Tori Phillips - Lady Of The Knight

Rosie could not remember ever eating to the point of bursting. When Jeremy offered her a selection of thin sugar wafers she waved him away, just as she had observed Sir Andrew do. She sat back in her chair and patted her full tummy with the satisfaction of an overly fed kitten. She closed her eyes with a sigh of contentment. Surely this was how the angels in heaven felt all the time.

Sir Andrew snapped his fingers. “Wake up. We have work to do.”

Rosie winced inwardly. Now was the moment of reckoning. She steeled herself for the coming battle. At least, he had fed her well. She would always be grateful for that. She opened her eyes slowly. “My lord?” She hoped her voice did not sound as nervous as she felt.

Sir Andrew produced a silver coin from his clothing and tossed to his squire. “Clear away these dishes and yourself, my boy. The lady and I have a need for some privacy.”

Jeremy caught the money with one hand. He winked at Rosie when he removed her silver plate. “He’s a kind man,” he told her in an undertone. “So do not disappoint him. Be generous with your favors.”

Rosie glared at the boy. “Ye mind your business and leave me to mind mine,” she whispered back.

Sir Andrew took a long drink of his wine, then wiped his mouth with his napkin. He smiled at her as he did so. Rosie’s heart tumbled over. She felt like a rabbit caught in a velvet trap. To hide her unease, she picked up her own untouched napkin, shook out its artful folding and followed Sir Andrew’s example. His smile broadened as he watched her.

“You are a quick study, my sweet,” he remarked. “Let us pray that you will continue to be so.”

Rosie chewed her fingernail. How was she going to play the part of a virgin when her vial of blood was now only a stain on the sole of his shoe? She stared at the claret in her goblet and wondered if she could trick him with that. Probably not. Sir Andrew struck her as a very clever man, even if he was somewhat addled in his wits.

She drank more of her wine. The bedding might not be too bad if she were a little bit woolly-headed. “Whatever ye say, my lord.”

Sir Andrew snapped his fingers again. “Be off, sluggard!” he told Jeremy. “And mark you, guard my plate well and see that you return no later than the midwatch and with most of your faculties intact.”

The boy hefted the large tray filled with the leavings of their meal onto his shoulder. “Aye, my lord, and a merry good evening to you. A very merry one indeed!” With another wink at Rosie, the squire disappeared through the tent flap. The pavilion suddenly seemed a great deal larger to Rosie.

“Where do ye want to do it, my lord?” she asked in a small voice.

Sir Andrew slammed the flat of his hand down on the tabletop. His goblet rattled. “Od’s bodkins, Rosie! You try a man’s soul to the very nub! Understand this—I am not going to take my carnal pleasure with you tonight or any other night.”

She sat up straighter. “Your pardon, my lord, but if ye are not in the mind to swive me, then what do ye want me for?”

Sir Andrew drew his chair closer, then he rested his elbows on the table. “Do not draw hasty conclusions as to my natural desires and appetites, my dear. I am as lusty as any man would be when in the company of such a beauty as yourself.”

She rubbed the side of her nose. The gentleman had obviously drunk more wine than she had thought if he now called her a beauty. Perhaps he had drunk so much that he couldn’t…perform. “Ye talk in riddles, my lord. I am not much good at riddling.”

He chuckled. “Then I will speak plain. I enjoy making love with a woman, but I prefer not to buy the lady’s favor.”

Rosie narrowed her eyes. “Then why did ye pay a bloody great fortune for me just to drown me and feed me?”

His smiled widened. “Because I need your help, Rosie. I have made a great wager with one of those young lions whom you met earlier. I have told them that I will turn you into a proper lady within twelve days and that you will be so perfect a gentlewoman that none shall be the wiser. What say you to that?”

All the breath went out of Rosie. She opened her mouth to tell him he was moonstruck, but no words squeaked forth. Instead, she hiccuped.

He reclined against his chair back and looked even more pleased with himself. “Aha! I perceive that you have grasped the full import of my words. Sip some wine slowly, sweetheart, and twill cleanse you of that bothersome annoyance.”

Rosie needed no urging. She wished she could dive into the bottom of her goblet and never come up again. Sir Andrew Ford, Esquire, was stark, staring mad.

He shook his head and clicked his tongue. “Slowly, my dear. Ladies do not gargle in their drink.”

“Haint any kind of a lady,” she mumbled between sips.

“But you can be,” he whispered. His silky voice held a challenge. “Will you help me, Rosie?”

Not trusting herself to look into his beguiling eyes, she replaced her goblet on the table with deliberate care. Her mind spun like a whirligig out of control. If she said nay, he would toss her back to Quince in a heartbeat, and he would probably demand his money back. Quince, in his turn, would beat her, then sell her again. She recalled the sea of leering faces and shuddered. The next lord who took her could be considerably worse than this affable lunatic.

Rosie toyed with a droplet of wine on the tabletop as she pursued her deliberations. Her protector would lose a fortune to those laughing striplings, not to mention losing the respect of that sneering squire of his, if she did not play the part he asked. Despite his odd behavior, Sir Andrew seemed a good man and he deserved better than what she could give him.

“Well, Rosie?” he murmured, his wonderful voice soft and low.

She ignored the strange fluttering in her stomach. He had offered her a business proposition, not his heart. She hunched forward and plopped her elbows on the table. Their faces were only inches apart. He smelled of wine, sweetmeats and an intriguing exotic scent that was his alone. He raised his dark brows with silent inquiry.

“And what do I get?” she asked with bold directness.

One brow rose even higher. His eyes widened with his surprise.

Rosie hurried on before he had time to grow angry. “Ye say ye need me to help ye reap a bloody great fortune. What do I get in return?”

Sir Andrew folded his hands and looked up to the sloping roof of his tent as if he prayed to the Almighty for advice. “What would you like?” he finally asked. “Ribbons? Laces? A new gown?” He tapped the plate of tempting marchpane between them. “More sweetmeats?”

She shrugged away his limpid offers. “I was given ribbons and sweets once before and it came to nothing. That reeky coxcomb tricked me even though he wore pretty clothes and smelled so clean.” She pushed Simon’s lying handsome face out of her memory.

Sir Andrew cocked his head. “How now? And what, pray tell, did this rascal trick you out of?” he purred.

“My—” Rosie stopped herself before she blurted out the fearful truth. Her presumed virginity was the only ploy she had. “Something that was mine to give and not his to take.”

“Ahhh!” Andrew nodded as if he understood exactly what she meant. “So if you do not require fripperies and sweets for your reward, what do you have in mind?”

She took a deep breath. “Profit. Ye pay me a part of your winnings so that I can be my own self and beholden to no man. Tis what I want.”

“Independence.” His expression changed and became more sober. “I perceive that you are a woman of business, Rosie. Therefore, allow me to make you this offer. I will put a penny into your account for every lesson of mine that you learn correctly.”

She licked her lips. “I be a fast learner, my lord.”

He gave her a look of faint amusement. “And I will take away one penny for every mistake you make. Are we agreed?”

She felt as if he had dropped an icicle down her back. “Fie upon it, my lord! I cannot help making mistakes. Haint ever seen a lady close up.”

His full lips quirked with humor. “Very well, I will grant you three errors. After that, one penny gone.” He whistled to illustrate her new fortune flying out of his tent. “Now, are we agreed?”

Rosie crossed her arms over her breasts. “Hold, Sir Andrew. How will I know if I have a penny or not? I see no pennies on the table. I will not be cozened with your flowery speeches.”

He tapped the side of his nose with his forefinger. “A good point.”

He pushed back his chair and rose. He padded across the rug to another one of his chests, opened it and rummaged through a great quantity of clothing. Rosie craned her neck to see what he was looking for. He had more clothes in that one box than her whole family had ever possessed. At last, he withdrew a slate and a thick piece of chalk. He kicked the lid shut, then returned to the table.

“This is your account, Rosie,” he said, tapping the slate. “Whenever you have earned your wage, I will make a stroke on it like so.” He drew a fat line. “If you lose a penny, I will erase it—like so.” He smudged the line with his thumb until there was nothing left but a splotch of chalk.

Rosie said nothing, but she eyed the account board. No one had ever taken her so seriously, nor even acknowledged that she was good for anything except as a drudge or a whore.

He propped the slate against a stack of books on a side coffer. “We will keep your account here, so that you may peruse it—that is, look at it—whenever you wish. Do my terms meet with your approval?”

She could only nod. Excitement welled up within her. The future opened before her like a flower-strewn high road.

“Aye? Then let us shake hands upon it.” He held his out to her.

Rosie wiped her greasy fingers on the front of her shirt, then gave him her hand. In formal silence, they shook upon their bargain, but afterward he refused to let go. Instead, he turned her hand over and studied her palm and nails like a blacksmith before shoeing a horse.

He clicked his tongue against his teeth. “Rosie, nail biting is a nasty habit. I will take away a—”

She tensed and curled her fingers into a ball. She hadn’t even earned a penny yet, and he already threatened her with debt. She knew she should never have trusted him.

He looked at her annoying amusement. “I shall take away a halfpenny for each infraction.”

Rosie tried to snatch her hand away from him. “Infrac…what?”

He chuckled. “For each time you bite your nail’s.”

She gasped. “I be out a shilling’s worth afore this night is gone!”

“Ladies do not chew on their nails, Rosie.”

“Haint a lady,” she reminded him, twisting out of his grasp.

His eyes gleamed in the low candlelight. “Not yet, but by all that is holy, you will be!”

The hubbub of the great English encampment settled into muted revels as the night reached its midpoint. Andrew saw that Rosie fought to keep her eyes open, but the lure of Morpheus fast overwhelmed her. From what she had told him, it had been a hellish day for the lass. The hours of anxiety together with the large supper and the quantity of wine she had consumed had finally taken their toll. Still, she forced herself to stay awake in an effort to preserve the virtue that he knew had already been taken from her. He gave Rosie full marks for the effort, and vowed to add an extra penny to her account.

Rosie’s head bobbed. She desperately needed her sleep. He had a full day planned for her on the morrow. He smiled to himself. He could not remember passing such a enjoyable evening as this one for a long time— especially when he had no intention of bedding his fair company. He sighed over his self-imposed denial. Truly, the pretty creature was extremely enticing.