Kleypas Lisa Gamblers 3 Against The Odds (Where's My Hero)

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of loyalty
Stryder needed someone to protect him who was beyond bribery.
And for the price on Stryder's head, those people were far too few and rare.
As the day finally drew to a close, Simon found himself with Stryder and Christopher, walking toward
their tents as
women tried to grab Stryder and proposition him.
"It's a sad sight, isn't it?" Christopher asked wearily. "Methinks I should have the armorer make a larger
helm for tomorrow
so that it can fit over Stryder's big head."
Simon laughed at that. "Indeed, but I fear a shortage in steel might occur if we tried to accommodate his
ugly noggin."
Stryder scoffed. "You're both just jealous. I have my choice of bedmates, while the two of you sleep
alone."
Simon passed a knowing look to Christopher. "It seems to me, Kit, that there's only enough room in his
bed for him and
his ego. It makes one wonder how he ever manages to squeeze a woman in."
Christopher laughed.
"A pox on both of you," Stryder said.
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Simon smiled. "And one on your ego."
Stryder grunted, walking with his head down as he fumbled with a knotted lace on his cuirass.
When they rounded a tent, a shadow caught Simon's eye. He barely had time to react as a man came
rushing at Stryder
with a drawn dagger.
Before the assassin could reach his friend, Simon grabbed him and, after a brief struggle, threw the man
to the ground.
Simon disarmed him quickly and held him pinned by his neck.
Stryder curled his lip in disgust. "These attempts on my life are becoming quite monotonous."
Simon looked at him drolly. "Pray they don't become successful."
Stryder nodded as he pulled the assassin up. "Thank you, Simon. Christopher and I will see him to the
guards. Would
you care to join us in the hall?"
Simon went to touch the ribbon on his arm, only to realize it had been torn off during the struggle.
His stomach shrank. "Nay, I have something I need to do."
"Not another letter." Christopher moaned. "I swear, Simon, you've gotten to where you write more than
I do, and I'm
a minstrel."
Simon didn't say anything as they left him alone. Instead, he searched the ground until he found the
tattered pieces of his ribbon.
Instantly relieved, he clutched them in his hand and pulled the letter out of his tunic, where he had laced it
tightly against his chest.
It had been delivered just this morn as he'd been donning his armor for the tourney.
He broke the Scottish seal, and as he opened the letter, he found a tiny lock of brown hair.
Herhair.
He held it tightly in his hand, not wanting to let it go. Lifting it to his face, he smelled the faintest trace of
her scent.
Simon smiled.
Then he eagerly read her feminine script.
My Dearest Warrior,
I hope this finds you well and unhurt. I fear the last messenger you sent will never be bribed to
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carry another
of your letters to me. It appears Irather damaged him a bit in my enthusiasm to relieve him of his vellum
burden.
I only hope his ankle heals soon.
Your words touched me deeply, and I am truly sorry that you are homesick. I was going to send
you a bit of
soil, but thought it might be rather ridiculous to burden you with such. Not to mention that dirt is
rather the same, isn't it? And if you dropped it, you wouldn't be able to reclaim it.
So I thought perhaps my hair might bring some comfort to you. I hope you won't notice the bit of
singing
around the ends of it. I fear I learned a valuable lesson the day before yesterday.
While daydreaming of you and your last letter, I became distracted in the kitchen and wasn't
paying attention
to where 1 set down the candle.
But I discovered something most important. Larders catch fire rather easily. And once burned,
sandstone is impossible to clean. The cook has banned me eternally from the kitchen and at first
forbade me ever to
partake of her services again.
After some consoling, she has at last granted me the right to eat, but only so long as I swear
never again to
enter her domain.
I miss you, my dearest. Know that wherever you are tonight, my thoughts and heart are with you
Please take care of yourself and may God grant you peace and health until you find yourself
home again
with those who love you
Ever yours,
K
Simon held her letter to his heart. How he wanted this woman. Needed her.
If only he were Stryder. Then he could court her. Propose to her.
But as Simon of Ravenswood, he could do nothing more than pine away for his star, knowing that the
day would never
come when they could be together.
He had found her only so that he could lose her.
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Fate was often unmerciful.
Sighing, he took his letter and headed for his tent. At least there, for a little while, he could pretend to be
someone else.
Someone who could offer his troth to his lady love.
Chapter 1
England
Eleven months later
"Congratulations, Lord Stryder. I never thought to see the day when you would take a bride."
Stryder looked up as the older nobleman's words rang in his ears. He'd just sat down no more than five
minutes before to break his fast after a morning spent training in the list.
He was hot and sweaty, and not quite sure he had heard the man correctly.
"A bride?" Stryder repeated skeptically.
The old man's wizened face beamed at him, and his faded brown eyes were bright with well wishes.
"And a Scots heiress,
no less. A fine match you've made, my boy. Fine indeed." He clapped Stryder on the back and ambled
off.
Stupefied, Stryder frowned and returned to his food. No doubt the nobleman had gone daft with his old
age.
Or so he thought. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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