The Rose and Her Knight (Minstrel Knights Book 2) by Cara Hogarth

The Rose and Her Knight (Minstrel Knights Book 2) by Cara Hogarth

Author:Cara Hogarth [Hogarth, Cara]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Historical, romance
Publisher: Dragonblade Publishing, Inc.
Published: 2023-07-05T16:00:00+00:00


Chapter Eighteen

He had, and Eglantine felt a little guilty about it. But only a bit. And then they went their separate ways, Eglantine to wash the scent of horse dung off her before the evening meal and Raf, presumably, to collect his lute.

Then followed a strangely peaceful evening, in which it was almost possible to forget they were hemmed in by enemies. Eglantine had watched her minstrel play. Indeed, she found it impossible to look away. He cradled his lute so intimately, his hair drooping over one shoulder and feathering the polished wood of the instrument. His fingers were sure upon the strings—long, elegant fingers, so skilled in coaxing out rippling, magical music. He seemed so utterly absorbed, as if there were no one else in the room but him.

Until he glanced up mid-canzo and looked directly at her. Then the words he voiced in husky velvet entered her very heart and gave it a sharp twist.

The words were too beautiful. He was too beautiful, and he was nothing but a fleeting, seductive dream. She could not lose herself in the fantasy of his false promises, for all he believed them himself.

Here, then, was the solution. Nothing like a bit of dung-scented reality to bring a man to his senses.

Eglantine had come to the garden early, just as the day was dawning and there was still a hint of damp freshness in the air. There was to be a siege drill later that morning—both Osbert and Rafèu had declared it necessary in order that every inhabitant of La Roque knew their role in time of attack. Besides, it was always best to tend her plants before the heat of the day.

She was wearing an old russet gown, made even less appealing by the addition of a voluminous apron. Her wimple was temporarily replaced by a wide straw hat, and her hair bound back severely beneath. It was gardening garb, calculated to dispel any man’s romantic illusions.

That and eight baskets of dung ought to do the trick nicely. Why then, as she lugged pails of well water to her various thirsty plants, did she feel a nagging emptiness within?

The bell at the garden door was struck once…twice. Two brassy tones to echo in that emptiness inside her. Eglantine smoothed her apron and checked that her hair was still carefully confined. Then she approached the door.

Raf. Her gaze slipped down from his face, and she registered with a little jolt that he looked as much the peasant as she. A rough-woven linen tunic covered his torso, topped with the plainest of surcoats. His long legs were clad in ill-fitting dun hose, but with thin leather thongs wrapped about them to reveal the shape of the muscle beneath.

“Clothing courtesy of my village acquaintance, who now boasts a fine suit of motley,” Raf said. “I did not think it worth dirtying what clothes I have left in pursuit of your noble quest, my lady.”

Eglantine felt her cheeks heat. “A wise decision, my lord. You see I have dressed with similar practicality.



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