The Lord's Right by Carolyn Faulkner

already climbed over the table and had reached Troy,
ready to rip the man apart, muscle from bone, tooth from gum, nail
from bed, eye from socket.
    Amber, however frightened, wasn’t
standing idle, either. She had begged her father to teach her the
basics of how to fight, and, much to her mother’s consternation, he
had done so. It was going to serve her in good stead today. Instead
of concentrating on the fact that Troy’s arm was at her throat, and
the fact that she couldn’t budge it, she did what she could: she
brought her foot down hard on his instep, and, at the same time,
elbowed him viciously, as hard as she could in the ribs.
    Troy hadn’t been expecting an attack
from her. He was looking wild eyed at everyone else around him,
yes, but certainly not her. She didn’t really look the
part.
    By the time she’d finished with him,
Piers was on him, and, within seconds, there was very little left
of Troy Seville. Piers was still punching the body long after he’d
killed the man, and Amber sank to her knees next to him, placing
her hands on his shoulders, touching him for the first time
voluntarily. “Sir Piers, your hands. Let me bandage them for you.”
They were more bloody than actually hurt, but they were definitely
scraped from crushing bone.
    Piers responded to her when he
wouldn’t have to anyone else. He’d lost himself in a haze of red
that had nothing to do with the blood that pooled around him. When
he felt her small hands on him, he turned, and the film faded, to
be replaced by her concerned face.
    He was the one who should have been
concerned about her, rather than the other way around. He could see
the mark where that bastard’s blade had cut her; there was a stark
streak of blood down her neck that she didn’t seem to care about.
She seemed to be more worried about him, although he wasn’t sure he
quite believed that.
    He stood, taking her with him, not
sparing the ruined body another glance as he turned, surprised to
find King William directly behind him. His men descended on the
corpse, and he threw a glance over his shoulder, “I want his head
on a pike at the entrance to the castle.”
    But Piers’ eyes were only for Amber.
He inspected carefully, despite the fact that he knew she’d had
just as much to do with disarming Troy—perhaps more—than he did.
“Are you all right?” He dampened the edge of his own best tunic in
wine to wash away the blood on her neck, revealing a small wound,
refusing to allow her to leave the circle of his arms the entire
time.
    She stood stock still, very surprised
at his overt attention, especially for such a superficial wound. He
was staring at her so intently that she had to lower her eyes.
“Yes, Sir.” What was that warm feeling that flooded through her
body? It was at least as intense as the vortex his hand created
between her legs, but wasn’t quite the same thing. Amber felt
almost faint, her legs threatening to fall out from under her for
the first time in her life when she thought of the way he’d looked
at her, and the gentleness with which he’d touched her.
    “ Are you sure?” He looked
truly worried, his brow furrowed as he stared down at her, paying
absolutely no attention to anyone or anything else around them,
including the king, who wasn’t used to being ignored. Piers took
his time watching her return her knife to its warm sheath next to
the skin of her right thigh, sincerely wishing that was his home,
too.
    “ Sir Piers!” King William
bellowed from his position less than two feet away. Amber had never
seen a man blush so, and she knew Piers was none too happy having
done so. His hands dropped from around her waist as if he’d been
burned, and he presented his back to her, which had her immediately
calling into question those burgeoning warm feelings she’d had for
him seconds ago. “Yes, my liege?”
    “ What was that business
the dead man uttered about this wench’s virginity?” King William
reached a long arm around