TWENTY-TWO
George couldn't tear his eyes away from her. Every fibre in his body wanted him to dart forward and take Melitta in his arms. He couldn't be imagining the invitation in her eyes.
Except...his brain refused to let him. She was Lady Melitta, companion to a queen, and he was...little more than a cobbler. Which meant he must be daydreaming.
"Milady? Sir Knight?" A maidservant dropped a deep curtsy in the doorway. "There's a young priest downstairs, seeking the hero who killed them robbers on the coast road. He's fair wild about it, too. Says he won't eat or drink or rest until he's spoken to you." She looked at George.
He wanted to tell her she had the wrong person, and it was Milady the priest wanted, for the most he'd done was butcher the robbers' bodies for their heads and
