grin. "I apologize if such vulgarity offends you."
"I'll thank you not to ridicule me." Honorine sniffed and tossed her carefully coiffed golden curls. "And I will leave you to your grass and poetry, both of which are far too rustic for my taste."
"If you insist." Smothering a giggle, Aimée added, "Tell Maman that I will be home soon."
Honorine disappeared into the April foliage while Aimée broke off a chunk of crusty bread to go with the cheese she had been eating. Bending her head once again toward the sheaf of poems scattered across her lap, she concentrated on translating the English words into French.
Less than a quarter hour passed, during which the only sounds were her bites of crisp bread. Thus, when other distant noises reached Aimée's ears, she paused to listen. From deep in the woods the crashing drew nearer, until suddenly a magnificent stag vaulted in a high arc across the clearing. Pieces of parchment and cheese scattered as Aimée scrambled to her feet in alarm, just in time to avoid being run down by a half dozen barking hounds that thundered through the clearing in pursuit of the stag. Horrified to realize that someone meant to kill one of the most splendid creatures in her woods, she didn't hesitate for a moment when the two hunters galloped into the clearing.
"Monsieurs. Arretez! I beg you to halt."
Somehow the men were able to rein in their horses quickly. The nearer hunter turned in his saddle and bowed from the waist, sweeping off a soft velvet cap with a frothy plume.
"We are at your service, mademoiselle. How may we assist you?"
Aimée had been appraising the situation. Obviously, the men were not of noble birth, since they rode without the usual accompaniment of grooms, huntsmen, and pages. Still, the man who spoke was richly garbed in a slashed doublet and haut-de-chausses of forest green velvet. His blue jerkin was trimmed with sable and set with emeralds. The eyes that regarded her with a mixture of concern and impatience were hazel, slanting upward slightly at the corners as though prone to laughter. The man's face was hardly handsome yet arresting all the same. Aimée thought she had never seen a nose quite so large; it grew like a pale zucchini nearly down to the poor fellow's mouth. All the same, he gave off an air of bold confidence.
"Did you understand me, mademoiselle?" the hunter prompted. Glancing over at his companion, he touched a finger to the side of his neatly bearded chin and sighed.
"Yes, m'sieur, I understood. I was just waiting to reply until I was certain the stag was safely away. Pray forgive me for spoiling your sport, but I couldn't allow you to kill him."
The green-garbed hunter stared thunderstruck. "You couldn't allow me?" He swiveled in his saddle to address the other man. "Did you hear that? Did you? This girl couldn't allow me to kill a stag!"
"My friend, do not misplace your ready wit. After all, this could have been an ordinary day like any other, but instead we have encountered a lovely wood sprite who bravely protects the creatures in her forest." St. Briac gave Francois a carefree grin.
"Hmm." The king glanced back at Aimée. A burnished sunbeam poured over her gleaming ebony curls, thick-lashed green eyes, rosy lips, and softly curving figure. "I see your point, St. Briac. No doubt such a compassionate maiden would offer comfort to disappointed hunters as well?"
Aimée was flooded with relief. "Oh, yes. If only you will not be angry with me."
The men exchanged grins and swung down from their horses. Watching them approach, Aimée experienced a tiny pang of apprehension. The man with the large nose was very tall, with a strong body, yet his companion was even taller and stronger. She regarded him closely and could scarcely believe what she saw. He was astonishingly handsome, with crisply curling chestnut hair and rakish close-trimmed beard, dark turquoise eyes that crinkled with humor, sculpted cheekbones, a slightly aquiline nose, and a compelling smile. He wore a simple yet rich doublet and snug breeches of gray velvet set off by ivory linen revealed through the slashings. His hunting boots were of the finest leather.
Suddenly Aimée realized that she had been staring, and she looked quickly toward the other man. "I will be glad to provide what comfort I can, m'sieur, but I fear that all I have to offer is some wine, bread, and cheese... and the soft green grass upon which you