Free Dreamspell by Tamara Leigh Page A

happened was my fault, not Sir Malcolm’s.”
    “That I do not doubt.”
    “Then why—?”
    “Because he is a knight, a distinction attained through strength and stamina, courage and honor, blood and war. In giving you into his care, I asked little of him and, no matter the reason, he failed me. Thus, he will answer for his negligence.” He looked to her hand on him. “Now that I have explained myself, which I need not do, ‘tis time we continue our search.”
    When he lifted her onto the horse, Kennedy untangled a leg from her skirt and swung it over the opposite side. Wynland didn’t oppose her refusal to ride sidesaddle, but mounted behind and settled his hard thighs alongside hers.
    Kennedy looked over her shoulder. “You won’t. . .kill Sir Malcolm, will you?”
    Dry laughter rumbled from him. “You are hardly precious to me, Lady Lark.”
    It was the wake-up call she needed. Likely, his anger with the knight stemmed from her not having broken her neck.
    Gripping her securely around the waist, Wynland spurred his horse into the night.

    H e liked her best in sleep. And what man would not? Unless, of course, the accusations in her eyes was replaced with passion, those on her lips captured by a meeting of mouths.
    She drew a deep breath where she had curled against his chest when hours of discomfort and fatigue made her surrender to riding sidesaddle, and opened her eyes. They stared at each other.
    Fulke felt it, was sure she felt it too, searched to put a name to the awareness that strained between them. Thirst, he decided, and not the kind eased with drink.
    In the murk of dawn, a smile touched her mouth, but she blinked and it was gone. Once more, she looked at him as if he were the basest of men. Though she was but one among several who believed him responsible for his brother’s death, she had gone further in not only accusing him of the attack on her baggage train but of intending to harm John and Harold.
    Curse her! He wanted her gone from Sinwell. As soon as Sir Arthur and the boys were found, he would ride to London to speak with Edward on the matter.
    Lark straightened. “Where are we?”
    “We have stopped to take food and water the horses.”
    She looked to the others who remained mounted while their animals drank from the stream. “I’d like to stretch my legs.”
    “You need to relieve yourself?”
    “No.”
    “Then you shall remain astride.”
    Her chin came around. “In that case, I do need to relieve myself.”
    “Then you will have to wait until we stop again.” As she sputtered, he reached behind, retrieved a bundle from one of his packs, and turned back the folded cloth. “Here.”
    She stared at the hard biscuits and dried meat. “No, thank you. I’m not hungry.”
    “As you will.” He bit into a biscuit.
    “While you enjoy your meal, surely I can take a little walk?”
    “Nay.”
    She glared.
    He reached for another biscuit. “Do not sulk. I abhor sullen women.”
    “All the more reason I should sulk.”
    Fulke was surprised to feel a smile at his mouth. “Methinks if you slept more, my lady, I might grow fond of you.”
    “Pardon me?”
    “Naught.” He offered the bundle again. “’Tis all there will be to eat until we arrive at Castle Cirque.”
    “When will that be?”
    “When we are done searching the neighboring villages.”
    She muttered something beneath her breath.
    “Do you not eat it, I shall,” he warned.
    She snatched a piece of meat and a biscuit and turned her back to him.
    Fulke smiled.

    A sunrise and three villages later, Kennedy lifted her face from the huddle of her hood and peered at the looming castle. It was smaller than Brynwood Spire. As she watched, the drawbridge descended with a creak of timber and a clatter of chains. “Castle Cirque?” she asked.
    “Aye.”
    The drawbridge touched down, the metal grate over the entrance rose, and a half dozen riders sprang from beneath it. Most conspicuous was the one who rode before the