Noble Knights Historical Romance Collection

by Jody Hedlund

  I glanced around again at all those milling about the hall awaiting their turn to speak to the lord of the manor. No wonder there were so many. He was clearly a wise and kind leader who cared about his people. I’d known from the start of my visit that the true lord of Maidstone, an older brother, was indisposed and that Sir Bennet was acting in his stead. Even if Sir Bennet was only stepping in temporarily, my heart warmed at the chance to observe him without him realizing that I was doing so. The true test of a man’s character came when he interacted with those beneath him. I didn’t have to watch him long to see that even if he wasn’t lord of Maidstone, he was certainly worthy of the title.

  As he finished speaking with the peasant, I took a step forward, waiting for him to look up and notice me at the end of the hall. But his attention swung to a side door as though someone had called him. He rose, and a broad, welcoming smile filled his face.

  The side door was shadowed by an overhead buttress. But within moments, a young woman moved out of the shadows and into the sunlight that radiated from the slender, arched windows lining the hall. With long, flowing hair the color of gold plate, a face as beautiful and flawless as the Madonna’s, and a body as elegantly curved as an ancient Greek statue, the woman was stunning. Her orchid gown was simple, without many embellishments. But the simplicity only served to highlight her natural beauty.

  Sir Bennet bounded to meet her, an eagerness in his step that was all too noticeable.

  I shrank back and pressed myself against the thick stone wall near the door. My pulse had come to an eerie stop, leaving silence in its pounding wake.

  As Sir Bennet greeted the woman, he bowed before her and pressed a long, lingering kiss against her hand. Upon straightening, he gazed at the newcomer with such adoration that a fist seemed to close around my lungs and cut off my air. He held out his arm to her, and she allowed him to escort her forward, peering up at him with a happiness that told me these two were certainly not strangers to each other.

  Who was she? A sister, perhaps? Although he’d made no mention of having any sisters and I’d never heard Lady Windsor speak of daughters, I prayed she was merely a family member.

  Nevertheless, I could only stare as he spoke with the woman, his dark eyes alight with acknowledgment of the woman’s beauty. It was the kind of look he’d never given me. Certainly he’d watched me with kindness, fondness, and perhaps even longing. But never with such frank appreciation.

  The weight on my lungs pinched painfully. Of course he wouldn’t look at me with that kind of appreciation. I couldn’t even begin to compare with this woman and her beauty. No matter how much Grandmother attempted to dress me up, I would always be plain. No amount of preening and primping could change that fact.

  Sir Bennet laughed at something the newcomer said, his expression growing animated and the anxious lines there smoothing away. She smiled in return as he led her toward a covered easel positioned off to the side.

  Was that the new painting he was unveiling? The one he’d invited me to witness with him? If so, why was she there? For a long moment, I could only watch in growing despair as the two interacted, their joy in each other’s company undeniable. How could he act this way with another woman, especially after all the attention he’d showered upon me, after the almost-kiss in the early hours of the morning, after the enormous bouquet he’d sent me?

  What had it all meant? Had I read more into the attention than he’d intended? He seemed too kind to lead me on. Had I somehow misjudged him?

  I swallowed a tight lump in my throat. A part of me whispered I should flee to my chambers. I would only humiliate myself if I stayed in the presence of this woman and Sir Bennet.

  But the calloused part of me, the part accustomed to being overshadowed by women much prettier than I, prodded me away from the wall. I could not cower away. I never had before, and I certainly would not start now.

  I plucked the peony from my buttonhole, tossed it to the ground, and let a passerby trample it beneath his boots. Then I straightened my shoulders and proceeded down the aisle as though I hadn’t a care in the world. With each step forward, I reminded myself why I’d come to Maidstone in the first place and why I’d decided not to get involved with men, why I shouldn’t let Sir Bennet’s fickleness bother me.

  I was nearly upon the couple before the pretty noblewoman glanced at me. She didn’t say anything, but the rounding of her eyes told me she hadn’t been expecting to see me.

  Sir Bennet followed her gaze. “Ah, Lady Sabine. I see that you’ve finally awoken and decided to rejoin life.” I’d expected him to show some mortification for his double standard, for leading me to believe I was somehow special to him when I clearly was not. But his grin was wide and welcoming without a hint of apology.

  “It seems you have gleaned the only way to summon me from my slumber.”

  “With copious amounts of flowers?”

  I didn’t know how he could jest with me as though he hadn’t just been flirting with this beautiful woman. Nevertheless, I knew I had to remain gracious and give him the chance to explain himself before cutting him down to size with my words. “No, as lovely as they were, I regret to say that only the lure of a new painting has the power to beckon me from the netherworld.”

  “Well, then, we owe Lady Elaine our gratitude for rescuing you.” He turned then to the woman at his side, who still clung to his arm. “Lady Elaine, I’d like to introduce you to Lady Sabine of Sherborne. She’s as much a connoisseur of art as I am, so I invited her to the unveiling of your painting.”

  Lady Elaine dipped her head graciously, but when she lifted it, her expression was decidedly cooler, and she assessed me with an almost critical eye.

  I curtsied. “Your painting, my lady? Am I to assume that you’re the artist?”

  She laughed softly, a sound almost as lovely as her face. “Oh, no. I can’t take credit for the painting. I’m actually quite ignorant when it comes to all of the artwork Bennet collects.”

  Bennet? So she was on familiar enough terms with him to use his given name?

  “She’s had no choice but to learn,” Sir Bennet added, patting Lady Elaine’s arm. “There’s no way to be around our family and not gain some kind of appreciation for such treasures.”

  Lady Elaine smiled up at him. “You’ve been a good teacher.”

  At her words, something sharp needled me, something I’d never experienced before. Was it jealousy? It was obvious Sir Bennet had spent time with this woman, that they already had a comfortable relationship and history together.

  “It looks as if Sir Bennet is quite accomplished at many things,” I said wryly. “I’d have to say charming innocent young women seems to be at the top of his list of skills.”

  He bowed with an exaggerated flourish. “Why, thank you, my lady. It’s always nice to be recognized for something I’ve worked so hard to perfect.”

  I swallowed a swell of disappointment at the growing realization that his sweetness to me over the past several days was his usual way of interacting with women. And I’d been no exception, in spite of my plainness. If only I hadn’t read more into his attention than he’d meant . . .

  I spun toward the veiled easel that held the painting.

  “Lady Elaine was recently visiting among kin and discovered this painting gathering dust in a storage room,” he said, following me with Lady Elaine at his side. “They gave it to her, so she decided to bring it here on her way home to have me study it and tell her its worth.”

  “I doubt the painting is the only thing she hoped you’d study,” I murmured under my breath.

  “I’m sorry, my lady,” he said, drawing nearer. “I didn’t hear you.”

  I ran my gloved fingers across the tasseled hem of the covering. “The size tells me it’s likely Byzantine.”

  “Balkan Peninsula,” Sir Bennet said.

  “Painted wood.”

  “With gold ground.”

  I nodded. He was good. But so was I.

  “La
dy Elaine,” he said, “would you do the honor of the unveiling?”

  She stepped forward and, with a gracefulness I could never hope to achieve even with hours of training and practice, slipped the veil away.

  All of my petty thoughts vanished at the sight of the painting. “The Dedication.” Sir Bennet spoke the title at the same time I did and in the same reverent tone. For a long moment, we stared at the masterpiece with all the admiration it was due.

  “What do you think?” Lady Elaine interrupted our reverence.

  “It’s stunning.” Again Sir Bennet and I spoke at the same time with the same awe.

  “What can you tell me about it?” Elaine persisted.

  Only then did I chance a glance at Sir Bennet, noting with satisfaction the true appreciation that etched his features. He nodded at me as though recognizing the same in me.

  “Why don’t you explain the painting to Lady Elaine?”

  I knew how hard it must have been for him to defer the honor to me. In all of the eagerness surrounding a new and rare painting, I was bursting to talk about it, as he likely was as well.

  Nevertheless, I couldn’t pass up the opportunity. I happily launched into a detailed description of the work, depicting the Virgin Mary presenting the Christ child to Simeon for the rite of purification at the temple. I elaborated on the significance of her blue robe and the inscription of the scroll in her hand. I delved into the background of the particular artist, along with the choice of medium, and would have gone on to describe the technique, except that Lady Elaine covered a yawn with her hand.

  I stopped abruptly.

  She smiled apologetically. “Please forgive me, my lady. ’Twould seem the rigors of my trip have worn me. But please do continue.” Even as she offered an excuse, I could see the truth in her eyes. She was bored, and she was letting me know that she hadn’t come to Maidstone to hear me drone on about the painting. She’d come to hear Sir Bennet. If he wasn’t doing the talking, she had no reason to listen.

  “Your turn,” I said to Sir Bennet.

  “You’re doing well,” he encouraged, his attention still focused on the painting, clearly unaware of the dynamics happening between Lady Elaine and myself. “Keep going. Tell us more about the spiritual symbolism, particularly in relation to the doves perched on the temple roof.”

  “Does Lady Elaine care about the doves? Or any fowl, for that matter?” I asked her pointedly.

  “Of course I do,” she said.

  “There you have it.” Sir Bennet flashed me a smile that bade me continue. “Lady Elaine is just as enticed by your wonderful explanations as I am.”

  I almost snorted, but caught myself.

  A commotion from the back of the hall and the shout of a guard broke Sir Bennet’s attention. His hand closed immediately around the hilt of the sword he wore in a scabbard at his side.

  “I have a message for Sir Bennet from Lord Pitt,” came another shout from the doorway. The guards had drawn their pikes and were preventing a newcomer from entering the room. A lone man, fitted in battle armor, pushed against the pikes and broke through. With his sword drawn, he strode purposefully toward us, the riveted iron plates of his sabatons clanking with each step.

  The guards raced after him, but Sir Bennet held up a hand, urging them to follow with caution. The muscles in the hand upon his sword turned rigid, but other than that he showed no emotion as the messenger came forward and stopped a respectable distance away.

  “What are your tidings?” Sir Bennet asked. “I hope you’re bringing a reply to my repeated attempts to petition Lord Pitt for more time.”

  The armed knight lifted the visor, revealing a scruffy face and glowering eyes. There was something decidedly dangerous about the glint—and something familiar. Had I seen this man before? If so, where?

  “Lord Pitt is tired of waiting,” the messenger ground out in a gravelly voice that I knew I’d heard recently.

  “Lord Pitt has always been a reasonable man,” Sir Bennet said in a commanding tone. “Perhaps he isn’t receiving my messages.”

  “Perhaps he’s done waiting for you and that sniveling brother of yours to grow to manhood.”

  Sir Bennet’s square jaw flexed and his fingers moved into a wider grip on his sword. I held my breath, waiting for him to draw the weapon and engage in battle with this newcomer. Lady Elaine’s face had turned decidedly pale. I knew I should be worried too, that I shouldn’t relish seeing a fight. But I was looking forward to one nonetheless.

  “You may tell Lord Pitt that we’ll repay him soon,” Sir Bennet said. “We’re very close to having what we need.”

  “I’ll take it now,” the messenger ground out, “or never.”

  “I’ll have it for you by the week’s end.” Sir Bennet’s voice was equally hard and decisive.

  “That’s not good enough.”

  “It will have to be.”

  The two locked gazes.

  A thrill of excitement whispered through me, and I waited with growing breathlessness for them to clash swords. Finally, the messenger grinned. The smile was wide and dangerous and revealed sharp, pointed incisors. At the sight of them, I stepped forward with a start.

  “You,” I said sharply. “You’re the thief who accosted me on the way to Maidstone.”

  The messenger’s attention shifted to me. Except for the barest flicker, the man’s expression remained the same as he perused me.

  Next to me, metal scraped against metal, and in an instant Sir Bennet’s sword was unsheathed and thrust at the messenger. “This man accosted you, my lady?”

  “Yes,” I said. “He and several other bandits stopped my carriage and attempted to rob me.”

  “Is this true, Captain Foxe?” Sir Bennet’s tone was as deadly as the double-edged blade he wielded.

  The captain turned his insolent eyes back to Sir Bennet. “She’s clearly mistaken me for someone else.”

  Sir Bennet lifted his brow at me, beseeching me to affirm my accusation and he would fight for my honor.

  I hesitated. The thieves had been wearing cloaks that shadowed their faces. Not that I had paid much attention to their faces, as I’d been too worried over Stephan. Maybe this wasn’t the thief after all. I certainly didn’t want Sir Bennet to cut him down or lock him up on my suspicions alone.

  “I don’t think I’ve mistaken him, sir,” I finally said, “but since I cannot be entirely certain of his identity, I would show leniency and pray for his wayward soul instead.”

  Sir Bennet glared at the captain for several tense moments before lowering his weapon. “Be gone from Maidstone at once, and don’t come back. If I see your face again, I shall assume that you wish to engage me in swordplay.”

  “Rest assured,” the captain said in a growl, “next time we meet, we shall lock swords. But it won’t be in play.”

  As Captain Foxe spun and stalked down the length of the room, he glanced back at me. It was brief, but long enough for me to see a glimmer of fear. I knew that he remembered me and the splotch on my arm that branded me as a witch.

  Aha! I was right. I almost called out for him to halt, but then stopped myself. If I confronted him again, I’d only put myself in danger. Even if he feared me, there was still the possibility he’d reveal what he knew about my blemish, and I didn’t want to risk that revelation ruining my opportunity with Sir Bennet.

  The opportunity to purchase art, not to gain his affection.

  If I’d understood Sir Bennet’s conversation with Captain Foxe correctly, the Windsors’ financial situation was worse than anyone had told us. It appeared he had every intention of making the sales to me by the end of the week. Fortunately for him, I was more than willing to help him out of his financial predicament.

  I turned to give him what I hoped was a reassuring smile but discovered Lady Elaine had already garnered his attention. She’d wound her hand around his arm again, and her pretty face was tilted up to his.

  He was peering down at her with esteem that twisted m
y heart painfully. I had to look away. And I tried desperately to ignore the pulsing ache in my heart. But even though I wanted to push the truth aside, it wouldn’t leave me alone.

  The truth was, I wished Sir Bennet was looking that way at me.

  Chapter

  8

  I PACED THE LENGTH OF THE DESERTED HALLWAY AND glanced again at the door. Where was she? I’d sent one of the manservants to retrieve her from her chambers so that we could commence our night-long plans to view the rest of my art and relics. After spending all of last night together discussing the paintings, she’d seemed as eager as I to continue our conversation.

  She hadn’t changed her mind, had she?

  I halted and released a long breath. I needed to spend this evening with her more than ever. After Foxe’s visit earlier in the day, I realized my time had run out. I had to propose to Lady Sabine soon. Maybe even tonight.

  Her grandmother had wanted me to wait, to give Lady Sabine the chance to get to know me first and to test whether I was worthy. Surely I’d proven myself. The Dowager Lady Sherborne hadn’t found fault with me yet.

  But now time was of the essence. I had the feeling Foxe’s visit today would be the last. The next time, Lord Pitt would come himself, and he’d bring his fighting men.

  I had to secure Lady Sabine’s hand in marriage, along with her fortune, in order to save Maidstone.

  Even though I was still troubled by the prospect of marrying for monetary considerations, I had to admit I’d had a much easier time socializing with Lady Sabine than I’d anticipated. Surely that was a sign that she was God’s answer to my desperate prayers. I hadn’t had to pretend that I liked her. She was smart and interesting, and I admired her a great deal. I’d found myself genuinely enjoying her company, appreciating her keen mind, reveling in her love of art that almost matched mine. I’d relished every moment of our time together the previous night and hadn’t wanted it to come to an end. I’d even surprised myself with my desire to kiss her. The longing had been strong and real and raw.