A Dishonorable Knight - By Morrison, Michelle Page 0,18

the texture of the fine linen of her dress under his fingers. He could not keep the fresh, sun-warmed scent of her hair out of his nose, however, nor could he ignore the way her breath tickled his left ear.

He could tell when her head stopped spinning, when she realized she was pressed against him, his hands on her waist, her head on his shoulder. She quickly raised her head and her weary eyes glared imperatively at him.

"Take your hands off of me," she said as she pushed him away. Gareth immediately let her go and she had to clutch at her horse's mane to keep from falling.

As he stalked to his horse and began unsaddling it, he was disgusted with himself for his body's reaction to Elena's nearness. His hands still tingled from holding her, his chest could still feel her soft form pressed against it. He pulled Isrid's saddle off and began rubbing the powerful horse down. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw Elena still standing, clinging to her horse's mane.

More sharply than he intended, he said, "Unbuckle that saddle and groom your horse."

Elena jumped and opened her eyes. She glared at him before turning and fumbling with the straps which held the saddle on. Several minutes later, she had only managed to undo one buckle and was leaning wearily against her patient horse when Gareth approached.

"Watch carefully. Next time you do this yourself."

Elena clenched her teeth in anger, but said nothing, watching as he deftly undid the straps and slid the saddle off the horse. He walked back to his horse and picked up the rag he had used. Returning, he handed it to Elena. "Rub her down well so she'll not catch a chill."

When Elena just stared at the rag, he took her hand roughly and showed her what to do. She rubbed her horse until her arms ached and Gareth said, "Now wipe your saddle down and then you may go wash up at the stream. ‘Tis through those trees over there."

As Elena stumbled to the stream, Bryant and Cynan exchanged surprised glances. Never had Gareth treated a lady so. He took every part of his knight's oath seriously and chivalry towards the fairer sex he had, until this lady, meticulously obeyed.

When Elena returned, Gareth handed her a bowl of watery soup. Elena stared at the contents of the bowl and said, "Might it be to much to ask what this substance is floating in the gruel?"

"Say, there's nothing floating in mine," Cynan complained.

Ignoring Cynan's attempts to lighten the mood, Gareth started to answer Elena, but Bryant broke in, "'Tis the meat you ate earlier today, my lady. When we boil it up with some barley, it gets a little more palatable."

Elena took a sip. "There is nothing on this earth that could make this 'meat' taste better. Could not one of you hunt a rabbit or some venison? 'Tis not as if we hadn't been in the forest all day, and since it's clear I'll be sleeping on the ground again tonight, is it too much to ask for a decent meal?" she finished imperiously.

Taking one look at the wrathful expression on Gareth's face, Cynan and Bryant hastily swallowed the last of their soup and quickly escaped to the stream.

"You are lucky to have a blanket to lay on the ground. Is it too much to ask that you might be grateful to have anything to eat at all?"

"Perhaps the serving wenches you are used to are content with your miserable hospitality, but ladies of rank expect more consideration from those who serve them."

"Serve them? If you think we are your servants, you are sadly mistaken. Tell me, is it customary for future countesses to belittle everyone and everything. Would you be more gracious if you were wedding Edgeford rather than Brackley come Michaelmas? On second thought, I met Edgeford. He seemed entirely too pleasant to meet your demanding expectations. 'Tis just as well you're marrying Earl Brackley. However, I must warn you to watch your temper around him. I understand his treatment of his wives makes them grateful for the smallest scrap of warmth and comfort. Why--" Gareth stopped at the look of terror on Elena's face. She stared at him, her warm brown eyes open wide with fright, something Gareth never expected to see in the gaze of someone as dictatorial as Lady Elena. The bowl of soup tumbled from her grasp unnoticed.

Despite her earlier whining and complaining, Gareth was instantly contrite.