One Knight Only Read online

  “Anonymity can be a good thing,” Walter said slowly. “No one forces you to take sides.”

  “Although they do try to sway you,” David called back from the front of the party.

  Walter shrugged. “Such entreaties are relatively easy to resist.”

  “Because you are a Bladesman, and must hold yourself above the rest,” Anne said.

  “Because we have a sworn duty,” Joseph said. “And it is of a short duration, so we know we will only be in a situation for so long.”

  Philip smiled. “And then you can go home, and become a mortal man once again?”

  Joseph laughed, and it was the first time Philip had heard such an expression of emotion from the Bladesmen. Maybe they were human after all.

  “If each of your missions is so secret,” Anne said, “do your families know where you are?”

  Both Joseph and David glanced back at Walter, who rode at the rear with Philip. They were going to allow him to decide what to answer.

  Walter hesitated. “Nay, but should something happen to us, messages prepared by each of us will be sent to them.”

  Those words were like an icy breeze sweeping between them all. If the traitors knew someone had overheard them discussing their plot against the king, and it now seemed likely, the chance of danger and injury would always be with them.

  Philip cocked his head, determined not to shy away from the subject. “So you prepare to leave as if you might not come back.”

  Margaret gave a loud sigh, and although Walter bowed his head to her in understanding, he still answered.

  “We take all precautions,” Walter said impassively. “But did you not, Sir Philip, when you went to France?”

  “I had no living family when I left,” Philip said. He felt a pang of old sorrow, but he realized that Anne was watching him closely, and he made himself forget the past.

  “But surely you had belongings or property you would have wanted taken care of,” Walter continued.

  Philip shook his head. “Not before I left for France. I was a poor, simple soldier.”

  “And since then? I have heard you were quite capable at tournaments.”

  “Quite capable? What a compliment, coming from you, Sir Walter.”

  Anne smiled, and the other two knights exchanged a look that could only be agreement.

  “And since then,” Philip continued, “my friend Lord Alderley holds my possessions for me.”

  “He cannot know where you are at all times,” Walter said. “What if something happens to you?”

  Philip didn’t look at Anne, but out of the corner of his eye, he saw her bow her head.

  “My reputation always precedes me. Fear not, someone will know where to send my body.”

  He heard Anne’s soft gasp. At least she didn’t like to imagine him dead. He glanced into her eyes, the color of obsidian, so mysterious, and he could have gladly stayed there, trying to understand her. He looked away quickly.

  “Nothing is going to happen to any of us,” Philip added. “Our visible mission is innocent enough, and it seems that the men who once followed us have scurried away. Perhaps they don’t want to interfere with a countess’s right to marry.”

  There were fake smiles and nods all around, but an uneasy silence settled over them once again.

  The sun was near to setting when Anne and her party rode into the stable yard of the Trout and Goose Inn on the bank of the Don River, just on the far side of an arched stone bridge that looked as if the Romans could have built it. She sighed in relief, for the last few hours had been tense as more and more travelers joined them. She had found herself flinching every time someone rode by, and her knights received several ugly stares when they reacted so protectively, more than once unsheathing a sword. Then people had scattered out of their way, clutching children who rode pillion on their horses’ haunches, putting arms around their wives. Anne had felt a little embarrassed, but knew their caution was necessary.

  Most of these other travelers had continued farther into Doncaster, which made Anne feel better. It was easy to see why the Trout and Goose Inn would be avoided. Though it was several stories tall, Anne could swear that the second floor sagged over the first. Geese roamed the courtyard and honked whenever someone got in their way. The grooms were slow to leave the stables, and simply looked at the travelers with boredom rather than offer to help with the horses.

  “Is this safe?” she asked quietly.

  Sir Walter studied the building. “’Tis been here as long as I can remember. It will do for a night. You are not afraid of rats, are you, my lady?”

  When her eyes went wide, he gave that faint smile, the only sign of his amusement, and dismounted.

  To his men, he said, “We will have to see to the horses. I have little trust in the grooms here.” He glanced at Philip and Margaret. “Wait with Lady Rosamond.”

  “You trust me?” Philip said with a laugh.

  “I won’t be far away,” Sir Walter said, glowering at him.

  Philip held out his arm to Anne. “Come, my lady, there is a bench beneath an apple tree in the courtyard that doesn’t look as if it will collapse.”

  Anne caught a glimpse of movement out of the corner of her eye. Though she told herself to ignore Sir Walter’s jesting, she was still thinking about the rats. But when she turned, she saw only an undisturbed water trough.

  “Is something wrong?” Philip asked.

  His voice had gone softer, deeper, and his hand rested on the hilt of his sword. Margaret turned about in a circle, her fingers twisting and untwisting, as if their attackers would appear in broad daylight.

  “Nay, ’tis nothing,” Anne said doubtfully.

  “Then you don’t trust me enough to touch my arm while I escort you?”

  He held it out to her once more, his expression knowing. Did he realize how much his kisses had made her think of him all afternoon, had rekindled every unwanted feeling she’d struggled for weeks to forget? She was angry with him for making her remember, angry with herself for being so easily swayed by him—and yet, somehow relieved, too, just as she’d been weeks ago, when she’d worried that a man’s kiss would forever remind her of another man trying to force his will upon her. She reminded herself that in the League, she would have to become used to men who would try to cow her.

  But Philip wasn’t one of those. She reluctantly put her hand on his arm and told herself he was just a man. But his body was warm, and immediately she was back in her memory, held against him, feeling him from her lips to her toes. Lord Milforth’s kiss had certainly not made her feel that.

  Those green eyes smiled down at her just as surely as his mouth. Then he glanced over her head. She turned to see what he was looking at, and this time, she saw, just peeking out from behind the trough, a tiny foot encased in a plain, cloth slipper.

  “Ah,” she murmured. “I knew I saw something.”

  “I’m sure the child is simply playing,” Philip said. “Leave him be, and come sit.”

  “I’m too stiff to sit. I think we should walk a bit.”

  And walking would allow her to see the child. She strolled with Philip down the length of the courtyard and back. They could hear the voices of the Bladesmen inside the stable, and an occasional burst of laughter from the taproom of the inn. Margaret excused herself and walked swiftly behind the inn, looking for the privy. Anne was surprised she didn’t ask for an escort, but perhaps Margaret’s need made her feel too embarrassed.

  Lulled by their lack of discovery, two children finally emerged from behind the water trough. Neither of them had much more than five years. The boy was dressed in a dusty shirt and breeches, and he carried two sticks tied together to resemble a sword. The girl’s plain gown was belted at her waist with a braided rope, and she carried a cloth doll that appeared well loved.

  To Anne’s surprise, Philip looked away from them.

  The two children seemed to argue, as they glanced or pointed at the inn.

  “They are far too
young to be alone,” Anne said softly.

  “I used to have the run of the castle when I was a boy. I was just fine.”

  She glanced up at him, intrigued that he’d referred to his childhood twice in one day. Whenever he looked at the children, he looked away almost too quickly.

  “You were with people who knew you,” she said. “This is a public inn, and not of the best quality. No one has come for them yet. I’m going to talk to them.”

  “Countess—” Philip began.

  Ignoring him, she walked toward the children, who hovered near the bench Philip had first offered to her. When the children tensed as if to flee, she held up a hand.

  “I shan’t hurt you. Don’t run away.”

  They clutched each other’s hands and watched her warily. She wondered if Philip’s sheer size was frightening them, but when she looked over her shoulder, he was still standing where she’d left him, watching impassively. Maybe he had realized he might frighten them…but somehow she didn’t think so.

  “Where are your mother and father?” she asked.

  “Got no father,” the boy mumbled, looking mutinous.

  The little girl simply pointed at the inn.

  “Your mother is inside?” Anne asked.

  The little boy frowned at the girl. “Don’t tell her nothin’. She don’t know us.”

  “Would you like me to go find your mother?”

  The little girl nodded, her blues eyes wide over the head of the doll, which she held against her mouth.

  The boy groaned. “She’ll be mad, Lise, ye know that.”

  “Why would she be mad at you?” Anne asked, suddenly worried about how these children lived.

  The girl lowered the doll. “We mustn’t be here. She’s workin’.”

  “Ah,” Anne said, feeling relieved. “And you’re supposed to be at home?”

  His voice still reluctant, the boy said, “With me aunt.”

  “You shouldn’t go back alone. Wait here with my friend”—she pointed at Philip—“and I’ll bring your mother to you.”

  The little girl’s eyes went wide, and she stepped behind her brother. Anne looked over her shoulder and realized that Philip had finally begun to approach.

  He wore an expression she’d never seen on his face, and it took her a moment to place it—awkwardness.

  “Countess?” he said.

  She wanted to ask him what was going on, but the children mattered the most. “Philip, could you remain here with the children while I fetch their mother?”

  “You cannot go in there alone. I’ll come with you.”

  She frowned at him, but didn’t want to point out the obvious flaw—she didn’t want to leave the children alone. They might flee, and then who would help them? She looked about and spotted Sir Walter emerging alone from the stables.

  She lowered her voice. “I’ll have Sir Walter escort me inside. Their mother might respond better to me than to you.” To the children, she said, “Wait right here, will you?”

  They both nodded, but they looked at Philip with mistrust, and she thought he might be feeling the same thing. How strange.

  She hailed Sir Walter and hurried to his side, sending one last look over her shoulder. Philip had sat down on the bench, and he and the children were just staring at each other. At least Lise had emerged from behind her brother.

  Finding the children’s mother, a maidservant who cleaned the chambers, proved easy enough, once Anne described the children to the innkeeper. Anne hoped it was not merely her presence that made the man speak kindly to the woman. She was given leave to take her children home.

  Anne and Sir Walter accompanied the maidservant out into the courtyard, where they all came to a stop. Philip was seated on the bench, the little girl curled in his lap with her doll. The boy leaned against Philip’s legs as Philip showed him a parrying move with the stick sword.

  A strange softness stole over Anne as she watched the large knight suddenly so at ease with little children. Why had he been so hesitant, when it seemed that he knew just how to make them feel comfortable?

  Chapter 9

  F or the rest of the evening, Philip felt like England’s biggest fool. He’d seen the way Anne had looked at him when she’d come out of the inn, as if she couldn’t believe he was capable of settling down into a truce with the children. So…he’d been worried about it himself. He’d made a concerted effort the last six years to avoid children. The girl had finally stopped looking at him like she was about to burst into tears. The boy had been in awe of a real sword, which became an easy topic for discussion. Philip had been rather stunned when the girl had crawled into his lap, as if she was going to fall asleep. Thank God their mother had come before that had happened.

  Their party had supper in the private dining room that was reserved for the upper classes. It was good to relax while they ate, rather than worry about the motives of people walking too close to Anne. But she would not stop staring at him.

  To distract her, he had tried to question the knights about the League. But they’d gone back to their usual taciturn selves, and she had only stared at him with narrowed eyes. He was glad when she retired to her bedchamber.

  Joseph was assigned first shift outside her door, and they all realized that in so public a place, they had to be even more vigilant.

  As the knights climbed the stairs, Philip remained standing at the bottom. “Sir Walter, I will join you soon. An ale in the taproom sounds appealing.” He hoped Walter realized that Philip could listen in on private conversations, hear what various travelers were up to.

  The older knight turned about on the narrow stairway. He studied Philip with those eyes that seemed to understand everything.

  “Your shift is only a few hours away,” Walter said at last. “Do not forget that.”

  “I won’t.”

  And with that, Philip was relieved of duty.

  In the taproom, the innkeeper brought a tankard of ale to Philip’s table. “My best,” he said proudly.

  “You brew it here?”

  “My wife does.”

  Philip tasted it, and then hefted the tankard in a salute. “Send her my compliments.”

  By his second ale, Philip was feeling more relaxed, grateful to have no Bladesmen grading his every move. The taproom was slow this night, and the few people there were as solitary and quiet as he was. But when the hair on the back of his neck rose, he sensed that he was being watched by a man seated at a table near the hearth.

  When they’d traded gazes for several minutes, Philip finally called, “Do I know you, sir?”

  That seemed to be enough of an invitation, because the man ambled over with his tankard, straddled a stool and sat down. Philip had his dagger out beneath the table, but he was getting no impression of danger. The man was broad through his face and body, and he already had a flush of drunkenness. His tunic and hose were finer than the Trout and Goose Inn must usually see.

  “You do not know me,” the man said thoughtfully, leaning forward to prop himself on his elbows, “but the innkeeper mentioned that your mistress is Lady Rosamond Wolsingham. Be that true?”

  Philip was judging whether he should go for his sword rather than use the dagger. “Why do you wish to know?”

  “Because I know her!” he said, smiling.

  Philip could not imagine that a true enemy would announce himself, but he did not sheathe the dagger.

  “Although I admit I am surprised that one such as her is staying at the old Trout and Goose, but mayhap she wants to keep her identity a secret.”

  Not with such a talkative innkeeper, Philip thought dourly. “How do you know such a fine lady?”

  The stranger chuckled and tapped Philip’s arm knowingly. “I collected taxes for her father, the old duke. I be Lionel Fitzhugh. Sorry I am to hear about her husband dying, leaving such a young widow.”

  After putting the dagger away, Philip signaled for more ale. “Allow me to buy you another drink, Master Fitzhugh.”


  For another hour, he listened to the man, encouraging him to both talk and drink, without confirming Lady Rosamond’s identity. When at last Fitzhugh almost sank under the table, Philip helped him up the treacherously narrow stairs and to his room, needing to know if the man truly traveled alone. But there was no one in the cramped chamber, and only one saddlebag rested on the table. Fitzhugh fell onto his bed sound asleep, and Philip hoped he would sleep the morning away, missing their departure completely.

  He trudged down the corridor to Anne’s door, where Joseph studied him with narrowed eyes.

  “I have to speak to Lady R-Rosamond,” Philip said. For some reason, it was difficult to pronounce her name.

  “She is abed,” the Bladesman replied. “And you must sorely need yours.”

  The door suddenly opened and Anne stood there, clothed in that same thin dressing gown which curved to every part of her body and made Philip sleepless remembering what was beneath.

  “Sir Philip, what is wrong?” she asked.

  Joseph sighed. “I think he’s had too much—”

  “I am not drunk,” Philip said. He frowned at how loud his voice sounded, and carefully lowered it. “But I met someone in the taproom who knows our lady, and I did need to make sure he was too drunk to wake up early in the morning.”

  When Joseph put a hand on his sword, Philip waved at him. “Nay, it is not like that. Everything is as it should be.”

  Anne felt a shudder of worry move through her, and she exchanged a glance with Sir Joseph. Philip seemed slightly the worse for wear, but not incoherent. He wasn’t even swaying, but he was wearing a slightly silly grin.

  She wanted to stay angry with him. After all, he kept using her for his pleasure as he would any other serving girl. But maybe she needed the occasional reminder of the kind of woman she really was. After all, if he could tell she enjoyed being Lady Rosamond, she was showing it too much. Or maybe he noticed, because he liked her more as Lady Rosamond.

  She watched Sir Joseph point the way to the bedchamber Philip shared with Sir Walter, but Philip only leaned back against the wall, looking proud of himself. He jauntily arched an eyebrow at her as if he expected more praise.