Free Knights by Linda Lael Miller Page B

of way but, Gloriana thought uncharitably, too frail by half to hold her own with a man like Kenbrook.
    Perhaps out of diplomacy, though Gloriana was reluctant to credit the man with the sensitivity such an act would require, her husband had taken a seat at the front of the small, ancient church. Gareth sat at his right side, and Edward at his left.
    Friar Cradoc, perhaps with St. Paul’s injunction topray without ceasing in mind, alternately droned and thundered his way through unending litanies of mortification, adoration, gratitude, and, finally, supplication.
    A festive supper would follow the service, the first of many events planned to celebrate the knighthood of Edward and the seven other young men who had trained with him. No doubt Mademoiselle de Troyes would be installed at the head table, Gloriana reflected miserably. Perhaps she would even be bold enough to sit beside Dane as if she were already his wife.
    Color suffused Gloriana’s face at the prospect of such a humiliation, and although she had been ravenously hungry only moments before, having missed the midday meal, her stomach felt sour.
    Then the service was over, and Gareth, being the liege lord of nearly everyone present, was first to rise and make his way down the center aisle, striding without pause toward the doors. Dane, who was behind him, stopped beside Gloriana’s pew and gazed down at her with a mingling of amusement and vexed curiosity in his eyes.
    She longed to wrench off her headdress and fling it in his face, lest he be pleased with her in even that small way. Another pan of her yearned shamelessly for his approval.
    He extended his hand to her, and she hesitated. The chapel by then was already empty, except for them, for people were hungry and eager to begin the merrymaking.
    With unaccustomed awkwardness, Gloriana rose and glanced back toward the place where Mariette had sat, between her maid and the Welshman. “I will not sit at your left hand,” she said with tremulouscertainty, “while your mistress holds court at your right.”
    Dane let his hand fall to his side. “Surely you cannot think I would disgrace you in such a way—or Mariette.”
    “On the contrary,” Gloriana replied evenly, and without particular rancor, “I cannot think why you would hesitate.” She eased past him, into the aisle, moving briskly toward the exit, and was not surprised when he kept pace with her.
    The dusk was redolent with the perfumes of summer—the vital, reedy scent of the nearby lake, the woodsy smell of the forest, the acrid fragrance of smoke, wooing the wayfarer home to safety and supper. Torches blazed, setting the courtyard alight, and carts bearing a mummers’ troupe rattled noisily over the cobblestones.
    Gloriana felt an odd twinge of something very like nostalgia, a fear that at any moment she might be snatched from these people, this time, this place, never to return. As dangerous as it was, as dirty and backward, this simple world was her home, and she loved it.
    “Do you think me such a brute?” Dane asked, after pondering her accusation for several moments, effectively jarring her out of her unhappy ponderings. “Can you possibly believe I designed this coil on purpose, with the intention of causing you hurt?”
    She stopped and stared up at him, at the same time wrenching the hateful wimple off her head. She saw Dane’s eyes widen momentarily as her hair spilled to freedom in the torchlight, and did not trouble herself to wonder what he was thinking. In truth, she did not care. “Yes, Kenbrook,” she said, “I think you are indeed a brute, and other things besides. I would nevercredit you with
planning
the injury you’ve done me—your failing, sir, is not malice, but unheeding selfishness. You have considered your own desires in the matter and little else.”
    She made to walk away from him, but he stopped her, taking that now-familiar hold on her arm, one neither tender nor harsh. The glow of the torches danced eerily