Knight Protector (Knight Chronicles) Read Online Free PDF Page B

And suddenly she was angry. Angry that her husband’s death had doused the small hope of children she’d allowed herself on their marriage, even though he’d coerced her to wed. Angry that Colin could nae seem to understand spies and the fate of nations meant nothing without family. Angry that he treated his brother’s death with the same callous indifference he gave her when he’d abandoned her so long ago.
    “Pah! I’ll get them for you. If you insist on this foolishness, you canna be seen prancing about the hallways as if you were perfectly hale.” She fled the room, returning with the bed linens only after she gathered her composure.
    Keeping her distance, she worked with Colin to remake the bed. His presence changed nothing—not really. Colin or Brice, she cared little to which Marr she was wed. Although she wasn’t truly wed to Colin. Her reasons for marrying remained the same—the safety of her family. She would do whatever was necessary to stop the past from destroying the present.
    A knock followed by Lady Agnes’s screeching demand to “open this door instantly!” came just as Colin began to strip so he could don a clean nightshirt.
    Sorcha whipped around. She’d nae endure the sight of his naked body. He was nae yet in the bed and looked entirely too healthy for a man who’d spent the past two weeks dying. Their plan would fail before it began, and they’d both be accused of murder. She hurried to the door, dousing all but the one candle farthest from the bed.
    “I insist to be allowed—”
    “Mathair. How nice to see you again.” She smiled and took in the sight of Lady Agnes, her face red, her mouth agape at the small delay. Sorcha could see the steam building just like a kettle on the hob.
    Carrying a tray, the servant behind her smothered a smirk.
    “Ignorant Scottish cripple.” Agnes huffed. “I told you I would prepare a good English porridge for my stepson.”
    “Ah, so ye did. ’Tis me puir memory thas forgotten.” Sorcha reached to take the bowl off the tray.
    The lady jerked the tray, bowl and all, away from the servant toward her considerable bosom, in the process sloshing some of the thin, gray liquid onto her kirtle. She gnashed her teeth and all but stamped her foot. “Clumsy fool. Look what you made me do. Let me pass!”
    Sorcha stepped back and to the side, pulling the door wide as she dismissed the servant. She prayed Colin was up to this fakery. She’d done all she could to give him time.
    She watched as Lady Agnes stuck her nose in the air and marched into the room. One glance at the gooey lumps drifting in a sea of taupe-hued gray liquid and Sorcha suspected that no Scot and few English would think the concoction in the bowl to be proper porridge.
    Colin’s stepmother reached the bed and stood looking about. Her frown deepened.
    Sorcha followed, peering past the Englishwoman to see the bed.
    Colin was sunk within the bedclothes, allowing the feather mattress to puff up around him to make him look thin and wasted. He was completely covered, save for the fingers of one hand and his eyes—which in Sorcha’s view were too bright with humor at the situation.
    “Girl, fetch me a seat.”
    Sorcha rolled her eyes and did as she was bid rather than endure the tantrum a refusal would create. She placed a tall, backless bench near enough to the bed for Agnes to spoon food into Colin’s mouth without dripping too much into the rushes or on the woolen coverlet.
    Lady Agnes sat. “Now plump his pillows. He cannot eat lying flat like that.”
    “Naaae,” wobbled weakly from Colin. He made a feeble motion with one hand as if he wished Sorcha to come closer.
    She leaned in, hoping she could block his words from Agnes.
    “Dear wife.” He spoke in a whisper but projected his voice like a
guiser
. “Sit behind me, I beg you. Let me rest against your tender bosom. ’Twill be softer than any pillow.”
    With Agnes at her back, Sorcha glared at him. He was grinning. He knew