Read Online For My Lady's Heart by Laura Kinsale - Free Book Online Page A

pinned her hair, placing the net over it with care. In a
    subdued tone he said, “You are the source of all light and wisdom, Your
    Highness.”
    “Sweet boy, I would not let Gryngolet have thee for aught.”
    The shadow left his face. He began to knead her shoulders. Ruck lowered
    his eyes to the foot of the bed. He took a step back, withdrawing.
    “Green Sire,” she said imperiously, rejecting the youth’s attention with
    an impatient flick of her wrist. “Word has come to my ear that thou art
    merciless in combat and tourney.”
    Ruck stood silent. She looked at him full for the first time, scanned him
    from foot to chest to shoulders in the manner a hosteler might assess a
    horse. A very faint smile played at her lips as she looked into his eyes,
    holding him with blue-purple dusk and mystery.
    “Excellent,” she murmured. “Savagery amuses me. And what glorious feats
    of arms shall I expect to see executed for my favor?”
    That answer he’d considered long and well, knowing the number who were
    sure to challenge him. “Ten courses with the lance,” he said evenly, “five
    with the ax, and five courses with the sword will be my offer to any knight
    who strikes my shield. What glory that it please God I may gain is my
    lady’s.”
    “Well for that.” Her smile took on a hint of humor. “My public esteem
    always stands in some want of luster.”
    The moment of self-mockery glittered in her eyes and vanished, lost in a
    graceful lithe motion as she lay back upon the cushions, beckoning for the
    wine cup held by one of her ladies. He wanted to look away, but it was
    impossible: the irony and obscurity and dark radiance of her held him.
    Lancaster commanded Ruck as his prince and liege, but if she thought of
    that she gave no sign. She set Ruck square in the sorest dilemma a man could
    be placed—vassal and servant to opposing masters—though not for war or any
    great thing did she command him to declare a challenge for her on his own
    prince, not that Ruck could tell.
    Yet he would serve. She was his sworn lady. Beyond doubt or motive he
    would obey her. It was not his place to ask for reasons, even if she did not
    remember him.
    And she did not. When she looked at him so negligently, he was
    certain—almost certain—that she did not.
    Two emeralds and thirteen years. But emeralds must be naught to such as
    she, as he would have been naught so long ago, a ridiculous boy, no one and
    nothing.
    He wore the green jewel on his helmet. He carried her falcon on his
    shield. Why had she asked for him, if she did not remember?
    She bent her head to take a sip from the hammered goblet—and then paused
    before she tasted it. She stared into the wine for a long moment, her lashes
    black against skin of down and rose. When she looked up, it was toward the
    little group of ladies-in-waiting beside her bed, an emotionless sweep that
    remarked each one of them—and Ruck saw each of them in turn respond with the
    stone-silent terror of cornered rabbits.
    She lowered her eyes to the goblet again, without drinking. “Thou wilt be
    valiant in my name on the morrow, Green Sire?” she murmured, glancing up at
    him over the rim.
    He gave a slight nod.
    “See that it is so.” With a gesture she dismissed him. Ruck turned from
    the sight of Allegreto trifling with a ring on her finger.
    At the door he stopped, looking back. “Your Highness,” he said quietly.
    She glanced up, lifting her brows.
    He nodded toward Allegreto and spoke in English. “Ne such as that could
    nought kill me.”
    “What did he say?” the youth demanded instantly. “He was looking at me!”
    Princess Melanthe turned. “Why, he said that in his devotion to me,
    Allegreto, he could defeat any man. A most handy green knight, think thee
    not?”

    As the knight departed, Allegreto turned the amethyst over and over on
    her finger. He leaned near her shoulder, laying his head next to hers.
    Melanthe lifted the cup of wine to his mouth and said,