Free A Knight’s Enchantment by Lindsay Townsend

actually alarmed by his clear disappointment, although why should his good opinion matter? She was the one wronged: he had kidnapped and manhandled her, kissing her to silence her. She wished now that she had not responded, but his lips had been so persuasive, so appealing.
    Would he kiss her again? Would she respond?
    He was a living wall, but there was a strange comfort in embracing him, in having him hold her. She and her father were not people who hugged or kissed much, so this feeling of safety, almost of peace, was new to her. Riding before him, feeling his naked chest warm and powerful against her back, his body hair tickling the back of her neck and her arms as his sinewy arms encircled her in a gentle yet unbreakable grip, was both exasperating and seductive. Trees and whole fields would slip by as she was lost in the sensation of being borne away. Her initial anger and panic had disappeared: she sensed he would not harm her.
    Escape was different; it was her duty to do so, or at least to try. The nagging fear in her heart was that her lord would not care, or worse, that he would blame her for falling into Hugh Manhill’s clutches. To ride on this smooth-stepping stallion might be a dream, but she needed her wits honed and sharp: she must snatch the chance to get away when she could.
    First she must lull and gull him into thinking she was defeated, obedient. “Are you not cold?” she asked, flicking his arm. She dared do no more than the briefest contact: a full, lingering touch was too distracting to her; it made her want to do more. “I would be freezing,” she added, trying not to stare at the whorls of black hair running over his forearms.
    “I rarely feel the cold.”
    She waited, but he said no more.
    “What is the name of your horse? He is a magnificent beast. Does he have a miraculous name?” she asked, waving to a lonely figure digging in a muddy, waterlogged field.
    The figure took no notice, but Hugh tightened his grip around her waist, a warning squeeze, and said, “Behave there.
    “His name is Lucifer,” he went on. “I won him in a tourney when I captured Lord Stephen La Lude and won a worthy ransom. Before you ask, yes, you are my first girl hostage and far more trouble than any man.”
    “So you have already told me,” Joanna replied, “and that is as it should be.”
    “You females do not like to be confined. Even in the garden of Eden, you were not content.”
    He sounded amused, so Joanna let it pass. Lull him and gull him. “What is the best prize you have won?”
    “The freedom of a Jewish healer, Simon, who is now in my service.”
    She felt his laughter. “There. I knew that would surprise you. But I did not like his keeper, and Simon has since repaid any debt to me many times over. He is away at present, in France.”
    “Who oppressed him?” Joanna asked.
    “One of Yves de Manhill’s men, his lead knight, Roger Two-Blades. He had Simon in his entourage, but treated him poorly.” Hugh’s voice was clipped, his whole body taut. “It was my pleasure to win him.”
    “From your father’s champion?” Joanna said softly.
    “It was a fair challenge.”
    Making it clear he wanted no more talk, Hugh dug his heels into Lucifer’s sides, spurring the horse into a gallop.
     
     
    They stopped less than two leagues farther on the road, Hugh guiding the stallion behind a stand of oak trees into a narrow, high-banked road that was scarcely wider than a deer path. Deeper and deeper the horse plodded along the overgrown, reedy track, trees arching over their heads.
    “Where are we?” Joanna whispered, feeling the pressure in her ears pop as they ventured down into this sunken land.
    “A place I discovered as a lad,” Hugh answered, “before I was sent away to train as a knight. There.” He pointed ahead. “It has not changed.”
    Beyond a grove of alder trees a section of land rose into a small, perfect circle, round as an ancient grave mound. Hugh made for this and Joanna