Page 3 of Promise of a Knight
Alex bit her lip, the same anxiousness flowing through the crowd was also coursing through her veins, though for different reasons.
She didn’t want to be here.
She wanted to go home.
She hated her gown and what it stood for.
She had not one friend amongst this crowd, save for the stuffy countess she’d been introduced to, but just briefly, before her mother thrust her aside. The Countess of Home, who would be her chaperone at court, married to the Lord Chamberlain of Scotland, the Earl of Home, had far more important things to do than deal with her distantly related cousin’s daughter. Why had she agreed to do it? Most likely because when Mother wanted something, she didn’t hold back until the answer wasaye, even if that affirmative was false. Wasn’t Alex proof enough of that?
Already, the Countess had wondered off, not giving a heap for Lord Maxwell’s daughter.
So, Alex was alone, standing in a crowd of tittering ladies and grunting nobleman and several menacing lairds of the north. The clash of bodies was a sight to see, especially for a lass away from home for the first time. Some were dressed like queens and kings themselves. Others—those from the Highlands—dressed in thick, colorful tartans, swathed over their bodies.
Though Mother had assured her that the gowns she’d had commissioned would be more than acceptable for court, Alex wasn’t so certain. The gown she wore now was stiff, poofy and heavy. If the king’s bride didn’t arrive soon, she’d drop like a heap of satin to the ground.
How would she ever get through her time at court? Standing for hours on end. And the talking… Those around her had not ceased wagging their tongues for at least an hour.
Mother had barely prepared Alex for this moment. All the things she’d told her had been such a blur. Would the refined Princess of England, soon to be Queen of Scotland, toss Alex out as her own siblings had done? Say she had nothing of significance to offer?
Alex twisted her fingers into her skirts, feeling the fine fabric crinkle. She straightened her fingers immediately, afraid of ruining the gown and gaining a scolding from Lady Home if she ever appeared again.
Closing her eyes briefly, she sent up a prayer to the heavens to help her get through the coming days without a blunder.
Being the youngest child in a rather large family, much of Alex’s training had come from watching her elder siblings—who were not particularly nice to her, nor was she fond of them. They often tossed her out on her ear, too little for this and too little for that. Too loud. Too annoying. Too naïve. Too childish. Too dirty.
She’d not truly fit anywhere in her family. Mother was too exhausted to pay her much attention and Father had spent much of his time in service to the king.
And now, the only person she’d hoped to gain some training from, the Countess of Home, she didn’t even remember what the lady looked like, had gone off.
When Alex’s chin started to tremble, she gritted her teeth. She squared her shoulders. This simply wouldn’t do. If her parents wanted to thrust her into court, to toss her to the wolves, then she’d not simply lie down while they tore at her. She had to be strong. She had to figure this out. There were some good things to be had. No longer was she under her mother’s thumb or her father’s glower. No longer did she have to deal with Isobel and Katherine’s pinches and taunts. This was her time to find freedom, to become her own person. To seek adventure.
Her little pep talk was interrupted by the sound of trumpets blowing in with the breeze.
“They come!” someone shouted.
Beside her, and she dared not look to see who, someone grumbled, “DamnedSassenachs.”
’Twould appear that not everyone was pleased with the king’s choice of bride. Alex didn’t like the English, either. They’d tormented her people, and when she was young, had ruined much of her entertainment. But for now, she mostly disliked them because they would make her false to Scotland. Aye, ’twas the bloody English’s fault that she was here and about to commit treason by stealing something from the king’s bride. If only the ninny had stayed in England where she belonged, Alex wouldn’t even be in this position.
“Move over.” The mumbles and shoves started from behind as the crowd shifted, trying to get a closer look.
Alex strained to see above their heads. Tugging her skirts out of the way of her feet when she tried to find her balance. English flags waved from long poles as knights walked and others rode on horseback. The trumpets and drums grew louder.
A gilded litter came into view, the sounds of ladies chirping from atop palfreys. They were dressed in voluminous gowns of satin, lace and velvet. Every color of the rainbow, with jeweled hoods to match, and gloves and boots of the finest leather. Raised on her tiptoes, Alex could barely see beyond the fabric. She desperately wanted to get a look at the woman she was going to rob in the name of retribution for her parents.
Moving with the shifting crowd, she strained to remain upright as well as to see.
And then her eyes locked on the most fearsome sight.
A knight.
He was large. Thick with muscle, and he sat his horse tall. How tall was he? Well over six feet if she had to guess. Plated armor covered his chest, arms, legs, the sun hitting the steel making it glint almost gold. Though his weapons were sheathed, there was no mistaking his deadly force. He wore a helm that covered the entirety of his face, leaving only slits where his eyes were. They had to be black. Black as his fierce heart.
The helmet turned and she could swear he was looking at her. But how could he see her through the crowd?
The shifting of the horde of Scottish aristocrats jerked forward suddenly, throwing Alex off balance and through the front of the crowd. Eyes widened, she stretched out her arms, feeling herself pitching forward.
“Oh!” she cried out. Someone was stepping on the back of her dress, which didn’t help her to gain her footing. And then she was, indeed, pitching forward.
