Read Online To Touch The Knight by Lindsay Townsend - Free Book Online Page B

Calais? No? But then where did you take ship to England?”
    â€œVenice,” she said crisply, which could be true.
    â€œIs your father a great warrior?”
    The change of subject startled her. Surprise shone in her eyes.
    â€œWhy do you ask?”
    â€œSir Tancred has a new kind of sword with him, and the men whom you favor do well. It is said the knowledge of the East is greater than ours, and I thought perhaps they do well because of you.”
    He stopped, allowing her to speak, hoping to tempt her to an indiscretion, a moment of pride. All she said was, “I am pleased if I inspire the knights.”
    â€œBecause you enjoy bloodshed?”
    â€œNot so!” That stung her. She lengthened her stride and would not look at him as he drew alongside.
    â€œMy lady?”
    â€œWhy do you fight?” she demanded, still without looking at him.
    He could have said for honor, glory, prizes, but instead the words tumbled out, “Why do you think I do?”
    They strode on in silence for several paces. She waved at someone in the crowd. He heard the distant chok! and thump of arrows hitting targets and knew the archery contest had begun. His breath snagged in his chest, coiling hot and twisted, as he hung upon her answer. Suddenly he had to know what she thought of him, truly.
    â€œIn these times of death, some feast and make merry, wringing all sweetness from their days,” she said, her voice low and hard. “You hit out, fast and hard, seeking respite for grief through battle.”
    He let go the breath he had been holding, relieved that she did not see him as a killer for sport.
    â€œSome pray to God and the heavens, though I cannot understand why.” She stared up at the cloudless vault of the sky, and added, “Have you ever seen an angel?”
    â€œNot all that is in the world can be touched, seen, surely?” he protested. “Consider music, the wonders of painting, story, where men are inspired by the unknown and strive for it.”
    She kicked a dried cow pat to pieces as they passed it. “Only a knight would have the luxury to be such a dreamer.”
    â€œYou think life nothing more than eating and sleeping?” He was aghast at her attitude. “What of the friendship we spoke of only a moment ago?”
    â€œOr love? You knights are full of love, are you not?”
    â€œPrincess,” said her steward behind them, and his voice was steely with warning.
    The Lady of Lilies dropped her head. For an instant Ranulf wondered if she might put her veiled face in her gloved hands, but then she stared at her hands as if they were unknown to her. “Forgive me,” she said throatily, “it is the day. These bright days put me in mind of my homeland, and I wonder how my people fare. Or perhaps I am too warm.”
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    Angered by her lack of self-control and alarmed by her sudden rage— where did that come from? Never has my sense of injustice at Gregory’s death bitten into me, driven me, more sharply —Edith sought to gain an advantage. She dropped off her cloak, knowing that Teodwin would gather it. Remembering what her grandfather had said of the maids of the East she walked proudly, sucking in her bare gut, feeling her long hair plait bounce against her bottom, aware that Ranulf would see her plait beneath her short head-veil, and her silk-clad hips and garlanded middle.
    â€œRopes of grass, Princess?” he asked, seeming as cool as frost as other bystanders gasped and pointed.
    Edith smiled, feeling a little more in control again. Speaking of dress and sparring with a man was nothing new to her; there was no danger here. She did not sport ropes of grass and he knew it. Teodwin had gathered grass and wheat and oats to make into a garland that she had wound about her middle and across her breasts. Her short jerkin today was pale cream, to match her flowing long skirts, and she wore many necklaces of polished copper. She