"David,.Peter.-.Sir.Apropos.1.-.Sir.Apropos.Of.Nothing" - читать интересную книгу автора (David Peter)

Now, Granite . . . he was the type who would fight anywhere, anytime, at the
least provocation. That is precisely the kind of attitude that gets one killed
at a young age if one is not a formidable fighter. To his credit, that certainly
described Granite. Well over six feet tall and built like a brick outhouse, he
often found it necessary to enter a room sideways, his shoulders being too broad
to be accommodated by a standard doorframe.
Sir Granite had returned most unexpectedly, at a moment that could best be
described as inopportune. For at that particular point in time, I had been in
the middle of opportuning myself of his wife.
As burly, as brusque, as fearsome as Granite had been, the Lady Rosalie had been
the opposite. Delicate and pale, Rosalie had cast an eye that clearly fancied me
in my direction. Considering that, at the time she did it, I was mucking out the
stables and up to my elbows in horse manure, she clearly saw something within me
not readily apparent from my surface appearance. She and old Granite had just
come in from a ride; he perched upon his white charger, and she riding daintily
sideways on a brown mare. She winked at me and I hurriedly wiped my hands on the
nearest cloth, aware of the disheveled and frankly tatty sight I must have
presented. The Lady Rosalie chose that moment to try and dismount. But her foot
snagged on the stirrup and she tumbled forward, only my quick intervention
preventing her from hitting the straw-covered floor. I caught her, amazed by how
light she was. I'd bounced soap bubbles off my fingertips that had more
substance.
For the briefest of moments, Rosalie insinuated her body against mine, mashing
her breasts against my stained tunic. They were round and felt surprisingly firm
beneath her riding clothes. It was not the fall that had carried her against me
in that manner; she had done it deliberately with a subtle arching of her back
that only I detected. Then, after the ever-so-brief gesture, she stepped back
and put her hand to her throat in a fluttery manner. "Thank you, squire," she
said, her voice having a most alluring musical lilt.
"Not . . . a problem, milady," I replied.
Old Granite did not seem to be the least bit supportive of my chivalric
endeavors. His thick red mustache bristled and he said contemptuously, "I give
you lesson after lesson, Rosalie, and still you can't so much as get off the
damned horse. You shouldn't have caught her, squire. A far greater favor you'd
have done her if you'd let her fall flat on her ass. It's the only way she's
going to learn anything about successful mounting."
"Well . . . one of two ways," I said in a low voice, just enough for her to
hear. Her cheeks colored, but not in embarrassment because she put a hand to her
mouth to stifle what clearly sounded like a giggle. I grinned at her. She did
not return the smile with her mouth, but it was clearly reciprocated in her
eyes.
Granite smoothly jumped off his horse and thudded to the ground like a boulder.
"Come, madam," he said, sticking out an elbow in a manner intended to be gallant
but that instead simply appeared stiff and uncomfortable. This was not a man who
was accustomed to the slightest gesture of gentility. She took his elbow and
walked out with him, but glanced back at me just before they left.
From that moment, it was simply a matter of time.
I knew all about Granite. He was typical of Runcible's knights, spouting words
of chivalry and justice, but doing whatever he desired behind the king's back.
He made polite and politic noises to the king, but he could be as much of a