Her Christmas Knight. Nicole Locke

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      ‘You cannot keep me here for ever.’

      His stance changed, became more relaxed. He had that air of boredom she had seen in the other courtiers. But Hugh didn’t fool her.

      Oh, he was dressed as ornately as any courtier. The green of his tunic, woven very fine, lay perfectly over his chest and tapered slightly at his waist. His tan leggings fitted seamlessly over his legs and his boots gleamed new. Yet none of his frippery hid what he had become. He was too unyielding, too rugged to look like anything but what he was: a warrior.

      She had never thought of him that way, although he had trained for knighthood all his life. She had watched him broaden into a man, but he had always been Hugh...a girl’s infatuation.

      Now he was something more. Something she didn’t understand.

      ‘I do not need for ever,’ he said. ‘I need enough time for you to tell me what you did with the King.’

      ‘Did?’ she repeated. ‘What I did with the King? Don’t you mean “spoke of”?’

      ‘Do I?’

      He would not let her avoid this conversation. She had wanted—no, needed to confide in someone. And here was Hugh, asking her to do so. As if she would ever confide in him again.

      ‘He congratulated me on my winning,’ she said.

      ‘Something more happened; the King doesn’t just share pleasantries in his private chamber.’

      ‘Nothing of importance.’

      ‘Your blushing gives you away. You were never good at lying.’

      She’d have to get good at it. Her sisters’ lives were at stake.

      ‘It is of little consequence for you.’

      His eyes narrowed and he abandoned his appearance of nonchalance. ‘Maybe you haven’t changed. I see you have kept your stubbornness.’

      She’d have preferred to keep her pride, but it hadn’t take long in Hugh’s presence for her to know that it was still in tatters.

      ‘I do not see how it concerns you.’

      ‘The King and his friendships always matter to me.’

      ‘I am hardly his friend.’

      He eyes hardened with a heat that slid along her face, taking in her eyes, the slant of her jaw, and resting on her lips. She felt his eyes there, felt his words as he answered.

      ‘No, I suppose friend doesn’t quite capture your role in the King’s life, does it?’ His eyes were back on hers and the heat was gone. ‘But I refuse to think you’ve changed that much. Whatever the King wants of you, you won’t be able to do it.’

      Shock caused her to ask, ‘How do you know what the King wants of me?’

      ‘It isn’t hard to guess. You were in his private chamber for over an hour.’

      He had been watching her—maybe even listening behind a door or a tapestry. The King had made her think it was a private conversation. There could only be one reason why Hugh would be privy to this secret: the King did not trust her.

      Well, she’d show them both.

      ‘What do you know what I can or cannot do? It’s been six years. Long enough for both of us to change.’

      ‘Not long enough. Not to betray your family like this.’

      ‘It’s not a betrayal. It’s an honour!’

      Colour left his face. ‘To hell with this pretence. What has he done to you?’

      He moved to grab her.

      She jerked her arm away. ‘Do not delude yourself into thinking I would welcome your touch again.’

      Anger blazed in his eyes before he could hide the emotion from her. She fought the instinct to step back. Hugh wasn’t pretending he was angry; he was acting as if he hated her.

      ‘No?’ He dropped his arm. ‘Or maybe it is the King’s touch you prefer.’

      The insult seized at her thoughts. This wasn’t a conversation about her spying. Hugh didn’t know what the King had asked of her. He thought she was whoring.

      Rage whipped and tightened her throat. ‘I’d prefer anyone to you!’

      ‘Then you have changed from the girl I once knew,’ he said. ‘What happened after you threw yourself at me and I refused? Did you throw yourself at another? Did he refuse too? Or were you simply waiting for the King to notice your...charms?’

      She clenched her skirts so she didn’t strike him. ‘If I was, that would be my affair.’

      His mouth curved cruelly. ‘An interesting choice of words.’

      Her fingers bit into the cloth. It didn’t matter what he thought. He didn’t deserve the truth.

      ‘I don’t have to listen to this.’

      She stepped over the plants, not caring when her skirts snagged on some rosemary.

      He shifted away and let her pass. ‘There is no need to ruin your gown in order to escape from me. I will go, but I will stop whatever has been started here.’

      ‘Only if the King wishes it.’

      She smiled and knew it didn’t reach her eyes. Let him make what he would out of her words. She was beyond caring.

      His hands flexed at his sides and he loomed over her before he settled back on his heels.

      ‘He will wish it,’ he bit out as he pivoted away. ‘I’ll make sure he wishes it.’

      He was out of her sight before she could take two breaths.

      She felt rooted where she stood. Rooted. And she was standing amongst the herbs.

      A tight rumble rose involuntarily from deep inside her. She bit her lips to seal it in but the sound burst out of her. Then there were more—too fast, too quick to control—until she was laughing and crying in the garden. Hysterics amongst the herbs.

      She clamped her hands over her mouth and wiped furiously at her tears. Frustrated at herself, she brushed at her skirts until she could take large gasps of air.

      By the time the sun had risen and the opening of shutters echoed in the courtyard, she could breathe again and felt lighter. Better.

      Better than she’d thought she would after seeing Hugh again. Maybe all she had needed was those hysterics to settle her thoughts.

      She strolled further into the garden and picked an apple from the arbour.

      When she had first come to the garden she had thought being alone would sort out her thoughts, but it was her СКАЧАТЬ