Angel of the Knight Read Online Free PDF

Gwendolyn?”
    Titus’s mouth curled into a sneer. “So, Lady Celestine, I didn’t think you dirtied yourself with the likes of me.”
    “That will be enough, Titus.” Falke stepped in front of his aunt, protecting her from the foul man. Ozbern rested his hand on his sword hilt, his thumb massaging the emerald in the pommel. Tension rippled through the inner bailey. The men of Mistedge stood ready to defend their lady’s honor.
    A dark-haired Cravenmoor knight sidled up to Titus. “Shut up, you old fool, before you get us all killed. We’re outnumbered ten to one. You’ll get your say.”
    “Wise advice, Ferris.” Falke looked back at the older man. “I suggest you take your son’s words to heart.”
    The snarl on Titus’s lips changed to a secretive smile. “My apologies.” His crop flew out and sliced across Ferris’s cheek. A thin line of blood seeped from the high cheekbone. “And you would do well to know your place, bastard.”
    Ferris’s face turned white with rage, making thewound even more pronounced. His jaw clenched and a blue-white vein pounded in his neck.
    Titus motioned a ragged boy forward. He carried a mahogany stool with an embroidered top. The boy positioned the ottoman on the ground, then guided the grossly overweight knight’s foot to the pad.
    Curiosity drove Falke closer. His aunt and the crowd of noblemen followed him. Titus swaggered forward, a gleam of pleasure in his small, swinelike eyes. The hair on the back of Falke’s neck prickled. The old codger had nothing but ill wishes for Mistedge, and anything that brought happiness to him could not be good for the keep or Falke.
    “I can see you’re eager to meet your bride.” Titus waved his hand impatiently. “Cyrus, fetch her.”
    A gray-haired man approached. Although past his prime and dressed in cast-off clothes, he walked with dignity and strength. Behind him, a charger followed. Aged with gray, the warhorse moved with the same regal assurance as the elderly servant. A small form perched on the back of the beast. Lady Celstine gasped and covered her mouth with her hand. A fist of shock slammed into Falke’s gut.
    Titus kept his gaze on Falke and ordered, “Come, Niece. Climb down and let your betrothed get a good look.”
    The girl wrapped her arms around the horse’s throat, leaned forward and slid to the ground. She kept one hand on the horse and with the other leaned on Cyrus’s arm. It took her several minutes to balance on her own feet.
    Falke had never seen anything so pathetic. Matted with tangles and knots, her mud-brown hair bushed out wildly and covered her face. An earth-colored kirtle, patched with bits of rags, strained to cover the girl’s ample girth. A dirty toe stuck out from a hole in her leather slipper.
    Titus’s chilling cackle brought Falke back to reality. His aunt’s fingernails sank into his arm and he felt her tremble. In a hoarse whisper, Lady Celestine said, “By the saints, she wasn’t like this as a child.” Then loudly, she demanded, “What did you do to her?”
    “Me?” Titus raised his eyebrows in surprise. “I did nothing. Many a towheaded child’s hair has darkened with the years. And sadly, after her mother’s death, in the throes of bereavement the child threw herself against a stone wall. Now she’s an imbecile, an idiot. Suffers fits and such. There’s a body, but no soul.” Every word was uttered with undisguised relish and stabbed at his aunt’s strained resolve.
    “Enough, Titus.” Falke refused to allow the base knight to hurt his aunt further. He motioned an attending lady forward. “Take Lady Celestine to her chamber.”
    “Falke, believe me, she was a beautiful child.” His aunt’s voice faltered, and tears came freely. “So like Isolde.” Her attendant led her away and into the protection of the castle.
    Titus clicked his tongue as he gave his niece a fatherly gaze. “Such a dreadful accident.”
    “Like her father’s death?” Falke let the tone