The Book of Mordred Read Online Free

instant before. She had counted on the young lord to keep his mount from trampling her despite his surprise, but he slid out of his saddle and hit the road, rear end first.
    The horse, fortunately, was satisfied, and galloped away.
    "Sorry," Alayna said, running up to the felled rider. Most of all she regretted yet more delay, but she hadn't meant for him to fall, and she hoped he wasn't hurt.
    "Sorry."
    He was swearing in some foreign dialect—possibly Gaelic—and trying, with only moderate success, to get to his feet.
    Alayna let him pull himself up on her arm.
    "What were you thinking, woman?" he demanded, which she took as a strong indication that he would recover.
    "I said I was sorry."
    "Oh. Well. That fixes all, then."
    Cornish, she settled on. Just the faintest hint—more in inflection than pronunciation. "Fine horsemanship," she observed icily.
    His dark gray eyes widened, then narrowed, and he took a deep breath. But he bit back whatever he was going to say and turned his back on her. Without a word, he started walking.
    Young,
Alayna reflected. He was even younger than she had first thought, probably not even her own age. And thin-skinned, apparently. Not the kind of person she'd have chosen. But she didn't have the luxury of choice. And, after all, it would have been worse if he'd been the kind to take out his annoyance on her. She hurried to catch up. "I
am
sorry," she repeated.
    He kept on walking, without bothering to look at her. When he finally spoke, it was to the air before them: "You could have been killed."
    Which was not what she'd expected him to be brooding about.
    "I had to take the risk, sir. It did not occur to me that my action endangered you, also." Alayna took care to speak slowly and evenly in the accents of a lady so that she wouldn't be mistaken again for a peasant. She didn't mention that had he been a better rider, he wouldn't have fallen. "I am truly sorry, but please, I need your help."
    "You might have tried asking, you know."
    "Yes. Certainly. And you would have stopped."
    The young man—the knight, he had to be, with that horse, for all that he wore no armor and he was shorter and of a more slender build than average—finally did stop, finally did look at her. "Yes, I would have," he said.
    Hard to judge.
    And of little consequence now.
    Alayna resumed walking. "Well, then, I thank you. But one of your fine compatriots passed me by already." She wasn't even going to
start
explaining that it was knights she needed help against.
    He stopped again and pulled her around to look directly at her. His dark eyes i were quizzical. "Who are you?"
    "Lady Alayna De La Croix. My father is Sir Guy of the Towered Gate." Maybe she
would
tell. "This morning—"
    "You're Galen's sister?"
    Alayna felt a surge of relief. "You know Galen?"
    By the knight's smile, it was a happy acquaintance. "We squired together. I'm Mordred of Orkney."
    Her breath momentarily caught. "The King's nephew?" she gasped, though she knew both her father and her brother believed the rumors that he was actually Arthur's son, by the King's own sister, the witch Morgause.
    Mordred's smile tightened, and he neither acknowledged nor clarified his exact relationship to the King. He tried to kiss her hand, but—nephew or son—he was the heir apparent to the throne, and she was already dropping into a curtsy. "M'Lord," she murmured.
    He looked embarrassed and quickly got her back to her feet. "Tell me what happened."
    "Two knights broke into my home—I don't know who they were. They stole my daughter, killed my retainer, and left me for dead in a burning house."
    "Stole your daughter?" Mordred repeated. From his renewed scrutiny of her face, he must be trying to guess how old she was, as though to gauge whether she could have a daughter who might be of an age to warrant abduction.
    She resented the hesitation—she wasn't
that
much older than he. "She's five," she said.
    "What did they want with her?"