Page 59 of Knight School Chronicles Box Set

“ A re the whispers true?”

Amalia had waited until the others left before asking Alden that question.

“About the empress?”

“Nay,” she teased. “About tomorrow’s meal. Some of the servants are saying the cook plans to prepare pudding as a treat for the men.”

Unlike Roland, Alden’s smiles came less often. When he did smile, however, it was genuine. “Do you jest with me, Mistress Amalia?”

“Surely not.”

He moved closer to her on the bench. “They are true,” he said, his voice lowered.

“Does not everyone here know already?” she asked, wondering at the reason for his secrecy.

“The servants,” he said, by way of explanation.

Of course.

“I am a servant, of sorts,” she reminded him.

Alden seemed surprised by her statement. “You are a lady’s maid.”

“But not a lady.”

“Nor am I a knight.”

She’d forgotten that fact, as Alden appeared just like the other men. “Do you wish to be?” It was a bold question. “My apologies. I?—”

“No apologies are necessary. Aye, I would very much like to be knighted. The ideals of a knight are ones I, too, value.”

“There are many here, it seems, who could bestow that honor on you.”

Alden didn’t answer immediately. She thought, for a moment, he would not answer at all.

“Perhaps. But I would not ask unless it was earned.”

“In battle?”

“Aye.”

“You do not have to be knighted in battle,” she began, realizing he knew as much already.

“Nor does the title of ‘lady’ make you one,” he gave back.

Amalia deserved the scrutiny, as she’d doled it out first. “In some ways, perhaps not. And I cannot say ’tis the title, precisely, that I wish for.

I know we are born into positions and should remain there.

But being a farmer’s daughter and becoming a lady’s maid to Evelina has given me ideas.

” She stopped. “I burden you with nonsense.”

“Not nonsense at all. Perhaps the queen’s coronation will be just the beginning of attaining that which does not seem attainable?”

“Perhaps,” she said, not truly believing it but neither wanting to burden Alden any further.

Amalia moved to the edge of the bench, adjusted her gown, and stood.

Her companion did the same as many of the other recruits began to retire from the meal.

“I’ve enjoyed speaking with you,” she said sincerely.

“As have I,” Alden said.

With a quick bow, not needing to offer one but in acknowledgment that he was, indeed, a knight in the ways that mattered, Amalia bid the blacksmith’s son a good eve.

Making her way abovestairs, she thought of the conversation. Of the possibility that, after years of civil war, this conflict might truly be at an end. Amalia thought of Evelina and vowed to speak to Sir Eamon on the morrow to ask if there were any updates on her lady’s return.

But more of her thoughts were taken up by Roland than anything else.

He is betrothed.

Part of her wished to confront him. To ask Roland why he’d kissed her. But another part of her knew such a discussion was unnecessary. He’d kissed her because he wished to do so. Without regard for the woman he was to marry. Without regard to Amalia.

He was precisely as she believed him to be when they’d met, the sort of man Evelina had long warned her against. So why, if he was so wrong for her, did Amalia wish to speak with him still? Allow him to explain, as if any explanation was necessary?

Steeling her mind against any further thoughts of him, she used the wash bowl after undressing and wiped her arms and legs with lavender water.

She chewed on a piece of mint, continuing to push visions of his kisses away.

Amalia prepared herself for bed, despite not being tired.

Lighting additional candles, she moved to the small hearth in the corner of her chamber.

A chamber maid had lit a fire earlier, so after stoking it, Amalia sat on one of two chairs before it, grateful for a private bedchamber and nearly as much space as she’d had at Ashford Manor.

A knock on her door pulled Amalia out of her reverie. Though it was likely the chambermaid, Amalia paused before opening it.

“Amalia.”

Not a chambermaid at all. A male voice.

Roland’s voice.

Heart hammering, she opened it a crack and peeked through. Roland stood there, in less formal attire than she’d ever seen him...just an open linen shirt and hose.

“I wish to speak with you.”

“In my bedchamber?”

Why must the man look so handsome? He was betrothed. Betrothed. Amalia repeated the word over and over in her mind.

“Unless you prefer to come into the corridor?”

It was highly inappropriate to even consider allowing him inside. But neither did Amalia wish to speak to him in the corridor in her shift. And despite herself, she did wish to speak to him.

Opening the door wide, she scurried inside and hastily donned a cotte that closed and tied on the sides. It was loose enough to easily take on and off herself. By the time she did so, Roland had come into the chamber and closed the door.

Her eyes narrowed.

“I mean nothing untoward by being here,” he assured her. “Only to talk.”

A chill had her moving toward the fire. “Do sit,” she said, somewhat reluctantly. “None saw you coming here?”

“I’d not risk your reputation by allowing it,” he said, sitting on the wooden chair beside her.

Roland leaned forward, warming his hands by the fire.

Though the weather grew warmer outdoors each day, in here, the thick stone walls kept chambers cool.

If it were not for the rugs, and tapestries—and the hearth, of course—it would be almost unbearable, even in spring.

“But you would kiss a woman despite the fact that you are betrothed?”

Roland rested his elbows on each knee, leaning toward her. “Precisely why I wished to speak with you.”

“You could have done so during the evening meal.”

“Privately,” he added.

Amalia waited, determined for his reasoning not to matter. Already she was too enamored with a man who could never be hers.

“I never agreed to the betrothal. My father brokered it before I was even knighted. Her father’s land borders our own.

He is also a close confidant of the king and one of his inner circle.

When I told my father I would not honor the betrothal, the argument drove a wedge between us that was made deeper by our differing opinion on Stephen’s reign.

I told both the baron and his daughter in person, compensated them, and left, sending word to my father. ”

Of all the things she expected to hear, the fact that he’d broken the betrothal was not one of them.

“So you are not betrothed?”

“Nay, I am not.”

“Lady Elara believes that you are.”

“That word of it has not reached her does not surprise me. I am certain my father has yet to accept my decision even though ’tis done.”

He’s not betrothed.

“I...” She struggled with her next words, surprised at his admission robbing her of anything more to say.

“I spoke with Lady Elara,” he said. “I realized she’d told you and did not want you to believe the worst of me. Unless, of course, my instructor has already turned you against me.”

An interesting choice of words to use. “Why would you say such a thing?”

Roland sat back, extending his legs out and crossing his arms. She tried not to notice either the muscles in his legs or those clearly evident beneath the thin linen shirt.

“She does not care for me, I am afraid.”

“Nay,” Amalia agreed. “She does not.” Amalia moved closer to the edge of her seat, toward the fire, soaking up its warmth.

“I simply wished to explain and would leave you to sleep.” Roland made to stand.

Perhaps not a wise decision, but she stopped him. “I am not tired.”

He froze. Sat back down. “You are not angry with me?”

“Why should I be angry if what you say is true?”

“It is true,” he said, ignoring her question. “I will admit to caring that you would think poorly of me after speaking with her.”

“I will admit...I did think poorly of you after speaking with her.”

“And now?”

“And now, I believe I will judge for myself.”

“You are an interesting woman, Amalia. No doubt you’ve been told that many times.”

She thought on it for a moment. “I do not believe any have said as much, in that way.”

“Not even the men you gave your heart to?”

If she did not know better, Amalia would think Roland was jealous. The way he looked at her, the tone he used...of course, he would have to care to be jealous.

He is here, explaining himself to you, is he not?

“Nay,” she said finally. “Neither used that word, precisely. I could say the same of you.”

“I would accept the compliment.”

“So it was intended as one, then?”

“Aye, Amalia. It was very much so.”

She tempered the flutters in her chest. For all his pretty words, Roland was as unavailable to her now as when he entered this chamber. And while she did not wish for him to leave, neither could he stay. Sighing, she resigned herself to the fact.

“I should not have asked you to stay.”

“I should not have come.”

“Aye,” she agreed. “You should not. You may not be betrothed, but neither am I interested in lying with a man who can never be mine to claim.” Proud she had said the words aloud, Amalia waited for Roland to respond.

“Neither am I interested in defiling you, Amalia.”

“Then why are you here? In my bedchamber.”

He did stand then, no less than she expected. “I came to explain. But you are correct in questioning my presence here. Good eve, Amalia,” he said with a nod of his very handsome head.

Before she could rise and walk Roland out, he strode to the door, opened it and, without a backward glance, he left.

She should be glad for speaking her mind, even if her heart wished for something different. Even if he was the most handsome man in all of England. Which he was. She’d known from the start there could be nothing between them.

It was done.

He had left, and the two of them understood each other.

And yet, as Amalia stoked the fire once more, blew out all of the candles in her chamber and climbed into bed, she could not help but smile, despite herself.

Roland was not betrothed.