Free The Heat of the Knight by Scottie Barrett

after all…his gift to her.
    The garden gave her almost more pleasure than the golden hair band Beckett had surprised her with. Though, with its glittering emeralds the color of the pond in the copse, it was by far the most beautiful thing she had ever beheld. She fancied that it even enhanced her spiky hair. Pity, she thought, she could not wear the jeweled band while plucking weeds. She got to her feet and shook the dirt from her skirt. A thrill ran through her as she thought of wearing the band and nothing else for Beckett upon his return.
    A soft rain started, sprinkling the soil. Her furry companion crawled under a nearby cart and curled himself into a giant ball of hound. “Keep an eye out for garden nibblers, Sir Rascal.”
    With each day, the rain seemed to increase in force. The soaked grounds turned the color of swill, and the moat rose, over-spilling its banks. And still, he didn't come. How was he hunting in this chilling deluge?
    Christiana settled herself before the blazing fire and pulled one of Beckett's tunics from her basket. When she'd started on the garment, she'd only meant to fix the embroidery that had come loose at the hem. In her loneliness, the embroidery had gotten away from her. Fanciful tendrils climbed up the garment and wrapped around each sleeve.
    A fist battered against the door, and Christiana startled, pricking her finger with the needle. She tucked the garment into the basket and answered the knock. Servants entered carrying a large wooden tub, which they set before the fire. Agnes followed, puffing hard, her hands full of fresh bathing sheets and cakes of soap. She hastily directed the boys with steaming buckets of water.
    “The lad's home.” Her ruddy cheeks glowing from exertion, she gave Christiana a knowing wink.
    He did not have his usual powerful step. His boots seemed too heavy for him.
    Beckett plucked at his clothes, but they stuck to his skin. There were dark patches that looked far too much like dried blood.
    Slipping into the room was one of the women she'd first seen arrayed on his bed.
    With a defiant look, she dared Christiana to dismiss her. Instead Christiana moved away from the fire to the edge of the room. The woman set a shallow bowl of oil beside the tub.
    Oil to rub over the silken skin of his overdeveloped shoulders—and other parts, Christiana was certain. The woman smiled, as though gloating, and waited eagerly to serve him. He was going to undress completely before this woman without a thought.
    Perhaps, he would even couple with her right in front of Christiana.
    When the girl kneeled at his feet and began unfastening his spurs, Christiana clenched her teeth against the jealous pain and moved toward the door. She chanced a sideways glance as she slid past. His heavy lidded eyes were following her.
    “Why do you lurk in the shadows, woman? Come here; I've missed you.”
    “You appear to be in good hands, my lord. I thought I'd leave you to your bath.”
    She watched as he bent over the attendant and removed her hands from his body.
    The woman laughed softly and reapplied herself to tugging the spurs loose.
    “Leave off,” he said, now sounding wholly frustrated. He rubbed his face with his hand.
    With a toss of her brown hair, the woman stomped past, shooting Christiana a slaying look.
    “Splendid, I've made yet another friend in the castle,” Christiana said.
    Beckett did not seem to hear her comment. He swayed like a massive tree in a gale.
    Christiana smiled to herself. He really was asleep on his feet. “I suppose I am now left with the challenge of bathing you, my lord?” She strode over to him.
    “'Tis a challenge, is it? Most of my bathing girls consider it a treat.” He threw his arms heavily around her as if sotted, toppling her against his chest. Curiously, he did not smell of spirits. “I wager you're sorry to have me home so soon.” Christiana had never seen him so exhausted.
    She gently pulled the adhering tunic from his skin. The