Chapter One
October 5, 1307
He’d never be a knight, and he was grateful for that. Christian sat in the corner of the dark inn, cupping an ale. From where he sat in the shadows, he could watch everything and everyone. Smoke from the hearth filled the room with haziness. Yet he still noticed two rowdy knights sitting near the edge of the room. They reached for and grabbed the innkeeper’s daughter’s bottom every time she came out of the kitchen. The small girl tried to angle away from their hands, but they adjusted their positions to intercept her, laughing.
With them as examples, he never wanted to be a knight. Christian scanned the room. He had learned throughout the years how to observe. It had saved his life.
At the back of the inn, a man lounged at a table in darkness. A villager sat before the hearth, slumped forward, a mug grasped in his hand. Two farmers entered the inn and moved to a table next to the villager.
Christian sipped his ale. His gaze continuously returned to the man at the back of the inn. Shrouded in shadow, the cloaked man was a mystery. It made Christian nervous and curious all at once, but Christian wouldn’t be here long enough to find out who he was. It was dangerous to remain in one spot for an extended period of time.
The door swung open, and a breeze swept into the inn. The flames in the hearth flickered. Three women walked in, confident and vibrant.
Christian straightened, his gaze locking on one of them. She was like a breath of fresh air, and he inhaled deeply.
Willow.
Her golden hair shimmered in the wavering light of the hearth. Her leather armor fit her curves snugly, leaving almost nothing to the imagination. She was lovely. Beautiful. Breathtaking.
He longed to go and greet her and half rose from his chair when John Hawke entered behind his daughters.
Christian sat down heavily.
The two drunk knights stood and began to make their way toward the women.
Instinctively, Christian lowered his hand to rest over the pommel of his sword.
One of the two knights nodded at Raven and continued toward the exit.
Christian waited until the door had closed behind the knights before relaxing and placing his hand on the tabletop. Hungrily, his gaze returned to Willow, who was now seated at a table away from her sisters. It wasn’t long before she had a group of admirers around her. She stared at one man as she spoke, as though he were the center of her world. And then she turned to another.
At another table, Sage took dice out, shaking them in her hand.
Raven sat near the back of the room, not far from him, but where she could observe her sisters.
With his hands on his hips, John searched the room until he spotted the man in the cloak. He strolled toward him and reclined at the table.
Christian focused on Willow again. She was smiling at one of the farmers she had gathered about her, and for a moment, he couldn’t turn away. He didn’t want to. She was even more stunning than he remembered. He wondered if she would remember him.
He forced himself to look away into the amber liquid in his mug. He shouldn’t be considering things he had no business imagining.
He stood and, keeping to the shadows, moved to the exit. He paused with his hand on the handle and glanced back. Willow hadn’t noticed him. A wall of men still surrounded her. A strange swirl of jealousy coursed through him, but he easily pushed it aside.
John had twisted around in his chair, glaring at him. Their eyes locked for a moment. Christian didn’t belong with the Hawkes.
He had a mission to complete.
He turned and departed the inn.
The fire crackled in the hearth, but it did nothing to warm Raven. She lounged at the table farthest from the heat, her stare on Sage. The glow of the flames outlined her sister in the center of a group of five men. Sage pulled her arm back and let the dice tumble.
The men around the table watched them spin and roll. The air was thick with hope and expectation as the dice slowed and came to a halt. Some of the men cursed; some threw up their arms in defeat. One with large teeth placed his hands on his head in disbelief.
Sage stood and reached out to collect the coin scattered across the table and the dice. Her long brown hair was swept back from her face, tied with a leather strip into a braid. She glanced up at one of the men and nodded. Then she spoke to him before he moved away.
She had everything well in hand. She rarely lost the dice game. Somehow, she was able to figure out the average of wins to losses and probable results. And, well, it was all too much for Raven to understand. But Sage seemed very comfortable with it.
Raven swung her gaze to the center of the room. Willow sat amidst a crowd of men. Three leaned toward her, listening intently to every word. The poor sops would probably give her their coin pouches by the end of the night. Fools, looking too closely at the sun. Willow was beautiful. Her hair was the color of wheat, much different than Raven’s and Sage’s. And Willow’s eyes were large and sincere, much like Sage’s, but a blinding blue that rendered men helpless.
