Knights and Kink Romance Boxed Set

by Jill Elaine Hughes

  Lord Verdigris is here too, of course. And he’s back in his gorgeous Green Knight getup, the very same getup that helped seduce me in the men’s room back in what seems like an eternity ago—but in terms of the space-time continuum, was actually just a second or two ago.

  Lord Verdigris is saddling his horse. “Your plans for the tiebreaker were perfect, my lady Louisa,” he says. “For I never miss a jousting match—in any century. Good Sir Rose Knight, I shall see you in the ring. Godspeed to you, sir. For ye shall require all the well-wishes on earth to sustain ye in Hades.”

  With that, Lord Verdigris mounts his horse and heads for the arena.

  Jaclyn, Pembroke, and I are just standing around, confused and even a little frightened. Because not only have we been dropped into the Medieval Worlds’ arena without a second to spare before putting all our lives on the line, in his infinite time-traveling wisdom, Lord Verdigris has somehow managed to have us all dressed in the cheesy polyester costumes of Medieval Worlds’ beer waiters. I’m even carrying a tray of Bud Light pitchers, and dodging catcalls from the head bartender to “get my ass back out on the floor and move the booze.”

  But Trenton’s not worried at all. He’s in his element. He’s dressed in a sort of postmodern Rose Knight outfit and jousting armor, a cross between Heath Ledger’s outfit in A Knight’s Tale and the football-player-inspired armor Patrick Stewart wore in Excalibur! He’s already commandeered the best-looking stallion from the stables and is preparing to saddle him, much to the chagrin of the teenaged stable boy.

  “Hey you! You can’t take that horse! You don’t even work here!”

  The Rose Knight points his massive lance squarely in the kid’s face. “I do now, lad. And ye would be wise not to cross me, for I can run ye through in the blink of a mare’s eye.”

  The stable boy wisely backs down. “I’m gonna get fired for this,” he mutters to himself.

  Pembroke and I hold each other tight. Jaclyn blows a kiss to Trenton, then kneels to pray. All our lives, mortal or immortal, are now in The Rose Knight’s hands.

  We all follow behind Trenton’s trotting white stallion towards the arena, just as a deep male voice with a thick Jersey accent booms over the loudspeaker. “ATENSHUN, ladies an’ gents. Now comin’ into da joustin’ ring is da Green Knight, Medieval Worlds’ most popular atTRACKshun. Put yer hands together fer da Green Knight, folks! Da Green Knight is UNDEFEEEEEETED in da joustin’ arena, folks! Grab a haybale, cop a squat, and watch as Da Green Knight kicks yet another opponent in da ass! An’ Da Green Knight’s opponent today is—“

  The loudspeaker broadcasts shuffling papers, followed by static, followed by angry whispering. “Da Rose Knight? What kinda freakin’ pansy name is Da Rose Knight? I ain’t never heard o’ no Rose Knight nohow. Awright, forgeddaboudit.Folks, watch as Da Green Knight kicks Da Pansy Rose Knight’s Ass!”

  Thunderous applause. Lord Verdigris pulls off his helmet and uses it to salute the crowd. Then he rides his huge black stallion around the arena, blowing kisses to his adoring fans, even picking up a bouquet of flowers here and there. Obviously, he jousts here a lot. But I guess that’s easy for somebody who’s not only immortal, but also has complete control over the entire space-time continuum.

  Trenton and his white stallion trot into the arena a moment later to thunderous boos. Lord Verdigris is the hometown favorite here at Medieval Worlds, that’s obvious. But it doesn’t seem to faze Trenton in the least. He tips his helmet to the crowd and smiles, then blows a kiss to Jaclyn. An armored referee appears in the middle of the arena, carrying a polished sword in one hand and a microphone in the other. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he announces in flat East Coast accent, “the highlight of the evening is about to begin! The Rose Knight shall challenge the undefeated Green Knight for the title of Medieval Worlds’ Tournament Champion! The rules are as follows. Each jouster and his mount will stand at the starting gates on opposite sides of the arena. On my signal, they will charge one another, lances drawn, until one or both of them are knocked from their mounts. The first jouster to fall shall be the loser, with the winner taking the title of Tournament Champion, along with a $500 gift certificate to JCPenney and unlimited free pitchers of Miller Lite at the Medieval Worlds’ Bar! Gentlemen, you may approach your starting gates and prepare your mounts. And may the best jouster win!”

  More thunderous applause. The two men ride their horses to opposite ends of the arena and take their places at the starting gates. The referee goes to stand on his platform, and gives the signal.

  The two stallions begin to charge. Jaclyn, Pembroke and I all hold our breath. The horses’ legs gallop in seeming slow motion. Every detail of their flexing muscles burns into my retinas as I watch the few fleeting seconds of the jousting match that will literally determine my fate in the universe.

  The two horses get closer and closer to one another, the two lances are yards apart, then feet, then mere inches.

  Pembroke pulls me even closer, threatens to crush me in his powerful embrace. I close my eyes—can’t bear to watch another second.

  There is a resounding crunch. Followed by a very loud collective gasp from the crowd. Then silence.

  I open my eyes and see Lord Verdigris crumpled on the ground, his green lance shattered into a million wood splinters. And Trenton still mounted safely on his steed above him, triumphant.

  The Rose Knight has won!

  How the hell did he do it?

  Who cares? He won!

  Pembroke, Jaclyn and I all rush out onto the arena floor, cheering. Trenton dismounts from his stallion and goes to embrace Jaclyn. They kiss passionately.

  Looks like The Rose Knight just might have found himself a new Beloved.

  We all gather around Lord Verdigris’ pathetic crumpled body on the manure-covered ground. There are no signs of life for several minutes. Just when we’re about to give up and call the coroner, though, he stirs.

  Lord Verdigris summons all his strength to lift the visor of his helmet. His eyes are weak, shattered, defeated. “Verily, Sir Rose Knight, ye knew the secret of bringing this immortal life to an end,” he croaks.

  Trenton, ever a respectful and chivalrous knight, even as he exacts revenge on his oldest enemy, bows. “Aye, my lord. For just before my original Beloved met her own fate, she transferred that knowledge—and her immortality—to me. I learned from my Beloved that pride is the surest path to an immortal’s destruction. And very proud ye were, my lord. So ‘twas a simple task to do away with ye.”

  “Ye are the better man, Rose Knight,” Lord Verdigris sighs, the life swiftly leaving his body. “And so I will keep my end of the bargain. Ye and your comrades are free of my capture. With my death, the master time portal shall be unlocked and free to anyone with the knowledge to open it. And Lady Louisa, I grant the bondservant Bridget her freedom from the Hall of Harlots and release her to your care.”

  There is an audible pop, and Bridget appears out of nowhere, looking bewildered. A curious murmur erupts from the crowd.

  “Wh-where am I? Oh, ‘tis my lady! And good Master Pembroke! Ye are safe! Oh, lass, when ye all disappeared from the Harlot’s Ball I feared the worst!” Bridget looks around her, awestruck. “Tell me, lass, is this America?”

  “It sure is,” I say. “Welcome to New Jersey.”

  Bridget looks around some more, then frowns. “Well, this ain’t how Mr. Dickens described America ‘tall.”

  “Welcome to freedom, good maidservant Bridget,” Trenton says to her with a bow. Bridget blushes. “I intend to make it my business to free all the Harlots from servitude just as soon as Madam Jasphet and I have a chance to travel back to Bellweather Castle.”

  Bridget giggles with glee and claps her hands. “Oh, yer a good lad, ye are, Sir Rose Knight! Ye ‘ave granted me greatest wish!” She shoots me a wink. “Other than a-seein’ America o’course.”

  Lord Verdigris draws his last breath. As he does, his body evaporates and vanishes, just like Obi-Wan Kenobi’s and Yoda
’s in Star Wars.But unlike them, I don’t think he’s becoming one with the Force. More like becoming one with the serpents and lava pits down in Hades.

  More curious murmurs from the crowd. But we two happy couples could care less. Pembroke and me, Trenton and Jaclyn—we all hug each other like there’s no tomorrow.

  And in a way, there isn’t. Because thanks to the Rose Knight, Jaclyn and I are immortal now, too.

  I lead Pembroke and Bridget to the sidelines, where a very shocked and also very suddenly sober Nancy is staring at me, her mouth hanging open. A morsel of Salisbury steak falls out and lands in her lap; she doesn’t seem to notice.

  “Hi Nancy,” I say. “Sorry I was in the bathroom for so long. You wouldn’t believe how long the line was.”

  She looks from Trenton, to Jaclyn, to Bridget, then Pembroke, then to me, then to my cheesy polyester waitress’ outfit, then back to me. “Uhhhh—“ she stammers, pointing a finger at me. “Whhhaaa?”

  I laugh. “Kind of a long story. I’ll explain later.”

  Nancy and her gaping mouth can wait. So can everybody else, for that matter. Because right now, I have other priorities.

  I drag Pembroke and Bridget along behind me through Medieval World’s crowded dining room and lobby. We end up out in the parking lot. A line of taxis stands waiting at the curb. I reach into the front pocket of my waitress’ apron and find it’s full of cash. I take the wad of cash, hand it to Bridget, and flag one of the cabs. “Take this lady to Eleven Royal Terrace, Building A, second floor,” I tell the cabbie. “And be nice to her. She’s new around here.” I turn to Bridget who’s staring gape-mouthed at the car—I realize that’s she’s never seen or heard of an automobile before, let alone all the other stuff she’s getting exposed to. “This thing here is called a car. Sort of like a horse-and-buggy, except without horses. And it goes a lot faster, too. Don’t worry, it’s perfectly safe. The driver will take you to my apartment building. When you get there, ring the bell for the super, Vinnie. Tell him you’re my aunt visiting from Scotland. He’ll let you inside. I’ll be home in an hour or two.”

  I shuttle Bridget into the cab and watch it drive off. Then I turn to Pembroke, who strangely seems right at home in his new surroundings. “I think I’ve been here before, madam,” he explains. “Lord Verdigris was very fond of this era and traveled here with me often. And I’m starting to understand why.”

  “Follow me,” I instruct him as I lead him up and down the narrow rows of cars. I find my battered Geo Metro on the far end of the lot, and manage to jiggle the dented passenger door open even though I left it locked. Luckily, I always keep a spare set of keys in the glove compartment, so I’ll be able to drive us home.

  But there are other matters to attend to first.

  Namely, Pembroke’s bulging crotch.

  “Well, we’re finally alone together again,” I say as we both tumble into the cramped backseat. “Did you miss me?”

  “Indeed I did, madam,” he replies. “More than you know.”

  I point at the bulge in his pants. “Looks to me like you missed me an awful lot. But I can take care of that for you in a jiffy.”

  I yank down the cheesy polyester Medieval Worlds’ waiter uniform pants and bask in the glory that is Pembroke’s beautiful cock. He might be stuffed inside a crappy Geo Metro in the middle of working-class New Jersey, but with his pants off, Pembroke is well-bred English gentleman all the way.

  There really is something to all that aristocratic breeding stuff.

  I lift up the polyester skirt of my cheesy Medieval Worlds’ waitress outfit and discover with joy that I’m not wearing panties. I have to chuckle at this—even when he was recostuming his Harlots in the middle of swirling time portals, Lord Verdigris always made sure to omit underwear—may he rest in peace.

  No biggie. Just makes things a hell of a lot easier where fucking is concerned.

  Foreplay be damned—the only thing I want to do right now is get that beautiful English gentleman’s cock inside me, pronto. I climb on top of Pembroke and lower myself down onto his joystick so fast that I think the walls of my sheath just might tear themselves asunder—in a good way, of course. I begin to grind slowly at first, then gradually pick up speed until I’m bouncing like a teenager on an out-of-control pony trot. Every ride up and down that glorious aristocrat’s cock is a joyride into the next solar system.

  Pembroke keeps up his end of the bargain, too, meeting every one of my pleasure-bounces with a hard-and-fast pelvic thrust of his own. He gets busy on my clit, too, working all ten of his long, elegant fingers into my hot little sex nub, which is quickly filling up with my boiling, red-hot blood. My orgasm arrives so quickly it might as well be riding on a high-speed bullet train—and in a way, it is. Because right now, there’s a bullet train riding at top speed up and into my cunt, making my G-spot the final spot on the express route to ecstasy.

  I come once, twice, three times, banging my head against the low-hanging ceiling of my Geo Metro each time—but I’m so full of incredible, earth-shattering pleasure sensations, I don’t care one iota about the bumps I’m getting on my noggin. As I feel my fourth orgasm start to take hold, I can tell that Pembroke is about to explode, too—his whole body shakes, vibrates underneath me, he groans, grunts, then cries out in English-accented joy as his seed spills forth into my cunt. We ride the final eruption together, then collapse into one another, exhausted and spent, the rhythm of our breathing in perfect sync as we bask in the afterglow together.

  Pembroke strokes my hair softly as we slowly come back down to earth from our perch somewhere in the stratosphere. “And now, madam, you must show me each and every detail of your beloved New Jersey. It truly is a wondrous place. Lord Verdigris never ventured past the threshold of the Medieval Worlds arena on his past trips here with me as his bondservant, and I long to see what lies past this place’s exotic borders.”

  “Exotic borders?” I chuckle. “You mean what’s out past the parking lot?”

  “Precisely, madam. Though I must say based on my experiences so far, the parking lot is itself a wondrous place.”

  I sit up, slowly disengage myself from his equipment. “Actually, I was thinking we should go back in time to Regency England first. Maybe go back to your fancy-schmantzy Elysia place for a while, see if we can’t arrange things so that it ends up going to you instead of your brother somehow. I’d love to spend some time as your Countess of Pembroke. Maybe an entire lifetime.”

  Pembroke frowned. “But that’s impossible! You might be immortal now thanks to Sir Rose Knight, but I’m not. I would grow old and die while you stayed young forever—“

  I place a finger over his lips to shush him. “Not true. You’re immortal now, too. I just shared my magic with you while we were in connubial bliss. In fact, it wasn’t even the first time. Remember our little bit of fun back on Bellweather Castle’s roof? Because if that wasn’t enough to make you immortal, than what just happened here in the Metro sure was.”

  Pembroke grins sheepishly. “Well, madam, I must say, for the first time in my life, I am utterly speechless.”

  “Good. Because we have a lot more fucking to do if I’m ever going to get that master time portal opened up wide enough for us to head back to Regency England.”

  I make another move for Pembroke’s cock, but he reaches out a hand to stop me. “What about Bridget? We can’t just abandon her here in the twenty-first century!”

  I laugh. “Sure we can. We’ve got all the time in the world, Pembroke. We’re immortal, after all. And as long as you and I keep making that crazy sexy magic together, there’s not a moment in all of human history that we just can’t hold in the palm of our hands.”

  Mercenary Bride

  Chapter 1

  English West Country on the high road to Glastonbury, April 1101

  Sabina rode Arthur, her huge dappled-roan stallion, hard. He cantered at lightning speed, the moss-covered hills and heaths of England’s west country a blur underneath his w
ell-shod hooves. She was making good time. At this rate, Sabina would make it to Glastonbury in a little less than three days. She’d made sure to take Arthur—the strongest, fastest horse from her father’s stables—for this journey. Lucky for her, Sabina’s mother had taught her to ride a horse astride like a man before she died. This was no time to ride sidesaddle. She needed Arthur’s speed, his strength, his stallion’s fury to take her far, far away from her girlhood home, a home that she loved—forever.

  She rode alone. Though it was a great risk for any woman to travel across the English countryside alone, it was an even greater risk for a noblewoman. Add in the fact that Lady Sabina of Angwyld was a Saxon noblewoman—one of only a handful of Saxons left in the whole of England who still enjoyed lands and rank—and her journey was doubly perilous. Many of the lower Norman nobility raped and killed Saxons for sport, or at best forced them into rude, backbreaking peasant work on their lands. Although Sabina’s late mother had been half Norman and had made a point to teach Sabina to speak French and imitate Norman manners and dress as a matter of personal survival, Sabina had never taken well to doing so. Sabina was an English-speaking, heath-loving, blonde-haired, blue-eyed Saxon who loved England and everything about it with all her heart and soul—the rolling green hills, the rainy gray weather, the acres and acres of grazing sheep, and the rugged forests and meadowlands of her West Country home most of all. She’d made a middling attempt to disguise herself for her journey and wore a Norman-style travel mantle and cloak. But her simple square-toed shoes, her mother’s ancient Celtic jewels that she carried in a gold-inlaid box as a gift for the abbess at Glastonbury—not to mention her fair hair and eyes and her heavy West Country accent—would be more than enough to give her away to any passing Norman marauder.