to me.” Roen turned his back on the assembly of possible brides. “Only make sure you choose one with a prosperous demesne and a proper attitude.”

      “How am I to know that? ‘Tis battle we’ve spent our time in, not tallying up what riches belong to what lord,” Hamlin replied, irritated. “I’m afraid this is going to be more difficult than I thought.” He stroked his chin while Roen gave him a cynical smile.

      The great hall of Tintagel blossomed with the beauty of English ladies. Overadorned children, displayed like trinkets by their mothers, danced by him. The sight nauseated him. Roen would rather have his fee paid in gold, but the chance to own land compelled him. A lord with no other feudal obligation except to the king was a prize few obtained. However distasteful, marriage enabled him to become landed.

      “I suppose we could ask someone,” Hamlin ventured.

      “If a decent heiress is in the room, a man with good sense would not proclaim it to us but use the information to better his own lot,” Roen said, rebuffing his friend. The two men simultaneously dropped down onto a half-log bench.

      “I’m better prepared for battle than I am to search for you a wife. I say let’s just look for a pretty one,” Hamlin suggested with a shrug.

      “Perhaps I can help you with this dilemma.” A feminine voice intruded on their conversation.

      Roen did not stand but turned his head to view the speaker. His tone sarcastic, he asked, “In what way could you be of any help to me?” He purposely conveyed his contempt and gave the wench a look meant to dissolve her audacity.

      She almost turned away, but didn’t. Her eyes changed to a shade of brown that tantalized him. They reminded him of something familiar, yet it eluded him. His inability to stamp a name on their color needled him. It did nothing to improve his impression of her.

      The woman did not lower her eyes from his scrutiny. He saw her back pull up straighter. The pointed chin tilted up like a defiant child. Her eyes blazed, her voice strained to rein in her anger. “I know most, if not all, of the women present and the worth of their landholdings. I’ll give you information on any women you choose.”

      Roen snorted with indignation. “I should trust you? How do I know you won’t lie to further your own cause?”

      “How would being untruthful aid me in acquiring your warhorse?” The woman scrunched her brows together, perplexed.

      “You want Destrier!” Roen felt an almost uncontrollable urge to shake the wench senseless. “No woman is worth that horse.”

      “Destrier? You named that magnificent animal Destrier? I suppose your dog is called Dog.” The woman’s voice held back none of her scorn.

      Roen opened his mouth to speak, but the truth of her words muted him. What did it matter what he called his hound?

      “I don’t want to keep the animal, just use him for stud service on some of my father’s mares at Woodshadow.”

      At the mention of the keep, Roen’s interest peaked. “Woodshadow, you say. Does not the king have a palfrey from your stable?”

      “Aye, that he does, a gift from my father.” Pride marked her words. “A steed from Woodshadow is much desired. Your mount, Destrier—” the woman rolled her eyes “—would be no worse from the wear.”

      “Perhaps she could help us at that,” Hamlin noted.

      Not willing to concede yet, Roen sneered. “An idiot could tell that Destrier is an unsurpassable mount. That she recognizes the fact hardly merits us trusting her judgment. How do we know she doesn’t wish to marry me herself?”

      The words were no sooner uttered than Roen knew exactly what her eyes reminded him of—molten gold. He had seen a man in the Holy Lands melt down the precious metal to form items for the church. The woman’s eyes reminded him of hot gold, rich in color, scalding in temperature. Her eyes seared his with their intensity.

      “I can think of no greater purgatory than to be your wife. For a number of reasons, most of them dealing with you.” She blasted out her words in a fiery voice. Nearby, heads turned toward them. The woman lowered her voice and gritted her teeth. She turned from him to face Hamlin, who looked both shocked and amused.

      “Pray, knight, you seem to have a sensible nature,” she began placatingly. “Kindly tell your friend that not all women seek the confinement of marriage. Some wish time to study and learn. I am one such woman. Marriage is not what I seek for myself.” She smiled, and the embers of anger in her eyes began to fade. “Besides, I’ll be honest.” Her smile twisted into a mischievous grin. “I am cursed with three faults which make marriage not an option for me.”

      Cursed! Her smile kindled a twinge of arousal but he quickly doused it. She seemed too intelligent to believe in superstition. Roen started to terminate the conversation with her but her eyes held him. They no longer burned, but had mellowed to the shade of warm cider. A half-hidden smile twitched at her full lips. She dared to tease him!

      “Only three? You do yourself service, woman.” Roen arched his brow cynically.

      The smile became more animated. “Aye, only three, but as far as men are concerned, major ones. The first is plain to see, I am no beauty.”

      His gaze raked down the length of her body. She stood almost to his shoulder, and he savored the length of time it took to explore her body. With caged patience, she waited while he noted her generous mouth and elflike chin. He let his gaze linger on the mature breasts. The unpretentious gown hugged at the gentle swell of her hips. Dark braids hung between the valley of her breasts. Wisps of curls escaped the confines of the butter-colored ribbons of her plaits.

      Roen studied the wavy mass of hair. At first it appeared dark brown, but as the sunlight filtered through the window, it highlighted the copper tresses. He smiled despite himself when, once more, the maverick lock of hair escaped from behind her ear and she replaced it yet again.

      Aye, no English beauty: she was too dark and her features too irregular. Yet, she intrigued him, especially her eyes. Never had he seen eyes the color of gold, or ones that expressed so much of the person’s inner self. Now those eyes stayed on him. Surprised, Roen realized she was evaluating him.

      Humph! Roen admitted to himself. The chit has backbone. A mere look does not send her off in tears. Finally, when he saw she would stand her ground, he answered, “I concede, and the other faults?”

      The wench relaxed: he could see the tension leave her body. A grudging look of admiration tinted her eyes. “I’m afraid you’ve already had a taste of the other two. I’m exceptionally intelligent, and not afraid to let others know it. Lastly, I have a bit of a temper.” She held her fingers apart slightly to demonstrate how small a “bit.”

      Hamlin bubbled with laughter, while Roen quirked his mouth into a reluctant СКАЧАТЬ