Page 9 of Knight School Chronicles Box Set

“ M y lady,” Sir James bowed to Anwen, just as she approached the great hall.

She inclined her head to him, missing the look he gave her, one Rystan knew well. It was the look of a man who had set his sights on a woman.

“A riding gown? Do you need an escort?” James asked.

The idea of Sir James pursuing his future wife—Rystan would not let her slip from his fingers once again—was more than he could bear. Besides, the man was everything Rystan had been taught not to become and certainly not worthy of Anwen.

“She has one.”

Neither had noticed him, but their heads turned in his direction at his statement.

“We ride to the village,” Anwen explained. “I must speak to the alewife about her capabilities to supply the recruits when Blackwood is fully housed.”

“And you will escort her?”

It was his tone, and not the question, that Rystan responded to. Or rather, that provoked him not to provide a response. Instead, he clenched his jaw and stared at the man in his eyes, telling him clearly without words. . . stand down.

“Rystan,” Anwen chastised. “Aye, he will,” she responded for him. “He must?—”

“No need for further explanation,” he cut in. “Good day, sir.”

He offered his elbow to Anwen. Clearly shaken by the exchange, she took it.

“I do not know you to be unkind to anyone, Rystan.”

“Some deserve kindness more than others,” he said, as they made their way from the keep toward the stables. “Sir James’ courtly manners may be impressive, but his intentions are not.”

“You know him, then?”

“We fought alongside each other at Wallingford,” he said, tone sharper than he intended. “Where he made it clear his loyalties lay more with ambition than our cause.”

There was much he wished to discuss with Anwen, and the topic of Sir James was not one of them.

He spoke to the stableboy who had their mounts prepared, and with the sun making a rare appearance, they made their way to the village.

Leaving the topic of Sir James behind, Rystan and Anwen spoke of preparations at Castle Blackwood and Matilda’s precarious position in the south, where loyalties shifted like sand and the king’s forces still held key strongholds.

They spoke of everything except last eve’s kiss.

Even after they completed their tasks—Anwen speaking so confidently and capably to the alewife that Rystan had no doubt why she’d been recruited to prepare Blackwood—they’d not yet talked of themselves.

“Before returning, shall we share a meal in the village? The Wren’s Rest Inn boasts rosemary-roasted game hen Sir Eamon claims is one of the best meals he’s ever eaten.”

“How can I resist?” she asked, adjusting her deep green riding gown.

Anwen was an expert rider, another of her many skills that he admired.

They made our way to the inn which was tucked at the very end of a cobbled lane of the village.

A carved wooden sign swung gently above the arched doorway of the small, timber-framed inn.

After tying off their mounts and watching as Anwen looked up at the tiny brown wren perched on a branch painted on the sign, they stepped inside.

The air was warm and spiced with roasting meats, fresh bread, and the faintest hint of clove-scented cider.

Low ceiling beams hung dark and uneven with age with bunches of dried herbs and lavender attached to the rafters.

A stone hearth blazed with a generous fire, the inn’s few tables of heavy oak boasting flickering beeswax tapers.

They sat near the fire as a serving girl brought us both spiced wine.

“This is a day I would repeat many times,” Rystan said, attempting to veer his gaze away from Anwen’s ample bosom on display. His desire for her had not abated, the opposite, in fact. When he looked up, he was met with an amused gaze.

“They’ve grown since we last met.”

His eyes widened. “Lady Anwen Clarefield. It is quite unlike you to mention such a thing.”

“And it is quite unlike you to conduct yourself with anything other than the utmost courtly behavior.”

“You speak of my exchange with Sir James,” he teased, knowing full well she did not.

“That as well,” she teased back.

“I will not lose you to such a man.”

She appeared startled. “Lose me? He was simply offering his escort.”

“Nay,” Rystan disagreed. “He was doing nothing of the sort. It does surprise me, a woman as capable and beautiful as you, that you’ve not learned to discern such a difference. I would imagine many have courted you, or attempted it, these past years?”

“Some have. But none of them captured my interest, despite my mother’s best attempts to make a match.

Not that she believes my interest is important in such matters.

In truth, I believe she waits to learn the outcome of the succession crisis before agreeing to another betrothal. If Matilda were to lose the war. . .”

They both understood the consequences of such a thing. But Rystan did not wish to speak of that today.

“None? What have they lacked, your courtiers?”

“None would have described me as capable and beautiful.”

“Would they not?”

“Beautiful? Aye. Beautiful and capable, perhaps. But in that order.”

He would have commented, but the serving girl placed a small loaf of fresh bread between them at that moment. They ate it, and the hen and carrots too. The scent of woodsmoke and quiet conversation made the world outside disappear, if only for a little while.

Three servings of spiced wine later, it was Anwen who returned the conversation back to them.

“I would repeat this day many times too, if I could.”

The words were spoken so softly, he nearly missed them.

Looking into the eyes of a woman he’d known most of his life, one he thought would be his wife, a certainty washed over him as if the sky had opened up and unleashed a rain storm unlike any other.

Every bit of him was drenched with the knowledge of one simple fact.

Rystan would never let her go again.

“We would make provisions,” he said.

She didn’t understand. And perhaps he didn’t fully either. But after speaking to Fitzwilliam this morn, bits of his plan took shape.

“There are ways to ensure your security that do not depend on me or the outcome of wars, Anwen. Sir Adrian and I discussed certain things... arrangements this morning. The order has resources, connections that reach beyond England's shores, if needed.”

“What. . . arrangements?”

He needed to be fully honest. “I’d not share details yet and dash your hopes if they fail to come to fruition. But know this,” he leaned forward. “I will not let you go again.”