Read Online Eliza Knight - The Rules of Chivalry by A Knight's Victory - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: A Knight's Victory
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eyes.
Princess. There’d been a time in her life she did feel adored, cherished . But not anymore. The past few years had been wrought with fear, anger, resentment . Whatever amount of self-esteem she’d once held, had sunk the moment her husband first degraded her, and little chunks had been ripped from her every day since, until finally she felt nothing.
What the princess wants, the princess gets. If only it were true! She wanted nothing more than to fling herself into Michael’s arms and be carried away from the madness of Kent Castle, the madness of its master. She wanted to be carried across England to the salty shores and then thrown back to Ireland. A time when she was safe, a place she felt secure, and with the one person in life who deigned to call her special and loved her for it.
Without looking at him, she knew Michael’s eyes were on her, trying to decipher her feelings. The weight of his gaze penetrated her soul. She blinked back her tears, and turned slightly toward him, offering a small smile. She had nothing left to give but that. Pain emanated her entire being. Her soul was like a caged bird begging to be let free, yet her mind held a stick, whacking it away from the enclosing bars. If only she could be as carefree as Michael made her feel. If only she’d never left Ireland…
*****
Michael wove his way around people and erected tents until he came to his own, his heart heavy, his mind full. Elena’s eyes haunted him. At once sparkling and jubilant, they’d turned to hollow orbs. Every once in a while he’d see a fleeting twinkle of the woman she’d once been, but then tears pooled in their depths, and she quickly shielded her face from him.
All he’d heard was true. Her pleas for rescue weren’t the exaggerations of an unhappy wife, but a cry for help, nay, a shout for a savior. He knew his job here was one not to be taken lightly, but it wasn’t until he’d seen the sheer pain and even fear in his love—dare he say betrothed?—that Michael knew how important it was.
She’d retired early for the night, and only after following her to her tent and safely seeing she was guarded, did he retreat. Their goodbye had been bittersweet. So many words left unsaid. The tension crackled between them. Her eyes had been lowered, her words whisper soft as she thanked him for the escort. Her ladies surrounded her like a shield and he well knew why. But he wasn’t Kent or one of Kent’s men. The brief touch of her hand on his arm had been like lightning striking his soul. He’d reached out to take her hand, kissed her soft knuckles, and then she was gone, her ladies closing the flap of the tent.
What utter horrors had she and her ladies seen, experienced?
Kent was a menacing man. A beast. His men disgusting pigs. When he won the tournament, he’d turn these men around. Teach them to respect a lady. Show them the ways a chivalrous knight should behave. Bitterness burned a path from his stomach to his throat. He spit angrily on the ground.
Elena had shown true courage when she’d chided the knight who’d dared touch her lady’s maid. Michael had been surprised when her husband said nothing, the man even had the audacity to glare daggers at his wife, as if the women were there to be touched by the men. Defiled, abused. He gritted his teeth. Bastards, all of them.
On the morrow, when he was in the field, he’d imagine each and every one of those brutes when he fought sword to sword with the other knights.
He shoved aside the flap to his tent and stalked inside. Darkness greeted him. Thank goodness he’d told his squires to go off for the evening and entertain themselves. He was itching for a fight and if any of them had been in the tent he was sure to persuade them into training to get his frustrations out. He let out a breath, not realizing he’d been holding it. Stumbling around, he found a candle and lit it with a flint. Shadows danced across the tent.
He made quick work of disrobing,
Princess. There’d been a time in her life she did feel adored, cherished . But not anymore. The past few years had been wrought with fear, anger, resentment . Whatever amount of self-esteem she’d once held, had sunk the moment her husband first degraded her, and little chunks had been ripped from her every day since, until finally she felt nothing.
What the princess wants, the princess gets. If only it were true! She wanted nothing more than to fling herself into Michael’s arms and be carried away from the madness of Kent Castle, the madness of its master. She wanted to be carried across England to the salty shores and then thrown back to Ireland. A time when she was safe, a place she felt secure, and with the one person in life who deigned to call her special and loved her for it.
Without looking at him, she knew Michael’s eyes were on her, trying to decipher her feelings. The weight of his gaze penetrated her soul. She blinked back her tears, and turned slightly toward him, offering a small smile. She had nothing left to give but that. Pain emanated her entire being. Her soul was like a caged bird begging to be let free, yet her mind held a stick, whacking it away from the enclosing bars. If only she could be as carefree as Michael made her feel. If only she’d never left Ireland…
*****
Michael wove his way around people and erected tents until he came to his own, his heart heavy, his mind full. Elena’s eyes haunted him. At once sparkling and jubilant, they’d turned to hollow orbs. Every once in a while he’d see a fleeting twinkle of the woman she’d once been, but then tears pooled in their depths, and she quickly shielded her face from him.
All he’d heard was true. Her pleas for rescue weren’t the exaggerations of an unhappy wife, but a cry for help, nay, a shout for a savior. He knew his job here was one not to be taken lightly, but it wasn’t until he’d seen the sheer pain and even fear in his love—dare he say betrothed?—that Michael knew how important it was.
She’d retired early for the night, and only after following her to her tent and safely seeing she was guarded, did he retreat. Their goodbye had been bittersweet. So many words left unsaid. The tension crackled between them. Her eyes had been lowered, her words whisper soft as she thanked him for the escort. Her ladies surrounded her like a shield and he well knew why. But he wasn’t Kent or one of Kent’s men. The brief touch of her hand on his arm had been like lightning striking his soul. He’d reached out to take her hand, kissed her soft knuckles, and then she was gone, her ladies closing the flap of the tent.
What utter horrors had she and her ladies seen, experienced?
Kent was a menacing man. A beast. His men disgusting pigs. When he won the tournament, he’d turn these men around. Teach them to respect a lady. Show them the ways a chivalrous knight should behave. Bitterness burned a path from his stomach to his throat. He spit angrily on the ground.
Elena had shown true courage when she’d chided the knight who’d dared touch her lady’s maid. Michael had been surprised when her husband said nothing, the man even had the audacity to glare daggers at his wife, as if the women were there to be touched by the men. Defiled, abused. He gritted his teeth. Bastards, all of them.
On the morrow, when he was in the field, he’d imagine each and every one of those brutes when he fought sword to sword with the other knights.
He shoved aside the flap to his tent and stalked inside. Darkness greeted him. Thank goodness he’d told his squires to go off for the evening and entertain themselves. He was itching for a fight and if any of them had been in the tent he was sure to persuade them into training to get his frustrations out. He let out a breath, not realizing he’d been holding it. Stumbling around, he found a candle and lit it with a flint. Shadows danced across the tent.
He made quick work of disrobing,
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