Free Tori Phillips by Lady of the Knight

had assumed he was a bachelor. She should have known better. What a deceitful devil he was! Of course a rich and handsome lord like Sir Andrew would be married, and he probably had a castle filled with children as well. She cursed her naiveté, then cursed herself even more for caring. What was he to her but a slim respite from the hell of her life? What was she to him but a whore with whom he would play an outlandish jest upon the king? Why did she care?
    Just then Sir Andrew entered his tent. He was dressed most informally in a clean lawn shirt with a wide band of lace at the cuffs and his hose were decorated with green-and-white stripes. He whistled as he tossed hispurse from one hand to the other. When he spied Rosie, he broke into one of his heartwarming smiles.
    He swept her a deep bow. “Good morrow, my lady!”
    Rosie’s heart hammered against her ribs and a brief shiver of excitement rippled through her. The rogue looked even more handsome by daylight, especially in those tight hose. She gripped a large handful of her sheet and pretended indifference to his greeting.
    “Quince cheated ye,” she retorted. “Ye will be the laughingstock of the venders afore noon.”
    Sir Andrew dropped his money bag back into his strongbox and locked it. He grinned at her over his shoulder. “I am already the laughingstock in a number of places both high and low, my sweet. One more or less is no matter to me. Besides, the price is a trifle compared to the value of the merchandise.” He threw a meaningful glance at her.
    Rosie stared at her toes. She wasn’t too sure what he had just said, but she presumed it was a compliment. His breezy manner confused her.
    He crossed the rug, and held out his hand to her. “Come, Rosie. The day has begun and we have much work to accomplish.”
    With a sigh, she allowed him to help her out of the bed, though she was perfectly able to do it herself. Perhaps this was part of being a lady.
    Andrew pointed to a screen set at an angle against one side of the tent. Unicorns frolicked amid pink roses and blue cornflowers on its painted panels. “You may wish to relieve yourself.”
    Rosie wrinkled her brow. “Do what?”
    Jeremy snickered as he laid out a basin of warm water, several small towels and a wicked-looking razor. Sir Andrewfrowned at his squire, then he leaned over and whispered what he had meant into Rosie’s ear.
    She sighed with relief. “Why didn’t ye tell me afore? My bladder’s fit to burst.” She practically ran behind the screen. She heard Jeremy’s unrestrained laughter which was followed by a sharp rebuke from her patron. She stared at the apparatus in front of her for several long moments, deathly afraid to touch it. Then she poked her head around the side of the enclosure.
    “Tis a cruel trick ye have played on me, Sir Andrew.”
    He was seated in one of the folding chairs and his face was covered in a white frothy lather. Jeremy stropped the razor on a piece of leather.
    Sir Andrew licked some of the soap from his lips. “How now, Rosie?”
    She pointed behind the screen. “Tis a great chair fit for the king and not for…for…Tis padded in velvet! Are ye daft?”
    Jeremy started to chortle again but stopped when his master growled in the back of his throat. Sir Andrew then smiled at Rosie, his bare lips surrounded by a cloud of white cream. If she hadn’t been in such immediate distress she would have laughed at the sight.
    “How very discerning of you, my dear! Tis an exact copy of the king’s personal close stool. If you lift the seat, you will discover a hole and a chamber pot for your immediate needs. I promise you will find the experience quite comfortable.”
    Screams of frustration crowded her throat. “Ye want me to sit on that velvet thing and—” She stopped when she saw Jeremy’s grin widen.
    Sir Andrew shooed her away with his hand. “Have a little faith and trust, my dear. Give it a try. I am sureyou will understand what is required. Alas, I