A Knight in Central Park

by Theresa Ragan

  He stepped into a more comfortable pair of breeches that he’d traded the innkeeper for last night. He waited for Alexandra to comment on what he’d done with Ari’s clothes, but she was much too busy trying to get him to look into her eyes again. And when he did, he saw that she was immensely pleased about something.

  And that irritated the hell out of him. “What are you doing, Alexandra? Can’t you see that I’m angry? See my face?” He pointed to it. “I’m frowning. People usually stay away from people who are frowning.”

  “Why is that?”

  He rolled his eyes. “I don’t know, but for some reason it just sort of makes sense.”

  Her smile turned into a full-blown grin.

  He shook his head. “What are you so damn happy about?”

  “I am pleased, Sir Joe, because—where did you get those breeches?” she asked, clearly swept off track.

  “The innkeeper kindly agreed to exchange them for Ari’s clothes. So now,” he said, crossing his arms across his bare chest, “tell me what has you grinning like a Cheshire cat?”

  “I am smiling, my lord, because it is as clear as fresh spring water that you have a crush on me.”

  He snorted as he looked at her, drawn to the freckles on her nose and the dimple in her cheek that appeared every time she smiled. Every muscle in his body tensed. She was right. He had crush on her, a foolish infatuation. “That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard,” he lied.

  Her gaze lowered to a thin scar across his abdomen. She traced it with her fingertip, gently, as if it pained her to think of his being injured. “’Tis from battle?”

  He gently removed her hand. “Yes, you could say that...a battle with appendicitis.”

  She pouted. He’d never seen her pout before.

  “Why, Sir Joe, are you surly when ’Twas you who asked me to stay and keep you company?” Her brow puckered. “I thought you wanted to know who I was.”

  “I changed my mind.”

  “I am a woman,” she said anyhow, lifting her chin high and pacing before him, “who enjoys the company of a man I know I can never have. He isn’t anything like the warrior I might have envisioned, but he has turned out to be so much more than the scholarly neat-freak I had first happened upon.”

  He gave her a sour look.

  “He is brave, honorable, and honest.” She stopped pacing long enough to let her eyes roam brazenly over him from head to foot. “And reasonably handsome if one prefers the scholarly type; well-muscled but not precisely an artist’s dream.” She put a finger to her chin. “Gracious, but not debonair. Stubborn, but not pig-headed, and verily he is unwavering in his life’s aspirations.”

  Joe shook his head, then slipped on his shirt.

  “And when he leaves this world of mine for good,” she said, following him across the room, “which I have no doubt he will. I will not mourn the loss of him, for I will know full well that my life is better for having known him. I only wish he felt the same.”

  Joe could feel her beside him, like a second shadow, but he didn’t turn about. A lump formed in his throat as he stood there, just stood there, frozen. It irked him to know that she was so much stronger than he was. He took a deep breath and stood tall. Then he turned toward her. “The way I see it,” he said as he fastened the ties on his shirt, “we now have less than two weeks to rescue your sister, which means we don’t have time to lust after one another or discuss how we may or may not feel after I’m gone. Got it?”

  He tucked in his shirt.

  She gazed into his eyes.

  Resisting her was impractical...impossible. He took hold of her shoulders and brought her close, his lips covering hers in a slightly angry, fiery kiss. He was hungry for her, felt as if he’d been imprisoned, starving for her affections for too long.

  She leaned into him as he tasted her with a passionate longing that took him by surprise. He’d never longed for a woman as he longed for her. He was quite literally ravenous for her, couldn’t get enough of her, basking in the glory of a mere kiss, intending to remember every detail of her mouth so that he could pull the taste, the texture, and the moment into his dreams at will after he was gone.

  He pulled away, drew in a ragged breath, tried to collect himself. She leaned her head against his chest, prompting him to brush his fingers through her hair. He could feel the beat of her heart.

  “Got it,” she whispered without looking up, breaking the silence and causing a faint smile to cross his lips.

  Using every ounce of willpower he possessed, he turned away from her and went to gather his things. He didn’t dare look back at her, didn’t want to see the emotions on her face, didn’t want to know that she was willing to take whatever he had to offer, knowing full well he would leave in the end.

  Footsteps and the sound of the door closing caused him to look over his shoulder. She was gone. If his insides weren’t aching, he would almost believe she’d never come to his room. He sighed. In two weeks he’d be back home. That’s what he needed to focus on. Maybe he’d even have a few treasures to bring back with him; items that would make him eagerly sought after by the Academy.

  He had only to fulfill a promise. Fight a small army of armored men and gain entrance to a fortress.

  No problem.

  Chapter Nineteen

  The definition of a beautiful woman is one who loves me.

  —Sloan Wilson

  Alexandra wasn’t the only woman staring at Sir Joe when he finally sauntered into the main eating area where long trestle tables lined the center of the room. Smoke from the kitchens swept past him and disappeared through the open windows.

  The sight of him in dark, well-fitting breeches and a fine cotton shirt with loose sleeves added to his appeal. He stood tall and broad shouldered; his thick, dark hair, verily one of his finest features, had grown quickly and nearly touched his collar.

  Alexandra realized he had yet to spot her as she moved toward him, watching with much interest as he went to the warm hearth where Rebecca played quietly with her toy.

  As Rebecca moved her baby, which Joe had told her was a “doll“ in modern terms, to and fro, Rebecca had a look of intense concentration on her small face. The armless doll looked more like a dirty rag than anything else, but Rebecca didn’t seem to mind. When Rebecca dared to sneak a glance his way, Sir Joe smiled and gestured toward the doll. “What’s your baby’s name?”

  Rebecca glanced at the toy, and then surprised them both by handing it to him.

  “Hmmm, yes,” he said, taking the doll gingerly between two fingers, holding it as if it were a dead skunk.

  One of the things Alexandra had discovered about Sir Joe was that he was much more sensitive than he liked people to believe. He was keenly aware of one’s feelings, which is why she felt confident he knew what a true gift Rebecca was giving him by allowing him to hold her treasured possession.

  Within moments Sir Joe was holding the toy with both hands, examining it carefully, most likely wondering how a child could grow such a fond attachment to a dirty cloth with legs. But even though his nose wrinkled slightly, Alexandra knew he was doing his best not to reveal any disgust he might be feeling. “She’s beautiful,” he said.

  A hint of a smile played at Rebecca’s eyes.

  “Let’s see,” he said holding the toy high as if to see it better in the firelight. “Her hair is as fair as newly spun silk. And look at that skin of hers, would you? A flawless complexion...like that of a swan princess, wouldn’t you say?”

  Rebecca’s eyes widened and a faint twinkle shone there, but as usual, not one sound came forth.

  “Does she have a name?”

  Rebecca squirmed, but said nothing.

  Sir Joe selected a dry stick from the firewood near the hearth and lightly touched it to both sides of the rag doll where the arms should be. “I dub thee Princess Hildegard.”

  Rebecca wrinkled her nose.

  Alexandra snorted, giving herself away.

  Sir Joe looked ov
er at her, showed no sign of displeasure at seeing her there before he turned his attention back to Rebecca. “What? That’s not her name?”

  Rebecca shook her head.

  He peered back at the doll again. “Then her name must be Euphemia.”

  Rebecca’s eyes widened, and she shook her head wildly.

  “Esperanza?”

  No such luck.

  “I’ve got it! Xavier Victoria Dagmar.” He grinned at the toy as if he’d finally guessed correctly. “A truly fine name, I must say.”

  Rebecca tugged on his shirt and when he finally gazed upon her, she shook her head.

  “Come on,” he pleaded, “the suspense is killing me. What is your doll’s name?”

  “She used to call it her baby,” Alexandra informed him.

  “Oh, so maybe that’s the problem. She’s not your doll at all. She’s your baby.”

  Rebecca scooted closer to the wall and fiddled uncomfortably with the hem of her tunic. He handed her the toy and said, “So, you can’t talk, huh?”

  Tempted to fill the silence with her own words as she had been doing for over a year now, Alexandra had to stop herself from interfering.

  “My guess is that you can talk just fine,” he said to Rebecca. “You just don’t want to talk. When I was small,” he went on thoughtfully, “I didn’t talk much either. Why bother talking when nobody has time to listen.”

  The silence loomed between all three of them.

  Sir Joe sighed. “Probably more than you wanted to know, huh?”

  Rebecca gazed at her baby, her expression unreadable.

  “I want you to know,” Sir Joe continued despite Rebecca’s silence, “if you ever want to talk...” He pointed to his chest, “I will listen. Just come right out and say whatever it is that’s bugging you and I’ll stop whatever I’m doing, okay?”

  Although Rebecca did not look his way again, they both knew she was listening. Sir Joe came to his feet, brushed his big hand over Rebecca’s small head, and then came to stand before Alexandra.

  “Don’t think for a moment that I’m getting soft in the head,” he said low enough so Rebecca would not overhear, “or that I suddenly like children. Nothing has changed.”

  “No, naught has changed,” she said, a knowing smile playing at her lips.

  Sir Joe looked about the room, then cocked his head toward Susan and the boy she was sitting with. “Who’s the kid?”

  “That’s Sebastiano Bellini, also a patron of the inn. He’s a charming young man and I do believe Susan is smitten by him.”

  Joe guessed the young man’s age to be close to twenty. His hair was a dirty blonde shade, the ends touching his bony shoulders. Peach fuzz covered most of his jaw. “Isn’t Susan a little young to be smitten?”

  “Nay, she is six and ten.”

  Joe followed Alexandra to the end of the trestle table where Susan and the boy chatted.

  “So the next thing I knew,” the boy said, “the farmer was coming after me with his pitchfork, his wife directly behind him with an iron meat hook aimed at my head.”

  “And all because of a kiss?” Susan asked.

  “Which is why,” Alexandra cut in to their conversation, startling Susan and making her blush, “a young man cannot go around kissing every farmer’s daughter.”

  “Ahh, but she wasn’t just any farmer’s daughter, my fair lady,” Sebastiano said. “She was a vision to behold.”

  Joe rolled his eyes. “A vision to behold with lips of roses and hair of gold.” Then he winked at Susan who only stared up at him as if he’d embarrassed her beyond reason.

  In fact, they all seemed to be looking at him with identical shocked expressions.

  “Sir Joe,” Alexandra said sweetly, taking some of the awkwardness out of the moment, “this is Sebastiano Bellini from Italy.”

  “Good to meet you,” Sebastiano said, his gaze sweeping immediately to the pendant around Joe’s neck. “Where ever did you acquire such a fine piece?”

  “A gift from my father,” Joe replied as he tucked the medallion inside his shirt.

  “Did it hurt much,” Susan asked Joe, gesturing toward his jaw.

  Joe realized she was talking about his tooth. “Hardly felt a thing,” he told her.

  Alexandra took a seat on the bench, gesturing for Joe to do the same. He sat, and then helped himself to a scone and hot cider.

  “Have you ever heard of the Black Knight?” Sebastiano asked.

  Joe nearly choked on his food.

  “Why do you ask?” Alexandra wanted to know.

  Sebastiano leaned forward and said, “They say The Black Knight roams these very parts and Sir Joe’s pendant reminded me of that fact.”

  “Well if you do have further information on the Black Knight,” Joe said between bites, “please tell.”

  Sebastiano’s gaze roamed suspiciously over Joe as he said, “He wears dark clothes and a cape. He has a thin scar behind his right ear, and he speaks with an accent that his acquaintances have yet to identify.”

  Joe’s attention was on his scone and cider. When he glanced up to refill his cup, he noticed Alexandra, Susan, and Sebastiano staring at him with wide, watchful eyes.

  “What?” he asked innocently, before chuckling when he saw that they were staring at the scar beneath his right ear. He pulled his hair back so they could all take a gander. “A childhood accident. I ran my bike into a neighbor’s mailbox.” He waved a hand through the air. “It’s a long story,” he said when they all shared the same bewildered look. “And for the record, these dark clothes I’m wearing are from this very inn. Clearly, all this talk of the Black Knight and his likeness to me...it’s all coincidence.”

  Sebastiano did not look convinced as he eyed the place where Joe had tucked his medallion away. “The Black Knight also wears a pendant about his neck; a pendant with a lion and a bear. Hardly ever have I seen more than one beast on such a medallion. ’Tis a sign of two powerful forces coming to heads. If you are not the Black Knight, then tell me where this father of yours is so I may ask him where he acquired it?”

  A dog lay at Joe’s feet, its tail thumping occasionally against the wood planks. Voices and scuffling prompted the dog to come to its feet, alert and growling.

  “What’s going on out there?” Joe asked the innkeeper who was close by, filling her tray with dirty dishes.

  The woman grunted. “King Henry’s men insist that a patron of mine stole from them during the night. Judging by the commotion I can only assume they found their thief.”

  Voices were raised and Joe immediately recognized it as Garrett’s sarcastic tone. Alexandra was already moving toward the door, pulling a knife from beneath her skirt.

  Nearly knocking the bench over in his haste to get to her, Joe crossed the room in long strides, crushing her to his chest when he caught up to her.

  They were close enough to the door to see a man holding Garrett by the waist as the boy struggled to break free. Alexandra’s chest heaved. “Let me go. They will not take my brother. I will not allow it.”

  “And what exactly do you plan to do with that?” he asked, gesturing toward the dagger in her hand.

  “I’m going to use it on the bastard’s throat. If those men think they can accuse an innocent boy of theft, then they deserve what they’re going to get.”

  “Look at them,” Joe said under his breath. “There are two of them. They’re armed for God’s sake.”

  “You think I cannot see that?”

  Joe took the knife from her and concealed it within his waistband. “Let me talk to them first.”

  “I nearly forgot,” she said, her voice angrier than he’d ever heard it. “You are against violence. Of course, we should talk to these barbarians, mayhap entice them with gifts in hopes they will free my brother of their own good will. Perhaps we can set up trial within this very inn, so that you may stay another eve in hopes of having the young maid scrub your back and wash your toes.”

  “Jealous?”

 
; Her face reddened. “Heaven’s no.”

  He raised a brow. “I’ve never seen you so angry. Stop worrying, I’ll make sure it is you who has the pleasure of washing my back next time.”

  She growled.

  Leaving her, Joe stepped outside into the cool morning air and promptly asked the men what the problem might be.

  “The boy stole our coins. He will be tried accordingly,” one of the king’s men stated outright.

  “I didn’t take anything from these jackanapes!” Garrett bit the man’s hand that held him.

  “God’s teeth!” the man cursed. “Throw me some rope,” he ordered his companion.

  “What proof do you have that the boy stole anything from you?” Joe asked.

  “The boy ran the moment he spotted us,” the man said.

  “Before you accuse the boy of stealing, maybe you should have more proof than that.”

  The man shot Joe a murderous glare as he held Garrett’s arms tight behind his back, instructing the other man to search the boy’s pockets. His companion came forward, reached into Garrett’s pocket and pulled out a half-dozen coins.

  Joe heard Alexandra gasp.

  Garrett’s eyes widened upon seeing the coins. “I didn’t do it. I don’t know how they got there.”

  Joe rubbed his temple as they tied Garrett’s hands and feet. If Garrett didn’t control his temper, he was going to end up with a rope around his neck. Joe came back inside and said to Alexandra, “I have an idea.” But before he could stop her, she ran past him.

  “You can’t take my brother,” she cried. “He’s only a boy.”

  “The boy must learn that stealing will not be tolerated, especially from the king’s own purse.”

  “He didn’t take anything,” Alexandra ground out. “I did. I stole your precious coins.”

  “Alexandra,” Joe said, exasperated beyond belief, “don’t do this. Tell them you didn’t take their money.”

  “Nay,” she said, shaking her head. “Never. I stole your money,” she said to both men, holding out her hands for them to bind her.

  Garrett was already tied and propped upon one of the horses. He had a gag in his mouth and was doing his damndest to spit the rag from his mouth.