Free Tori Phillips by Lady of the Knight Page A

fear propriety forbids me from demonstrating. Go to, go to! And you, sir knave! Lay on with that razor but mind your strokes. My face is not a quintain.”
    Rosie ducked back behind the screen and followed Sir Andrew’s instructions to the letter, much to her great relief and surprise.
    “Bliss,” she announced when she reappeared.
    Sir Andrew did not move nor speak while his squire ran the razor’s keen edge up his throat. Rosie crept closer to watch. When the boy had completed the task, he wiped his master’s face with a warm towel, then patted a few drops of oil on his smooth cheeks. A scent of exotic spices filled the air. Sir Andrew pointed to his comb and a wide hairbrush.
    “Tidy your hair, Rosie. Ladies do not go abroad with sleep knots in their tresses.”
    Rosie picked up the brush and ran her fingers through its thick bristles. “Haint a—”
    Sir Andrew held up his hand for silence. Both Rosie and Jeremy looked at him with expectation. What was wrong now? she wondered.
    “Let us begin with your first and most important lesson, Rosie. Haint is not a recognized word in the English tongue, save among certain types of lowlife that you have recently abandoned. You will banish that foul sound from your mouth this instant. Say ‘I have never.”
    Rosie gripped the brush. “Pray, what happens if I forget?”
    Sir Andrew pointed dramatically to the slate propped against his books. “Then I will deduct one—”
    “Aw-uu,” she wailed.
    “Halfpenny each time that you do,” he continued.
    Rosie narrowed her eyes. “Ye be a cold-blooded fish!I will never make a sixpence in a month of Sundays, let alone ten days!”
    Her rebuke only amused her tormentor. “While we are on the subject, you will also banish the word ye. Tis out of fashion. The proper word is you. Pray, remember that.”
    Pushed to the limits of her endurance, Rosie drew in a deep breath, then exploded. “You, my lord, are the most cold-blooded fish that ever I did see on a market day, and furthermore, you prattle like a…a jackdaw in love with his own croak!”
    Tossing all caution aside, she pointed to Jeremy who had turned red in the face from stifling his mirth. “And you! You are in the worst rank of manhood, for you are only half-done!” She crossed her arms over her heaving breasts. “There now, my lord. Does my pretty speech please you? ”

Chapter Six
    S ir Andrew’s brows rose almost to his hairline while Jeremy looked like he had been hit on the head with a shovel. Rosie wanted to laugh at both of them, but realized that she had gone far enough already. Perhaps too far, but she could not recall her angry words now.
    Then Andrew burst into laughter. He clapped his hands as if applauding a fine performance by a juggler. “Bravo, my dear! You have won this round! Mark you, Jeremy, you and I may be nimble with a sword or lance, but this fair lady jousts with speech and a marvelous wit. She speaks daggers and every word stabs the soul.”
    The squire merely glared at her. With quaking knees, Rosie waited for Sir Andrew to deliver a blow across her rash mouth. Instead, he took up the slate and drew three thick lines upon it.
    “Behold, three pennies earned before you have even brushed your hair.” He pointed to his chair. “Sit!” he commanded.
    She slid into place. Sir Andrew took the brush from her slack fingers and began to draw it through her tangles.
    “Second lesson—from now on you will consideryourself a high-born lady. You will think like one, talk like one and act like one.”
    Rosie scratched the bridge of her nose. “Methinks your fancy is the child of an idle brain,” she murmured. The even strokes of the brush soothed her injured pride and stormy temper. She leaned against the back of her chair and closed her eyes.
    “Aye,” he murmured as he worked through her hair, “but there is method in my madness.” He stepped around and regarded her. “By the book, Rosie! You are as fair a flower as any in King