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Also by Jackie Ivie
A KNIGHT WELL SPENT
HEAT OF THE KNIGHT
THE KNIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS
TENDER IS THE KNIGHT
LADY OF THE KNIGHT
Published by Kensington Publishing Corporation
ONCE UPON A KNIGHT
Jackie Ivie
To Kimberly Anne,
for the entertainment,
excitement,
and absolute joy
you’ve always added to life
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Epilogue
Chapter One
AD 1457
This one was too easy.
Vincent Danzel tucked a stray lock of hair back behind his ear and sucked in on his cheeks as he watched the cloaked figure dart beneath a shrub. Then he shifted slightly from one foot to the other in his crouch, listening for the slight groan from the tree limb he was perched on. Then he was fussing with the stopper on the sporran he’d pushed to one side. It was still full. Mostly full, he clarified for himself. He wasn’t dulling any of his charm with drink.
He was going to need it.
He slid a finger along his upper lip, scratching at the stubble there. He should have shaved, too. Then again, it would give him a rakish air. He might need that, as well.
Vincent sighed and shifted again, this time moving a foot farther forward in his crouch. The limb protested that exchange of weight, but it had complained the entire time he’d been atop it, watching the little wench waste time looking for her toads. Vincent wrinkled his nose. No one had said anything about such strangeness. Toads? He watched as she spied one, knelt at the edge of the pond glimmering beneath them and started reaching for the fifth toad so far.
He almost felt sorry for the little creature. Once she got her hands on it, she was shaking and slapping and making all sorts of strange noises until the toad would respond as she must want. Then she was making little chirping noises as she reached into the folds of her cloak so she could get a cloth to wipe at its back. He didn’t know what substance she hoped to gain, but once she had the toad wiped clean, she’d release it back into the pond, setting it gently back on the surface, where only a ripple betrayed the creature’s immediate plunge of escape.
Vincent watched her fold the piece of cloth she’d wiped the toad with into a small triangular shape, pull out a jar and shove the piece in it before replacing the cork and sealing it in with the four others she’d already gained.
Someone was paying for this insult, Vincent decided. And it wasn’t enough. That was certain. This wench had nothing to recommend her. She was small, with no shape that he could decide. She was also plain, if the way she shrouded herself was any indication. And she was strange. Worse than strange. She was odd-strange. Vincent ran his fingers along his eyelashes, separating them to a lush fringe, for the effect. He was going to need that, too.
She stood, making little difference in her size since it was seen from the height he was at. Vincent reached forward, gripped the tree limb in front of his boots and swung forward, rolling into a dead-weight hang so he could drop to the ground to the right of her. He ended up directly atop the soft, water-soaked edge of the pond. Due to the volume of his weight, the ground forfeited, leaving him ankle-deep in muck while she tipped her head away from him and giggled.
“You should na’ spy,” she said finally, once she had her mirth under control.
Vincent frowned. She didn’t even act surprised at his abrupt entrance. “I was na’ spying,” he replied.
“What was it you were doing, then?”
“Granting a wish.”
She still hadn’t looked toward him, and water was seeping through his boots now. Vincent backed a step, then another, searching without looking for the firm ground that he already knew was at the pond’s edge.
“What wish was it I’ve made?” she asked.
“A prince. ’Tis what kissing a frog is for. Gaining one.”
“I’ve kissed nae frogs,” she replied.
“That probably explains why you’ve na’ received a prince.”
“You’re nae prince?” she asked.
“Vincent Danzel. Knight. At your service.” He bowed for effect.
“Pity,”
