A Dishonorable Knight - By Morrison, Michelle Page 0,4

And just when she thought her shame could grow no heavier, Margaret told her about his wife.

“His wife?” Elena asked, her hopes crumbling about her hem. Margaret nodded sympathetically.

“She’s related to the Duke of York’s wife. She will be arriving in the next day or two.” Not only was she related to the Duke of York, she was beautiful and wealthy, and Elena was assigned to wait on her while she was at court. Humiliation had burned through Elena’s veins, pulsing her hurt and her anger through every fiber of her being.

Since that time, Elena had vowed she would not be fooled again. She perfected the art of flirtation, never taking seriously a word uttered by a courtier, making sure she would not appear the fool for any man. But the damage to her reputations was done. She was never sure if there was a knowing leer behind the flattering smiles of her fellow courtiers. Lord Edgeford was the first man who seemed to believe the best about her. Whether or not he’d heard the gossip, Elena felt sure he did not believe it. When they were married, she would finally be free of the malicious rumors--free to be the gracious, powerful noble lady she was born to be.

Lord Edgeford was different and her flirtations were no game: she meant to marry him. But she would not permit herself to care too deeply for him.

Elena realized that she was still staring at Edgeford and the dark-haired woman. Quickly turning her head, her gaze collided with the gray eyes of a man several tables over. Brushing a lock of thick brown hair out of his eyes, the man smiled and bowed his head at her. Elena was just about to glare her disapproval over such familiar behavior when the king's booming voice called to her.

"Lady Elena, my dear child. Come bid your sovereign good even!"

Smoothing her skirts, Elena approached the raised dais that held the king's table, and curtsied.

"No, no. Come around here and let me introduce you to someone."

Elena ascended the steps and approached the king, nodding to those lords who glanced at her and curtsying deeply to Richard.

"Your Grace," she murmured, hoping Lord Edgeford would see her up here and on such close terms with the king. Despite her assurances to Margaret, Elena was still not sure that the king of the York household would totally dismiss her father's distant relationship with the Lancastrians. Her grandfather had, after all, been granted his land in northern England from that formidable Lancaster, Henry V.

"Here is our fair child." Richard addressed an older man on his right. Elena pulled her attention to the man Richard was addressing and cringed inwardly as the heavy set man eyed her speculatively from beneath bushy black brows.

"Indeed, Your Grace," the man said in a gravelly voice.

Taking Elena's hand, Richard squeezed it reassuringly as he introduced her. "Edmund, this is Elena de Vignon, daughter of Jean Paul de Vignon who owns quite a sizable estate up near Doncaster. Elena, this is the Earl of Brackley, a true and loyal friend."

The earl pushed himself to his feet and Elena took a small step backwards; not only was the man of heavy build, he was well over six feet tall. The earl issued a curt bow and Elena could not help but wonder why the king was introducing her to Brackley. The earl immediately sat back down and took his knife to the meat on his trencher. As Richard turned to address his page, Elena curtsied to their backs and quickly descended the stairs. Still bewildered as to why the king had called her up in the first place, she looked about for Edgeford and saw him watching the group of dancers at the end of the great hall. As she approached the edge of the circle of onlookers, the dance ended and several young men began calling for the Gavotte—a scandalous dance involving kissing between partners. Elena sought out Edgeford, only to find him being dragged onto the dance floor by the brunette he had been laughing with earlier. In a fury, she stamped her foot on the hard stone floor and was silently cursing the woman when she felt someone touch her arm. Elena whirled around.

In front of her, a man straightened his jerkin and brushed his hair out of his eyes. "Would you care to dance?" he asked.

She surveyed her would-be partner. While a distant part of her brain registered the man's clear-cut features, warm gray