She continued to kick and thrash, but when it became evident she could not escape his grasp, she grumbled, “Lady Daisy, sir.”
“Lady Daisy, will you promise to behave if I put you down?”
“No.” She gave a few more kicks for good measure. He couldn’t hold her up there forever; his arm would surely tire soon.
Instead of angering him, her refusal made him laugh.
He caught her other ankle and stalked to the edge of the turret, holding her out, beyond the edge. “Would you care to revise your answer?”
She looked down at the ground far below, her stomach hurtling into her mouth. Her mind may have wanted death, but her body went completely still.
“That’s better,” he said. He brought her safely back and eased her down, then lifted her to her feet. He stood and gazed at her with amused benevolence, his eyes glittering as if finding a woman in a squire’s costume was the best surprise of his day. He had a ruggedly handsome face. If she cared for men at all, she would have found him appealing, both in appearance and personality. But she did not care for men. Not at all.
She took a step backward.
“Fear not, lady. I mean you no harm.” His brows drew together. “Did I hurt you?”
She rubbed her forehead where the steel helmet had knocked when she fell. “No, mostly my pride.”
He continued to frown and stepped closer, reaching for her head.
She jerked back, but not before he caught her, cupping her skull. He tipped and turned it, examining the lump. She flinched at his touch, his huge hands covering most of her head. He stood close, the masculine smell of leather and sweat reaching her nose, his chest plate bumping against hers. Her knees buckled and she wobbled on her feet.
* * *
“Easy, lady,” Barrett said, catching the maiden’s elbow. “Are you swooning?” He couldn’t believe he’d struck a lady down, not once, but three times.
“No, sir,” she said breathlessly. She blinked up at him with her large blue-green eyes as if dazed. He hoped he hadn’t scared her too much by hanging her over the edge. Of course, he’d had no intention of harming her, but a little fear never hurt for gaining cooperation.
“Are you sure?”
“Please, sir,” she murmured, pulling out of his grasp. She looked adorable in the ill-fitting chainmail, like a child playing dress-up. She turned away, as if dismissing him from her presence, and looked down over the bailey. Letting out a gasp, she reached for the bow she’d used earlier. “Put down that harp,” she shouted down, fitting an arrow and aiming.
He wondered where and how she had learned to shoot. Sauntering to the wall, he leaned on his forearms to watch the entertainment.
Edgar, one of his mercenary soldiers, carried an enormous harp out to his horse.
“You there!” she cried. “Put down my harp or I’ll shoot.”
Edgar stopped and looked up at them. Addressing Barrett, he said, “Are you going to let her speak to me like that?”
He shrugged, entertained by the pluck of the maiden. “I might,” he said with a grin. Turning to the lady, he asked, “Do you play it, lady?” Ladies did not play harps—minstrels did. He did not know why she would have a harp.
She did not move her gaze from her target. “Aye. It’s mine and I play it. I’d rather die than let some oaf who can’t tell music from his own vapors carry it off.”
He chuckled. “Edgar, can you play a harp?”
Edgar looked exasperated. “No.”
“Then it stays with Lady Daisy. Penrod,” he called down to his squire. “Take that harp from Edgar and bring it to me.” As he offered the determination on the fate of the harp, he realized the future of the lady herself hung in the air.
She turned to him, grateful surprise softening her features into pure loveliness. “Thank you, sir,” she exclaimed and started to run toward the door. She didn’t make it far, as she tripped over her fallen sword, the armor making her clumsy so that she could not recover and toppled once more to the floor.
He bit back a laugh as he righted her and reached for the buckles under her arms. “Let’s get this armor off you, shall we?” he said congenially.
She flushed, allowing him to unfasten the armor, but looking uncomfortable. He shucked the heavy plates and chainmail and stood back, drawing in a breath. She wore boy’s clothing, her shapely legs outlined clearly in the leggings. Though she cut a slight figure, her well-proportioned body had soft curves in all the right places.
Penrod threw open the door from the castle, his breath short from running up the stone staircase. “The lady’s harp,” he said with a bow.
