Once Upon a Knight. Jackie Ivie

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ONCE UPON A KNIGHT

      Also by Jackie Ivie

      A KNIGHT WELL SPENT

      HEAT OF THE KNIGHT

      THE KNIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS

      TENDER IS THE KNIGHT

      LADY OF THE KNIGHT

      Published by Kensington Publishing Corporation

      ONCE UPON A KNIGHT

      Jackie Ivie

       ZEBRA BOOKS Kensington Publishing Corp. http://www.kensingtonbooks.com

      To Kimberly Anne,

      for the entertainment,

      excitement,

      and absolute joy

      you’ve always added to life

      Contents

      Chapter One

      Chapter Two

      Chapter Three

      Chapter Four

      Chapter Five

      Chapter Six

      Chapter Seven

      Chapter Eight

      Chapter Nine

      Chapter Ten

      Chapter Eleven

      Chapter Twelve

      Chapter Thirteen

      Chapter Fourteen

      Chapter Fifteen

      Chapter Sixteen

      Chapter Seventeen

      Chapter Eighteen

      Chapter Nineteen

      Chapter Twenty

      Chapter Twenty-One

      Chapter Twenty-Two

      Chapter Twenty-Three

      Chapter Twenty-Four

      Chapter Twenty-Five

      Chapter Twenty-Six

      Chapter Twenty-Seven

      Chapter Twenty-Eight

      Chapter Twenty-Nine

      Chapter Thirty

      Epilogue

      Chapter One

      AD 1457

      This one was too easy.

      Vincent Danzel tucked a stray lock of hair back behind his ear and sucked in on his cheeks as he watched the cloaked figure dart beneath a shrub. Then he shifted slightly from one foot to the other in his crouch, listening for the slight groan from the tree limb he was perched on. Then he was fussing with the stopper on the sporran he’d pushed to one side. It was still full. Mostly full, he clarified for himself. He wasn’t dulling any of his charm with drink.

      He was going to need it.

      He slid a finger along his upper lip, scratching at the stubble there. He should have shaved, too. Then again, it would give him a rakish air. He might need that, as well.

      Vincent sighed and shifted again, this time moving a foot farther forward in his crouch. The limb protested that exchange of weight, but it had complained the entire time he’d been atop it, watching the little wench waste time looking for her toads. Vincent wrinkled his nose. No one had said anything about such strangeness. Toads? He watched as she spied one, knelt at the edge of the pond glimmering beneath them and started reaching for the fifth toad so far.

      He almost felt sorry for the little creature. Once she got her hands on it, she was shaking and slapping and making all sorts of strange noises until the toad would respond as she must want. Then she was making little chirping noises as she reached into the folds of her cloak so she could get a cloth to wipe at its back. He didn’t know what substance she hoped to gain, but once she had the toad wiped clean, she’d release it back into the pond, setting it gently back on the surface, where only a ripple betrayed the creature’s immediate plunge of escape.

      Vincent watched her fold the piece of cloth she’d wiped the toad with into a small triangular shape, pull out a jar and shove the piece in it before replacing the cork and sealing it in with the four others she’d already gained.

      Someone was paying for this insult, Vincent decided. And it wasn’t enough. That was certain. This wench had nothing to recommend her. She was small, with no shape that he could decide. She was also plain, if the way she shrouded herself was any indication. And she was strange. Worse than strange. She was odd-strange. Vincent ran his fingers along his eyelashes, separating them to a lush fringe, for the effect. He was going to need that, too.

      She stood, making little difference in her size since it was seen from the height he was at. Vincent reached forward, gripped the tree limb in front of his boots and swung forward, rolling into a dead-weight hang so he could drop to the ground to the right of her. He ended up directly atop the soft, water-soaked edge of the pond. Due to the volume of his weight, the ground forfeited, leaving him ankle-deep in muck while she tipped her head away from him and giggled.

      “You should na’ spy,” she said finally, once she had her mirth under control.

      Vincent frowned. She didn’t even act surprised at his abrupt entrance. “I was na’ spying,” he replied.

      “What was it you were doing, then?”

      “Granting a wish.”

      She still hadn’t looked toward him, and water was seeping through his boots now. Vincent backed a step, then another, searching without looking for the firm ground that he already knew was at the pond’s edge.

      “What wish was it I’ve made?” she asked.

      “A prince. ’Tis what kissing a frog is for. Gaining one.”

      “I’ve kissed nae frogs,” she replied.

      “That probably explains why you’ve na’ received a prince.”

      “You’re nae prince?” she asked.

      “Vincent Danzel. Knight. At your service.” He bowed for effect.

      “Pity,” she replied before she turned and started walking away.

      Vincent was stunned. He sucked in a breath Not only had she not even looked his way, but she was leaving? Women didn’t react so to him. Never. Well, mayhap the Sassenach taxman’s wife had, but she’d been worshipping gold rather than the flesh. Then again, she’d had poor eyesight.

      Vincent pulled his feet free of the muck, ignoring his wet boots, and moved around this female, blocking her path.

      “You’ve a reason for staying me?” she asked, directing her question to the region of his knees.

      The wench was diminutive, barely reaching midchest. Vincent put his hands on his hips and regarded her. “Someone has to speak for the poor devils,” he replied, finally.

      “Who?”

      “Me.”

      “I mean, who are the poor devils?”

      “Oh. Toads. Nary a one has done aught to receive treatment such as you give. I’m protecting them.”

      She giggled again. Then she lifted her head, tipped the edges of her cloak open with her hand and met his gaze. Vincent regarded her solemnly, waiting for the reaction. And missing any. His world didn’t rock. It didn’t even shiver. Nothing. This wench had nothing to recommend her and nothing to tempt him. It was a good thing he was being paid, he told