Read Online Angel of the Knight by Diana Hall - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Diana Hall
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door to the yard.
The butler rose from the table and approached the kitchen archway. He turned his neckless body toward the door, listening. Falke crouched against the wall, the cold stone pressing into his back. Releasing a sigh, the butler withdrew and returned to the ribaldry in the kitchen.
On tiptoe, Falke crossed the hall, paused to listen for any approaching steps, then carefully opened the door and followed Lady Wren.
A small, square shape shuffled along the inner bailey wall. Carefully, she made her way to the gate and the outer bailey. Above, the guards lounged, unaware of the figure’s presence.
Lady Wren would make the stables without detection. Falke would give her time to inspect the steed’slegs and apply the aromatic herbs, though the animal seemed to have recuperated. This morning, when he had ventured to check on the animal, the old warhorse had tried to kick his teeth in just for peering over the stall gate. A few days rest and the destrier would be well enough to travel, though a journey back to Cravenmoor might cause a recurrence.
More than a gentle nag of guilt pricked Falke’s heart. He never tolerated abuse of an animal, and Lady Wren and her mount jousted with his determined aloofness. How could he stay distant from the girl’s plight? But he would. He’d not make the same mistake as his father, forfeiting all he truly desired because of honor.
Nay, he had seen his father wither into a bitter man. ’Twas said misery loved company, and Falke’s father had strived to have his wife and sons join him in his disappointment with life. Especially Falke, who had ignored the dogma of honor and sought to savor all of life’s pleasures.
The pungent scent of fresh hay and horses cleared Falke’s thoughts of all except his quarry. Lady Wren. He listened outside the stable door, expecting to hear her soft husky tones calming her horse. Only the shuffling of hooves across sawdust and the quiet snores of horses broke the quiet. Slipping inside, he scanned the rows of stalls. Lady Wren’s horse rested his head over the gate, his eyes closed.
God’s wound’s, where could she be? Discarding all discretion, Falke ran from stall to stall, searching for the plump shape. Dozing horses, a few mules andgoats complained of his intrusion. He climbed the stairs to the loft and found two stable boys napping in the soft hay, but no Lady Wren.
Dashing out of the stables, he walked toward the fishpond, retracing his steps mentally from the castle, across the inner bailey, to the outer yard to the…Would she leave the castle proper? The tiny hairs along his neck tingled as he strode toward the outer wall.
“Falke.” Ozbern trotted toward him. “Harris found her.”
“What?” Falke shortened his stride, but continued toward the barbican. “Where?”
“In the chapel.” Ozbern puffed his reply. “Lady Wren and the old knight were lighting prayer candles.”
“But it cannot be.” When Falke pulled up short, Ozbern nearly plowed into his back. “She came outside.”
“I know not whom you saw, but Lady Wren is inside the keep. I saw her myself. No other would willingly don her rags and arthritic step.”
Raking his fingers through his hair, Falke shook his head. “I could have sworn…”
“Falke, no one can be in two places at the same time.” Ozbern waved his hand toward the gray stone castle. “Your betrothed is in her room, guarded once again by Harris and Robert. And by two other experienced men. Though why two healthy young men cannot keep up with one crippled imbecile, I know not.”
“Ozbern.” Falke kept his voice patient. “Do not call her cripple, and do not call her imbecile. Lady Wren is many things, but neither of those.”
Lifting his brows, Ozbern dropped his chin, looking stunned. “And pray, has Falke de Chretian finally discovered honor to fight so for a lady?”
“Nay, you should know me better,” Falke countered.
“Then why so fierce when I but speak the
The butler rose from the table and approached the kitchen archway. He turned his neckless body toward the door, listening. Falke crouched against the wall, the cold stone pressing into his back. Releasing a sigh, the butler withdrew and returned to the ribaldry in the kitchen.
On tiptoe, Falke crossed the hall, paused to listen for any approaching steps, then carefully opened the door and followed Lady Wren.
A small, square shape shuffled along the inner bailey wall. Carefully, she made her way to the gate and the outer bailey. Above, the guards lounged, unaware of the figure’s presence.
Lady Wren would make the stables without detection. Falke would give her time to inspect the steed’slegs and apply the aromatic herbs, though the animal seemed to have recuperated. This morning, when he had ventured to check on the animal, the old warhorse had tried to kick his teeth in just for peering over the stall gate. A few days rest and the destrier would be well enough to travel, though a journey back to Cravenmoor might cause a recurrence.
More than a gentle nag of guilt pricked Falke’s heart. He never tolerated abuse of an animal, and Lady Wren and her mount jousted with his determined aloofness. How could he stay distant from the girl’s plight? But he would. He’d not make the same mistake as his father, forfeiting all he truly desired because of honor.
Nay, he had seen his father wither into a bitter man. ’Twas said misery loved company, and Falke’s father had strived to have his wife and sons join him in his disappointment with life. Especially Falke, who had ignored the dogma of honor and sought to savor all of life’s pleasures.
The pungent scent of fresh hay and horses cleared Falke’s thoughts of all except his quarry. Lady Wren. He listened outside the stable door, expecting to hear her soft husky tones calming her horse. Only the shuffling of hooves across sawdust and the quiet snores of horses broke the quiet. Slipping inside, he scanned the rows of stalls. Lady Wren’s horse rested his head over the gate, his eyes closed.
God’s wound’s, where could she be? Discarding all discretion, Falke ran from stall to stall, searching for the plump shape. Dozing horses, a few mules andgoats complained of his intrusion. He climbed the stairs to the loft and found two stable boys napping in the soft hay, but no Lady Wren.
Dashing out of the stables, he walked toward the fishpond, retracing his steps mentally from the castle, across the inner bailey, to the outer yard to the…Would she leave the castle proper? The tiny hairs along his neck tingled as he strode toward the outer wall.
“Falke.” Ozbern trotted toward him. “Harris found her.”
“What?” Falke shortened his stride, but continued toward the barbican. “Where?”
“In the chapel.” Ozbern puffed his reply. “Lady Wren and the old knight were lighting prayer candles.”
“But it cannot be.” When Falke pulled up short, Ozbern nearly plowed into his back. “She came outside.”
“I know not whom you saw, but Lady Wren is inside the keep. I saw her myself. No other would willingly don her rags and arthritic step.”
Raking his fingers through his hair, Falke shook his head. “I could have sworn…”
“Falke, no one can be in two places at the same time.” Ozbern waved his hand toward the gray stone castle. “Your betrothed is in her room, guarded once again by Harris and Robert. And by two other experienced men. Though why two healthy young men cannot keep up with one crippled imbecile, I know not.”
“Ozbern.” Falke kept his voice patient. “Do not call her cripple, and do not call her imbecile. Lady Wren is many things, but neither of those.”
Lifting his brows, Ozbern dropped his chin, looking stunned. “And pray, has Falke de Chretian finally discovered honor to fight so for a lady?”
“Nay, you should know me better,” Falke countered.
“Then why so fierce when I but speak the
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