Once Upon a Knight Read Online Free Page B

have remembered that.
    Vincent ran the entire length of their castle curtain wall twice before he dared face the wench again. There was emotion fueling his frame and filling his chest. He had to get it under control before he met her again. The little wench had stirred his passion, all right. She’d angered him to the point he had to physically work it out. That wasn’t supposed to happen.
    The run wasn’t easy going. Chunks of masonry had fallen or been chiseled off in what looked like continual repair, and the boulders had to be dodged or jumped. Vincent increased his stride rather than take a cautionary pace. Fading light made it difficult, and that required instantaneous reaction. Which was exactly what he needed.
    He wasn’t angry. Never. Anger was one of the things he made others feel. It gave him the edge he needed. Anyone losing their temper lost. He’d learned that so long ago it was ingrained. Besides, the physical exertion was helping the return of feeling to the arm and shoulder that had grown numb from hours of standing in a hall holding a piece of twine that lifted every so often throughout time that had lengthened into afternoon. He hadn’t known until he’d given up and followed the string that she’d tied it to a door in order to give him the impression there was a real body at the other end of it.
    He stopped pumping his legs, more for lack of ability to continue than anything else, and took great gulps of rain-laden air. The Eschon castle was a large, rambling structure. They appeared to be renovating it and had a massive amount of work still to do. He could see chinks of light glowing from spots where it wasn’t supposed to. If light could get out, then elements could get in. As could any number of other vices, such as an enemy’s battering ram, foul weather, the black death…vermin.
    He was also sending word to the Donal clan that he needed more gold. This particular assignment was going to cost more. A lot more. He’d had a running love bet since he was a cocksure youth and a braggart and found that both of those things created anger in others. It was too late to take it back now…any of it. He didn’t lament it. It actually kept him employed at times. Besides, it was easy pay. All he had to do was clean up, use a skean on his facial hair, don a feile-breacan, and pull back his hair. That, and use the gifts God had given him. It was easy. There wasn’t a wench he couldn’t charm and win. And then leave.
    Vincent was an expert at the challenge of a lass’s heart. He also had a perfect win ratio. This particular wench must have annoyed someone to the end of endurance to wish her such ill will, though. He could well imagine what she’d done. But they’d forgotten to add a few things when he’d been offered the bet. Things like how odd she was, how prickly her temperament, how sharp her tongue, how quick her wit…and the worse. The wench was sharp, as well.
    Vincent blew the sigh out hard, shoving the air back up his nose with the strength of it, and unstrapped the rawhide tie from his upper arm in order to pull his hair back. Such a thing as rock climbing was better done without things like blowing hair and stinging sweat in your eyes. Then he approached the outer wall, found a handhold, and started climbing.
    It wasn’t for exercise or to create more mass and brawn. He didn’t need either. Muscle had been gifted to him from birth, almost. He rarely had to do more than bed a wench or take a run to keep toned and fit. He had enough mass and strength to survive on the list if he was challenged. That’s all he needed. He was no great fighter, but if he used his wits he didn’t need to be. He used tests of physical endurance because it helped him think, plan, strategize.
    Exactly as he was doing now.
    There were large, fist-sized outcroppings of masonry sticking out in a haphazard fashion on the outer wall, making it an easy thing to find a toehold, fingerhold, and then another. It was