Page 12 of Knight School Chronicles Box Set

A sennight after that fateful day, she and Rystan still hadn’t spoken about the “provisions” he’d hinted at.

When Anwen asked him to explain further, he repeated his worry that it would not materialize.

In the meantime, she spent her days carrying out tasks for which Anwen was brought to Castle Blackwood to perform.

Overseeing repairs. Organizing the staff.

Implementing systems for food and drink as well as other much-need supplies.

Complicated by having to keep their true purpose a secret, it was as tricky as Sir Eamon had warned it would be.

Yet Anwen loved every moment.

Freedom from her mother’s watchful gaze. Implementing skills she had honed over years of assisting her mother doing the same. But most of all, she enjoyed each and every stolen moment with Rystan. Though their future was uncertain, one thing had become clear.

She did not wish to return home, never to see him again.

The way he looked at her. The brush of his fingers at meals, all of which they’d taken in the hall. After their visit to the village, they’d been careful not to attract undue attention. It seemed Rystan had made an enemy of sorts out of Sir James, his glares not going undetected.

But the true enemy was, of course, the king who’d stolen the crown from its rightful owner. Each day that passed they awaited repercussions from the men Rystan had killed outside the inn.

“Can I come to you this eve?”

Anwen hadn’t even seen Rystan standing there. He’d missed supper and was nowhere to be found afterward. She had gone to the kitchens to thank the cook who had used their limited provisions with such proficiency, Anwen could not help but be impressed.

“Where did you come from?” she asked, returning to the keep. Dusk had begun to fall, and though there were less around than usual, Blackwood’s courtyard was far from empty.

“The livery,” he said. “I was told you had gone to speak to the stablemaster who advised me you were on your way to the kitchens.”

He smelled of cedar and pine. Rystan’s hair was still damp, its strands falling into his eyes.

He appeared younger that way. Less like the warrior she’d ‘met’ outside the inn.

Images of that night flashed before her often.

She shuddered now thinking of how quickly he had turned from courtly knight to trained killer.

A necessity, in this violent world in which they lived, but one she rarely witnessed in such a way.

“Do you think ‘tis wise?”

“Wise? An unmarried man with a target on him for killing three of the king’s supporters visiting an unmarried woman in her bedchamber for the third time?”

“You’ve done a fine job,” she said, the hint of a smile escaping despite her intention to remain stern and the voice of reason. “Of summarizing the situation. But less so in answering the question, sir.”

They slowed, standing exposed in the courtyard before entering the keep.

“And you, my lady, do an equally fine job of avoiding my question.”

“The answer,” Anwen shot back, reminding her of the many times the two of them conversed in such a way when younger.

There was a simple explanation and word for such a discussion.

It had been years since she flirted with a man, even longer since Anwen had truly wanted to capture said man’s attention.

There had only ever been one, and he stood before her now.

“The answer,” she repeated, having to remind herself of her train of thought. “Depends very much on your own. I can not give it without receiving yours first.”

His brows raised. “Can you not?”

“Nay.”

“You care so much for my opinion, then? ‘Tis unlike the woman I once knew, so full of her own opinions she cared little to hear my own.”

She gasped in mock outrage. “Such is untrue, sir. You are a cad to suggest such a thing.”

“Ha,” he did not hold back. “You forget I’ve an excellent memory, Anwen. Such as the time you challenged me to a duel with wooden swords, then cried foul when I let you win.”

“Perhaps if you hadn’t made it so obvious. A subtle win could have allowed me to keep my head held high. But when you fell to the ground,” she made a sound of mock disgust. “‘Twas obvious I had not inflicted such a wound.”

“Perhaps not as obvious as your avoidance of a response.”

“And yours.”

His smile was familiar. Secretive. Seductive, even.

“Nay, ‘tis not a well-advised idea. And yet, I’ve news to share that I would do so in private.”

News to share.

Provisions.

Anwen had thought of little else these past days except how she might remain with Rystan without putting herself in jeopardy. If something were to happen to him, in this climate, her mother very likely having cast her out. . . she shuddered at the thought of what would become of her.

“It is more well-advised,” she mused. “Than being separated from you again.”

Because she said it with a smile on her face, and in the midst of her banter, it took Rystan a moment to recover. When he did, his eyes wide, her former betrothed looked at her as he had that first day. As if it had been years since they last gazed into each others’ eyes.

“Do you mean such words?” he whispered.

“I would not say them otherwise.”

Rystan looked about the courtyard and then back to her. “I will come, though well after the rest of the castle is abed. Remain awake and listen for my knock.”

“As if I could sleep easily with such a visitor at my door.”

“You flatter me, my lady.”

“As you do,” she ventured. “Each and every day.”

“Oh?” he seemed surprised.

“Just then,” she said. “The way you look at me. Your eyes tell the tale of a man who cherishes a woman, even without words.”

“Cherishes, aye. Always have and always will, my lady,” he closed the space between them and whispered. “I am yours as completely as you are mine. And someday, I will have the pleasure of showing you precisely how much I cherish you. And I will do so not just with words.”

She swallowed, her heart beginning to race.

“Is that so?” she asked, knowing they stood much too close. Knowing they could be watched, their conversation deemed improper.

And yet, Anwen did not care.

“Very much so.”

“Good,” she said, inhaling deeply, as if memorizing the scent of him. “I will look forward to that day.”

With that, Rystan stood back and locked eyes with hers. “That day,” he bowed deeply. “Will come much sooner than you might expect.”