Dark Knight Diplomacy

Lady Isabella strolled gracefully on her father’s arm on the way to her grandly set table in the great hall. As she approached, she raised a hand in silent salute to her husband Lord Marcus, ruler of the great city of Andalene, who was seated at the head of the table.

He nodded in return, continuing his conversation with the diplomat next to him. Isabella had forgotten this one’s name. Not exactly proper from a woman reared to rule the house, but lately Isa found she had no patience for the trivial matters her husband deigned to discuss with leaders far and wide. Greedy Lord Marcus looked for an edge everywhere, and Isa had wearied of constantly standing as a pawn in his games. Her role was to look the part of the beautiful, put together Lady of the house. She could do that much, but her mind was elsewhere.

Isa kissed her elderly father’s sunken cheek, and smiled at the delight in his eyes. His love was a joy; she knew she’d done her father proud, at least. She could play this part for him, for whatever time he had left, and for her two children, too young yet to even learn to hunt and joust. Still, they needed less of her these days. She struggled to occupy herself and keep from growing bored in the confines of her castle, which had the dual nature of proclaiming her worth and confining her to a woman’s prison of home and hearth.

Maybe if she loved Lord Marcus, things would be different. Many of the girls she’d known at court had grown to love their husbands. A few were lucky enough to make love matches from the start. It hadn’t turned out that way for Isa. Her husband was a selfish bore. No, marriage did not hold any love for Isa.

As she took her seat beside her husband, the doors at the other end of the hall opened to admit another guest. This one Isa recognized. Lord Rolf ruled the country south of Andalene, a rural holding called Cavenaught.

Isa caught her breath when she recognized the man who’d accompanied Lord Rolf.

The Dark Knight of Lightloss wore midnight blue, tonight, and his sword as well as any hint of armor were strangely absent. Instead, he wore two short swords – little more than knives, really – one on each hip. His clothing and manner were that of the court, not the battlefield.

Isa wondered whether his attire was meant as a barb, or to allay concern at his motives. The Dark Knight was a warrior, not a diplomat. Some would question why Lord Rolf would bring the legendary knight to dinner instead of his new wife, Katrina.

There was a flurry of motion down the long table as seats were rearranged to accommodate Lord Rolf’s arrival, but Isa didn’t pay attention to that. The Dark Knight drew her eye like a lighthouse to a ship lost at sea. His smile was cold as the steward greeted and seated him. He was placed further down the table, while the steward arranged to accommodate Lord Rolf two seats to Lord Marcus’s right.

Isa watched the knight, marveling at his masculine perfection. As the steward began to pour his wine, he covered his glass with his hand and shook his head. He set into his plate with gusto, however, redeeming himself in the steward’s eyes.

“My lady, do greet our guest,” Marcus whispered in her ear.

Lady Isabella rose from her place and picked up the pitcher of wine. “Lord Rolf, be welcome to Andalene. It is good to see you.”

“And you, Lady Isabella. Please accept Lady Katrina’s regrets that she was unable to attend this evening.”

“I had hoped to see her. Please take with you my regards, Lord Rolf.” Isa poured his wine without spilling a single drop, and returned to her seat. As she looked back to the Dark Knight, she found him watching her, a slight smile turning one corner of his full, kissable mouth. She blushed despite her courtly training, feeling the heat under her dress as well as on her cheeks. The more she tried not to blush, the deeper her blush became, so she calmed her breath and ate a few bites before she looked back at that particular man.

When she did look, it was from under her lashes, and she found him watching her still. How forward, to watch her so as she sat next to her husband in their hall. The Dark Knight raised his water glass as if in salute, and Isa raised her wine. She drank it back at a single gulp, and the steward came forward to refill it for her. Isa found the knight’s gaze again and saw that his eyebrows were raised, a gesture that seemed to mock her.

Isa determined she would not look in his direction again, if it took all the power of her will. She kept that promise until the last, and as she rose to leave the hall she realized the Dark Knight had gone. A stone settled in the pit of her stomach. It wasn’t as though she’d anticipated more, even so much as a word, as he’d been something to light up the dullness of her castle life. Just looking at him had been so much better than not having him to look at.

Marcus gripped her hand before she could walk away. “I retire to my parlor, dear. A nightcap with our guests. Will you see that Lord Rolf is given a room? Then you may retire, if you wish.” He made no mention of inviting her to his parlor, and she had long since stopped looking for the invitation. He had his business to attend to, and she had...

After speaking with the steward about Lord Rolf’s rooms, she checked on the children. She found them already in their beds, with their nurse dozing in her rocking chair before the fire.

She withdrew to her own room, where she paced for a few minutes before grabbing her cloak and darting down the back stairs. She had to get some air.

The courtyard was far from deserted, but the stables were quiet when Isa slid open the door and entered, her slippers silencing her footfalls. She often came here to talk to her mare, and give the other horses treats. Tonight she stopped by Whisper’s stall for just a moment, pulling a small apple from her pocket especially for the gray mare.

Next, Isa walked back down the long line of stalls to one on the other end of the stable. Sure enough, the Dark Knight’s stallion Terror filled the space, separated by two empty stalls from any other horses.

The notorious animal whickered at her, more friendly than she expected, and she was about to step forward and give his black nose a pat when she heard a voice close behind her.

“I wouldn’t do that, my lady. He’s taken a finger or two in his time.”

Isa whirled, the hood of her deep burgundy cloak falling back as she faced the Dark Knight. “How did you know it was me?”

“That carriage would be difficult to hide. I’m glad you don’t try.”

“Hmm. On the contrary, I hardly notice my carriage any more; I’ve been trained so well.”

“You sound bitter.”

“And this is an awkward conversation. How did you know to find me here?” Isa raised her chin a notch and took on her lady-of-the-house stance.

“I actually came to see my horse was bedded down properly.”

He’d actually said ‘bedded down’ and now all Isa could picture was tearing his clothes from his muscled body and bedding him in the next stall. Maybe it showed in her eyes, because his lips parted and his eyes narrowed at the same instant, a predator sighting prey.

Isa stepped into him boldly, and melted against him as his arms came up around her. He framed her face with one hand, and gripped her waist with the other. She could feel the strength in him, and suddenly wanted nothing more than to feel his body atop hers, his warmth, his cock, pressing into her. She hadn’t looked for this, but she was not about to waste the opportunity.

The Dark Knight pressed her up against Terror’s stall, and Isa could feel the horse’s breath behind her. “How about ears, has he taken ears in his time?” she squeaked.

Laughing, he lifted her off her feet, pivoting to press her against the opposite wall. She felt his hard length slide along her belly and into the cleft of her sex. Isa felt the flame in her belly stir higher. If she hiked up her skirts, would this muscular legend with the face of an angel take her right here?