Her Christmas Knight. Nicole Locke

him or repeat the mistake of conversing with him. He had purposely made it sound as if her running into him had been a clandestine affair. As if she would ever consider such thoughts again!

      She looked pointedly around him and lifted her skirts—but he blocked the only exit from the garden. For one flaring moment, she fought the terror of feeling trapped. No doubt he had done that purposely, too.

      ‘Let me pass,’ she said, proud that her voice didn’t betray her true feelings.

      ‘After this long time, that is all you have to say to me?’

      ‘I’d say less if you would let me by,’ she replied.

      ‘You have changed much, Alice. You used to be more talkative.’

      ‘Maybe I thought you were someone worth talking to.’

      She took a step in his direction. She’d force him to move if she had to.

      He didn’t move. ‘I merely guessed that you couldn’t sleep. It was either that or you never made it to your bed. But you have changed your gown. I was always partial to that colour grey on you. It almost matches the colour of your eyes.’

      ‘You have been too long at Court,’ she said. ‘Save your pretty words for the more feeble-minded.’

      ‘Just as well you didn’t wear grey yesterday, for it seems the King prefers purple,’ he replied, as if they were carrying on a normal conversation. ‘Did you return to your room last night, or did one of your many servants bring you a change of clothing?’

      Why was he talking of her clothing? He was close enough that she should have been able to know what he was thinking, but his eyes were like opaque glass—reflective, revealing nothing.

      She didn’t need this confusion.

      ‘Why are you here?’ she demanded. ‘I know it wasn’t to talk of my dress.’

      ‘After we had run into each other in the hall, I thought we could meet once again—but then you spent time with the King.’

      ‘Are you following me?’ she asked.

      ‘Only enough to see you.’

      His eyes held hers and his lips curved almost sensuously, almost as if he wanted her.

      She couldn’t take his looking at her like that—not now, not when she was too tired to keep her defences up. Why was he acting as if he cared? She knew that he didn’t, and never had.

      Treacherous tears were building. She would embarrass herself if she stayed.

      But he wasn’t going to let her pass. He was going to stand there with his beautiful smile and his confusing words. A thought occurred. Something... No. Someone had brought him here.

      ‘It is the King, isn’t it?’ she asked, although she knew she was right.

      ‘The King?’

      ‘You want to know what the King wanted of me. You don’t want me.’

      Some emotion flitted across his eyes like a jagged cloud. His intensity towards her vanished and he shrugged. ‘You cannot blame me for trying.’

      Oh, yes, she could. If she hadn’t already wished him to hell, she was doing so now. Callous, cruel, arrogant... She was glad his words had cut so quickly into her softening feelings. Her tears had dried and she could leave without another embarrassing scene.

      ‘I owe you no words, no explanation,’ she retorted. ‘I owe you less than that—I owe you nothing.’

      ‘Oh, do you?’ he replied. ‘In front of all those courtiers you would have fainted from exertion if I had not been holding you up.’

      Let him think it had been exertion and not his presence that had caused her to feel faint.

      ‘You cannot keep me here for ever.’

      His stance changed, became more relaxed. He had that air of boredom she had seen in the other courtiers. But Hugh didn’t fool her.

      Oh, he was dressed as ornately as any courtier. The green of his tunic, woven very fine, lay perfectly over his chest and tapered slightly at his waist. His tan leggings fitted seamlessly over his legs and his boots gleamed new. Yet none of his frippery hid what he had become. He was too unyielding, too rugged to look like anything but what he was: a warrior.

      She had never thought of him that way, although he had trained for knighthood all his life. She had watched him broaden into a man, but he had always been Hugh...a girl’s infatuation.

      Now he was something more. Something she didn’t understand.

      ‘I do not need for ever,’ he said. ‘I need enough time for you to tell me what you did with the King.’

      ‘Did?’ she repeated. ‘What I did with the King? Don’t you mean “spoke of”?’

      ‘Do I?’

      He would not let her avoid this conversation. She had wanted—no, needed to confide in someone. And here was Hugh, asking her to do so. As if she would ever confide in him again.

      ‘He congratulated me on my winning,’ she said.

      ‘Something more happened; the King doesn’t just share pleasantries in his private chamber.’

      ‘Nothing of importance.’

      ‘Your blushing gives you away. You were never good at lying.’

      She’d have to get good at it. Her sisters’ lives were at stake.

      ‘It is of little consequence for you.’

      His eyes narrowed and he abandoned his appearance of nonchalance. ‘Maybe you haven’t changed. I see you have kept your stubbornness.’

      She’d have preferred to keep her pride, but it hadn’t take long in Hugh’s presence for her to know that it was still in tatters.

      ‘I do not see how it concerns you.’

      ‘The King and his friendships always matter to me.’

      ‘I am hardly his friend.’

      He eyes hardened with a heat that slid along her face, taking in her eyes, the slant of her jaw, and resting on her lips. She felt his eyes there, felt his words as he answered.

      ‘No, I suppose friend doesn’t quite capture your role in the King’s life, does it?’ His eyes were back on hers and the heat was gone. ‘But I refuse to think you’ve changed that much. Whatever the King wants of you, you won’t be able to do it.’

      Shock caused her to ask, ‘How do you know what the King wants of me?’

      ‘It isn’t hard to guess. You were in his private chamber for over an hour.’

      He had been watching her—maybe even listening behind a door or a tapestry. The King had made her think it was a private conversation. There could only be one reason why Hugh would be privy to this secret: the King did not trust her.

      Well, she’d show them both.

      ‘What do you know what I can or cannot do? It’s been six years. Long enough for both of us to change.’

      ‘Not long enough. Not to betray your family like this.’

      ‘It’s not a betrayal. It’s an honour!’

      Colour left his face. ‘To hell with this pretence. What has he done to you?’

      He moved to grab her.

      She jerked her arm away. ‘Do not delude yourself into thinking I would welcome your touch again.’

      Anger blazed in his eyes before he could hide the emotion from her. She fought the instinct to step back. Hugh wasn’t pretending he was angry; he was acting as if he hated her.

      ‘No?’ He dropped his arm. ‘Or maybe it