had angered more than one protective father in their rare excursions to the English king’s court.
“Are you blind? Such beauty in a lady is as rare as it is striking to the eye.”
“She is no lady.” Tristan wondered if he could be the only man at court who knew of Arabella’s peasant roots.
“I am pleased to hear it. The prospects for our journey home have just begun to improve.”
“No.” Tristan suspected he was being skillfully manipulated—tested for his own interest in Arabella—but the knowledge did not prevent a surge of possessiveness at the thought of Simon with the green-eyed beauty.
“Pardon? Did the Sultan of Silence speak?”
“She is not your type of woman, Percival, and we both know it. You merely mean to examine my reaction to the wench. Why not just ask?” Irritated to realize he indeed found himself attracted to Arabella—nay, more fascinated than attracted—Tristan had no patience for idle talk of her. Yet he listened because Simon was his brother in spirit, if not by blood.
“I thought I was the picture of subtlety.” Simon laughed. “But since you’re offering, I am curious what you think of Lady Arabella.”
“I met her in the woods on one of the last nights we made camp on the way to Prague, and she bore little resemblance to the lady-in-waiting she plays for her princess.” He had not shared the incident with Simon, preferring to remember the encounter in his mind and not pick it apart with questions. “I do not know if the other nobles are aware of a pretender in their midst, or if Princess Anne has purposely gathered as large a retinue as possible, with no regard to the breeding of her travel companions. But either way, Lady Arabella’s court facade is a falsehood.”
“Perhaps the princess knows nothing of it, and Arabella has merely used that charming body of hers to lure a nobleman to her bed in an attempt to be included in the princess’s train.”
“Leave it to you to consider the most illicit possibilities.” Although heaven knows, Tristan of all people should have been quick to consider such a scheme, after having been betrayed by a woman seeking a higher station in life than a lowly knight could afford.
“Women must use what means they possess. A lesson hard won by us both, Tris, wouldn’t you say?”
“There is more.” Briefly, Tristan explained about the knife he found after she left. “It may be just an ordinary tool for gathering herbs, but there are some who believe such weapons are ceremonial items for Gypsy wise women or…”
“You don’t mean to suggest the girl is—”
“I suggest nothing. I’m merely telling you what I found and sharing the local superstitions.”
“You do not believe such rump-fed foolishness.”
“I do not fear the girl could turn me into a hopping toad, if that is what you mean. Yet I know she is not who she pretends to be.”
They were in a more untamed land, after all. A woman brought up in the Bohemian wilderness among the old ways could be a dangerous influence on the English court, even if her only crime was that of deception.
“’Tis all mumble-minded nonsense,” Simon remarked, reining in as they approached the knights’ quarters near the main keep. “Arabella Rowan is naught but a wild beauty with unearthly green eyes, and you would call her a Gypsy witch.”
“Hardly. Mayhap I will simply call her mine, instead.” He had not thought it over before he spoke the words aloud, but the idea had a certain appeal.
“Have you lost your wits? What happened to your aversion to treacherous women?”
“Perhaps my sense of fair play demands I do not allow another ambitious woman to bend the court to her whim.” Tristan was no longer the unknown bastard Elizabeth Fortier had once rejected. After seeing the way his former love had broken the spirits of a much older and far wealthier man following her courtship with Tristan, he had regretted his quiet complicity in her scheme.
He might not have denounced Elizabeth, but he had the power to unmask Arabella Rowan.
Arabella would be the king’s problem in England, but until they reached London, Tristan would be wise to keep a close watch on the reckless female with secrets in her past.
“You’d better be careful then, friend.” Simon grinned, one brow arched in lopsided mockery as he slid from his mount. “If our young enchantress truly is a powerful wise woman in disguise, you may be in for more than you bartered for.”
Tristan did not deny it.
Chapter Four
After days of riding in Princess Anne’s specially fashioned carriage, Arabella thought she would expire from the tedious polite conversation and the confinement of the padded velvet walls.
There were windows in the carriage at least, to provide an occasional breeze, but the view was disturbing.
Tristan often rode near the royal carriage, providing Arabella with too much opportunity to brood over the man.
He looked more at ease on the destrier than most men looked on their own two feet. His black hair was caught in a queue trailing carelessly over his mantle. Dressed in his customary austere black, he bore no decoration on his person, no trace of family emblems, heraldry or garters from the king. As if no ties of loyalty bound him to anyone or anything.
Why her eyes were drawn to him time and again, she could not fathom.
He was dangerous. Arabella knew it because her mother had assured her every man was. And from his crude discussion with his friend, she knew he was accustomed to taking advantage of women. The fact that they were usually widows did nothing to lessen her indignation.
Yet…he’d saved her.
The day at the bazaar had scared her witless. Like a madwoman, she’d fought her attacker with all her strength, the cold certainty that he intended her serious harm driving her to frenzied kicking and pushing.
Out of nowhere, Tristan appeared. In that moment, her heart nearly burst with relief. He seemed larger than life as he loomed over the brute who hurt her. Yes, Tristan Carlisle was dangerous, but all that power and strength had been on her side. She could not forget that feeling of absolute protection.
Unsure how to handle the strange mixture of feelings he inspired, Arabella had done her best to avoid him since they’d left Prague. Her eyes, however, had a will of their own.
Lost in thought as she stared at his broad back, she was caught off guard when he turned and met her gaze, as if he felt her watching.
Flustered, she studied her knotted hands in her lap. Still, he drew closer. Arabella could feel his presence. He reined in near Anne’s window, a few hand spans from her own.
“Excuse me, Your Highness. We are in Cologne now,” Tristan informed her. “It will take all day to reach the countess’s lands. Do you wish to ride straight through?”
“I want to be sleeping under Countess von Richt’s roof this night.” Anne smiled warmly. “Think you we will be there for a late supper?”
“We will make all haste so that it may be. I wish you good morning, Your Highness. Ladies.” Acknowledging the other women in the carriage by a quick bow of his head, he disappeared to rejoin the head of the party.
As Arabella tried to make sense of the feelings he roused within her simply by his presence, she decided she would make every effort to maintain her distance from him during their stay at the countess’s keep. No matter what the leap of her pulse meant when Tristan was near, she was certain it couldn’t be good.
“Let the entertainment commence,” Countess von Richt announced after an endless supper.
Finally.
The meal had dragged