Free The Heat of the Knight by Scottie Barrett Page B

forest wielded a longbow. Rumor said the man's skills were matchless.
    “Revynwyll has been torching the countryside again. The sky was thick with smoke,” she said.
    “Luckily, my path did not take me past that worm's carnage.”
    “Agnes said there were heads spiked very near Baron Pikhorn's estate.” She shivered and he curled his body tighter around hers.
    “This is a curious conversation to be having after love-making.”
    “Does it not matter to you?”
    He yawned, his warm breath ruffling her hair. “And what would you have me do about it?” It was the lazy drawl of a sated nobleman, not the response of a warrior.
    “What of the hell you spoke of? Did you find your favorite brothel shuttered?”
    “Careful, Tiana, I could mistake that for jealousy.” He cupped her pussy, his middle finger nestling snuggly in her slit, as though he intended to sleep that way.
    When his breathing slowed, she turned in his arms to face him. The harsh weariness she'd seen as he'd stepped into the bedroom had all but vanished as he slumbered.
    “Blacksmith,” she whispered. His eyes flickered, but did not open. She chided herself. She was as fanciful as those gossips at the fair, swooning over the possibility of Colin being the legendary ebony knight. Did she wish Beckett to be a romantic hero because she had expected such great things from him and had been disappointed?
    Relinquishing her fantasy, she laid a soft kiss on the massive shoulder of his firing arm.
    * * * *
    Beckett gritted his teeth as his advisor entered the empty dining hall. Clement was more ferret than man, forever finding those who did not wish to be found. Beckett swallowed a curse against his father; Clement and his unwanted advice had been as much an inheritance as the Dareford title. How he wished he were still abed with his nose buried in Tiana's sweet-smelling hair. Why had he been fool enough to agree to sword practice with Colin?
    Beckett slid a mug of ale toward Clement as he took a seat. After taking an unenthusiastic sip, Clement fastidiously smoothed his damp moustache. “The villeins are atwitter about your new paramour.” He took another taste of his ale and then fussed with his moustache again. “I doubt Baron Pikhorn will find your choice of lover quite so intriguing. You take a chance that he will reject you as suitor for his daughter because of your common tastes.”
    Fighting the urge to throttle the man, Beckett rose from the bench. “Tell me, Clement, when was it I appointed you keeper of my heart? If you wish to match-make, choose another victim. Colin, for instance, would make a perfect subject.”
    Grateful that for once he'd left the man speechless, Beckett strode out of the hall.
    “Sluggard,” Colin greeted him under his breath. “'Tis nearly noon.”
    Beckett rejected the wooden sword Wat thrust at him. “No toys today.” He took the battle-scarred steel sword from his squire.
    “So we are to have an audience,” Colin said, eyeing the crowd.
    Beckett's men were sprawled atop the splintered benches, while Colin's companions had taken seats on the stone wall. Those who had overturned broken wheelbarrows and carts teetered precariously atop their makeshift chairs.
    “Most of these men were nurslings when last I saw you lads training.” Arnulph had been waiting in the sun long enough for his face to take on clusters of new freckles.
    Beckett laughed aloud at the all too serious expression on Colin's face. “Cousin, your face is as tight as a virgin's pussy. Draw a breath, or you will keel over before we even have a chance to meet swords.”
    “Don't waste your pity on me, Beckett, just be prepared to defend yourself. Christiana would never forgive me if I accidentally sliced off an important appendage.”
    Their swords arced through the air and met high above their heads with a resounding clang. Colin was thrown slightly off balance. He stepped back and, with a wince, gave his arm a rub. “Christ, I can feel the