A Knight Most Wicked. Joanne Rock

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