"Peter David - Sir Apropos 01 - Sir Apropos Of Nothing" - читать интересную книгу автора (David Peter)

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 brute as any common highwayman or any member of the Thugs' Guild, and he
also had a string of mistresses in various towns and villages. He frequented the whores' tent, which was
usually set up at the outskirts of an encampment during a campaign. More than one tart had supposedly
come away from the amorous encounter with bruises to show for it when Granite was impatient with his
own...performance. The mighty knight, you see, had a bit more trouble wielding his sword off the
battlefield than on, if you catch my drift, and that difficulty translated to welts for those who couldn't easily