Page 49 of Knight School Chronicles Box Set

“ I need a favor from the three of you,” Sir Eamon said, having cornered Roland, Alden, and Darien.

After a night in the village and a brutal training session that morn, Roland was ready to break his fast before the afternoon’s strategy session with Lady Elara, one none of them would dare be late to attending.

“You’re back,” Alden said as Eamon pulled them to the side of the training yard.

“Indeed. Your friend Gareth is now married.”

As expected.

“All went well?” Darien asked.

“As well as can be expected under the circumstances. I am leaving soon to speak to Lord Ashcroft.”

“He will not take the news well.” Roland sheathed his sword as did the others.

“Nay, he will not,” Eamon conceded. “If I can persuade him to accept the marriage as valid and not challenge it ...” His voice trailed off.

“Do you believe it is at all possible he will keep Lady Evelina as his heir?”

“And in doing so, accept Sir Gareth as well, even though he vowed never to do so?” Eamon asked. “I would be surprised, indeed.”

Roland did not cherish the man’s duty to his daughter and son-in-law, but was grateful his friend had such an ally.

“You mentioned a favor,” Darien said.

Their swordmaster nodded. “I brought her maid back with me. She cannot return to Ashcroft, and until Lady Evelina returns, Mistress Amalia is under my protection. I understand ’tis not ideal, hosting her here, but I’ve little choice but to do so.”

“What precisely do you wish us to do with a lady’s maid?” Roland asked.

Eamon’s brows raised. “Do? Naught at all. But I would ask you to watch out for her. Keep your ears open to any man that might pursue her or put Evelina’s maid in any danger.”

“Who would do such a thing?” Alden seemed genuinely curious.

“She is . . . quite comely.”

“Ahh, well.” Darien stood up straighter. “We will let no harm come to the maid.”

Asking the swordmaster how comely would likely get Roland chastised, so he said nothing. Instead he patted his stomach. “Time to break our fast, gentlemen,” he said, and the others seemed inclined to agree.

Leaving Sir Eamon, they made their way to the hall, speaking of the maid, her lady, and their friend. Gareth had well and truly gotten himself into a tenuous situation.

“Do you think,” Roland asked the others as they made their way into the keep, “the pope will intervene on King Stephen’s behalf? Or will he side with the empress?”

“What matters more,” Darien interjected, waving to someone on the far side of the hall, “is that the king is being transferred, if rumor is to be believed, to Bristol Castle. ’Tis said the king’s brother has summoned a council at Winchester in his capacity as papal legate.”

Roland stopped. “A council? In support of the empress?”

“If Lady Elara is to be believed,” Alden said.

Who, of course, all did believe. There was no better strategist, none quite as well-connected as their instructor.

The daughter of a royal messenger and political strategist from a young age, she somehow seemed to know all that occurred beyond the walls of Castle Blackwood before any others.

It also didn’t go unnoticed, at least by Roland, that Alden seemed to notice her beauty as well.

“If Lady Elara said it, then ’tis more than rumor,” Darien said. “Do you think that is the maid?”

It took Roland a moment to realize who Darien spoke of. Glancing in his friend’s direction, he understood instantly.

Evelina’s lady’s maid. What had Sir Eamon said her name was?

Walking into the hall wearing a pale blue gown, one befitting her station, was more than simply a comely woman, as Sir Eamon had called her.

Curly chestnut hair, loose and wild, framed a delicate face, but not so delicate eyes.

Roland couldn’t discern the color from such a distance, but as her eyes found his, there was no other word to describe them but wild.

Wild. As if she weren’t in a hall dominated by men, all of whom would be strangers to her. But instead, as if she were in the forest hunting for prey; only a bow and arrow in her hands were missing. But there was no doubt this woman was the hunter and not the prey.

She even smiled at him.

A wide, almost secretive—dare he think it?—seductive smile.

But I would ask you to watch out for her.

Goddamn Thorne. If he’d not asked it, Roland would have had an entirely different greeting for her than the one he now planned.

“Where are you going?” Alden asked.

Roland ignored him. Striding up to her, he extended his hand, palm raised. “Mistress Amalia, I presume.”

The guess at her name was the correct one, it seemed.

“Aye,” she said, hesitant.

“Sir Roland de Vere, at your service. Sir Eamon has asked that my friends and I ensure your comfort and safety during your tenure at Castle Blackwood.”

She took his hand.

As the son of an earl, he’d touched many, many ladies as such before. Kissed the hands of some of the most powerful women in England. But as Roland pressed his lips to Amalia’s soft skin, not daring to let them linger, he stood knowing two things.

First, she smelled delicate, like lilac, but he was not fooled. This woman may be sweet, but there was fire inside her.

Second, he would have her. Though Roland had no wish to disappoint the swordmaster he very much admired, that brief touch, now over, could not—would not—be the last time he touched the maid.

Unfortunately, Darien had caught up to them and could likely see Roland’s intent. Standing near him in what could only be described as a defensive gesture, his friend took a moment to frown at Roland before greeting Amalia.

“I am pleased to meet you both,” she said, her voice exactly as Roland might expect it. Not tingling, nor too deep. Perfect, like the rest of her.

Diverting his gaze from her ample bosom, but avoiding Darien’s cautioning look, Roland instead concentrated on Amalia.

“He mentioned a third man, one my lady has spoken of as well. The blacksmith?”

“Perhaps you can find him,” Roland said to Darien. “To introduce Alden to Mistress Amalia? I will escort her to the meal.”

Without waiting for his friend’s reaction, one that would likely be more condemning than Roland would care for, he held out his arm.

She took it.

“You will sit with us,” Roland said as some of the other recruits began to notice her.

“I...” She peered sideways at him. “I will admit, I was hesitant to come to the hall. There is little place here for a lady’s maid. I could eat with the other servants?—”

“You will sit with us,” Roland repeated. She was no scullery maid and would take a meal in the hall. He would ensure all of the others noticed and understood...the maid was under his protection.

“I thank you,” she said as they arrived at the same trestle table where Roland and his friends took every meal. “But I also wish to offer an alternative.”

“To sitting here?” he asked, gesturing for Amalia to sit at the edge of the bench opposite where he typically sat.

“To being told to do so.”

The hall was loud, as always with so many men present, some coming as he had from the training yard, others preparing to head in that direction. Because of that, it was likely that he alone could hear her words.

Fire. As he suspected, there was a simmering passion to her that, once unleashed, Roland had no doubt would be untamable. Thankfully, he had no desire to tame her.

“If I am more accustomed to giving commands than requests, apologies, mistress.”

“He’s not once apologized to me,” Alden said, walking up from behind him, “for his high-handedness. You must be Lady Evelina’s maid.”

“Amalia,” she said as Alden breezed around the table to take a place beside her.

Roland frowned. She’d given everyone but him use of her given name.

“Do sit with us.” Alden gestured to the bench as if he were the king of England himself and not a blacksmith’s son. Roland’s friend had admitted that he often felt out of place among so many knights, some of whom were heirs to estates much grander than the one in which they trained.

He was obviously learning quickly.

This time, Amalia did sit. Alden introduced himself as Darien arrived, their table now filled with the other recruits talking among themselves. Roland would speak to them separately so they knew, if he or the others were not here, how Mistress Amalia should be treated at meals.

So they knew their place, and his.

He listened, but did not speak, as the meal was served. She spoke easily with Alden and Darien as they talked quietly of Gareth and Evelina’s wedding, and though Roland said nothing, she did glance his way more than once.

She did so now, just as the tip of her tongue touched her spoon. He watched her take a bite of stew, her hazel eyes peeking out from thick black lashes.

Comely.

It was hardly the word he’d use. Beautiful, aye. Magnificent, aye.

“You are the quiet one, then?” she asked, finishing chewing.

Darien nearly spit out a mouthful of stew.

“He is not normally so,” Alden said, more tactful than Darien. “Are you well, Roland?”

He answered to Amalia instead of his friend. “Very well.”

If the pink that appeared on her cheeks were any indication, the maid understood his meaning well.

“Are you well, Mistress Amalia?” he asked, adding, “and rested after your journey?”

“Indeed, I am. Thank you, sir.”

“Lord,” Darien corrected. “Roland is the eldest son of an earldom. A fancy title, is it not?”

“Apologies,” she said. “My lord.”

Roland leaned forward, not taking his eyes from her. “None are necessary. You may call me Roland, if it pleases you.”

“Roland,” she said, dipping her wooden spoon into the stew once more. “You may call me Amalia.”

That he was as pleased as the pudding they’d not be staying to enjoy told Roland all he needed to know about this exchange.

He could not remember being so enamored by a woman before.

She was beautiful, of course, but he had met many a beautiful maid before.

There was something more, a dichotomy of strength and vulnerability.

Of fire, as she’d looked at him just before they sat, and ice, as she coolly finished her stew, now having turned her attention to Lady Elara, who had just walked into the hall.

“She is so beautiful,” Amalia murmured. “Lady Elara?” she asked no one in particular.

“Aye,” Alden responded, also watching the strategies instructor as she joined Sir Theobald toward the front of the hall and sat beside the archery instructor.

One by one, the men began to peel away. To the training yard, to classes.

Talk of the king’s imprisonment permeated every conversation, all wondering if it would mean the end of their resistance.

If Empress Matilda would soon become queen, no longer needing the Guardians of the Sacred Oak to aid her cause.

“Did Sir Eamon give you a tour of Blackwood?” he asked Amalia.

Darien rolled his eyes.

Alden excused himself, shaking his head.

“We arrived late last eve,” she said.

“I have time before my next lesson and would be glad to do so.” Roland watched as she wrestled with a response. “I vowed to Sir Eamon no harm would come to you,” he added. “And none will. You have my word, on my honor as a knight.”

She blinked. “And as the son of the Lion of Ravensbrook?”

Of course she knew his father. “Aye.”

“I would be pleased to accept a tour of Blackwood,” she said with a small smile.

He stood, more excited than he should be. “Then let us begin.”