Page 8 of Knight School Chronicles Box Set

B ecome Rystan’s wife.

It was all she’d wanted for so many years, once a dream that had nearly become a reality. She allowed him to kiss her, and would have allowed more liberties as well. She was meant for him, and yet. . .

“My mother gave me leave to aid Sir Eamon in transition, but I will not be taking a permanent role here, Rystan. Unlike you, I assume?”

The reality of the situation was. . . they would be separated before long.

He stepped back, clearly hurt. “I will go wherever I’m needed. If it is to remain here at Blackwood, then aye, I will stay. But there is some talk of unrest in the Marches where Matilda is gathering support.”

For as safe and cared for as she’d been a moment ago, looking into the eyes of the man Anwen thought had abandoned her, but who had just proposed they marry. . . how could one night hold both promise and renewed loss?

“I was expected to inherit an earldom,” he said quietly. “But I did not.”

His meaning was clear. But there was a difference between them.

“Men navigate this world very differently than women. Your sword arm guarantees you’d never be without food or shelter.”

He could not refute it. Few would turn Sir Rystan Vale away from their service. If naught else, he would be one of the most sought-after mercenary knights in England.

“I will admit the truth of your words, Anwen. But I offer an alternative, if your mother would cast you out. Do you believe for a moment I would ever see you without food or shelter. Thankfully, my father has come to accept the role I was born into, that of a second son. In some ways, securing a position with the eventual queen of England aids his position.”

“If the king does not strip his land and title away, in the meantime.”

“There is truth to your words. I will not deny it. But we all take risks for this cause, do we not?”

“Aye,” she agreed. “Some more than others.”

Abandon her home. Defy her mother.

Could I do such a thing?

“I was raised to make decisions, to be self-sufficient. By agreeing to become your wife, a role I would cherish above all others,” that seemed to soften him, if just slightly.

“There is little of my inheritance I could not do without, but having a home to return to, should something happen to you. . .”

He finally understood.

“I would ensure you would not need to worry about such a thing.”

Anwen was certain he would attempt to do so, but marrying without either of their families’ blessing left her too vulnerable.

“We’ve both seen the repercussions of this conflict. You would attempt to do so, I am certain. But everything is so uncertain.”

He could not disagree with the truth of her words.

“If your mother were to allow it?”

“I’d have married you, gladly, already.”

It seemed to be enough for him, at present. Though Anwen was uncertain what he planned, she knew from the look in his eyes. . . Rystan planned something.

“Will you allow me to call on you tomorrow eve?”

“Here,” she asked. “There is little privacy anywhere but this chamber at Castle Blackwood.”

Despite having turned down his proposal, there is nothing Anwen would like more than to continue their conversation, their acquaintance, again.

“If you will allow it.”

“People will talk.” Already, they likely did so.

“Aye,” he agreed. “They will. Once, perhaps, we could avoid conjecture. Two old friends, becoming reacquainted. More than that. . .” He shook his head. “I should not have asked.”

“I should not have agreed,” Anwen countered.

“On the morrow,” he said, clearly thinking. “I am to visit the village blacksmith to commission blades. Come with me. Surely there is a reason for you to do so?”

“I will be speaking to servants all morn but,” she thought quickly. “I do wish to speak with the alewife, to inquire about her capabilities to supply Blackwood in the days to come.”

“You could take the maid?”

“Whom I’ve dismissed?” Anwen was perhaps rash to have done so, but neither did she wish to forge a friendship for another to betray her.

“I leave you to decide what is best for the situation.”

There would be talk, aye. But was Anwen concerned with such gossip?

It would not reach her mother, or marriage prospects she did not even want.

She’d cared for her reputation, to what end?

She could not embrace her reputation, as she embraced Rystan.

It would not feed her or comfort her or fill her with hope that the coming days might bring a joy she’d given up on finding.

“I will travel with you to the village, without an escort. If there is talk, so be it.”

He watched her carefully.

“You are certain?”

Anwen raised her chin, defiant. “I am certain.”

“Then it is settled.”

“Aye,” she agreed. “It is settled.”

Neither of them moved. He would leave, but she did not wish him to do so. When Rystan closed the space between them, she offered little resistance.

She lifted her face up to him, Rystan meeting her halfway.

When his lips touched hers, something stirred in her stomach. An awareness? Hope, perhaps? One she should be cautious of, knowing how easily such a hope could be dashed.

When his hand moved to the nape of her neck, pulling her more deeply into him, another feeling flourished. This time, she identified it straight away as this was the very man who had first stirred feelings in her so long ago.

Desire.