"We'll stop here," Tristan Carlisle called as he reined in his horse and flung himself from the black destrier so his company might rest for the night.
He cursed his trip, even as he savored this last stop before he reached Prague and the squawking women awaiting him—the largest retinue ever to accompany a princess for her nuptials. A bloody dubious honor for a warrior.
"Escort," he muttered, disgusted by the very sound of the word. Fifteen years in service to kings of England, and this was the mission his hard work had earned?
England's war with France raged while he was sent on a courtier's assignment. Did they think his sword arm grew weak? He could fight better than half of Richard's hasty witted front line with his dagger alone, since most of the young king's men were naught but beslubbering babes who'd seen little combat.
Richard had made excuses about the importance of his bride's protection and a recent threat to the Bohemian court. But the quest—and t ...
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