A Knight Most Wicked

Chapter Two

“Can this wait? Our host is calling us to sup, Tris.”

Tristan shook his head and led Simon into the small study. The din of the hall had grown tiresome, with arrogant nobles working too hard to impress their English guests and beautiful women disappearing into thin air. One beautiful woman, anyhow. Tristan could not stand the company much longer—especially when the lone female to capture his interest this eve obviously wanted no part of him.

Why had she looked familiar? He knew no one in this land. Yet she had escaped before he could speak to her.

“No, it cannot wait.” He shut the door behind them, sealing out the minstrels’ music and the noise. “We need to discover the extent of the threat against the royal retinue before we leave Prague Castle. If the nobles or the princess are at risk in any way, the situation has my immediate attention.”

Turning to take a seat on the wooden table in the center of the room, Tristan swore he caught a woman’s scent in the air. An odd thought in a dark haven that surely belonged to a man. A tapestry depicting a hunting party and a fleeing stag adorned the lone wall that did not contain stacks of books.

“While we remain in Bohemia, is it not the king’s problem? Or the emperor’s?” Simon sank onto a small bench. “Surely Prague has knights to protect their people while we are on their soil.”

“But apparently two noblewomen have disappeared in the last fortnight and the king has done naught to discover what happened to them. Aside from all the ways that is disturbing, do you know how many women we will have to protect on our journey back home?” Tristan needed Simon’s support in this, as their duty grew more demanding each day.

Tristan might be in charge, but they were more kin than fellow knights. Mutual orphans left in the hands of an abusive guardian, they’d forged a friendship in shared pain. They’d deserted their guardian to join Edward the Black Prince’s army when they’d been scarcely old enough to swing a sword. That knight had found places for them, restored their sense of honor.

For that, Tristan owed the royal family everything, even though Edward had been dead these last four years. His son, King Richard, was but a boy and his reign had encountered enough trouble that his counselors thought a wife was in order.

“You really think this problem will follow us?” Simon steepled his fingers and leaned his chin onto the point.

“I wish to be prepared for anything. Let us relate the incidents to the men and ask them to learn all they can about the missing women.”

“Mayhap they merely ran off and left their husbands.” Simon leaned back onto the stone wall behind him and plucked up an empty inkwell.

“Faithless though they might be, women rarely leave the security of respected court positions for lovers with little to offer them.” Tristan knew well the potential treachery of the fair sex.

“Still, I will at least find out if that is why the Bohemian nobles are not searching more actively.”

Musical feminine laughter floated through the closed door and Tristan wondered how he would manage the long journey back to England in a retinue where women far outnumbered men. He had seen women execute more cunning schemes of entrapment than he had ever witnessed on the battlefield. Long ago, he had been foolish enough to be lured in by a great beauty. The perfume had gone straight to his head.

“Good. We will see our troop safely home with every last woman intact.” Tristan moved to the door, ready to rejoin the Bohemian court now that he’d given orders to heighten security. “I will not allow anyone’s disappearance to besmirch our standing in London.”

“Aye.” Simon nodded, rising from his bench. “But what do you think of Prague after our long lament over having to make the journey? That the city is beautiful cannot be denied and the women have turned out in force to greet us. Have you seen anything that catches your eye?”

“Not this time, friend.” He could hardly count the fleeing beauty, since he’d barely had time to glimpse her before she made a quick escape.

The real woman who’d captured his thoughts of late was the waif from the forest he’d encountered the previous week. He’d made a halfhearted attempt to follow her that day, thinking mayhap she wanted him to.

He could almost believe he’d dreamed the whole thing.

Except…

Reaching into the pouch at his waist, Tristan felt the small knife he’d found within the oak ring. The handle and blade were both short and flat. Smooth and well-worn, the knife appeared more primitive than a traditional dagger, but also more practical. Both handle and blade of this instrument were formed from one continuous piece of metal. Tristan felt certain this knife belonged to the woman. It suited her—smooth and perfectly formed, yet completely uncivilized.

“Gone moral on me, Tristan?”

“Nay. But I have the king’s orders to consider and a threat to his bride on the loose. No doubt I should stick to my duty. As should you, perhaps?”

Simon laughed, his lighter perspective often a welcome counterpoint to Tristan’s darker view of the world. “Seducing one would bring no harm, or maybe two…”

“Stick to the widows, friend, lest you care to find yourself with a bride. I want no whisper of dishonor on my watch.”

As the men departed the study, Arabella peeked over the high chest she had been hiding behind.

The door closed once again. They were gone.

Her face burned from the overheard discussion. They spoke in English, but she understood their language well enough thanks to her grandmother’s lessons.

It seemed her mother had not misled her after all. Noblemen were obviously creatures of lust with little regard for those weaker than they. The very idea that they would idly select a target for their lustful games made her blood chill.

No doubt her mother had been wounded by such a scheme at Charles Vallia’s hands. Her mother had been at court when it happened, too. Arabella’s father might have stood in this very room and plotted to steal Luria Rowan’s innocence.

Arabella shivered at the thought. And yet, at least the dark-haired knight had suggested he wished to seek answers about the disappearances of women no one else seemed to care about. That was to his credit, even if he did it to preserve his reputation with his king. She wondered why the Bohemian nobility cared so little for the loss of their wives, sisters and daughters.

But there was no time for sad thoughts now. Someone might have missed her during her absence and she did not wish to become the subject of undue scrutiny. Quietly, she opened the door and peered out. When no one seemed to be looking in her direction, she slipped back into the party with a heavier heart. The English knights might protect the Bohemian retinue, but who would protect the group from the English knights?

Darting among the clusters of people, Arabella searched for Mary. When she finally caught a glimpse of the vibrant pink surcoat her friend wore, the fabric brushed alongside the austere black garb of the man called Tristan.

Backing away from the scene while wondering how to save Mary from the wicked purpose of her companion, Arabella bumped into someone.

“Excuse me, I—”

She looked up into the face of the most exalted woman present at court this evening. A golden tiara graced the head of the princess, who nodded in greeting.

“Lady Arabella, are you enjoying yourself?” Princess Anne of Bohemia asked, steadying Arabella.

How awkward.

“I am so sorry, Your Highness, really I—”

“Lady Mary has been searching for you. I will bring you to her.”

Arabella sucked in a breath, her mind hunting feverishly for a reason to excuse herself. But before she could protest, Princess Anne was escorting her toward Mary and the strange knight, leading her to certain condemnation once he realized who she was and where he had seen her.

“Arabella,” Mary called, drawing her friend in between herself and the knight from the magic circle. “I am sorry I lost you.”

The princess greeted Tristan warmly, apparently well acquainted with him, though Arabella could not hear their words over Mary’s chatter.

“If it pleases you, my lady.” A man handed Mary a fresh cup of wine. The other man from the study.

Arabella wanted to shout a warning to her warmhearted friend to keep her distance from the handsome foreigner with ice-blue eyes.

“Thank you, sir.” Mary smiled at the knight. “Lady Arabella, may I introduce Sir Simon Percival?”

Aside from disliking the golden-haired Percival instantly, Arabella also struggled with her tongue in her first exchange with a man at court.

“How do you do, sir?” She sounded as stiff and formal as in her first days of learning English at Zaharia’s knee.

The crafty knight barely heard her, however, in his rapt attention to Mary.

“Arabella,” the princess’s voice interrupted her thoughts. In her anger over Percival’s proximity to Mary, Arabella had almost forgotten her other cause for fear.

She was now face-to-face with the dark-haired knight. Yet as close to him as she had been that day in the forest, his eyes held no light of recognition. Saints be praised.

“This is Sir Tristan Carlisle.” Princess Anne spoke in English. “He is the knight King Richard has sent to escort us all to England. He is to be our protector.”

“Our protector?” She hoped her disbelief did not find its way into her voice. Blood pounded in her ears as her hands clenched into tiny fists.

“At your service, my lady.” Tristan Carlisle bowed before her, then, sweet Jesu, picked up her hand and kissed the back of it.

Gray eyes held her captive. For a moment, she felt a strange awareness of him, just as she had on that day in the ring of trees. His perusal intensified, and his hand lingered over hers.

“It is a long journey to your homeland. Think you we shall be safe, sir?” Snatching her fingers back, Arabella prayed Hilda’s magic had rendered her unrecognizable.

“I have pledged myself to the cause, lady.”

“Surely you have heard of the recent disappearances of Bohemian noblewomen.” She had not heard of them herself until those hidden moments in the study.

Arabella noticed even the princess looked interested in his response.

“I have heard, and will seek answers for myself before we depart. Yet there is no reason to believe the problem will follow us.”

She knew very well that was not the true nature of his thoughts, since he’d made a very different answer to his friend. Another lesson to be learned about men. They did not necessarily speak the truth.

“I am sure your king sent you because you are quite capable of ensuring our safety.”

“I can only hope that is the reason,” he replied, his voice oddly fierce before he turned to Anne. “Your Highness, I must beg your leave. I would see to some preparations before the reception winds down. I have supped earlier with my men.”

She made a small inclination of her head to convey her approval and Tristan bowed before her, then turned to Arabella.

“By your leave, my lady.”

Arabella felt the heat rise in her cheeks as he stared at her, an emotion she could not guess simmering in his eyes.

“Sir Tristan.” Her voice sounded small to her ears. Lingering a moment, he looked as if he would speak further, but just when Arabella’s fear peaked, he turned abruptly and strode out of sight.

“Does he frighten you, Lady Arabella?” the princess asked, startling Arabella with her bluntness.

“Nay,” Arabella answered, then, seeing the princess’s obvious disbelief, she confessed a small portion of the truth. “Mayhap a little. Sir Tristan is certainly one of the most intimidating-looking men in the room tonight.”

The princess smiled and winked at Mary. “Granted. But I have noticed many of my young ladies-in-waiting are not in agreement.”

“Your Highness?”

“Rosalyn de Clair—” the princess gestured toward a delicate, dark-haired noblewoman a few tables away “—could hardly keep her eyes off him.”

All the better for Arabella, although it would not be fair of her to allow an unsuspecting noblewoman to be deceptively courted by an errant knave. Perhaps she should speak to Lady Rosalyn discreetly.

“Mary,” the princess continued, “I have heard Arabella has not been to Prague before. I wish you would take an escort tomorrow and show her around. I would not want her to see London before she sees her own Prague.”

Surprised and delighted, Arabella promised herself she would not let thoughts of Tristan Carlisle spoil such an opportunity.

“I would be thrilled.”

“As would I, Your Highness,” Mary added, curtsying in the easy manner of a woman who had grown up around a court full of protocol.

“You must be back early, however, so you will not be tired for our long journey.”

Leaving Mary and Arabella to plot their day, Princess Anne moved away to speak with her other guests. And while Arabella was pleased to have escaped Tristan Carlisle’s notice this time, she wondered how long it would be before the knight remembered their meeting. Would he compromise her position at court with tales of her uncivilized behavior?

Or did the heated awareness the English warrior incited within her pose an even darker threat?

Across the great hall, Rosalyn de Clair stamped her foot in frustration under the concealing skirts of her richly jeweled surcoat. She watched as Mary Natansia walked off with Arabella Rowan. Rosalyn had been trying to catch Mary’s ear so she might gain the simpering twit for an ally at court, but the Rowan witch engaged her in conversation and remained steadfastly at Mary’s side.

Rosalyn hoped to appeal to Lady Mary’s heralded sympathetic nature with a clever mistruth she had been working on. Everyone knew the emperor doted on his precious ward. Rosalyn just had to make the most of it, and she was sure she could. Hadn’t her lover once told her she was the most cunning woman he had ever met? Having clawed her way from her status as a bastard castoff to an enviable position among the nobility, Rosalyn considered those words a compliment.

She turned to find other company for the evening meal. Mary could be cornered another time. There would be plenty of opportunities on the way to England. In fact, maybe she should use the extra time to find an English nobleman to woo prettily, rather than the Bohemian gentleman she had tentatively marked. Everyone knew no one in Bohemia had money these days. Even King Wenceslas had stooped to sending his sister to England without a dowry. It was a disgrace.

Yes, an English lord would be all the more beneficial. Rosalyn’s smiles were restored at this new development of her plan. And, as fate would have it, she had just spied the most delicious Englishman she could have ever dreamed of.

Chapter Three

A bazaar took place once each fortnight on the Vltava River in Prague. Everywhere Arabella looked as their carriage rolled past the marketplace, she saw vibrant colors and lively people. Hundreds thronged the merchants’ stands to haggle over vegetables, spices, cloth, animals and tools. Gypsy wagons provided entertainments of all kinds, from dancing to fortune telling.

Astonished by the sights, Arabella thrilled to each new discovery. She was as impressed by the Gypsy street entertainers as she was by the Venetian mosaic of the Last Judgment on St. Vitus’s cathedral wall. At the moment, the bazaar caught Arabella’s eye and she wanted desperately to take a closer look.

“We have time to stop, don’t we? It is all so colorful.” Arabella tugged on Mary’s sleeve as she asked their driver to stop. She jumped from the small conveyance they had been given for their expedition. Briefly, she wondered whether exploring the market was a suitably ladylike pursuit, but she pushed her reservations about her place at the Bohemian court from her mind. Surely Zaharia would approve. Arabella could almost smell the herbs at a local wise woman’s stall.

“I don’t know, Arabella. Our driver wishes to take us home before dark.”

“We won’t stay long. And I would remember this bazaar more than the university or the city palaces, long after we depart.” Her gaze already roamed the marketplace for anyone selling unfamiliar tinctures or medicinal oils. “Please?”

Mary bit her lip, clearly unsure of herself in the raucous setting.

“If you promise we won’t stay very long—”

Arabella gave her friend a quick hug before pulling her to a booth overflowing with fabric samples. Perhaps that would be more to Mary’s liking.

“Feel this. Isn’t it sumptuous?” she exclaimed over a piece of brightly colored silk with an exotic Eastern design. Mary chose two bolts, giving the merchant her name to have them delivered.

Moving away from the cloth merchant’s booth, Mary soon engaged another merchant in haggling over a jeweled comb. Now that Mary was enjoying herself, Arabella hoped she might find the local herbalist. She was searching through the crowd when a large figure garbed in black caught her eye.

Tristan Carlisle.

Arabella was not ready to face the familiar figure striding among the Gypsy booths, speaking briefly with several of the peasant families who ran them. Ducking behind a pie-maker’s stand, Arabella watched the English knight as he perused the items of a silversmith.

Observing him while he was not looking at her, she decided his face was handsome enough when he did not have a glower set upon his brow.

His eyes, however, were nothing short of beautiful. A silvery shade of gray rimmed with long, dark lashes. After her few days at court, she already understood the ladies of that realm would have done crime to possess such lashes. The slash of the knight’s brows, however, gave him a slightly fearsome aspect even when he did not scowl. The rest of his face could only be described as angular, with a hard, square jaw and prominent cheekbones.

She blushed to realize how carefully she studied Tristan Carlisle when he failed to hold women in high regard. She guessed he was the kind of man her family had warned her about before her trip.

Pausing to finger a delicate bit of silver that he had picked up off the cloth full of wares, Tristan spoke to the boy behind the counter. Arabella could see the knight held a small knife in his hand.

It was ridiculous to stray near him. Yet she found herself walking closer, avoiding his notice but suddenly curious to hear what he asked the Gypsy boy about the blade.

“…from India,” Arabella overheard the boy telling Tristan. “I brought it all the way here myself.”

While the boy boasted, Tristan took the flat-handled dagger in his palm. Arabella looked longingly at the little weapon, thinking it looked similar to the one she lost before she came to Prague.

“Is that why you can charge an exorbitant amount? Because it weighed you down on the long journey here?” Tristan reached to give the boy’s arm a gentle pinch. “You might swing a sword more often. Then mayhap a little knife wouldn’t seem like such a burden.”

Puffing out his chest, the lad defended himself with the courage of youth.

“It is not exorbitant because it was a burden. It costs much because it is a witch’s knife. It is used to draw magical rings for worshipping demons.” The boy almost whispered the last words, as if imparting great wisdom to the knight.

Arabella scoffed at the tale. Demons indeed. According to Zaharia, other healers used the weapon in a symbolic way, as if to cut away the world and focus inward to pray.

Tristan laughed at the peddler’s ploy. “You may keep your wondrous weapon. I believe I already have a knife that is similar to the one you sell.”

The knight produced something from his pocket and held it up for the boy to see.

Arabella’s herb-cutting knife.

“Saints!” the boy cried, his dark eyes wide. “I hope you had it blessed. That blade surely came from a powerful sorceress.”

Arabella was tempted to run up and snatch it out of the warrior’s big hands. How dare he steal it?

“A powerful sorceress, eh? Mayhap she was.” Tucking the dagger back in his pocket, he tossed a coin up in the air for the boy to catch. “Thanks, lad. You’ll make a fine storyteller one day with tales such as those.”

Mayhap she was? What was that supposed to mean?

Arabella wondered if the knight was teasing the boy or if he indeed thought he had come across a spell-casting sorceress in the forest. Thinking back to their strange encounter in the oaks, Arabella imagined she had looked a fright with her hair covered with twigs and leaves, and her eyes wet with tears. Indeed, she had been wailing at the top of her lungs as though the skies were falling, but only because she thought she was alone.

Yes, she’d probably made quite an impression on the English knight.

Thinking she would look at the boy’s knives herself, Arabella was about to ask Mary to come with her. But when she turned to look for her friend, the emperor’s ward was nowhere to be found.

Arabella tried to remain calm, but she could not see Mary anywhere. All at once, the rumors of stolen women assailed her. She should not have left Mary’s side for even a moment. Running down the row of Gypsy wagons, she searched and called for her friend.

Frantically peering into every conceivable corner, Arabella came to a noisy row of Gypsy booths before she turned around.

“May I help you, my lady?”

A man touched her arm.

Stay calm. Arabella bit her lip, hard, to prevent herself from giving in to full-blown fear.

“No thank you, sir.” Jerking her arm out of his grasp, she stepped away from him.