A Dishonorable Knight - By Morrison, Michelle Page 0,140

man in armor with mock swords. Though his opponent stood a head taller than him, Gareth bested the man's strength and knocked him to the ground, holding the mock sword to his throat a second before leaning down to help his opponent up. When both men were standing, they took off their helmets, laughing and comparing battle techniques. Gareth slapped the man companionably on the shoulder before turning to leave the battlefield. Elena's breath caught as he glanced up and saw her watching. The grin left his face and he stared at her, his eyes burning hotly as his gaze scanned her face, her figure. The other ladies were leaving and Elena knew she must follow but she could not escape his gaze.

Finally Margaret turned her horse and rode back to Elena, "Elena! Are you coming? We're off to view the flower gardens."

"Yes, I'm coming," Elena murmured. She urged her horse to slowly follow the others, but kept her gaze locked onto Gareth. Twisting in the saddle, she watched as Gareth lifted his hand to his lips. She returned the action, wishing with all her heart she could stop and speak to him. But with what excuse? She could not risk stopping with Catherine and who knew how many others watching, hoping for a reason to cast suspicion on their relationship. Turning back around, she urged her horse to a faster pace and caught up with the group of women as Catherine was describing how instrumental she was in helping Richard have the most beautiful castle gardens. Elena rolled her eyes and allowed her mind to wander back to Gareth.

Chapter 26

"My liege," said the burly man who knelt before Richard in the main hall. The man was covered with dirt from the road, his hair sweaty, his armor a strange combination of leather and metal, with French and German styling. The three men who knelt behind them with heads bowed were garbed in equally motley armor. "My liege," the leader said once again, finally gaining the king's attention.

"What is it?" he asked shortly.

"My liege, we report to you upon orders of the Earl of Brackley."

Richard surveyed the men briefly, visibly disbelieving their claim of service. "We have no need of mercenaries. We have twelve thousand loyal troops to attend me should We need them. Be on your way."

"My liege?"

Richard turned back to the man. "What is it? Do you not understand God's English? I've no need of mercenaries."

"We are not mercenaries, my liege. We have spent these last weeks in Wales."

Richard’s brows raised in understanding. “Did you learn aught?”

“We learned the rebels held a meeting in Aberstwyth. A host of Welsh malcontents met to plan their attack on your grace. Rumor has it that Lord Stanley attended.”

Richard choked on his bile. He had long suspected Stanley would betray him, had demanded his son as hostage to prevent such an action.

“Who else attended?”

“Welsh rebels–“

”Names, you fool. I know they were Welsh!”

The man wiped a dirty hand across his sweaty brow, leaving a muddy streak. “We didn’t–we could not find the meeting’s location. We thought we came across one man, but he–that is, the Welsh helped him to escape.”

“Did you see Lord Stanley there?”

“We spoke to a barmaid who swore she had waited upon the man, your grace.”

“But you did not see him, did not speak to him.”

The man shifted his weight. The floor was no doubt hard on his knee. “No, your grace.”

Richard sighed heavily and leaned his head on the high back of his chair.

"See Sir Jasper. He will assign you duties." The men stood and bowed before backing away. "And do not dare to present yourself to me filthy from travel again.”

The four men hurried out of the hall in search of Sir Jasper.

Chapter 27

A thousand candles lit the great hall of Nottingham castle as servants stumbled over each other in their haste to bring heavy trays of food to the thick wood tables. The wine flowed ceaselessly and the rich aroma of fresh-baked bread and thick stews competed with the smoke from the great fireplace and the sweat of men who had ridden hard hours to break bread with their sovereign. As Gareth surveyed the bustling scene, he felt a strange sense of déjà vu. This could have easily been the last great feast at Middleham castle. The night he had first laid eyes on Elena. The rowdy men around him laughed as they recalled the foibles of the squires they were training. A comely serving girl leaned