“Really? I didn’t thinkanywomen were medieval knights.”
“Well… They weren’t given that exact title,” Elizabeth admitted. “But that’s a matter of semantics. Are you familiar with the Order of the Hatchet?”
“I am not,” he replied. “Nor am I surprised to learn that youwouldbe familiar with it.”
“One hundred and fifty years ago, a Spanish count founded theOrder in honor of the women of Tortosa. The women dressed like soldiers—and battled like soldiers—to defend their town from attack whilst the men were off fighting elsewhere.”
“They used hatchets?”
“Hatchets, swords, farming tools… anything they could get their hands on. These ladies shared the same jauntyanything-can-be-a-murder-weaponoutlook as your machines. I would have been honored to fight alongside them.”
“Your sword is modeled after one of theirs?”
She shook her head. “Those blades are at home. This one is in honor of Nicolaa de la Haye, an Englishwoman from Lincolnshire.”
“Who was also a knight?”
“Even better. Seven hundred years ago, she commanded hundreds of knights, men-at-arms, and infantrymen to successfully defend her castle from siege. More than once! Given the current situation, I felt following her precedent to be the most appropriate.” Her voice turned dreamy. “How many warriors do you think I’ll need to kill before I’m immortalized in history, too?”
Was it strange to wish she felt as warm toward him as she did about hatchet-wielding farm maidens?
“I don’t think you need to worry about engineering a legacy,” he told her. “You seem destined to be discussed in reverent tones centuries from now.”
Just then, maids arrived with the tea service.
“Allow me to pour.” Stephen placed her cup in the milk-dispensing device and pressed the lever.
As the machine worked, Elizabeth said, “The tea cakes look delicious. Perhaps tomorrow we can try the Scotch petticoat tails.”
“I’ll pass the recipe to the kitchen.”
He also could not help but note that planning for tomorrow impliedtwo things: One, that Elizabeth also doubted she would solve the treasure hunt between now and then, and two… that she looked forward to their meals together as much as Stephen did.
When it came to Elizabeth, he never knew what to expect with their conversations. She was the most brilliant berserker he had ever met. While his head was full of mathematics, her brain was practically bursting with esoteric facts on subjects that had never even crossed his mind.
Sometimes she acted as though this knowledge was a by-product of being a Wynchester. Of course she knew the mating habits of the great crested newt—she was Jacob’s sister. Of course she knew the precise accents and linguistic quirks of every member of the House of Lords—she was Chloe’s sister.
Other times, the random details she casually spouted were so quintessentially Elizabeth that it was impossible to pass her cleverness off as anyone else’s influence. She somehow made her bloodlust seem charming.
“Do you read anything besides lurid accounts of war?” he asked.
She glanced over both shoulders and lowered her voice. “Sir Gareth Jallow. But don’t tell my brother.”
“I shall take your secret to my grave,” said Stephen. “Is Sir Gareth also a medieval knight?”
Her eyes brightened. “I wish. No, all of Sir Gareth’s jousts are performed with words. He’s a renowned poet.”
“And which of your brothers takes exception to renowned poets?”
“Jacob,” she replied fondly. “Who is a poet of no acclaim whatsoever, primarily because he refuses to allow anyone to read his poems. Then again, what are you and I famous for?”
“You are unequivocably infamous,” Stephen reminded her. “Whereas I have been forgotten completely, even in the town where I was born and raised. My own mother doesn’t tell stories about me. I learnedabout my father passing because I still receive the local papers. My mother did not see fit to write.”
“But that’s horrible!” Elizabeth placed her hand over his and squeezed.
He shook his head. “It’s all right.”
“It’s not all right,” she said firmly. “And it is all right for you to admit when it’s not all right.”
