Crusader's Lady. Lynna Banning

enough,’ Marc said slowly. ‘England’s king may be a better leader than a statesman. But, faced with an ambush of mixed troops, only a fool would stop to separate out the chaff.’

      ‘The man is dangerous,’ the grand master shot. ‘A fool in fine armour.’

      Marc set down his flagon of sweet Cyprus wine with a clunk. ‘Richard may be many things, but he is not a fool.’

      The king’s fingers stilled. ‘I think, de Valery, that your young servant needs rescuing from yon table.’

      Marc strained his eyes but could see nothing further amiss. ‘I think not. The lad has declawed the lions, both of them.’

      Richard’s penetrating blue eyes sought his. ‘Look again.’

      It was an order, not a polite request. Marc understood at once. Richard would be private with the Templar grand master.

      ‘You are right,’ Marc amended. ‘Young Soray looks to be in need of…direction.’ In truth, young Soray had things well in hand, but Marc quickly excused himself and started across the hall toward the servants’ table.

      ‘De Valery!’ the grand master abruptly called at his back.

      Marc halted.

      ‘I would not wish you to roam freely about this keep. My servant will conduct you to your guest quarters.’

      A moment of silence, then the low murmur of voices resumed, the disguised king’s and the grand master’s. What mischief was Richard stirring up now?

      A paunchy, grey-haired man in a white surcoat appeared out of the gloom, sidestepping both hounds and refuse without breaking his stride. ‘This way, sir knight. Follow me.’

      Marc stopped at the servants’ table and spoke at Soray’s back. ‘Come on, lad. To bed.’

      Soray scrambled off the bench, resisting the impulse to throw her arms around her rescuer. ‘Oh, thank you, lord. Thank you!’

      ‘That tired, are you?’ he said, an edge in his low voice.

      ‘Oh, no, not tired,’ she blurted. ‘But I have been…quite busy here.’

      ‘Ah,’ said her knight. ‘Commendable aim you have.’

      She gaped up at him. ‘You saw?’

      ‘I saw.’

      Soraya flinched. His world, even the small part of it she had seen, was ugly beyond words, full of rudeness and noise and awful smells. She hated it.

      But she did not hate him. On the contrary, she was beginning to like him. He roared and grumbled, but he did not strike. He fed her, warmed her at his fire, protected her from angry merchants…even laughed at her remarks. Apparently he found her acceptable company.

      She followed him out of the great hall and up a winding staircase, the stone steps unevenly worn with long use. Up and up it went, curving always to her right. By the second landing, she was so dizzy she feared she would stagger off the edge. Blindly she reached out toward her knight, caught a handful of his tunic and held on.

      ‘Better than the tail of a horse, is it?’ he said over his shoulder. The amusement she heard in his rough voice made her grin.

      ‘Much better, lord,’ she said at his back. ‘A horse could never climb such steps as these.’

      He chuckled and shortened his steps. ‘But a horse has no need for guest quarters in a Templar keep.’

      They both laughed.

      On the next landing, the grey-haired man led them down a short hallway, through a wooden door that screeched on rusty hinges and into a small chamber with a single window cut into the stone wall.

      ‘Here it is, my lord,’ the man puffed. ‘Fine view. See all over the city, you can.’ He surveyed Soraya with a measuring eye. ‘Mind you don’t lean out too far past the shutters, boy. Many a young page has found himself swimming upside down in the moat.’

      She stared at the window and fought down a shudder.

      ‘Anything you be wantin’ from the kitchen my lord?’

      ‘Hot water and soap,’ de Valery replied.

      ‘I’ll send it up with a page. Don’t think I can manage this climb more than once a night.’

      Water and soap? ‘You would bathe?’ she blurted. Here, in front of her?

      ‘I would,’ he snapped.

      ‘Now?’

      ‘Aye, lad, now,’ he growled with impatience. ‘What better time?’

      The old man started for the door. ‘You’ll be wantin’ a large tub for the likes of one tall as yerself. I’ll see to it.’

      From the rank smell of bodies in the dining hall, she knew that knights did not bathe often. She caught her lower lip between her teeth. In a few moments de Valery intended to disrobe; as his servant she would be expected to help him shed his garments and then…

      She swallowed hard. She had never before seen a full-grown man naked.

      ‘What ails you, lad? Help me get these boots off.’

      She ducked her head and tugged at the spurs and the tarnished buckles on his blackened leather boots.