The Warrior and the Wildflower by Gregg Everley

Author:Gregg, Everley
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Romance, Historical
Publisher: Dragonblade Publishing, Inc.
Published: 2021-02-16T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Seventeen

Mathieu washed up quickly and was drying his face on a linen towel before hitting his pallet. It had been a very long day begun many hours ago. Even his brief nap hadn’t bolstered his energy enough to withstand any more of the crowd and the clamor inside the Great Hall.

Truth be told, he simply couldn’t stand by and watch Gaspard—the knight—displace him from Eva’s side on the dance floor. ’Twas a symbolic as well as actual insult, by both the maiden as well as the Frenchman. He should have known better than to even ask her to dance after her championing of the knight on the jousting field today.

Even though it caused a pain in his heart he neither understood nor welcomed, Mathieu forced himself to face how Eva felt about him then and there: naught. The strange attraction he felt toward her, the tingling of his skin on hers, the wanton longing he felt whenever he was near her—it all meant nothing, if not returned by the lady herself.

Despite himself, his hopes had risen. She was a lady who not only stirred his blood but also seemed to share his interests. He’d been duly impressed by not only her willingness to handle the falcon this morn, but her lack of fear in doing so.

A life partner. Alas, ’twas not to be, at least not with the blonde maiden from Ghent.

Mathieu’s ire simmered still, though, toward the Frenchman for his audacity on the dance floor. He rubbed his knuckles, still healing from the last time he’d taken out his frustrations by punching a stall board. The interruption this evening by Keegan had been a welcome one, to be sure.

The knight had complimented Mathieu by acknowledging his expertise with the horses. Respect. Unexpected, especially from one of Knape’s group. But welcome, just the same.

A shame about the knight’s charger, though. He feared the injury to the joint referred to as the stifle would never come right. At least, not right enough to render the stallion capable of the rigors of long-distance travel, let alone battle.

Mathieu had just folded his tunic over a chair and flopped onto his pallet when he heard a sound from beyond his door. He stilled, straining to hear. Closing his eyes, he sighed. ’Twas Kliene Uil, who seldom made much noise unless he’d gotten himself in trouble. More than once the tiny creature chased a rodent into the far end of a horse’s stall, then found himself unable to escape without risking being crushed under a heavy hoof. Mathieu groaned and heaved himself to his feet.

The darkness in the stable was blinding, and Mathieu had not lit a candle or torch. He waited a moment to allow his eyes to adjust, training his ear to the sounds the bird made to locate him. Kleine Uil appeared from behind a heap of hay near the front entrance, flapping his wings and hopping up and down.

Kwiff-kwiff-kwiff. Kwiff-kwiff-kwiff.

The tiny owl was shrieking his warning call, a shrill sound of fear and fury.

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