Read Online Silverhawk by Barbara Bettis - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Barbara Bettis
Tags: Medieval
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won’t let her travel, and he won’t leave her side. They remain at Windom.”
Alyss wed and a mother. Emelin and she had been friends when they were girls, although Alyss was a bit older. The family from Chauvere visited Emelin’s foster parents often before illness and war altered their world.
“I remember you. Little Evie.” Emelin caught herself. “I’m sorry. Lady Evelynn.”
Eyes sparking, Lady Evelynn squeezed Emelin’s hands. “Between ourselves, it’s Evie. I remember you, too. I used to wish I had your beautiful hair. Like the sunset.” She laughed again. “Stephen always said it was like the dawn. He teased that I couldn’t rise before the sun, so I was fated never to know the difference.”
Evie stopped short. Her smile evaporated, and her eyes grew sad. “Forgive me, I should not have mentioned him. I spoke without thought.”
The words had caught Emelin by surprise, but the pain in her chest had dulled after all these years. Stephen was the past. And like the past, dead and gone.
“That’s quite all right,” she assured Evie. “It was a long time ago. Much has changed.”
If ever words inadequately expressed another lifetime. Still Emelin curved her lips upward. As Mother Gertrude used to say, “Pretend to be happy, and it will be so.” Perhaps this once the saying would prove true.
As they moved up the stairway, Evie looked around. “Now life changes again. You are to be a wife. Tell me how you met Lord Osbert.” Her voice lowered, as if she anticipated a romantic tale.
Before Emelin could decide how to answer, the two reached the hall and were surrounded by the other ladies. By the time introductions were complete and a cup of watered wine provided for the newest guest, the men had arrived.
Lord Osbert led the way to the dais and called for food and drink. Garley shouldered in to sit at his side, while Lord Henry received the place of honor because of his ties to King Richard.
Next to him was the dark rider who had sent villagers scrambling when he rode in. His head turned, and her eyes flew wide. It was him. Her wounded knight.
How had she not recognized him immediately? Then she realized. The wounds were hardly visible on his sun-kissed forehead, the bruises mere shadows on high cheekbones and firm chin. Sleek, dark hair ended in curls that brushed the top of broad shoulders.
Although he lounged at ease, an air of inflexibility surrounded him, of impatience loosely caged. Then his eyes caught her gaze and one side of his wide, mobile mouth curved up.
Her stomach flipped. She stood as if she’d taken root in the floor. Oh, my. She felt her cheeks burn.
She sank down beside little Evie and turned her attention to the women. Lady Cleo questioned Evie about her brother, the others intent on any gossip that might slip out. As she had learned to do at the convent to mask her wandering mind, Emelin conjured up serenity and listened for a different conversation.
Discussion at the men’s table was loud, but the words indistinct. Osbert leaned forward. His gray head bobbed in emphasis to what he said. Although domineering and overbearing, he was not physically repulsive. He was not ancient. Her luck could have been much worse. But how would she face the marriage bed?
Unbidden, her glance flew to the dark knight. Sometimes at St. Ursula she had dreamed of being rescued, of finding love in the arms of a strong and handsome knight.
The marriage bed would not be objectionable shared with someone like him. Exciting, compelling, dangerous. Her pulse jumped as she remembered that fleeting kiss in the wagon, and her tongue flicked out to touch her lips.
She forced her glance to focus on one of the ragged tapestries along the back wall. This foolish tendency to think of him must end. She knew nothing of the man, really, except he journeyed to England to visit Henry.
Anyone might know Henry. That connection meant nothing, after all. He’d return home, wherever that might be, and
Alyss wed and a mother. Emelin and she had been friends when they were girls, although Alyss was a bit older. The family from Chauvere visited Emelin’s foster parents often before illness and war altered their world.
“I remember you. Little Evie.” Emelin caught herself. “I’m sorry. Lady Evelynn.”
Eyes sparking, Lady Evelynn squeezed Emelin’s hands. “Between ourselves, it’s Evie. I remember you, too. I used to wish I had your beautiful hair. Like the sunset.” She laughed again. “Stephen always said it was like the dawn. He teased that I couldn’t rise before the sun, so I was fated never to know the difference.”
Evie stopped short. Her smile evaporated, and her eyes grew sad. “Forgive me, I should not have mentioned him. I spoke without thought.”
The words had caught Emelin by surprise, but the pain in her chest had dulled after all these years. Stephen was the past. And like the past, dead and gone.
“That’s quite all right,” she assured Evie. “It was a long time ago. Much has changed.”
If ever words inadequately expressed another lifetime. Still Emelin curved her lips upward. As Mother Gertrude used to say, “Pretend to be happy, and it will be so.” Perhaps this once the saying would prove true.
As they moved up the stairway, Evie looked around. “Now life changes again. You are to be a wife. Tell me how you met Lord Osbert.” Her voice lowered, as if she anticipated a romantic tale.
Before Emelin could decide how to answer, the two reached the hall and were surrounded by the other ladies. By the time introductions were complete and a cup of watered wine provided for the newest guest, the men had arrived.
Lord Osbert led the way to the dais and called for food and drink. Garley shouldered in to sit at his side, while Lord Henry received the place of honor because of his ties to King Richard.
Next to him was the dark rider who had sent villagers scrambling when he rode in. His head turned, and her eyes flew wide. It was him. Her wounded knight.
How had she not recognized him immediately? Then she realized. The wounds were hardly visible on his sun-kissed forehead, the bruises mere shadows on high cheekbones and firm chin. Sleek, dark hair ended in curls that brushed the top of broad shoulders.
Although he lounged at ease, an air of inflexibility surrounded him, of impatience loosely caged. Then his eyes caught her gaze and one side of his wide, mobile mouth curved up.
Her stomach flipped. She stood as if she’d taken root in the floor. Oh, my. She felt her cheeks burn.
She sank down beside little Evie and turned her attention to the women. Lady Cleo questioned Evie about her brother, the others intent on any gossip that might slip out. As she had learned to do at the convent to mask her wandering mind, Emelin conjured up serenity and listened for a different conversation.
Discussion at the men’s table was loud, but the words indistinct. Osbert leaned forward. His gray head bobbed in emphasis to what he said. Although domineering and overbearing, he was not physically repulsive. He was not ancient. Her luck could have been much worse. But how would she face the marriage bed?
Unbidden, her glance flew to the dark knight. Sometimes at St. Ursula she had dreamed of being rescued, of finding love in the arms of a strong and handsome knight.
The marriage bed would not be objectionable shared with someone like him. Exciting, compelling, dangerous. Her pulse jumped as she remembered that fleeting kiss in the wagon, and her tongue flicked out to touch her lips.
She forced her glance to focus on one of the ragged tapestries along the back wall. This foolish tendency to think of him must end. She knew nothing of the man, really, except he journeyed to England to visit Henry.
Anyone might know Henry. That connection meant nothing, after all. He’d return home, wherever that might be, and
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