Page 7 of A Knight in Tarnished Armor

"Not quite," he answered through a tight jaw.

"I imagine ‘twould be like being wed to the devil himself."

He stood up and slowly walked over to the fireplace, where he leaned against its stone face, rested a boot on the andiron, and looked at her without emotion.

"He's killed so very many men."

"Men are killed in war," he said without emotion.

"Thousands of men." She looked him directly in the eye and whispered painfully, "He'll murder my animals."

He no longer stood casually, as if her words didn't matter to him. He stared into the fire. Everything about de Ros exuded anger—his tight jaw, the tick in his angled cheek, his narrowed eyes, and the fist he made with his sword hand. Even he, a mercenary knight paid to wage war, was shocked by Warbrooke's reputation, she thought.

After a moment he said, "I suppose he breathes fire and eats babies, too."

"You've heard of him," she said knowingly.

He took a long, deep breath and watched her intensely.

She leaned forward a bit more, hoping he would agree. "I must get away and quickly. Surely you can understand why."

"Now I understand a wealth of things."

"Then you will help me?"

His expression was hard and he seemed to be trying to control some strong emotion.

"I gave you all the gold I had."

"Six days," he said so quietly she almost didn't hear him.

She stood and walked over to where he was. "'Tis not terribly long."

He gave a wry laugh and looked at her, his expression softer. "No. ‘Tis not very long at all."

"I have nothing else to give you."

He grumbled something.

She smiled then, for she saw his answer without his speaking a word. By the time he murmured, "Aye,” she had placed her hand on his chest, where legend claimed he had no heart. Yet there, beneath her palm, was a soft beat. The mercenary did have a heart.

William de Ros sat slumped in a chair and drank deeply from a tankard of strong beer. She had been gone from the tavern long enough for him to have watched her leave, then roared at the barkeep to bring four more tankards—three for himself and one for the older man who was just stepping through a door hidden in the wooden panel of the wall. William stared into his ale, then finally pinned the old man with a hard look. "It's done."

The earl of Arden didn't blink. He just calmly sat in the other chair. "So I heard."

"Is your granddaughter always so easily manipulated?"

The old earl laughed loud and long. "Hardly. It has taken me years to figure out how she thinks." He paused before he added something about it still being a game of hit or miss.

The two men sat in awkward silence.

Arden sat up and said, "Our agreement still stands, Warbrooke. You have one week to woo her."

William de Ros, the new Baron Warbrooke, returned the man's meaningful stare. "One week to convince her I'm not the ogre she thinks? One week to court her? I suppose I will manage to find the time . . . before I go out to murder more women and roast children."

The old earl said nothing, but he didn't look chagrined either. He rested his elbows on his knees. His gaze was fixed on his hands clasped between his legs. After a moment he admitted quietly, "I had thought to keep Linnet at Ardenwood with me. She is . . . unique, and a very special part of my life. I had never thought of marriage for her. Her sisters are all wed, and wed well. I needn't barter her for another powerful man with the forces and means to aid me. I've plenty of blood bonds."

William eyed the old man. "But then I spotted her and used my influence with the king to my advantage."