Once Upon a Knight. Jackie Ivie

cocked her eyebrows up, showing a glint of silver in the light blue of her eyes. That caught his attention for a moment. She had pale perfect skin and very black eyebrows. He wondered if that was the color of her hair or even if she had any to claim. He tipped his head to one side and waited.

      “What is it they tell you?” she asked.

      “That a pond is meant for swimming and catching sup. Na’ for the torment of a wench’s hand.”

      He reached out and grabbed for her hand, surprising her with the swiftness if her intake of breath was any indication. Her hands were fine-shaped and delicate. Her entire form looked to be that way. He’d been ordered not to touch her or make her his. The warning wasn’t necessary. She wasn’t his type, she wasn’t the right size and she was too easy. Even without his fee.

      Her hand trembled within his. Vince stepped closer and dipped his head slightly, looking at her with dark eyes through black lashes that had always looked incongruous with his blond hair. He knew it made women swoon. He’d been told often enough of it. That was why he’d made certain the lashes were each separated and defined.

      “Torment?” she whispered.

      “Aye. And shaking. Such things belong…elsewhere.” His voice deepened exactly when he wanted it to. He licked at his lip, too.

      Her mouth quirked, and then everything on her features went bored and disinterested. “You need a bath,” she replied.

      Vince straightened slightly. “I bathed this morn. In the loch.” He kept the defensive tone from the words with difficulty. Much difficulty. And then he was mentally doubling his fee.

      “You forgot to wash your mouth.”

      She shocked him further by slipping her hand free and tipping her little chin in a gesture of dismissal. His mind was blank. He didn’t know what to say. She didn’t act like she was expecting him to say anything. She picked up one side of her skirts with the hand he’d recently claimed and used the wad of material as a buffer between them as she passed right by him. His mind was stalled, his mouth was dry and made drier by the slack-jawed effect of being so summarily passed over. His eyes were still focusing on the spot of ground she’d barely made a dent in, while he was making water-filled holes the size of his boots from standing in sodden ground.

      That lasted four or five heartbeats. Since he hadn’t been counting, he couldn’t be sure. No wench treated Vincent Erick Danzel in such a fashion. And if they did, they could just reap the punishment for it. Wenches didn’t turn him down, they didn’t tell him nae, and they didn’t ignore him. It was a matter of pride now.

      He reached her with little more than a lope of movement, crossing ground with strides she couldn’t possibly match. He blocked her path again, ignored how the ground was even marshier here, causing him to sink more quickly, and folded his arms to make it official. She wasn’t getting past him that easily! And certainly not without an explanation.

      “What is it now, Sir Knight?” She had her head cocked backward and wasn’t moving the shawl to make anything more easily seen. That posture shadowed her upper face and highlighted her lips. They were pursed sweetly and appeared to have the color and texture of a ripe plum, he decided.

      “You,” he replied.

      “Me?”

      “Aye. You.”

      “You are determined to disturb me?”

      “Disturb. Aye. In a word.”

      “Why?”

      “First, tell me why you shake toads.”

      The spark of interest was back in her eyes, making them look akin to liquid silver again. Vince sucked on one cheek while he considered that.

      “I need their sweat,” she said finally.

      “Toads…sweat?”

      She giggled again. He could grow fond of that sound, he decided. If he kept his eyes closed to the rest of her.

      “A toad releases a substance when it’s frightened. ’Tis akin to the strongest of brews.”

      “It does?”

      “Aye. And ’tis a powerful thing, too. Makes a man weak and seeing things that could na’ be.”

      “Truly? What does it do for a woman?” he asked, matching his whispered tone to her own.

      “Makes labor easier to abide.”

      “Labor?”

      “Bringing a babe into the world is labor, Sir Knight. A woman suffers. I assist with relieving it.”

      “This toad sweat…is that powerful?”

      She smiled and raised her eyebrows several times. Then she stepped nearer to him as if they were conspirators of some kind. She was also closer to his height for some reason. Vince didn’t notice the reason was that he was sinking farther into mud that was thick with pond water.

      “That and more. ’Tis also known to create a thrill.”

      “Thrill?” he asked. The center of her eyes wasn’t silver at all, but an aqua blue. Vince found himself staring into that center…being drawn into it, singed and yet enthralled by it. He shook his head once to clear it and stepped back. His feet didn’t make the move; only his body did.

      The spray from his fall glittered in the air for a moment before it started settling, acting like it was applauding him. Vince sat, stunned, knees bent and feet stuck solid, nearly to his calves. The ground was just as wet and slimy and muck-filled as it had looked while standing atop it. Now that he was seated in it and feeling it leach through the fabric of his kilt, he knew it was miserable-feeling as well. The wench wasn’t just giggling, either. It was an outright laugh.

      Vince put his hands to either side of him, but they just sank into the muck, too. He pulled them free with a distinctive sucking noise, leaving two fist-sized holes that immediately filled with water, reflecting back the grimace he was giving first one and then the other of them.

      “You do your creed well, toad prince,” she said, once she had the laughter under control.

      “Toad prince?” he replied. And then he said it again, louder than before. There was nothing for it. He looked at both hands, blew a sigh of disgust over them to warm them slightly, placed them atop his bare knees, and grunted himself upright. It took every bit of his strength and made muscles bulge from his thighs and stomach, and there was a moment when he didn’t think he was going to be able to gain his own feet, but it was done. The hole he’d made with his buttocks immediately filled with water.

      “You see?” she said. “I am right again.”

      “About what?” Vincent went to a twist and busied himself with pulling the tree-mash from the back of himself. All that managed to do was make his lower arms a mess of mud as well.

      “You. And a bath.”

      And with that, she turned and left him.

      Chapter Two

      A man was coming for her. He had been for almost eighteen months, ever since the day her sister Kendran had wished such a thing upon her. Sybil wiped the sides and then the tops and finally the bottoms of all her apothecary vials. It was a chore of love and one she enjoyed. Every bottle hinted at the contents within, with a thumbprint made of lamp oil and soot. She’d then scratch a symbol through the lines, marking what was inside. It was her special pride and joy: all the treasure she’d accumulated. All the good she could do…as well as the evil.

      Sybil sucked on her bottom lip as she handled the tansy vial. It was useful for granting death…or it could be used for ridding a body of an unwanted babe, but that usually resulted in death as well.

      That was why no one else in the keep had access to the apothecary cabinet belonging to her. No one. That was also why there was a huge hasp of a lock barring it,