continued to disrobe. "Please, sir, a grave error has been made and you will be held responsible if you do not desist from your intentions."
Stepping forward, he laid the hauberk over the chair that had only moments before held Jewel's mantle. "And who will sit in judgment? An angry father, perhaps?" he scoffed.
"Nay, sir, my betrothed," she answered firmly.
The knight chuckled loudly. "Do you truly expect me to believe your betrothed would allow you to travel the road unchaperoned? Name him, if you can, that I may call him fool."
Jewel's anger overrode her fear of the knight and stole her voice. She opened and shut her mouth repeatedly, grasping for the proper words to hail upon him.
"Doth his name escape you? Or in fact not exist?" he challenged, green eyes consuming her.
"Yea, there is such!" she stormed defensively. "Sir Amery of Wellington and knight to King Richard." Her temper faded quickly with the startled look he gave her, and worry formed again when the expression changed to something akin to rage. Had this knight a special hatred of Amery that the mere mention of him sparked the flame anew? Suddenly Jewel wondered at the wisdom of revealing the identity of her betrothed. Mayhap this warrior would use her to seek his revenge against Amery in more horrible ways than she had imagined this first meeting would produce. The muscles across her chest tightened. Amery had more important matters to attend than rescue her from a vengeful enemy. She clutched her garments closer to her and stepped back.
"Sir Amery of Wellington, you say?" he hissed, nostrils flared. "A knight who rides at his king's side? A Crusader? A man whose name is whispered by all of England? What a wise choice, my sweet. There isn't a serf or nobleman in the kingdom who does not know of him. But few can claim to know his betrothed by sight, only name. You could lie and state you are she, and I could not deny the fact. Is that how you are called? Lady Jewel of Harcourt?"
She could feel the heat rise in her cheeks and wondered if it shined clearly for him to see. She had, set a trap about her, one from which neither course would free her. If she spoke the truth, it could mean her death and probably Amery's, yet to deny it would surely bring about a fate more horrible, a living hell that would follow her to her grave and forbid eternal rest. She would live the life of a scorned woman, and, worse yet, Amery would have just cause to turn away from her. "Well?"
Round, fearful eyes found his, but no words moved her lips, for matters plagued her mind other than confirming or denying his question.
"Yea, 'twas as I thought," he answered dismissingly and lifted a booted foot to the arm of the chair. He began to unfasten the chain mail from around his leg.
Jewel watched him a moment, covertly judging the distance to the door and the path she must take to reach it, though the way seemed barred by his imposing form. She realized that if she were to save herself she would have to rely on keen wit and play upon his honor.
"How one is called should be of little import. If I claim to be daughter to King Richard or lowly serf, thou shouldst respect my request for privacy. If thou art truly a knight, put upon to protect the softer gender, thou—"
"Softer, you say?" he mocked, dropping his foot to the floor. "A nuisance, as I see it. Of what use are women other than to ease a man's basic needs? Are they ever allowed to think for themselves? Are they given a voice in anything of importance other than laundry or the making of marmalade? What skills do you have except the conniving way you bend a husband to your silly whims? Nay, little one, you wish to be softer, but your heart is made of stone. And I for one will not weaken because you cry injustice."
Jewel pulled back in surprise, startled by this stranger's bitter words. He spoke as though he recited a verse many times repeated and she knew a sudden realization that no argument on her part would sway him to
Stepping forward, he laid the hauberk over the chair that had only moments before held Jewel's mantle. "And who will sit in judgment? An angry father, perhaps?" he scoffed.
"Nay, sir, my betrothed," she answered firmly.
The knight chuckled loudly. "Do you truly expect me to believe your betrothed would allow you to travel the road unchaperoned? Name him, if you can, that I may call him fool."
Jewel's anger overrode her fear of the knight and stole her voice. She opened and shut her mouth repeatedly, grasping for the proper words to hail upon him.
"Doth his name escape you? Or in fact not exist?" he challenged, green eyes consuming her.
"Yea, there is such!" she stormed defensively. "Sir Amery of Wellington and knight to King Richard." Her temper faded quickly with the startled look he gave her, and worry formed again when the expression changed to something akin to rage. Had this knight a special hatred of Amery that the mere mention of him sparked the flame anew? Suddenly Jewel wondered at the wisdom of revealing the identity of her betrothed. Mayhap this warrior would use her to seek his revenge against Amery in more horrible ways than she had imagined this first meeting would produce. The muscles across her chest tightened. Amery had more important matters to attend than rescue her from a vengeful enemy. She clutched her garments closer to her and stepped back.
"Sir Amery of Wellington, you say?" he hissed, nostrils flared. "A knight who rides at his king's side? A Crusader? A man whose name is whispered by all of England? What a wise choice, my sweet. There isn't a serf or nobleman in the kingdom who does not know of him. But few can claim to know his betrothed by sight, only name. You could lie and state you are she, and I could not deny the fact. Is that how you are called? Lady Jewel of Harcourt?"
She could feel the heat rise in her cheeks and wondered if it shined clearly for him to see. She had, set a trap about her, one from which neither course would free her. If she spoke the truth, it could mean her death and probably Amery's, yet to deny it would surely bring about a fate more horrible, a living hell that would follow her to her grave and forbid eternal rest. She would live the life of a scorned woman, and, worse yet, Amery would have just cause to turn away from her. "Well?"
Round, fearful eyes found his, but no words moved her lips, for matters plagued her mind other than confirming or denying his question.
"Yea, 'twas as I thought," he answered dismissingly and lifted a booted foot to the arm of the chair. He began to unfasten the chain mail from around his leg.
Jewel watched him a moment, covertly judging the distance to the door and the path she must take to reach it, though the way seemed barred by his imposing form. She realized that if she were to save herself she would have to rely on keen wit and play upon his honor.
"How one is called should be of little import. If I claim to be daughter to King Richard or lowly serf, thou shouldst respect my request for privacy. If thou art truly a knight, put upon to protect the softer gender, thou—"
"Softer, you say?" he mocked, dropping his foot to the floor. "A nuisance, as I see it. Of what use are women other than to ease a man's basic needs? Are they ever allowed to think for themselves? Are they given a voice in anything of importance other than laundry or the making of marmalade? What skills do you have except the conniving way you bend a husband to your silly whims? Nay, little one, you wish to be softer, but your heart is made of stone. And I for one will not weaken because you cry injustice."
Jewel pulled back in surprise, startled by this stranger's bitter words. He spoke as though he recited a verse many times repeated and she knew a sudden realization that no argument on her part would sway him to
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