A Warrior's Lady. Margaret Moore

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      Damon slapped his hands upon the arms of the chair and heaved himself to his feet. “Tomorrow you may rejoin the court. I would not be so cruel as to prevent you from seeing your beloved Piers on the day of his first melee.”

      Her heart lifted. Although she had done her best to hide her fears from the rest of her family, she was worried about Piers’s first tournament, when he would be competing with other knights’ squires. Damon and Benedict had taught him what they knew, but they were not good teachers and their lessons were faulty. They depended upon brute strength to win, not wisdom or skill. She dreaded that Piers, thinner and less muscular than they, would discover the hard way that rushing in and striking as often as possible was not necessarily a winning method.

      Damon reached out and grabbed her chin, squeezing it hard enough that it brought tears of pain to her eyes. “Make sure you smile at Lord Renfrew when next you see him, Anne. He is most concerned for your welfare and impressed by your maidenly dismay.” Damon’s expression hardened. “And remember this. You agree with everything we say about what happened last night, or you’ll regret it, just as Reece Fitzroy does.”

      At the reminder of the cowardly way they had set upon Sir Reece, her temper flared once more.

      “You’re bruising the merchandise, Damon,” she muttered despite the pressure of his hand.

      He laughed as he let her go. “Merchandise. I like that,” he remarked as he sauntered toward the door.

      While she rubbed her aching jaw, he paused and looked back at her over his shoulder. “A commodity to be sold or traded—that’s exactly what you are, and all you’re good for. Never forget that, Anne, no matter how many young fools talk to you.”

       Chapter Three

      “Oh, la, my lady!” Lisette cried as she tied the lacing at the back of Anne’s bodice the next morning. “You have been the talk of the court.”

      Rejuvenated by the bread, cheese and ale Lisette had brought from the kitchen—“For your brother says you are still too distraught to attend mass and break the fast in the hall, my lady!”—Anne didn’t bother to subdue a sigh. She would be the object of curiosity and speculation, and it was tempting to stay in her bedchamber of her own volition, except that for once Damon had kept his word and she wanted to be in the hall waiting for Piers when the squires’ melee was over. She could not watch the actual tournament, for that was considered most improper for ladies. The sight of two groups of armed combatants clashing in battle, even with blunted weapons, was thought to be too upsetting for their delicate sensibilities.

      “There is no need for sorrow, my lady,” Lisette said, sympathy in her cheerful voice as she adjusted the shoulders of Anne’s emer-ald-green overtunic. The gown beneath was a darker green, trimmed with gold embroidery. “No one blames you for what happened that night.”

      Anne went over to the dressing table and sat upon the stool so that Lisette could arrange her hair. She picked up her hand mirror, an expensive item that Damon had complained about but purchased anyway. She was sure he had done that only to impress the maidservant, who was sure to gossip with other ladies’ servants, who would tell their mistresses. He wanted all the court to believe they were wealthier than they actually were.

      Anne ostensibly examined her eyes, but she was really looking at Lisette, to gauge her reactions better. “What do they say of Sir Reece’s part in it?”

      The maid flushed as she reached for the comb made of ivory. “I do not know what they think.”

      Anne didn’t believe that for a moment. “It will not upset me if you speak of him, Lisette.”

      Indeed, she felt nearly desperate to learn more about the only man who had ever come to her defense. Of course, he had been wrong to approach her, but she had forgiven him for that almost at once.

      Lisette’s hazel eyes got back their familiar sparkle. “They are saying it must be a misunderstanding, my lady, for he is an honorable man. But he is young and so perhaps…” Lisette hesitated a moment, obviously searching for the appropriate word. “He was overeager, carried away by desire. There is no denying your beauty, my lady.”

      “Does this often happen with Sir Reece? Has he been ‘carried away’ before?”

      Lisette shook her head vigorously. “Oh, no, my lady. That is why all the other ladies’ tongues are moving so quickly. Never before. Yet he is so handsome, so strong, so silent, so mysterious…there is probably not a one of the unmarried ladies who do not wish he had followed her instead.” She smiled slyly. “I think more than one married lady wishes he had, too.”

      Strong, silent and mysterious—exactly the words to describe him. He was not anxious to boast or brag of his accomplishments, or spout fulsome compliments on her looks. Yet those eyes of his, so serious, so intense…no man had ever made her feel so beautiful or desirable, and all before he had said a single word. “As long as they did not have relatives quick to anger. What do they say about what my half brothers did?”

      Lisette frowned. “That they, too, were impetuous, and overzealous in their protection of their sister.”

      Anne could barely keep the scowl from her face.

      Lisette’s slender fingers moved swiftly and with great skill as she braided Anne’s bountiful blond hair. “They are all young men of spirit, my lady. What can one do but excuse them?”

      Anne was in no humor to excuse Damon and Benedict, but she had no wish to discuss them more. “Sir Reece’s name is vaguely familiar, yet I cannot remember how I may have heard it.”

      “His father is Sir Urien Fitzroy, famous for training knights,” Lisette replied. “He has taught many of the nobility’s sons, so of course Sir Reece and his brothers are very welcome at court.”

      “Oh, yes.” Those two young men who resembled him must, she reasoned, be those brothers.

      Anne thought of all that Damon had said when he confronted Sir Reece. “Sir Urien was not nobly born himself, was he?”

      Lisette shook her head vigorously as she reached for a ribbon to hold the braids in place over Anne’s ears. “He is a bastard, they say—but so was William the Conquerer.”

      “I noticed that Sir Reece was with some other young men last night, in addition to his brothers. Were they trained by his father, too?”

      Lisette giggled and blushed. “Oui. Those are the Morgans, from Wales. Their father is a great friend of Sir Urien, and so yes, they trained with him. They are very amusing and very charming, the oldest one in particular. Blaidd is his name. He told me it means wolf in Welsh, but he may only have been teasing me. Those eyes he has, so merry and yet—”

      A loud knock sounded on the door, making both the women jump.

      Maybe Piers was hurt and this was a summons to the tournament field!

      Anne rushed to the door and threw it open to find a male servant with iron-gray hair and wearing a rust-colored woolen tunic standing on the threshold. “Yes?” she demanded breathlessly.

      “My lady, you are to come with me, if you please.”

      “Why?”

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