Page 64 of The Knight's Pledge
Gilboe cleared his throat gently. “Do you wish to—”
“I do not.”
“All right.” The monk was silent again for a moment, but then began chanting aloud in Latin in his quite lovelyguttorisregister, honoring the patron saint of Finland,of all places.
Winnie, riding just before Effie, twisted aroundin her saddle.
Are you well?
Yes.
Are you lying?
Yes.
Winnie faced forward in her saddle once more, but then Kit Katey, who rode next to her, looked over her shoulder to peer at Effie. It was only since Adolphus Paget had been killed that Kit Katey had been able to venture out regularly with the family—as his favorite, she had been actively sought after she’d escaped. Effie valued her friendship—and her skills with the blades—more than almost anyone else’s in the family. This woman knew loss of home and pain and longing, perhaps in different circumstances than Effie, but with the same sorrowful depth.
The young woman’s straight, black hair twisted down her back in a single, long plait, and her snood emphasized her dark, exotic eyes and warm complexion. There was pity there, but not the sort that made Effie bristle. Perhaps not pity then, but empathy and recognition. She nodded once at Effie, and Effie returned the gesture with a curtone of her own.
There didn’t need to be words between them, there never had been since the night Gorman had rescued her and carried her into the Warren in his arms.
Then Kit Katey, too, faced forward once more as Gilboe broke into another chant, praying the family down the road now withSacris solemniis.
Effie glanced over her shoulder; nothing behind them save a lone rider wearing a deep hood with a small pack across his saddle. He was too far away to be an immediate concern, and seemed to be falling further behind—likely being unwilling to pass such a large party alone, lest they be a band of thieves.
This thought made Effie give a dark huff of laughter. Whatever happened next, it was clear that no amount of physical attraction would allow her and Lucan Montague any chance of a friendship. Besides, she only wanted George, and her father, safe. Lucan assisting in both those ends would give Effie as much peace with the man as was likely possible.
If they never saw one another again after London, that would be the best outcomefor everyone.
After all, what other choice was there?
Chapter 16
Lucan chose a seat at the far end of the table on the opposite side of where Effie Annesley sat between Thomas and Gorman. The rain fell in a hushed roar just barely audible over the sounds of dining and drinking and conversation in the little common room of the inn where they’d stopped for the night. He’d thought to put distance between them after their clash on the road, but his unfortunate vantage point gave him the perfect view of her perfect profile, and every move she made beckoned to him from his peripheral vision.
Lucan sat next to Gilboe; Dana, across from the monk. The oddly matched pair were engaged in a game of dice between their trenchers, to which the winner of each round was entitled to the next tankard. Lucan tried to distract himself from the woman sitting down the length of the trestle by covertlyexamining Dana.
Adam’s apple—unquestionable…ish.
Hair—silky, blonde, curling.
Lips—pink, plump.
Breasts—perhaps…?
Wrists—as thick and bony as Lucan’s own ankle.Andfringed with coarse black hair peeking from beneath a delicate sleeve.
“Dana,” Lucan said abruptly, not considering that he’d likely already had too much to drink to engage in any respectable discourse. “How is it that you’ve neverbeen married?”
Lucan felt more than saw Gilboe’s round, strangely hairless face turnto regard him.
Dana, however, only continued to look at the tabletop with pursed lips and fluttering eyelashes. “Why, Sir Lucan, what a personal inquiry.”
“Are you offended?” he asked.
“Not if you’re proposing. I suppose that is a wonderful excuse to find my way to your nice warm chamber tonight.”
Gilboe threw back his head and laughedlike a donkey.
