Free Dark Champion by Jo Beverley Page A

suspiciously, but he stopped a few paces away and leaned against a tree to wait. This courteous behavior confused her more than his callousness.
    She managed her business kneeling and then made sure her clothes were all in order before calling him. When she was in his arms again, she asked, “What kind of man are you?”
    “What kind of question is that? I’m just a man.”
    She shook her head. “Should I trust you?”
    “You shouldn’t be let out without a keeper,” he replied caustically. “If I say yes, will you believe me?”
    He put her back down on her blanket. The light was already fading to that misty nothing when everything seems magic. His colors were all muted and the lines of his body appeared finer and more fragile.
    “Yes,” she replied, surprising them both. He rose abruptly and left her.
    In a few moments he returned with a heavy woolen cloak and dropped it by her. “You may want to sleep. It will be a long night.”
    When he began to leave she said, “So, Lord FitzRoger, can I trust you?”
    His voice floated back on the misty air. “Yes and no, Lady Imogen. Yes and no.”
    And that, she thought, probably proved his words true, and offered little assurance at all.
    The last of the scouts slipped back into the camp and reported. She could hear none of their words, but the preparations went smoothly forward so she assumed everything was as they had thought.
    She saw FitzRoger start to peel off his armor and de Lisle go over to speak to him. She would swear the two men were arguing. About her?
    Then de Lisle started to undress and FitzRoger replaced his hauberk. A change of plan?
    To confirm her suspicions, de Lisle came over to her. He was wearing a dark leather jerkin over dark hose and had smeared dirt over his face.
    “Any final advice, little flower?” he asked.
    “I thought Lord FitzRoger was to lead the way into the castle.”
    “I persuaded him that staying behind was one of the prices of leadership,” he replied with a flash of teeth. “If you sent him on a route of destruction, little one, you will destroy only me.”
    “Why would I want to destroy my rescuer?” she asked uneasily.
    He laughed softly and touched her cheek with a callused finger. “Your senses tell you to flee, yes? Your senses are wise. But it is too late, little flower, and in the end you will not mind so much being plucked.” Before she could question him further, he leaned forward and kissed her lips, hard and firm. “For luck, my pretty blossom.”
    With that he was gone, leaving her trembling and with a tangled warning in her mind. Who or what was going to pluck the blossom? He must have meant FitzRoger. She was doubly, trebly glad of her supposed pregnancy.
    When FitzRoger came over and sat by her side, she challenged him. “Do you mean to act honestly by me, my lord?”
    He was chewing on a stalk of grass. “I’m going to take your castle back for you, am I not?”
    “And then what?”
    He turned to face her. “Do you want me to ride straight home again?”
    “If I said yes, would you?”
    She heard the clink of his mail as he shrugged. “Of course not. What would be the point? Warbrick would be right back. You’d be running again. I’d be here again with it all to do over. Though my men could use the exercise, your feet would never take the strain.”
    Imogen had a violent urge to throw something particularly noxious at him. “What, then, will you do?”
    “It is your castle, Lady Imogen. I am merely your strong right arm.”
    Which sounded all very well except that she could hear the amusement in his voice. And she couldn’t think of anything to suggest other than the obvious. “Then I suppose I must ask you to man the castle until I can reorganize Carrisford’s defenses.”
    “I am completely at your service, my lady.” He stood, bowed, and went to take up his watching post again.
    Imogen glared after him. She had just invited him to rule her castle. She felt like the half-wit he’d