Page 54 of Knight School Chronicles Box Set

R oland raised his hand up to aid Amalia as she dismounted. He’d be lying to himself if he didn’t admit that the entire ride home, he’d thought of this moment, when their hands would touch. When they did, he forgot to hide the longing that had been building up all day.

Their eyes locked, and when she was on the ground, nothing and no one could persuade him to let go of her hand, even when decorum dictated he should have done so already.

The stable boy could have been greeting Sir Eamon rather than asking if he should take their mounts, and still Roland would have been reluctant to let her go.

Unfortunately, the stable boy did intervene.

“My lord?”

Roland dropped her hand. Amalia spun from him, perhaps embarrassed.

“You can take them,” he said, patting his mount on the flank and handing over the reins. Roland watched as both mounts were led into the stable.

She was looking up at the sky. Roland approached, stood beside her and looked up as well.

“A celestial guide reminiscent of the honor that should light our noble path in this earthly realm.”

Amalia’s head snapped back down to him.

“My father’s words, not mine,” Roland clarified.

“It seems he is a wise man?”

“Very much so.”

Darkness had fallen, but the moon illuminated the courtyard as he and Amalia walked toward it.

Most of the men were either in the hall, lingering after their meals, or abed already.

Training before breaking their fast meant little time for dalliances, but a few of his fellow recruits had likely found ways to accomplish that as well.

“Yet you are here, defying him?”

“Men, women ...can be worthy of our admiration even if our ideals do not align.”

“Do you think him selfish, for siding with the king for the purpose of keeping his lands and titles?”

With a downward gaze, his attention returned to Amalia.

“I do not think it selfish, but believe my father when he claims his legacy matters more than his own status. Though to support an unjust cause, even for the sake of your own children—something he insists I will only understand when I become a father myself...” Roland shrugged. “I do not agree with him.”

“Do you wish for children of your own?”

A sudden vision of making said children with Amalia forced Roland to shift his stance.

“Someday. And you?”

“Aye. I wish for children. A husband. But neither so much as ...” She stopped speaking just as they prepared to enter the keep. In a few moments they’d be separated, and tomorrow would bring more training than usual, courtesy of Roland’s skipped lessons that day.

Wanting to learn what Amalia wished for more than a husband and children, and not wanting to be parted from her yet, Roland said, “Come with me.”

Without giving her an opportunity to decline, Roland strode upward to a secluded turret of the main keep with a view of the vast, star-strewn tapestry above.

He knew of this spot after having discovered it looking for a respite from the bustling halls during his explorations of the castle’s many corridors.

“Do not be alarmed,” he said, removing his sword and belt. “I only wish to use my surcoat as a place on which for you to sit.”

A nearby torch, one of many that dotted the parapet, made her expression easily readable. She was alarmed, nonetheless. “I cannot sit on your surcoat.”

He’d removed it already, laying it on the stone floor beneath them. His linen tunic underneath provided scant protection against the chill of the night, but he cared little for such matters.

“Aye,” he said, holding his hand out to her so that she may do so. “You can.”

Looking between him and his tunic, Amalia did sit, arranging her gown as best as she was able around her. Roland sat beside her, leaning back on his hands and looking up to the sky once again so that she would not be embarrassed to finish her tale.

“Now tell me, Mistress Amalia, what do you wish for more than a husband and children?”

“I cannot. ’Tis silly.”

He waited.

“Amalia?”

“Nay.”

He was a knave to suggest it, but Roland shoved the thought aside. “I will wager that, when you tell me, I will not think you silly. I’ll not laugh. Nor even smile.”

“What, precisely, will you wager?” Amalia asked, her hands folded into her lap. Unlike Roland’s legs out in front of him, Amalia’s were tucked under her, presumably crossed beneath her gown.

“A kiss.”

Her lips parted, Amalia’s eyes wide as she looked at his mouth.

“’Twould not be at all proper.”

“Naught about this eve is proper, Amalia. ’Twould be a very brief kiss,” he added. “If you wish it so.”

She laughed. “The length of the kiss does not make it more or less proper.”

He agreed, but remained silent.

“And if you do laugh? If I win?”

“Ask anything of me as your boon.”

That she considered his request meant Amalia also considered his wager. The thought that he might, very soon, be able to do what he’d wanted to all day and press his lips against hers...Roland’s heart began to beat even faster than it had when he had first considered the wager.

“I want to know what you fear.”

He almost said no. A man like him did not share such things. And Roland did not have to think hard on the question, for the answer was an easy one. But also one he did not wish to reveal, not to Amalia. Nor to anyone.

“My fear?” he repeated, biding time.

“Aye. I want your honesty too when you share the thing you fear most.”

“I am always honest,” he said automatically. “But will not find it necessary to share my fear with you as I’ve already vowed not to find your wish silly.”

“I accept.”

Roland waited.

“I wish to open an herb shop.”

It was easier than expected, winning his wager. “’Tis not silly at all. Why would you think as much?”

She seemed taken aback by his words. “I am not properly trained in herbs and healing. I am a farmer’s daughter with little coin of my own. There is nothing to recommend such a dream.”

“There is everything to recommend it,” he said easily, “and no reason such a thing should not happen.”

“You only say as much to win the wager.”

Roland moved closer toward her. So close, in fact, that if he leaned into her, and Amalia met him halfway, he could easily collect the spoils of his won wager.

“I do not,” he insisted. “As I’ve told you, I do not lie. ’Tis against my code of honor.”

“One you take more seriously than most.”

“Perhaps, but even so.” Perversely, he wanted more than just a kiss now. Roland wanted her to want the kiss. “Amalia?” he asked, surprised at himself for what he was about to ask her.

“Aye?”

If she said nay, he would not collect his winnings.

“Do you wish for me to kiss you?” He leaned toward her, shifting his body so that he was now just next to her. “I would very much like to collect my prize, but will do so only if you wish for it too.”

She did not need to answer.

“You won,” she said. “The prize is yours.”

“Do you wish,” he repeated, “for me to kiss you?”

Amalia nodded. “I do.”

Roland moved his hand so that it sat just behind her back and leaned forward. “Good,” he said. “I wish to kiss you too.”