A Knight’s Enchantment Read Online Free PDF Page B

robe, and trim figure.
    She had her back to him and he saw the supple arch of her body as she leaned over a low table, busy with bowls and cloths. She crouched lower, bending to pour something, and the pert roundness of her bottom was instantly suggested by the curving pleats of her skirts. It would be a lush pleasure for her sweetheart to throw up her gown and have her there, facedown across the table, amidst the shimmering bowls.
    Hugh felt himself immediately aroused by the image and the idea. Trying to disguise his state he crouched and fiddled with his boot ties, glad of the distraction when Beowulf attempted to lick his ear. “Down!” he muttered, both to the dog and to himself.
    Somehow, Joanna heard him and now she twisted about to face him, her robe slapping against the table leg as her head snapped upward. He braced himself for a glare, for her to jab her own lips, for her to protest to her lord. Instead, she nodded at David, as if silently saying, “Here is your brother. Do your best for him.”
    I will, he thought, glad of the reminder, gladder still that she was there. He did not wonder at the reason why: to see her again and realize that she did not consider him lower than a worm was sufficient. Still kneeling, he smiled at her, while the bishop’s steward cleared his fat throat and called for quiet.
     
     
    He was grinning at her, the arrogant pig. No, Hugh Manhill was no pig: he was too large and fast. A modern Goliath, Joanna decided, thinking she had wasted her silent warning on him. If he gained his brother she would be overjoyed, but if he failed today, David would be the loser. She sent up a swift prayer for Manhill’s calm success as Bishop Thomas settled more comfortably on his chair and resumed “negotiations.”
    “I have seen better silver cups in a common tavern,” he started, smirking at his steward, “and more gold under a peasant’s mattress. Do you think such paltry offerings will redeem your brother, Hugh de Manhill?”
    Joanna glanced anxiously at Hugh, whose color and countenance had not changed as he rose slowly to his feet. Only his trim, well-brushed wolfhound, glowering at the cowering alaunts, revealed any tension.
    “This is for his lodgings only.” Hugh swept a negligent arm in the direction of the treasure chest and bags of coins. “I have more in readiness for his release.”
    Thomas raised his eyebrows. “And the relics? My relics?”
    “You have your scribe,” Hugh reminded him, nodding to the man, “and it is no grief to me to speak to the Templars.” He ignored David’s slight head shake and spread his hands, inviting a response.
    Instead of which there was silence, broken only by Parvus’s harsh nasal breathing and the cheeping of sparrows nesting in the roof.
    “How now, my lord bishop?” Hugh asked softly, as the silence drew on. “Or shall I speak of the rumors I have heard concerning the lascivious corruption present in this see?”
    Watching with lowered head through half-closed eyelids, Joanna felt herself becoming more uneasy. So far, her lord had not asked Hugh to approach or be seated on one of the benches lining the walls of the audience chamber. He was even sucking a sweet—no doubt one of her peppermint pastilles, which Thomas insisted that she make. In a dragging, clammy realization, she recognized that he was merely toying with Hugh. A quick look at David’s tense, unhappy face told her that he thought so, too.
    But I cannot help!
    “Idle gossip,” Thomas observed, refusing to be drawn on the murky matter of his own morals. “I am waiting to be amazed.”
    That was an omen to her, and a cue she could use. Before she thought herself out of it, or became too afraid, Joanna acted.
    “My lords!” Calling out, she stepped away from the low table, unfurling the huge circular sheepskin she had brought down with her as she swept a deep curtsy to her lord and everyone in the room. Briefly as she bowed she saw Hugh’s deep blue eyes, darker