Page 1 of The Sword and the Damsel
Chapter One
Winchelsea, 1176 AD
Alais had promisedshe wouldn’t sneak out to meet a man again, but no one would be the wiser if she didn’t get caught. And why would she?
As a second daughter, Alais was strictly ornamental. She might as well have been a tapestry on the wall for all the attention they paid her. No one listened when she tried to speak up on topics of substance. No one cared what she thought about the running of the town or political intrigue with the local nobles. Her only purpose was to look pretty and attract men. Was it her fault if she was a little too successful for her family’s liking?
Gilbert was waiting when she arrived in the forest clearing a mile outside of Winchelsea where they agreed to meet. She took a moment to appreciate the lazy ease of his form as he strummed his lute and hummed. His half-blue, half-green cotte draped sinuously around him, and fitted, brown hose clung to his shapely legs. He had perfected the sensitive poet look with his lithe body, only delicately muscled, and the mop of chestnut curls that hung rakishly in his face. There was a dimple in his cheek that made her melt, and long, thick lashes dripped over those sinful blue eyes filled with ardor.
“Alais, I was afraid you wouldn’t come,” he said, putting down his lute and helping her down from her horse.
“I almost didn’t.” She glanced around cautiously. “If we’re caught—”
He put a long, tapered finger on her lips. “Shh. We won’t be caught.” He let his finger trail down and trace the neckline of her low-cut, blue dress. She could hardly breathe as warmth curled all through her. Her whole body must have been blushing.
Pulling her into his arms, he touched his lips to hers. It was like being carried away with the tide, a blissful oblivion. Alais lost track of what was around her. His kiss was overpowering, delicious. This was so much more decadent than the furtive kisses she’d stolen with previous admirers.
Was it love? Was this the grand romance she dreamed of? Her parents would consider him completely unsuitable, not that it mattered to her. She would happily sacrifice everything for the right man. But the right man would be willing to do the same for her, and somehow she suspected Gilbert wasn’t the self-sacrificing sort.
Oh well. He was good for a few stolen kisses, and then she would let him go.
They collapsed together onto the soft grass. He continued to kiss her, tantalizing her neck, then tasting the bare skin above her neckline. New sensations flooded her senses as she offered herself up, drawn in by his caresses. Gilbert loosened the ties of her dress and slid her shoulder free so that he could taste it too. Things were going too far. She knew she should stop, but she couldn’t resist the heat coursing through her.
A twig cracked nearby. She froze.
“Is something wrong, my love?” Gilbert nuzzled her neck.
Drowning once again in the bliss of his caress, she shook it off. “I’m sure it’s nothing. Probably some animal.”
Kissing her again, he reached down to start pulling up the skirt of her dress. He was going too far. She was about to stop him when…
“Alais?”
Oh no.
“Carenza?” Alais said, her voice oddly squeaky as she rolled away from Gilbert and tugged her dress back into decency.
Her sister, Carenza Rossignol, Countess of Winchelsea, towered above her on a majestic black horse, looking every inch a noble huntress in her leathers and blood-red gown. Carenza’s hooded peregrine falcon dug its talons into her thick leather glove, and a brace of bloody hares hung from her saddlebag. Her eyes bored into Alais.
“I didn’t know you were hunting,” Alais said faintly as she finished making herself presentable.
Gilbert started edging away, the coward. As she suspected, he wasn’t willing to fight for her when it mattered.
Carenza pinned him to the spot with an imperious glare. “You,” she said, pointing her finger at him as if it was a sword. “Don’t move.” He hunched and shrank away, as if attempting to make himself small. “Alais, get on Snow now,” she ordered without sparing her sister a glance.
Alais obeyed, mounting her beloved Snow, and looking nervously at her lover.
“Uc,” Carenza called out, never taking her eyes off Gilbert. The castle falconer appeared through the trees and rode toward them with a fearsome goshawk on his arm. “We’re going back to the castle,” she told him. “See that this man accompanies us. We have business to attend to.”
“Yes, my lady,” Uc said, bowing his head, then fixing Gilbert with a steely, hostile look.
Alais knew Uc was a soft touch. She’d had him wrapped around her finger from her earliest days, but Gilbert looked likehe might pass out as the grizzled falconer narrowed his eyes and beckoned him to approach. It was disappointing, really, that he didn’t have a bit more spine. But then he was just a troubadour. What did she expect?
“Come,” Carenza ordered in a sharp voice. Alais obeyed, tearing her eyes away from Gilbert.
She hardly dared raise her head, let alone speak as they made their way back inside the city walls, past the raucous docks, and onto the worn cobblestones of Castle Street.
“Are you going to tell Mother?” Alais ventured to ask as they rode up the street past inns, taverns, and merchant stalls. The All Saints’ Day mass must have just been let out. The streets were teeming with ostentatiously humble pilgrims, some of them sporting seashells from Santiago de Compostela as if they were fine jewels.
