Once Upon a Knight (2 page)

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, and before that, anyone would have to get past her pet and guardian, the large wolf named Waif. Sybil tossed a kiss motion toward where Waif reclined and was rewarded by a slight whiff of sound. That gave her pause. It was more than his usual unblinking stare.

She knew why. Waif knew it, too. The man was coming for her. A man so unsuitable it would serve as payment for any teasing and tormenting she did. She knew that’s what the wish was. Kendran wanted her to fall in love. Useless emotion that it was. Falling in love? And with a man lacking a handsome face, or a brawny frame, or even strength of character that Sybil valued the highest? The man from her dream fit the description perfectly.

Even if she’d never seen him.

The shadow from her dreams was just that: dark and wispy and stunted to the stature of a dwarf. That’s the man that was coming for her and the one she’d do her best to avoid. It certainly wasn’t the immense, muscled, blond, fair-faced Adonis of a fellow that had dropped out of a tree today and bothered her at her chores.

Sybil paused at the door, the handle turned down preparatory to opening it. In her other hand she held the large metal key with which she’d secured her cabinet. She nearly shook her head over constant thoughts of the blond fellow. It wasn’t difficult to ascertain the reason. That man had much to engage a woman’s interest. It was obvious he deserved and expected it.

Sybil was still shaking her head as she shut the door, leaving her pet wolf to guard the interior. There was the distinctive click of the door latching, and then there was the likewise distinctive sound of a throat clearing. Sybil pulled in a gasp and turned slightly, managing to keep the reaction from showing anywhere on her body.

“Well?”

The blond fellow from the marsh was moving from an indolent position leaning against a bit of rock wall even as he spoke. He was more massive than she remembered. With hands upon his hips and legs apart, he effectively spanned the width of her tower hall. He’d also found a way to a bath and laundry, if what she smelled and observed was accurate, since he was splendidly attired in little more than a kilt of blue and black, while the open sides of his doublet were leaving none of his brawn disguised. He probably should have donned a shirt as well, she decided, eyeing him with what she hoped was disinterest.

“Well…what?” she replied, since he did nothing more than block her hall while he waited.

“I’ve bathed,” he replied. And then he grinned.

Sybil had to look down as the strangest shiver ran her frame the moment she glimpsed teeth and what promised to be actual dimples as well. Her own body’s response was unfamiliar, unwarranted, and not going unnoticed. At least by her. She could only hope her voice had the same disinterested, modulated tone as always when she needed to use it.

She looked back up. One of his eyebrows was cocked, and his head was slanted slightly. There was a visual array of ropelike muscle pounding from the belly he was displaying as well. It was very practiced, very posed, and very unnecessary. It was also stupid.

“So?” she replied, finally.

His eyebrow fell, as did his smile. He had wickedly dark eyes, and with them dark lashes, both of which were incongruous and superficial-looking with his coloring. He knew it and was used to wielding it, which made the reaction her body was giving even worse. He’d lowered his chin, made a knot bulge out on side of his jaw, and favored her with a stern look, but since it was being shadowed by his lashes, it didn’t do much. It was just as theatrical as the rest of him.

Sybil’s lips quirked despite her effort.

“So…you approve?” he asked.

“You are verra handsome, toad prince,” she replied.

He blinked once and then lifted his chin a fraction. His eyes weren’t black, after all. They had amber shading that, when struck perfectly by the light, glowed with a touch of gold. Sybil forced the most horrid belly tingle to subside even before it had a good start. She didn’t have time for brainless, brawny, beautiful men with large opinions of themselves. She knew who did, though: her stepmother. She narrowed her eyes before he spotted her instant knowledge.

“And?” he prompted.

“And what?”

“I’m verra handsome and you have named me a toad prince. What else?”

Sybil shrugged. “Naught.”

She dipped her head and slanted her shoulder and made a move around him in a dismissive fashion. He took a sideways step and blocked her. Sybil looked at his feet and then tried again. This time, she moved to the other side of the hall, taking three steps and gaining a half step forward of progress. One of his sideways lunges, however, and she was blocked again. She blew the slightest sigh through her lower lip, making it puff out and a wisp of her hair flutter.

“Vincent,” he said.

Sybil ran her gaze up the mass of flesh he was displaying for her and met his eyes. The wretch was smiling. He was openly doing it now and showing full teeth. She tilted her head to one side and regarded him, forcefully ignoring every bit of how it felt. Every bit. Especially the itch of sensation at each breast tip, where she must have donned an underdress that hadn’t been rinsed thoroughly because it chaffed with what had to be lye residue. Especially there.

“I ken your name already. You told me.”

“So say it.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m asking you to.”

Sybil pulled in a breath and complied, giving her voice the most enticing, sensual, deep-throated undertone she knew how, as she drew the first syllable of his name out in a lengthy fashion before finishing it with a moan of sound.

The reaction was immediate and visual. The mass of man jumped slightly as if an itch of sensation made it inevitable. Sybil was around him and almost down the hall before she heard his boots coming after her.

She stopped, turned fully, and put both hands out, blocking his way for a change. She was watching his reaction as he slowed to a crawl of movement and then halted just shy of her and stood there, breathing deeply. Sybil was matching him but kept the beginnings of agitation to herself.

“You’ve a reason for delaying me?” she asked finally.

“I’m na’ delaying you,” he replied. And gave that little smirk-smile that came with one dimple. “At least…na’ this time.”

She took a deep breath. “My stepmother is a verra gracious woman. Anymore. Especially to me. I dinna wish any of that changed,” she replied.

His confusion was almost perfectly portrayed. Sybil had never met a better liar. Poser. Deviant. Her eyes narrowed even more.

“’Tis obvious to me, my toad prince. You are one of my stepmother’s newest lovers. She has them. Ever since my father’s death in spring of last year, there has been a string of handsome young men about the castle. All dancing attendance on her. Without end. ’Tis her reward for the life she lived with him. I dinna’ begrudge it to her.”

“Lover?” he questioned, putting a meaning behind the word that she didn’t recognize.

That was odd. She didn’t like odd. She swallowed the excess spittle her mouth was cursing her with and continued, making certain he knew of her knowledge.

“Dinna’ let it fash you.” She ran her eyes up and down his frame and ended up back at his belly, where a roping of muscle was still moving with his pounding heart. “You are by far the most handsome. Much. She sees well. It’s my guess she’ll na’ be dismissing you as quickly as she did the others. Unless you give her reason.”

She finished on a whisper. He was choking. It sounded in his next words. He was a terrible choice for a lover. He wasn’t even loyal. Sybil was already thinking through the selection of herbs she could use. The Lady of Eschon didn’t deserve such a cheat and a wretch. Both of which he was proving himself to be the longer he bothered the only other young female in the castle: Lady Sybil.

“You th-think…I’m one of your…st-stepmother’s…lovers?”

He was stammering through it, and that started the most entertaining flush to his cheeks. Sybil watched it. The man was extremely handsome. She had to give him that. He was more than handsome. He was a stunning, beautiful specimen, and the flush was making the gold of his eyes glow. Her stepmother had let her eyes be her guide this time. She hadn’t looked beyond that.

Sybil had it decided. She was going to use crushed and dried chicory on him. She pulled in her lower lip in thought, wondering at the exact portion that wouldn’t prostrate him with sickness but would have him visiting the castle latrine more oft than he could Lady Eschon’s bedchamber.

“Oh, dear man.” Sybil clicked her tongue. “I dinna’ just
think
you are. I ken it. Perfectly.”

He grunted. Then he moved a step toward her, standing above her and breathing hard on her and making her regret the outstretched arms and aggressive stance. Especially since she’d been the one assuming it. Oh! He was getting a double dose of chicory with bruised leaves. Enough to cause gastric distress for a sennight. That’s what was happening to him, she decided.

“So certain.”

He reached a hand to touch her chin and lift it. She had two choices. Give up her stance, wrap her cloak about herself, and try to escape him again, or wait. Bide her time. Create the events that would serve her intent and not his. She narrowed her eyes to make her choice less noticeable for him.

“What if I were to tell you that the moment I set eyes on you this morn,
nae
other woman existed…anymore?” he murmured in such a soft, seductive tone that Sybil nearly believed it. Almost. He was good. Amazingly good. And he had a voice like warm butter. He was the best one Lady Eschon had enticed to her side. Easily.

“Other than remarking that such a thing would definitely give her reason to replace you, I’d have only one thing to say,” she replied.

“And…that would be?” He moved closer, but it wasn’t by moving his feet. Or if he was, she didn’t hear it. Since he had a forefinger beneath her chin and was still forcing her to look up at him, she wouldn’t have seen it anyway. She watched him lean a bit closer to her, roamed her eyes all about his face for something to look at other than the mesmerizing quality of those gold-enhanced dark eyes, and had to swallow the increased spittle in her mouth. She knew he felt it.

“Sage,” she said finally.

He blinked a dark fringe of lash, shadowing the honey color into opaque black before letting it back.

“Aye. Brewed with a touch of honey. Such a thing would be wondrous for your condition.”

“What condition might that be?” He was tilting his head and slanting forward even closer, pulling her to her tiptoes with the lifting of his hand at her chin. And with pursed lips he was a completely devastating sight. If she were a female that cared for such things.

Like a first kiss.

Sybil gulped. “Poor…eyesight.” She managed to whisper it, and then watched as he lowered his dark brush of eyelashes. That was tantamount to closing his eyes. She wondered at the man’s sanity. And bravery. And idiocy.

The moment before he’d have touched his lips to hers, she moved. The hall could have him. She was finished with this nonsense. She swiveled, had her cloak wrapped about herself and was nearly to the steps before he caught up with her again. This time he wasn’t subtle. He wrapped a hand about her upper arm and used that to stop her. Then, before she knew it, he had her swiveled and pressed against a rough wall. It was obvious they hadn’t reached that spot yet in their renovations. The entire keep was undergoing massive renewal and work. They weren’t at Sybil’s tower yet. The walls here still needed to be shaved smooth. Or at the very least filed to a smoothness that wouldn’t feel like tiny spikes were jutting into her spine when she least needed that effect. Sybil felt every bit of it as he just held her there and looked her over. He was breathing hard, too, and such a thing as chasing a lass down a hall shouldn’t be raising such an amount of breathlessness in such a muscular male, but she didn’t know what would.

Oh! She was giving him worse than chicory sprinkled on his sup tonight! He was getting dried linden flower petals mixed with hops. Such a thing was going to dull his senses and make everything on his body soft and worthless. Everything. Even the parts she didn’t care to note. That’s what she was going to do to this man for daring to touch her, to prevent her from leaving…for starting a riot of oddity throughout her belly that would have shamed her earlier. Now, it was vaguely frightening…illicit….

Naughty.

He’d finished his perusal of her bosom or wherever he’d been looking and had her pierced with a dark, honeyed gaze from beneath his lush lashes. The man had been blessed with theatrical coloring, perfect features, and amazing presence. He knew how to use all of it. Probably had practiced it. Sybil felt the shuddering of her belly calm a bit, and her head cleared. She couldn’t do a thing about the agitated breaths she was taking, however.

“I am na’ your mother’s lover,” he said finally.

“Stepmother.”

“Hers, either,” he answered.

“Then…what are you doing here? Now? At Eschoncan Keep?”

She watched the black of deviousness slip over him, although nothing looked to have changed. It was like he was being dipped in it, covered over in it, and then stewed in it. She knew the next thing from his mouth would be a lie. She’d been wrong earlier. There wasn’t lye soap enough to clean this man up.