Once a Knight Read Online Free

champion?”
    Clutching the scraggly locks at his forehead, he groaned and staggered backward, collapsing onto a bench. This woman could drive him mad. “No longer the king’s champion.”
    â€œBut you are the legendary mercenary who rescued our sovereign when the French pulled him off his horse; who kept a dozen knights at bay while the king remounted and escaped?”
    â€œFifteen.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œFifteen knights at bay.” Moving slowly, each muscle aching from the effort, he leaned back until the table supported his back. With painful precision, he lifted his arms and laid them on the boards behind. Straighteningout his knees, he dug his heels into the dirt and straw on the floor, slouched down on his spine, and examined his tormentor.
    She was tall. He would wager she could stand flat-footed and stare down at the king’s widening bald spot. She was delicate. He doubted her fair skin had ever glimpsed the sun, or her slender fingers performed hard labor. And she was rich. Her white velvet gown molded her curves with a loving touch, and the white fur which trimmed the neckline and the long tight sleeves must be worth more than his entire estate.
    Bitterly, he once more tasted defeat. Everything he’d worked for, all his life, had turned to ashes, and now disaster stared him full in the face. His daughter would suffer. His people would starve. And he couldn’t save them. The legendary mercenary David of Radcliffe had fallen at last.
    His chin sank onto his chest and he examined his toes. His breath rasped painfully in his chest and brought the memory of childhood tears abruptly to mind.
    â€œI have a proposition for you, if you are Sir David of Radcliffe,” the lady said.
    Did she never give up? Blinking to clear his eyes, he admitted, “Oh, in sooth, I am David.”
    â€œVery good.” Signaling Sybil, that slattern of an alewife, she ordered two brews, then seated herself on the bench at another table. “I have need of a mercenary.”
    â€œFor what?”
    â€œI’ll be satisfied with nothing less than the best.” The noble lady accepted a full horn cup and stared into its dark depths.
    â€œWhat would my duties be?” He reached for the cup Sybil held, but she snatched it back.
    â€œYe’ll pay yer bill afore ye get more,” she said.
    â€œYou’ll give me more before I pay my bill.”
    Sybil sneered. “Or what?”
    Pretending amusement, he grinned into her ugly face. “Or I’ll not drink here anymore.”
    The men-at-arms who guarded the door chortled, and Sybil flushed with fury. Quick as a snake, she splashed the contents of the horn in his face.
    Wiping the ale away, he observed her hasty retreat. She’d gone too far, and she realized it. Women, even free women who owned their own inns, could not treat a knightly baron with such disrespect. He rose and stalked toward her.
    â€œGood sir, I beg yer pardon,” she cried when he towered over her and grabbed her wrist. “Me wicked temper’s ever gettin’ th’ better o’ me. Please, sir, don’t hurt me. Don’t hurt me. I’m just a poor old woman wit’ a child t’ support.”
    He hesitated.
    Sensing weakness, she added, “A girl child.”
    Disgusted with himself, he freed her and leaned close to her face.
    â€œA wee girl.”
    Her high-pitched whining made his head throb. “Just get me an ale, and hurry.”
    â€œAye, sir.” She bobbed a curtsy. “Now, sir.”
    He turned away and took two steps before he heard her mutter, “Gutless arse.”
    He whipped around, but before he could take her by the shoulders and shake her, the lady grabbed a hank of Sybil’s hair, forcing the alewife to her knees. “You’ll learn respect for your betters, good woman, or you’ll explain yourself at the hallmote.”
    Sybil whimpered. “I didn’t know ye favored