Page 3 of Knight School Chronicles Box Set

E ven learning two days past she was coming, Rystan was unprepared for the sight of Anwen.

He’d not seen her in many years. She somehow looked both the same and yet completely different.

Her long wavy hair appeared brown in the hall’s entrance, but if they were in sunlight, a reddish hue would shine through.

Big brown eyes and full lips that he’d never once tasted, despite their betrothal.

. . lips he had dreamed about for so many nights Rystan imagined perhaps he had kissed her.

But there was one feature that outshone them all.

It was there, evident to him, at least, as their eyes locked.

He sat with the others at one of just three full trestle tables in the great hall.

Instructors, a handful of early recruits and one of the Guardians' benefactors, in addition to the servants, all preparing for the men that would hopefully turn the tide of war.

Those intelligent eyes, full of a wisdom that should not have been present for one so young, were now trained upon him.

Between her parents, Anwen’s late father who was a champion among warriors, her mother, sharp but deceitful, and her tutor, one of the finest minds in all of England, she was raised and had become an intelligent and competent young woman.

Now, Lady Anwen was even more beautiful, and he had no doubt, even wiser than when he had known her. Been betrothed to her.

Loved her.

He’d heard she arrived mid-day, and since that time, Rystan had much difficulty concentrating on his tasks at hand. And now she was gliding toward him, her deep blue gown both stylish and practical. Her hair loose, Anwen’s gaze sharp.

He held his breath, waiting to see if she would sit in the empty seat beside him. If she would greet him. Instead, his former betrothed looked away and sat at another table beside Sir Eamon. Not surprisingly, his interest in her was quickly noted.

“I’m not the only one who’s noticed our new castellan.”

All eyes were now trained on Sir James.

A trusted contact of Lord Bennington, one of the Guardians’ benefactors, the baron was recommended as a ‘model knight’ to help establish a disciplined standard for incoming recruits.

He volunteered eagerly, Rystan was told, seeing it as a political opportunity.

More performative in his chivalry than most, Sir James often sought recognition for his deeds, though Rystan could admit he was a highly skilled swordsman and tactician.

“It is difficult not to notice the only noblewoman among us,” said another of the early recruits brought on to prepare the others.

Rystan could tell them of he and Anwen’s history, but decided against it. She might not wish for the fact, which only Sir Eamon was aware, to be shared with others.

“She is exceptionally beautiful,” Sir James said.

He had not taken his eyes from Anwen since she entered the hall.

Fitzwilliam had said she’d never married, a fact which surprised Rystan given her mother’s ambitions.

He alternated between watching her and James throughout the meal.

He was not accustomed to the feeling of jealousy, but neither could he dismiss its obvious signs.

Namely, he had never wanted to run a man through for simply looking at a woman he admired. Then again, Rystan had never admired a woman as much as Lady Anwen.

“Is she married, do you think?” James asked him.

“Nay.”

His quick response brought him unwanted notice.

“You know her?” another recruit asked with a smirk.

Rystan’s brother had always told him to think first and speak later, but it was a lesson he struggled to learn. Unlike his brother, God rest his soul, Rystan sometimes made decisions based on emotion and not logic. A flaw, his father often said, that would get him killed someday.

The thought of his brother snagged like a thorn in his chest. He could still see his brother’s face as clearly as if he stood beside him.

“I do,” he said. “She is the Lady Anwen Clarefield. Her mother, the baroness of Clarefield, was given leave to inherit after Lady Anwen’s father passed and has done so quite capably.”

Anwen did not look his way as she spoke to her dining companions.

“And so the daughter was tasked with this position?” James asked.

“Apparently,” Rystan peeled his gaze from her. “Her family has long been loyal to the cause, and Blackwood will thrive with her as its castellan, no doubt.”

“You speak as if you admire the woman?” another of the recruits commented.

Admired her. Adored her. Loved her.

But none of that mattered any longer. Her mother had broken their betrothal, denied him entry to Clarefield many times and all of Rystan’s correspondence to her, even those he sent under the guise of another to ensure they reached Anwen’s notice, went unanswered.

The daughter, it seemed, shared her mother’s desire for Anwen to wed a titled nobleman.

Then why had she not yet married?

It was a question that had plagued him for many years.

“You have no other ties to her?” James asked, his reason apparent. He’d not stopped looking at her since Anwen entered the hall.

He could say ‘nay’ which was true as they’d not had ties to each other in many years. If he did that, Rystan knew Anwen would find herself pursued by the knight before the evening was through.

If he revealed their history, however, the story would quickly spread. Their broken betrothal might very well be a fact she did not wish for others to learn.

In the end, he chose neither.

“She is not for you,” Rystan said flatly.

“Why do you say such a thing?” James asked.

Rystan didn’t answer. If he did, the truth would be written in every word, the feeling for her he thought he’d buried on display for all to see.

Instead, he pushed his unfinished meal away and left the hall without looking back.