Vow of Deception. Angela JohnsonЧитать онлайн книгу.
right, how about we make things interesting by wagering on it?”
A bloom of caution unfurled in Rose’s chest. “A wager? What kind?” When Kat’s eyes glowed with mischief, as now, Rose knew to be wary—very wary.
“I am willing to wager that if Rand does not request your favor, I shall kiss a mule’s arse before a crowd of spectators. But if Rand does, then you must—”
“Aye? If you are correct, I must what?”
“Then you shall have to kiss Rand before the crowd when you bestow him the scarf as a token.”
Rand sat on a bark-denuded portable tree stump outside his round pavilion sharpening his dagger on a whetstone. His nostrils flared at the scent of wood smoke emanating from a number of lit fires in the makeshift encampment. The unusually hot weather had broken and been replaced with a cool, crisp autumnal day.
The whetstone in his left hand, Rand scraped the blade at an angle over the coarse, dusky yellow sandstone. He did it twice, then turned the dagger over and repeated the process on the other edge of the blade. By rote, he sharpened the blade, as his thoughts returned to Rose and the upcoming joust.
Sitting beside him, Will, his squire, polished Rand’s gauntlets with a pumice powder and wet cloth. When the youth had both gloves done, he buffed them thoroughly with a dry cloth. A dark-haired knight shouted a greeting as he passed the tent. Rand had accompanied him on a couple of missions for the king.
On the ground nearby lay three sturdy lances, having been thoroughly checked by his squire for strength and durability. It would not do for a defect or weakness in the wood of the lance to be discovered. Should a lance break too easily upon impact with his opponent’s shield, it could spell injury or even death for Rand. Rand would not—nay, could not—allow Rose to be left to the not so tender mercies of Sir Golan. Her very life, Rand was sure, depended on him defeating the vengeful knight.
Sir Justin approached the tent, leading Leviathan by the reins. “’Tis one more joust before your match, Rand.”
Rand stood up, tucked his dagger in the sheath at his waist, and took the gauntlets Will handed him. He moved to Sir Justin, who passed him the reins.
Shifting his gloves to the hand that held his mount’s reins, Rand patted Leviathan’s neck with his right hand and spoke softly. “Well, my friend, I have placed my faith in you numerous times in the past, and I know you shan’t fail me now.”
Leviathan dipped his head and shoved his nose against Rand’s chest, snorting a snuffling sound of puffed air from his muzzle. “Good boy.” Rand stroked his horse’s neck beneath its black mane. “Let us go show Sir Golan what happens when he crosses me, so he never forgets whom he is dealing with.”
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