A Lily on the Heath (Medieval Herb Garden 4)

Before she could reply, the clouds opened up, releasing a heavy downpour. Judith gave a soft shriek in surprise, and the king chuckled. “Apparently, ’tis not to be. Off with you, my lady,” he said, gesturing her back to the keep.

She heard his laughter behind her as she took his advice, picked up her skirts, and ran.

Mal didn’t mind the rain, and to the lad Rike’s obvious surprise, he kept him in the training yard even after the other men peeled away and went inside. A crash of thunder rolled nearby, followed by a streak of lightning—but it was distant. They had time.

“You’ll fight in the rain too,” he told Rike, showing the boy once more how to use the weight of the broadsword to lever it into a powerful upward swing. “And in the dark. And when you’re weary or injured or hungry. Thus ’tis best to train under all conditions as well. ”

“Aye, my lord,” Rike replied soberly, trying the demonstrated move once more.

Mal watched him try it twice, then thrice, and nodded with satisfaction. “Aye. ’Tis much improved even today. ”

The rain pelted onto them, dripping from their hair into their eyes, soaking through to their hose. Mal could have remained in the training yard all the day, for the downpour felt cool and refreshing after the closeness of the great hall and sleeping chambers. But Rike, still wearing his tunic, looked like an angular, half-drowned dog, so he took pity on the miserable boy. “Go on with you, then. But I’ll meet up with you here tomorrow at dawn if you wish some more advice. ”

“Oh, aye, Lord Warwick, I do. ” The young man’s reply was filled with genuine hope and enthusiasm. “Thank you. ”

“Be off,” Mal said with a grin. “And do you take care not to trip on those boat-feet of yours. ” He watched Rike hurry away, remembering with more than a touch of discomfort his early days of training. He had the same massive feet, the same uncontrollable arms of ridiculous length, and hands that just couldn’t seem to do what he wanted.

There’d been no kind lord to mentor hi

m while at Kentworth, but at last a grizzled master-at-arms had taken him aside—much as Mal had done to Rike today—and found him a sword better suited for his weight and height. And Mal had practiced and practiced and practiced.

A bolt of lightning flashed closer now and Mal glared up at it. “Very well,” he growled to the heavens. “Back into shelter I go. But if you’ll be so kind as to find me a wife, I can soon quit this place. ” He collected his sherte and tunic. He preferred to train without them whenever possible, because they became soaked with perspiration and, often, blood and dirt as well. But today, they were just as wet as if he’d worn them. And as he didn’t wish to walk into the keep with his torso bare, he struggled into the soaking clothing and slid his sword into its sheath.

When he came into the Great Hall, dripping but not the least bit chilled, Malcolm found it just as he expected: filled with people everywhere, the space loud and close. Yet he hadn’t broken his fast and there was food to be had, so he tamped down his irritation and searched for an empty place among the trestle tables.

“Warwick!” someone called, and he turned to see Lady Judith.

For some unaccountable reason, his chest tightened and he meant to keep walking…but before he could force himself to do so, his feet turned and brought him over to her. It was rude, he told himself, to ignore a gentlelady’s hail. She sat at a small table next to one of the lesser fireplaces, a chessboard arranged in front of her.

He swiped the long, sopping hair from his forehead, careful not to stand so close he’d drip all over her and the table as he gave a brief bow. “Good morrow, Lady Judith,” he said politely, noticing her own clothing was still damp.

Of course he’d seen her walking by the training yard earlier—how could one ignore that beacon of fiery hair, especially in a colorless morn such as this? Little wisps of it fell from her coiffure, settling over her shoulders in frizzing curls. She wore no veil this morrow.

“I beg of you, my lord—a game of chess?” she asked. He opened his mouth to decline, but as was Judith’s way, she barreled on, “I’ve taken two games already this morning from my opponents, and no one else is brave enough to challenge me. ’Twill be a long day cooped in here if I’ve naught to occupy my time, for the queen is locked away with her steward and has no need of me this morrow. ”

Mal could think of a variety of ways she could occupy her time—dancing, jesting, flirting and talking with all of her friends, sewing and whatever else ladies did when they weren’t torturing men—but declined to mention them. Instead, he shook his head. “Nay, my lady, I dare not. I’m soaked to the skin and would be a poor opponent, dripping all over the table as I am. ”

“But there is a seat for you right next to the fire,” Judith pointed out with a smile. “You’ll dry in a trice, and as I suspect you haven’t broken your fast, there will also be cheese and apples from the page who hovers just yonder. ”

He looked down at her, realizing he’d been maneuvered quite neatly into doing her bidding. There was no honorable way out of the situation, and he realized it wasn’t such an unfortunate thing after all. “Very well, Lady Judith. But I trow, if you play chess as well as you maneuvered me, I doubt I’ll have a chance for checkmate. ”

She laughed merrily and he felt his own lips tugging into a smile. Like a bolt of sunshine, her good humor and vivacity were near impossible to resist, and he felt himself relaxing a little. “You’re too kind, Mal—er, Warwick. But I challenged you because I hope for a good battle on this game, at the least. ”

Before he was even settled in his seat, the page approached and set a goblet of wine and a small plate of white cheese and sliced apples nearby. Mal glanced at Judith, wondering if this too was part of her grand plan, then returned to arranging his chess pieces.

They made their first few moves, playing in silence for a while. Mal had the stray thought that it was unusual for Judith to be quiet for such a stretch, but when he glanced up and saw her coppery brows drawn together, he realized she was concentrating on her game. He grinned, determined to be the one to give her a good battle this day. And as she pondered her next move, he had the opportunity to look upon her without feeling awkward.

He noticed her slender hand, delicate and graceful as it hovered over her queen’s rook. There were scratches and one deep scar near the wrist and he wondered if it were from her raptors or some other mishap. Her skin wasn’t the same pearly white as that of most ladies, who spent much of their time indoors. Instead, her hands, throat, and face were a pleasing golden color, faintly brushed with amber and honey freckles.

Mal’s mind wandered, wondering if the freckles and sun-kissed coloring extended beneath her clothing, where he could see the curve of her breasts and well knew the shape of her hips, for they swayed enticingly as she walked…then when he realized his folly, he snatched his thoughts back to the game. Foolish, man.

She was not a suitable wife for him. She was too…loud and energetic and, he sensed, she would demand much from any husband she might take. Attention. Conversation. Chess games.

“I saw you this morrow,” Judith said, taking his king’s bishop with a flourish. “In the training yard. ”

“Aye,” he replied, considering his next move. She’d done what he expected, fallen into his own trap on the board…but he must decide whether to spring it yet, or lull her into a false sense of security. He grinned to himself. She was a worthy opponent thus far, however, causing him to rethink his strategy more than once.

“I believe you will make a fine husband indeed,” she said, startling him so his hand jerked. He nearly knocked over his queen and sent two other pieces awry.