Knight's Prize Read Online Free

a
knave and a varlet and a cad. Mayhap he was entirely unfit and unqualified as a
suitor. But 'twas not for her sisters to decide. Or her father. Or her xiansheng.
    Besides,
the man was definitely up to some mischief. If it meant she had to pretend to
be receptive to his advances to discover the nature of that mischief, then by
the Saints, she'd do it. For the good of Rivenloch.
    When
she finally burst from the passageway into her workroom, her heart pounding
from the thrill of the chase, she was so distracted, she nearly crashed into
her servant.
    "Oh!"
She started guiltily. "Sung Li."
    "Breakfast."
He thrust a platter of bread and cheese at her.
    "I'll
eat it later." She tried to skirt around the old man, but he subtly
blocked her way.
    "You
must eat now, keep up your strength."
    Miriel
pursed her lips. Why did everyone think they could issue commands to her, even
her servant? "I have no time, Sung Li."
    One
of his white brows arched up in silent accusation. "Yet you have time to
take a walk in the woods."
    Miriel
scowled in exasperation. "Fine." She snatched up the cheese, bit off
a hunk, then shoved a chunk of bread into her mouth, so large she could barely
talk. "Satisfied?"
    Sung Li's
eyes narrowed to slits. "You are a foolish, foolish child."
    With
a growl of anger, she pushed past Sung Li and opened the door of the workroom.
    "Once
and for all." she declared, her words muffled by the wad of bread, "I
am not a child!"
    Then
she slammed the door behind her.
    ************************************
    Rand stood in the middle of
Rivenloch's enormous practice field with his arms crossed self-consciously over
his chest. He'd drawn the glances of many a wench in his two dozen years, but
none to match the scrutiny to which he was now subjected.
    So
this was Helena, Muriel's sister. She was a comely lass, with her emerald eyes,
wild tresses, and generous breasts. Were it not for the armor and the menacing
sword buckled about her hips, not to mention the bridegroom she had waiting
somewhere, she might have been dangerously tempting.
    At
the moment, however, all he could think about was the fact she was circling him
like a stable master shopping for a horse, narrowing her eyes at his chest,
staring at his legs, nodding in satisfaction, clucking her tongue in disfavor.
He half expected her to pry open his mouth and take a good look at his teeth.
    "So
you've come to court Miriel?" she asked, stopping in front of him and
crossing her arms in challenge.
    Miriel.
Not Muriel. Or Miriam. Or Mirabel. By the Saints, he had to
remember the lass's name. "Aye, with your leave."
    Since
Lord Gellir's wits had grown feeble, Miriel's suitors were apparently required
to seek the approval of the two older sisters.
    "And
do you think you can protect her?"
    "Protect
her?"
    "Can
you fight?"
    He
stifled a smile. He'd been a mercenary for six years. Of course he could fight.
"If need be."
    Then
in one fluid movement, she drew her sword and faced him. "Prove it."
    His
arms fell out of their fold. Surely she wasn't serious. He furrowed his brow.
Mayhap, he thought, 'twas a trick.
    "Let's
see what you've got," she urged.
    He glanced
toward the spectators. Sir Rauve and his companion were there, a couple of
other knights, a wee lad sucking his thumb, and a trio of maidservants. None of
them looked surprised by Helena 's
challenge.
    "My
lady, I don't think—"
    "Come
on, fight me." She poked his chest with the point of her sword.
    He
retreated a step. God's blood! She was serious.
    "With
all due respect, my lady, I cannot—"
    "Cannot
what? Protect Miriel? Then you may not court her."
    "Of
course I can protect her, but—"
    "Then
prove it." Reaching across with her left hand, she tugged his sword from
its sheath. "Show me." She handed him the weapon, hilt first.
    He
took the sword, but refused to wield it. "My lady, 'tis not a matter
of—"
    Her
sword slashed toward him so swiftly that 'twas all he could do to block the
blow with his own blade. Reel ing in