Free A Perfect Knight For Love by Jackie Ivie Page A

more self-loathing and self-recrimination. It was better to mimic Thayne and return every look without expression, while pretending a mothering nature she didn’t know she possessed. She watched Dunn-Fyne as Thayne strapped the babe to her with a length of plaid material. It made an uncomfortable knot at the back of her neck, but Amalie didn’t care. She cupped an arm about the babe who snuggled into it and slept.
    The infant seemed to be the lone one.
    Thayne assumed a position against a huge tree, beneath wide branches that held another animal skin. He was propped against his saddle, his legs spread toward the fire and his right hand on the hilt of the long weapon that paralleled his leg, glinting occasionally with flickers of firelight. Amalie didn’t quantify it as a sword. It didn’t look like any she’d ever seen. The Earl of Ellincourt owned a massive armory. It contained all sorts of swords, handed down since the Crusades. They’d been long, slender weapons, never used. They hadn’t been in her lifetime, anyway. Probably longer. The most attention they received was a polish cloth.
    Thayne’s weapon was long, thick, with a sharp edge that curved strangely before ending with a wicked point. It looked massive and unwieldy, and entirely capable of taking a man’s head off. And it looked well-used.
    Amalie was settled into the space along his other side, her head balanced on his upper belly where the steadiness of his heartbeat soothed and calmed the fear she still harbored despite every attempt at stifling it. From that position she could view Dunn-Fyne as he watched them. She didn’t need any warnings. She was plastered to Thayne. She wasn’t leaving his side for anything or anyone.
    The air grew thick with moisture, imbuing the scene with dreamlike quality and making sparks from the fire sparkle before getting extinguished. Amalie blinked on the wavering image of horns sprouting from Dunn-Fyne’s forehead until they disappeared. And then she shuddered. She had too much imagination . . . as always.
    “Rain’s slowing.” Thayne lowered his head to her ear, pulling muscles she lay atop and breaking into her doze.
    Amalie nodded slightly and continued watching Dunn-Fyne.
    “’Tis a good thing. Provides cover.”
    “Cover.” She repeated the word without comprehension, and watched the smoke between Dunn-Fyne and them undulate into dancing writhing forms. And then it drifted into the gathering mist, mutating into different shapes.
    “Ground fog. ’Tis of great use.”
    “Fog . . . ”
    Her voice hadn’t much substance to it, matching the scene in front of her. The flames were difficult to see through what had to be smoke. Odd smoke since it was held to the ground rather than floating skyward. At that low level, the smoke joined with the mist snaking about the tree trunks. Dunn-Fyne still sat across the fire facing them, but it was difficult to tell how watchful he was. His face was indistinct and vague and his eyes were shadowed recesses of black. Thayne’s heart rate changed, nearly imperceptibly, and Amalie lifted her head. At that moment, there was a sense of movement about her other side, the one Thayne didn’t protect. Amalie moved to check, but his hand stopped her, as if he knew. And then he dipped his head and explained in a soft whisper that echoed through his chest.
    “’Tis but Sean. And Iain.”
    Amalie returned to studying Dunn-Fyne’s indistinct features through haze that seemed thicker and full of dancing imps. Amid flickers of firelight.
    “They’ve come to replace us.”
    Amalie murmured as if that made sense and squelched the yawn. It was entirely too comfortable and too safe-feeling, and added to that was the endless beat of Thayne’s heart. She closed her eyes, settled her cheek, and the next moment she was spinning, pulled to her feet and jerked into place against Thayne as he slammed into the back of the tree, a hissed warning filling her ear.
    “Hush!”
    Amalie’s heart