Heart of a Knight Read Online Free PDF

bitter smile made a mockery of her pretty mouth. "Were it not for Lord Thomas and Alice, you'd have come back to a village dead—between brigands and plague, one or the other would have killed us all."
    Lyssa looked down. "I could not take all of you. By your own wish, you stayed with the others."
    "Was I to desert my old mother, and my sisters, and my little brother?" She leaned forward fiercely. "Was I to use my influence with
milady
to desert my own folk? I do not forget my place—not even to ease your guilt."
    "Guilt has ever been my companion," Lyssa said quietly, raising her eyes. "And none were more grief-stricken than I when we rode from here, leaving you all to what would be almost certain death."
    "Ah," Mary said, the bitterness on her mouth again. She stood up and crossed her arms, pacing toward the wall. "None so grief-stricken as the lady."
    Angered now, Lyssa shot to her feet. Tall Mary was not so called by accident. She was tall as a man, and Lyssa was forced to look up at her. "Think you the plague cares if a body be rich or poor, noble or peasant?" With a furious gesture, she pulled back her fine samite sleeve to display the fading pink mark a boil had left on the flesh of her inner arm. "It cares not, Tall Mary."
    Mary's pale freckled face flushed deep red. She took Lyssa's arm and touched the scar with the tips of her fingers. When she lifted her eyes, they were filled with tears. "Oh, I have ever had an evil temper. Forgive me, my lady."
    Lyssa swallowed. "I did not choose my birth, Mary. 'Twas no more my choice to be noble than 'twas yours to be peasant."
    "That I know well, my lady," she said quietly, her fingers still moving over the pink mark on Lyssa's arm. "But one day you will learn how far apart your wealth sets you. I fear 'twill grieve you."
    "Mayhap," Lyssa said, and drew Mary down to sit on the bench. "For now, can we not forget the difference between us, and drink ale, and gossip as we have ever done?"
    At last Mary laughed. "That we can. Gossip a-plenty I do have."
    Eagerly, Lyssa leaned forward. "Tell all!"
    "Will you hear the village news first, or"—she slanted a sly glance toward Lyssa-—"will you hear of Dark Thomas and his crone?"
    Lyssa chuckled. Dark Thomas—it suited the knight to be so named. "Oh, do tell of the knight and his crone. A mysterious pair, are they not?"
    "Mysterious?" Mary cocked a red brow. "We have other words for the lord, I can tell you. They say a man's hands show the size of other things. And have you seen his hands?"
    Against her will, Lyssa blushed. "He is a very big man."
    Mary gave a bawdy laugh. "Aye."
    The knowing laughter lit discomfort in Lyssa, and she scowled, as if in censure. Mary's grin only broadened. "Too long have you been away from women if you frown so at a jest, my lady." She leaned forward, impishly grinning. "Or do you fancy to discover him yourself?"
    "Mary!" she protested. What cared she how Lord Thomas had spent his nights? All men spent themselves on village maids. 'Twould have been more strange had he not. Still, she changed the subject. "They came in a blizzard?"
    "They did. On Candlemas." Mary, with her gift for storytelling, spun the tale. Lyssa drank the good, strong cider and let the pictures form in her imagination—the church and the candles flickering against the cold dark, and the strange knight coming in.
    "He has cared well for us, my lady. He is unlike the lords I have waited upon here."
    Lyssa pursed her lips in thought. "So I have seen."
    Just then, a sound rang against the night, a trumpet call. Mary jumped up. "I must go."
    "Oh, not so soon!" Lyssa caught her hands. "When will you be back?"
    Mary looked toward the window as the trumpet sounded again. "Tomorrow—then we may spin and weave as before, and you can tell me of the sea." She gripped Lyssa's hand in her own. "Glad I am you are well, my lady."
    Then she was gone. Lyssa stared at the oaken door through which Tall Mary had passed. Midsummer Night, she thought,