Secrets Of The Knight

by Julia Latham

  During the next morning, the ground thundered with mounted men jousting each other at the lists. The sound of lances against armor or shields was like a crack of lightning, and voices shouted encouragement. The weather was brisk, on the ground patches of snow and mud, the spectators full of good cheer.

  Within the curtain walls, Diana watched the dagger-throwing competition, awaiting her turn. She wore her breeches and jerkin over a heavy woolen shirt, and knew that many women gave her a second, surprised glance. Though she seldom flaunted her unusual skills before strangers, she was used to the stares.

  In fact, the last time she had competed in a tournament was when she was seventeen, and the League of the Blade had taken notice of her, seeing beneath her disguise as a boy. They were here again, she assumed, studying her, determining if she was worthy to remain a member. She had successfully completed her mission; now she would abolish her opponent.

  When she looked at the displayed parchment with the competitors’ names randomly matched, she saw that opposite her, a neighbor’s name had been scratched out, and in its place was Tom’s name.

  Surprised, she looked around to find out what was happening and found Tom watching her, casually tossing a dagger into the air. He never looked at the blade, only caught it smoothly by the hilt and sent it aloft over and over again.

  For Cicely’s sake, Diana had meant to avoid him during the tournament, but she couldn’t very well protest his rearrangement without drawing too much notice. She arched a brow at him, and his grin turned wicked.

  As if he did not think of besting her at daggers, but at something far more intimate.

  She enjoyed him, she realized. How could she want this to end? Her days would return to boring drudgery without him. She could not ask a man to marry her, but would she be content as his mistress?

  But even that relationship would suffer without the truth between them.

  A large wooden board had been set up, and like the archery competition, there was a target drawn with smaller circles leading into the center. Though the dagger competition was often fought with opponents battling hand to hand, she had decided to make this one more about skill with the blade, and her captain of the guard had agreed with her.

  Now she and Tom stood side by side, at a marked distance from the target. It would be the best throw out of three, and if they tied, they would retreat several paces and start again.

  They tied with daggers in the center ring, and had to move back for another round. Young grooms excitedly returned their daggers to them each time, and the crowd began to grow. Diana did not let thoughts of the spectators—or her sister—distract her. This time, two of Tom’s throws hit the outside circle, but he still hit the center on his third, to match all three of hers in the center.

  “’Tis the single best out of three!” Tom called, when someone shouted that she’d already won.

  The crowd roared with laughter. They backed up another ten paces, farther than any competitor yet, and this time, none of Tom’s hit the center of the target, and one of hers did. She had advanced to the next round.

  Tom found himself impressed with her skill, but not surprised, and he bowed to her as if she were the finest lady at the king’s court. People laughed and applauded, and he was rewarded with her adorable blush.

  She had the sort of single-minded dedication that made her succeed at anything. Even the League, he thought. But it could not only be her skill with a dagger that had impressed them. He hefted his dagger and faced her, curious to see more. She too faced him, a small smile curving her lips, and the tension between them was like a physical thing, a shimmering wave of mutual passion and understanding. Around them the crowd watched and whispered.

  Tom thought Diana would be uneasy being the center of attention, but she twisted the dagger slowly, flashing it in the sunlight. Did she mean to spar? he wondered in pleasant surprise. After losing to her, he would welcome the second chance for a victory.

  “You need swords!” another voice called from the crowd.

  Diana’s captain of the guard, Nashe, spoke up. “My mistress did not enter the sword-fightin’.”

  Diana said evenly, “But I will challenge Lord Bannaster.”

  Tom slowly smiled with anticipation. Before he knew it, the two of them were being outfitted with breast and back plates, helms, and dulled swords. The crowd had swelled with spectators coming over from the lists, as the morning’s competition came to an end.

  Nashe, looking as if he disapproved, called out, “If there is not a clear winner with a sword point touch to the armor, then the victor will be the one who keeps his sword.”

  After nodding their acceptance, Tom and Diana moved out into the open, muddy ground of the tiltyard. He could not easily see her face through her visor, and when she began to circle him, tall and lean, holding the sword two-handed, he could almost forget who faced him.

  But those legs encased in woolen breeches were hard to miss. And as he admired them, she made her first thrust, and he barely had time to parry it before she almost hit his armor to win immediate victor.

  The shouts and laughter faded as he focused his concentration on her. “Very good,” he said as they circled once more.

  “You are too easily distracted.”

  Her voice sounded coolly amused. This was a Bladeswoman, strong enough to challenge a man. And he wanted her right now, so desperately. But first he would defeat her. He attacked, slashing twice as she backed away, and on the third stroke, she jumped his blade, then hit him hard in the shoulder with her padded elbow. He staggered in surprise and almost went down on one knee. The crowd gasped, but he righted himself.

  “You will not win so easily, mistress,” he called out in a cheerful voice.

  She said nothing, only attacked again. Their swords met and held on high, glittering in the sun. He caught himself just before he would have kneed her in the groin, as he would have to a male opponent. With a twist of his wrist, he released his blade from hers and backed away again.

  “Do not ignore your instincts,” she said, her breath coming a little harder now. “I will not.”

  “So you wanted to be kneed in the stomach?”

  “I would have blocked it,” she said with confidence.

  For several minutes, they circled, tested each other’s defenses with a feint or a thrust. At last, Tom was able to lure her to commit, and he came up under her arm with his sword, scraping against her breastplate. Their eyes locked and held, stormy gray and solid brown. Tom felt as if he could discover everything about her and it would never be enough to sate his need to possess her.

  “Winner!” shouted a voice.

  And then suddenly Nashe was between them, separating them, as if he was worried they would continue fighting. Tom thought that in another moment, it wouldn’t have been fighting everyone would have witnessed. He removed his helm, and then watched as Diana removed hers. Her hair had come unbound, and now streamed and tumbled slightly damp about her shoulders, glinting as brilliantly in the sunlight as their swords had. Nashe unbuckled her training armor, and Talbot removed Tom’s. The attention of the crowd turned to the next match, and Tom found himself facing Diana alone.

  “I need to wash before dinner,” she said, her voice almost distant.

  But those eyes never left his.

  “I will accompany you to the keep,” he answered, and they fell into step beside each other, not touching. But his senses were so very aware of her, it was as if they moved as one, each footstep the same, each sway of their arms identical. He wanted to brush his shoulder against hers, but did not dare, so fragile was his control.

  “We will enter through the lady’s garden,” she said, then added, “It is the closest entrance.”

  He said nothing, fixed on keeping himself from grabbing her. No one was in the garden, bare in winter, with the occasional drift of melting snow just off the gravel paths. The door into the keep was beneath a trellis, its vines withered overhead. Tom took the door from her and closed i
t behind. The corridor, though lit by far-spaced torches, was deserted.

  And then he could not stop himself. Taking her arm, he turned her about until he could pull her into his arms. To his pleasure, she did not resist, only threw her arms about his shoulders and moaned as their mouths met in a passionate kiss. She tasted as fresh as the outdoors, and the heat of her body from their sword fight only made him want to give her other reasons to be hot. They slumped against the wall, as if they no longer had the strength to stand after resisting each other for so long.

  At last Diana lifted her head on a gasp. “Nay, anyone could find us here! I do not want you forced into making a decision that you don’t want.”

  He spread kisses along her jaw. “What decision? Never mind, just tell me where we can be alone, and say you’ll go with me.”

  For a long moment, while their hearts pounded in unison, and they stared into each other’s eyes, Tom thought she would refuse, would come to her senses and realize the danger.

  But she didn’t. She licked her lips, watched his mouth, and at last whispered, “There is a staircase down to the undercroft just ahead.”

  “Why not the dungeon? You could shackle me to the wall and do as you pleased.” He had had more than one fantasy about what he would have done with her in his cell.

  Her eyes went wide. “But…all of the stores in the undercroft would have been retrieved early this morn to prepare dinner.” She leaned forward and kissed him swiftly. “And ’tis right here.”

  “Aye,” he said against her mouth. “Take me there.” Take me.

  The door opened onto blackness, and Diana reached for a torch from its bracket in the wall and brought it with her, leading the way. Below, the air was noticeably cooler, and Tom could smell grains and ripening fruit. Barrels were piled high beneath the arched ceiling that faded away into blackness as it held up the very keep itself.

  As soon as Diana secured the torch in the wall bracket, Tom was on her, pressing her to the wall with his body, his hands in the wonderful silkiness of her hair.

  He gripped her hair firmly, just enough to tilt her head back. Her breath on his face made him roll his hips into hers. “Facing you in battle was one of the most stimulating moments of my life.”

  She gave a groan mixed with a laugh, and held his face in her hands, stroking him with her thumbs as she kissed him. “We both like a challenge. And won’t this be one?” she added doubtfully, looking about them.

  The floor was cold, packed earth; lumpy bags of grain were piled high.

  With dismay, she said, “Where will we—”

  He caught her beneath her hips and lifted, spread her thighs as he pressed her body against the wall.

  She gasped. “We can…do this?”

  When he felt her long legs wrap about him, he groaned. “We can, but not through so many garments.”

  He lowered her to the floor, and they began to untie each other’s breeches, reaching around each other, stealing kisses.

  “I want to see your breasts,” he said against her mouth, cupping them through her leather garment. “But we can’t.”

  When their legs were bare beneath their upper garments, Diana seemed almost shy, but Tom did not give her a chance to change her mind. Once again he picked her up and pressed her back against the wall. Between her thighs, she was so hot and already so wet, that for a moment he simply let the length of him be cradled against her. He rubbed up and down. She gave soft, little, panting moans, locking her legs about him, thrusting against him.

  This was what he wanted, only the excitement and intrigue that was Diana. He wanted her in his bed every night of his life; he wanted the surprise of wondering what new challenge she’d conquer every day; he wanted her to wife. Had he fallen in love with her? That would change everything. He could wait patiently to learn her secrets, for he knew she would eventually tell him.

  He sank into her, and it was like finding peace at the center of a whirling storm. Moving in her, he put his mouth against her ear and whispered, “I want to know everything about you, Diana. Confide in me.”

  But she only kissed him, and he lost himself.

  Chapter 17

  Diana moaned with the bliss of being cradled in Tom’s arms, suspended, fearless, with his body deep inside her, rocking her ever closer to a pleasure that when later remembered, might seem like a tale of fantasy. Above them, the world and their responsibilities seemed far away. Down here, beneath the arches of the ceiling, was another world, one where passion and secrecy ruled. She could only hold on and let him do as he wanted with her, giving herself up to him, trusting him.

  Inside her body, the world stilled and she was suspended on the brink. She heard his harsh breathing, felt the strength of him moving, and was lost, tumbling through a shuddering web of pleasure, knowing she took him with her.

  When at last, he eased away from her, setting her gently on her feet again, they both slumped back against the wall.

  Diana gave a shaky laugh. “I…I know not what to say.”

  “I say—magnificent.”

  “You were?” she asked innocently.

  He leaned to kiss her. “We were.”

  They both pulled on their garments, and the easy silence between them lengthened. Overhead, they could hear the distant noises of the castle, but layers of stone separated them from the real world. Diana wanted to stay here forever, pretend there was no past between them.

  But she remembered his words of a moment ago, asking her to tell him everything. Inside her chest, her heart seemed to twist painfully. She would lose him if he knew.

  “It is surely time for dinner,” she said at last.

  Tom sat down on a sack of grain and tugged on her hand. When she tried to sit beside him, he turned her so that she was sitting sideways on his lap.

  “We should spar more often,” he said, pressing his face against her throat.

  She laughed. “Our behavior would become rather obvious, should we keep disappearing.” She put her hand on his, where it rested on her thigh. “You were quite impressive on the tiltyard. One would think you’d spent your entire life training.”

  “Instead, you had more training to be a knight than I had,” he said with a smile.

  “Ah, yes,” she said, feeling wistful, “and though I had the satisfaction of accomplishing my goal—at the expense of ever having a decent relationship with my brother—I became practically a squire in the eyes of men, not a man, but not a woman either.”

  “You only think they were uninterested in you. They wanted to see you in those tight breeches.”

  She tilted her head at him. “But—”

  “And besides, were they not your soldiers, for the most part?”

  “Well…aye.”

  “They can only show you respect, not affection, because of your place above them.”

  “Oh. And what about you?”

  “Oh, I respect you.” He let his hand slide up her thigh, beneath her jerkin.

  She slapped at his hand, and before he could persuade her to stay, she rose to her feet. “We must go. They’ll be suspicious if we are not there for dinner.”

  They stood looking at each other in the flickering torchlight as their smiles died. Very gently, he cupped her face in his warm, callused hands, and kissed her lips.

  She waited, aching, part of her wondering what she waited for. A declaration of…what? She had just finished spying on him—she’d killed his brother and let him take the blame. How would she tell him those things?

  She couldn’t. She turned away. “I’ll go up first, you bring the torch with you. If I slam the door, it means someone is up there, and you should wait before coming out.”

  As she ascended the stairs, she pretended she didn’t hear him call her name, pretended that her eyes weren’t stinging, pretended that what they had could actually continue.

  Cicely carried a covered tray back into the depths of the keep, where the servants had their bedchambers. She fumed in silence, furious with herself fo
r letting this happen. She’d heard that the maidservant Mary had taken ill. Diana, who always saw to the illnesses of the servants, was nowhere to be found. Surely she was out proving how unwomanly she was on the tiltyard.

  Cicely had foolishly offered to bring dinner to the sick woman, only to realize that Lord Bannaster wasn’t in the great hall to see how kind she could be. To keep this from being a wasted effort, she would just have to make sure he heard about her benevolence later.

  At Mary’s door, Cicely didn’t bother knocking. She went inside and found the woman lying on the floor beside her low bed, as if she’d fallen out of it. Her face was red with fever, and although her eyes were closed, she mumbled unintelligible words. Disgusted, Cicely looked about, but the other three women who shared the chamber were gone.

  With a clatter, Cicely set the tray on the table and went to stand above Mary, hands on her hips. “Can you get up?” she called in a loud voice.

  Mary gave a small moan, her head rolling weakly. Heaving a long-suffering sigh, Cicely knelt down and gripped both of her hands, pulling the woman into a sitting position. Mary slumped against her, and Cicely could feel the damp heat wafting off her skin.

  Grimacing with distaste, she put an arm behind the maidservant’s back and pulled. Somehow, Mary got her feet under her, and Cicely was able to dump her back into the bed. But her touch seemed to upset the woman, who mumbled and pushed at her hands when Cicely tried to cover her.

  “Nay, touch me not!” she said weakly, her head thrashing back and forth.

  “I am certainly not going to continue touching you.”

  “Mistress Diana, ye saved me!” she cried, her eyes opening briefly.

  She was looking right at Cicely, but it was as if she didn’t see her. “Saved you how?” Cicely asked with reluctant curiosity.

  Mary thrashed again, and Cicely, seeing the basin of water nearby, wet a facecloth and stroked her heated skin. To her relief, it seemed to ease the maid.