Page 30 of A Knight in Tarnished Armor

"Oh lady, sweet and fair"—William flung his arm out wide and the torch wavered—"with sunset in her hair."

He's spouting poetry, she realized. Sunset in her hair. I love it when he says that.

"Your eyes are golden and wild, like a forest fairy child!"

She smiled.

"Your lips are red, I'd like to bed," he paused, "you. Don't bid me adieu."

She frowned.

"I dream of your face," he bellowed. "Instead of a mace."

She leaned back against the tower wall, her hand to her chest, and she giggled a little.

"Your breasts are pink as pigs . . ."

Her mouth dropped open. Pigs?

"And they taste like honeyed figs."

She clapped a hand over her mouth and chuckled, her face flushing bright red.

"As sure as I can fart, you will always have my heart," he finished proudly.

By then she was sitting on the floor, holding her sides and laughing so hard that tears streamed from her eyes. She wiped them, still giggling as her mind's eye saw him standing in the abbey courtyard, where anyone could, and probably had, seen him spouting the worst poetry she'd ever heard, and spouting it so loudly that he could have been heard in London.

But at that very moment, she knew one thing—she loved that man more than anything or anyone she had ever loved in her life.

It had grown strangely quiet outside. Linnet let go of her sides and got up. She looked out the window. The courtyard was empty.

"William?"

She heard a muffled male grunt. She gripped the stones and leaned farther out the window.

William struggled halfway up the ivy trellis. He had one long red rose clenched in his teeth.

"William, be careful! That trellis doesn't look very—"

A loud crack pierced the air. The trellis wobbled for an instant before it slowly fell backward. There was a male shout of surprise, and the trellis hit the ground with a thud. The ivy rustled and Swithun crawled out of the ivy and sat atop the fallen trellis meowing. She heard a familiar male groan.

William cursed. Linnet blanched. The abbess knelt in front of her window and gave thanks. And in the hall below, the earl of Arden still snored.

The groom's stitches had healed by the day of the wedding. Such a great affair it was too, for the king himself was to stand witness to the wedding of the Baron Warbrooke and Lady Linnet of Ardenwood.

Baron Warbrooke stood in the great hall at the castle he had renamed Starwood, part of the lands granted him with his title. His wedding gift to his wife was awaiting her that night. And for years to come the folk around would talk about the huge hole Baron Warbrooke had cut in his bed chamber ceiling and filled with precious glass so his wife could sleep under the stars.

‘Twas a rich and warm home, with a future someday filled with children's laughter, love, and more animals than one could imagine. And today it was the place where many an Englishman and his lady had gathered to celebrate.

"William?" Linnet came rushing into the room, worming her way through the crowd who were stopping her to wish the bride well. She found William and placed a hand on his arm. "Grandpapa still has not arrived. Has there been any word?"\

"I'm certain he will get here." William gave a bored shrug. "Eventually."

"I can't understand what could make him so very late. It only takes two days to travel here from Ardenwood."

There was a sudden racket and the earl of Arden charged into the great hall. He froze and scanned the room. His velvet surcoat was ripped and shredded at the shoulders. His chausses had holes in the knees. Briars and mud clung to his clothing and graying hair, which was plastered to his head as if he had fallen in a marsh. Dirt smudged his cheeks and hands and his lip was split and swollen.

"Warbrooke!" he roared.