Mattie giggled as she went to the window, pushing her eager dog aside. “Aye,” she insisted. “Gar will be the most handsome knight of the entire escort. You will know him by his dark hair and green eyes. I remember those eyes. They were magnificent.”
“Gar was magnificent.”
“He was,” Mattie said. “I can hardly…”
A knock on the door startled them away from the window and when the panel swung open, Mattie’s mother was standing in the opening. Julia de Reyne took one look at her daughter and motioned to her furiously.
“Quickly, Matilda,” she said. “He is approaching the gatehouse!”
Mattie bolted, but Agnes had made the unfortunate mistake of standing in her path as she tried to run to the door too.
“Get out of the way!” she roared at Agnes. “Move!”
She shoved, Agnes went sideways, and Mattie beat a mad pace to the open door where her mother was. She blew past her mother, stepping on the woman’s toe, and Julia growled at her smarting foot.
“Slowly, Matilda!” she called after her daughter. “Careful down those stairs. They are treacherous!”
Agnes, having recovered from being pushed aside, finally made it through the door, following Mattie’s trail. The dog was right behind her, barking excitedly. Unfortunately for Mattie, she was going a little too slowly because of her mother’s admonition and Agnes was going too fast to keep her balance, so she slipped on the steep spiral stairs and crashed into Mattie from behind, and the two of them went sliding down the rest of the stairs until they hit the bottom. Winchester, thinking it was all great fun, jumped on them and barked. By the time Julia reached them, Mattie was slapping Agnes on the arms, scolding her for having crashed into her, and pushing her jubilant dog away.
Snorting at the ridiculous young women and one excited dog, Julia pulled her daughter to her feet and encouraged her to continue to the keep entry, leaving Agnes to collect her dignity. Winchester remained with Lady Hensingham, sadly, as his mistress ran outside. For certainly, the entire world awaited Gar de Wolfe, who was a cross between God and Adonis in the eyes of Mattie. He was knightly perfection and she was ready to worship on the altar of his greatness. As she’d told Agnes, the man was positively perfect. She hadn’t seen him in nine years, but she didn’t need to. She simply knew.
God’s Bones, but she was wrong.
Verywrong.
CHAPTER THREE
“Are you goingto say something to him?”
“Say what?”
“That he must look better than a pig who has been sleeping in his trough?”
The words were hissed between Andreas and Troy, with Andreas asking his father if he was going to do something about his slovenly brother. A brother who was about to meet his intended, but he smelled like a compost heap.
Even the men, who weren’t hugely given to extreme hygiene, found it offensive.
Troy sighed heavily.
“I have,” he muttered. “You have. His mother has. Poppy has. Even Matha has and she went so far as to force him into a tub of water, but he would only take his tunic off because he did not want to undress completely in front of his grandmother. Matha took a brush and soap and scrubbed him so hard that she made him bleed in places, but he got out of the tub and continued to wear those damp breeches until they smelled to high heaven. He’s wearing them even now. That is what you smell—mildew.”
Andreas knew that. He knew all of it. But he still could not believe his brother had no real sense of cleanliness or proper grooming when it came to not only visiting an ally’s home, but meeting the man’s daughter, who happened to be his betrothed.
It was an appalling situation.
“I am going to try one last time,” Andreas said. “Gar may be the most handsome out of all of us, but he is also the filthy boar of the family.”
Troy shook his head. “He does not care.”
Andreas pursed his lips angrily and reined his horse around, heading for the rear of the escort where Gar was located. He didn’t want to be in the front because he was still protesting the match in general and didn’t want to appear eager by being in the lead as they arrived at Hensingham Castle. Andreas found his brother in the very rear of the escort, astride his distinctive black-and-white warhorse, aptly namedTaches, which was a French word meaning spots. Taches, which sounded much like the worddashwhen spoken, was a very intelligent horse who was hell in battle.
Gar adored the beast.
“Hensingham is just over the rise,” Andreas said as he drew near. “I came to tell you that there is a stream to the south. We can stop if you wish to wash your face and clean up a little.”
Gar eyed his brother. It was the same tune he’d been hearing from the man since they’d departed Gleann na Fola weeks ago and, much as when Andreas had mentioned washing the first time, Gar simply ignored him. He’d been doing it the entire journey.
Andreas still hadn’t gotten the message.
