Quest by Mande Matthews

Author:Mande Matthews
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Romance, Fantasy, Young Adult, Historical Fiction
Publisher: Guardian Tree Press
Published: 2012-12-25T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter 8

Rhosyn and Crystin had not waited, and I found myself alone in the hallway. Rather than head back to my chamber—the dressmaker could wait—I searched for Lancelot. Perhaps heading straight for the one man I should have avoided was foolish on my part, but Morgaine’s prediction of a perilous outcome for us prompted me to seek him out to warn him that our tryst had been discovered.

After failing to find him in the practice yard or courtyard, I found him in the one place that made the most sense: the stables, tending Clover. The sharp smell of hay, horses and manure swamped the long row of stalls as I headed toward Lancelot, situated at the end of the barn, beyond my sight. Though I did not see him, I knew he was there. Aethelwine, perched on the stable fencing, called to me as I neared. Clover nickered and bobbed his head over a stack of prairie grass, while Lancelot's presence pulled me forth like a lodestone. As I rounded the mound and spotted the knight, he stiffened.

All my nerve drained out of me when Lancelot refused to turn. His eyes flicked sideways, but did not seek my face. The darkened hallway of the stables cast shadows upon him, causing the chisel in his cheeks to deepen and his skin to darken.

He focused his attention on stroking Clover's back with a bristle brush.

"Lancelot, I…"

He paused at my voice, but did not speak.

"The other night when we…"

Oh, Jesu, why couldn't I find any words?

Lancelot reached over and unhooked Clover's silver harness.

Before he could remove it, I reached for the knight, settling my hand on his. Warmth spread through my palm as I touched him. He turned toward me. His dark eyes caught mine, and I fought the urge to drown in them. His hand softened at my touch, causing the muscles of his forearm to ripple. The strength of him weakened my knees, and I struggled to stay upright. I wanted to sink into him, give over to him and feel those strong, broad, capable hands upon me, but knew I could not—I had to remember I was here to warn him, not to give over to him.

“I have been meaning to talk to you about that night.” His tone was low and rich but edged with apprehension.

A lump pressed against my throat, and I swallowed. “Yes. Me, too.”

“I didn’t mean—” he started.

“When we—” I said at the same time.

We laughed—a hesitant, faltering sound.

“You first,” I said, keeping my hand upon his, unable to pull it back to the safety of my side.

He remained steady under my touch as well, unwilling to disconnect from me.

“I never meant to bring you more pain.”

“Well,” my words formed before I could control them, “the stammering backwards and fleeing into the night was a dead give away to repulsion on your part.”

A smile spread his lips. “You think I was repulsed?”

“Yes,” I said. “You made your feelings clear. Which is good.”

He turned his body toward mine, leaving only a hair’s space between us.

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