A Warrior's Lady. Margaret Moore
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surging through her.
“Who are you?” she demanded, trying to sound calmer than she felt.
“I want to ask you the same question. I beg you to tell me the name of the most beautiful woman at court,” the stranger said, his voice soft and deep and very different from her siblings’ harsh tones. Damon and Benedict sounded like bears. This man sounded as she imagined a majestic stag would, if stags could speak.
As his gaze seemed to intensify with attentive curiosity, Anne realized what she felt: desire. It spread over her like the rays of the sun when the clouds part.
Her mind urged caution. No matter how thrilling she found him, or how outrageously flattered she was by his attention, she was a lady, not some simple peasant girl, or even one of those flighty creatures in the king’s hall. This young man had no business following her or speaking to her, and he had to know that as well as she. If he thought she would not mind, or even welcomed his advances, what did that say of his opinion of her?
Maybe she should flee—except that would be the action of a coward, and she was not a coward. Instead Anne straightened her shoulders and haughtily said, “Who are you, to follow me in this insolent manner and ask who I am?”
Oh, God, Reece thought as he felt his face warm with a blush. He wished he had stayed in the hall and ignored his impetuous, uncharacteristic impulse to follow the blond beauty. He should leave, but to back away now would be fleeing like a coward. While he was certainly shy around women, he was no coward.
Nevertheless he knew full well he didn’t have the charm, the eloquence or the looks of his friends. He had always been content to wait patiently nearby, half-afraid to open his mouth in case he sounded like a fool.
Until tonight, when he had spotted the tranquil, golden-haired woman across the hall wearing a green gown of shining samite that fairly sparkled in the candlelight. She had to be unmarried, for her long, golden hair was uncovered and done in two braids, the ends encased in bronze. Her hair had glowed in the light like a halo, and she had seemed as serenely different from the rest of the young women at the court as an angel would. So he had foolishly decided to follow her from the hall.
The die was cast, he decided, and he must see it through.
But please, God, he silently and fervently prayed, do not let her see me blush like a lad!
“Forgive me, lady,” he said with a contrite bow. “I meant no insult.”
To his surprise, she didn’t immediately turn on her heel and march away. Instead, her full lips turned up in a little smile.
It was like thinking your lance was broken and discovering instead that it was whole.
“Although you seem an impertinent fellow,” she said, “I was not insulted.”
“Then will you tell me your name, despite my impertinence?”
Her shapely brow rose in query. “You wish to know my name and nothing more?”
In truth, he wanted to know everything about her, but he had achieved much already and did not dare to hope for more. “Perhaps that should be all, lest I discover you are wed or promised to another.”
Her brows lowered as she studied him, and he cringed inwardly. Obviously, that had not been a wise thing to say.
“I am not, but this is hardly the time or place to make introductions, sir.”
He moved closer, almost as if pulled to her by an invisible thread. Maybe there was such a thread, for that might explain the tightening sensation he felt in his chest.
As if by divine inspiration, he remembered something he had heard Blaidd Morgan say to a woman once. Blaidd attracted women like blossoms did a bee. “Please, won’t you take pity on me and tell me your name? Otherwise, I may risk injury in the tournament tomorrow, being overtired because I could not sleep for wondering.”
Her brows, a shade darker than her hair, rose yet farther, and her green eyes that already sparkled like emeralds in a rich man’s ring seemed to glitter even more, and—he was very pleased to believe-with merriment. “So if I do not tell you my name, and you happen to be injured on the morrow, it will be my fault?”
To his dismay, her glittering gaze faltered, and a frown clouded her visage. “I do not want such a responsibility. I assure you, sir knight, I already have enough burdens to bear.”
The note of sadness in her voice touched his heart. “Forgive me, my lady, if I add to your distress in any way. I do not seek to add to the troubles you may have.”
Her beautiful eyes widened, as if she was taken aback by his response. “It is a rare man who cares for a stranger’s woes.”
Reece flushed again, for her tone was full of both wonder and praise.
Then that gloriously merry glimmer seemed to light her from within again. “Besides, you have not told me your name, either.”
She straightened her shoulders and issued a charming challenge. “If you first tell me your name, humble petitioner, I shall tell you mine.”
His heart started to pound as it did before a lance charge and new hope thundered into life with it. She must not think him a complete fool after all. “My name is Sir—”
“Anne!”
The man’s bellowing voice echoed off the walls of the corridor and the unknown beauty tensed as if she had just been caught perpetrating a serious crime.
God save him, he had not considered how it would look to others if they were seen or found together. He had been too intent upon learning who she was. Before he could speak, she did.
“Go!” She ordered him as if he were a foot soldier. She pointed down the corridor to the door at the opposite end. “Leave me to deal with Damon.”
Who, in the name of the saints, was Damon, and what was he to her? Brother? Cousin? Betrothed?
Not the latter, he most fervently hoped.
Whoever he was, as the dark-haired man came charging toward them, another dark-haired, bigger man following right behind, it was obvious he could not leave this fascinating young woman to deal with them alone.
If there was fault here, it was not hers. She had not enticed him or led him there, and he would certainly make that very clear.
As the two men bore down upon them, he recognized them as the men who had been sitting beside her in the king’s hall. Because she had been paying no heed to them, and she was fair while they were dark, he had assumed they were not relations or had any claim upon her.
Obviously he was wrong, and if he had not been distracted by Blaidd right before she left the hall, he might have seen her speak to them. Unfortunately, Blaidd had just chastised him for staring, then started to tease him. Reece had turned away to tell his Welsh friend that Blaidd had quite the history of being distracted by women himself, so he should keep his mouth shut. If she had talked to these fellows, he had missed it.
The woman—Anne, he now knew—shoved him in a way no person ever had. “You may leave me to deal with them, sir knight.”
“I will not,” he said firmly. “The impropriety is mine, and mine alone.”
Clearly enraged, the two men came to a panting halt in front of him, their wine-soaked breath disgusting him. Their extreme reaction to a minor impropriety was no doubt fueled by wine.
He took the offensive as they tried to catch their breath. “Who are you?”
“We’re her brothers,” the biggest one growled, his beefy hands bunching into fists. “Who the devil are you?”
“I know who he is,” the taller one declared as his lip curled in a sneer. “It’s that bastard’s son. This lout accosting Anne is Reece Fitzroy.”
A jolt of anger shot through Reece, even as the big lout’s eyes