Five Unforgettable Knights (5 Medieval Romance Novels)

by Tanya Anne Crosby

  The girl stared steadily past him. “I didn’t slay him.”

  He threw up his hands. “Spare me your denial. You insult my intelligence.”

  “But I didn’t slay him.”

  Shite, the woman was stubborn. “Three of my men have lent witness to your guilt.”

  She raised her chin. “I don’t care if all of England lends witness to my guilt. I didn’t slay your man.”

  He squeezed his eyes shut in frustration and cursed under his breath. Then he looked at her, hard.

  She was still gazing off into the distance, well past him, as if their conversation was of no consequence to her. But he could see on closer inspection that her body trembled. Her false bravery was a mask for the fear in her eyes. And yet there was something achingly familiar about her expression, something that took him back to his own youth.

  He himself had once worn that brave face, awaiting the whip for killing one of his uncle’s hunting hounds. It had been an accident. He’d been training the dog to fetch a stick, rewarding him with scraps of meat from the kitchen. How could a young boy have known the hound would choke on a chicken bone? Still he’d been punished, and he’d accepted his punishment stoically, even though it wasn’t in him to slay an innocent creature...

  Just as it wasn’t in her to commit murder.

  Despite the others’ confirmation of Owen’s charge, despite an obvious motive and an apparent opportunity for her to accomplish the crime, he was certain she hadn’t done it. The trembling of her upraised chin and the flicker of uncertainty in her moist gaze told him the truth. Aye, the reckless wench had a penchant for violence, and she’d probably challenge with a blade anything on two legs. Indeed, she might have slain Sir Roger in defense. But she was incapable of cold-blooded killing.

  His men, however, were sure she’d done the deed, and until he could sort out what had really happened, he’d have to take them at their word. He needed time, both to dredge up the truth and to let his men’s heads cool. And then there was the whole Gavin clan, waiting with bated breath for news of their laird.

  “Listen well, my lady,” he sighed. “For the moment I’ll spare your life, but you must yield to me and renounce your quest for revenge, once and for all.”

  The girl straightened her back and focused on a point over his head. “Never could I yield to my father’s murderers. I, too...made a vow.”

  His blood froze in his veins. Was she completely addled? Pride was one thing, but this... He was handing the wench her life on a silver tray. How dare she throw it back in his face? His voice grew perilously soft. “Then you may grow to regret your vow as I regret mine.”

  She tried to resist him as he stepped from the dais and hauled her to her feet, but in truth she was no more trouble for him than a spitting kitten. He tossed her over one shoulder, ignoring her shrieks, and then mounted the stairs at the corner of the hall.

  Damn the wench, he wished she’d stop squirming. He could feel vividly the points of her delicate hipbones against his shoulder and her soft breasts upon his back. Besides, all her thrashing only added to the numerous bruises she already bore as her heels bumped against the narrow stone walls.

  He struggled up the last winding steps to the tower cell. Kicking open the thick door, he set her on her feet with a bone-jarring bang.

  “You will not escape again.” He jabbed a finger at the air before her as if speaking to a child. “And I’ll post a guard below the window to prevent the temptation.”

  “What do you intend to do with me?” she demanded venomously.

  He gave her his most diabolical smile. “I’ll let you think on that. I am a just man. I assure you, the punishment shall fit the crime.”

  “But I’ve done nothing,” she insisted, her eyes flashing like the devil’s own.

  “Lady,” he replied, disbelief clouding his brow, “you’ve done more to destroy any hope of peace in the last week than your father ever did in his lifetime to assure it.”

  He could see his words were like a dagger twisted in her heart, but he was infuriated by the girl’s stubbornness and the perilous position she’d put him in. If nothing else, she should suffer for that.

  The fire deserted the wench’s eyes. She sank down dejectedly onto the straw pallet.

  Damn her, he almost felt a pang of remorse for his harsh words. But he couldn’t let pity interfere with his sense of justice. He was going to have to somehow placate both Roger’s family and the Gavins without damaging the fragile harmony between their people. He wondered if such a thing was possible.

  “You’ll be safer for the moment here,” he informed her, “and I want you where I won’t need to constantly watch my back. Our time of reckoning will come later.”

  Before she could completely melt his resolve with her beautiful, watery eyes, he turned and left her, cursing his weakness for women’s tears. Why did this have to happen now, he wondered, just as he was beginning to gain real favor with the king?

  Cambria rose and walked to the locked door. She dashed away her tears and rested her forehead against the rough wood. Beyond that door were men who believed her capable of cold-blooded murder, men who longed to mete out their own justice for her imagined crimes.

  De Ware was right. She was safer here. Of course, that didn’t mean she wouldn’t try to escape. It was her duty as the Gavin, after all.

  ~*~

  When the sun’s slender morning rays finally filtered into the tower chamber, Cambria welcomed the meager warmth. It seemed winter had visited in the middle of the April night. Tiny crystals of ice frosted the gray stones of the chamber, and her jaw ached from clenching her teeth in the cold. Her fingers and toes were stiff, and the thin fabric she’d torn from the pallet did little to insulate her body from the mists outside.

  Light footsteps ascended the stairs. They stopped by the door. A key turned in the lock, but she was too frozen to move.

  A pretty doe-eyed maidservant entered with a tray and closed the door. “I’m Gwen, m’lady. I’ve brought you somethin’ to eat,” she ventured, her face openly curious.

  Cambria slowly sat up on the pallet and gazed at the steaming pot of porridge. Her stomach rumbled. She took the tray from the maid and set it upon her lap. Eyeing Gwen warily, she slipped a small spoonful of the cereal into her mouth and swallowed. It was lumpy, but at least it was warm and filling.

  Eagerly consuming the porridge, Cambria watched the maidservant with keen interest. Perhaps she might escape again after all. The maid was frail, probably no stronger than a sparrow. If Cambria could catch her by surprise...

  She carefully lowered her scheming eyes and affected her mother’s delicate voice. “Please, Gwen,” she begged, “you must help me.”

  Her words obviously made the servant uneasy. The girl started wringing her hands. Cambria fought off a smile. It was going to be devilishly simple to prey upon this one’s soft heart.

  “I fear I will die if I’m left here like this,” she continued. “It’s so cold.”

  The girl looked upon her with eyes full of pity. “There is to be no escape from the tower, m’lady,” she said gently.

  “Oh, nay, I couldn’t ask you that,” Cambria assured her, shivering, “only could you not bring me clothing to keep me warm? A servant’s kirtle, anything.”

  The maid bit her lip in indecision, then whispered, “Aye, m’lady, seein’ as how you’re like to freezin’ nights and all, but I’d not let the lord catch you with it. He gave orders to bring you nothin’ but meals.”

  Cambria forced a sweet, thankful smile, even clasping the maid’s hand in her own.

  The girl blushed. “I’ll see what I can do, m’lady.” She withdrew her hand and hastily made her way out of the room.

  Cambria had to move quickly in spite of her unthawed bones. She gulped down the remaining porridge and tested the strength of her weapon, the clay porridge pot. Twice she looked out the window to check the positions of Holden’s men.

  It was a quarter hour before she heard s
teps coming up again. She felt an instant of regret for what she was about to do to Gwen, and she hastily prayed the girl would survive the blow, but she was desperate. With the maid temporarily disposed of and a new set of clothing, Cambria might make an escape.

  The key turned in the lock.

  Cambria lifted the empty pot high over her head, waiting for the servant to enter. But the door swung open with a force she’d not expected. Startled, she hesitated a moment too long before she brought the heavy vessel down.

  To her horror, it wasn’t the servant’s arm that slammed her body against the wall, causing her to drop the pot, but that of a seething Holden de Ware.

  Chapter Five

  Gwen scurried in behind him, gasping as she realized the shattered pot had been meant for her.

  With a snarl, the Wolf seized Cambria roughly about the waist and lugged her past Gwen, who gaped on in astonishment. He hauled her down the steps like a willful child. She fought against him, but all her writhing did nothing but raise her kirtle higher and higher up her leg. His great hands seared her like hot iron where they touched her chilled body, and she could feel the tensed muscles of his thighs beneath her as he trudged down the stairs. He held her tightly against a chest that was as unyielding as a tree, and all her struggles only made him pull her closer to that powerful body.

  To her amazement, Lord Holden stopped in the hallway, kicking open the door to a richly appointed chamber, and flung her to the great curtained bed in its midst, spilling her limbs haphazardly across the pallet. Before she could recover, he took an iron shackle from his belt and quickly cuffed one of her wrists to the bedpost. Then he stood back, breathing heavily, satisfying himself that she was secure.

  “You will not escape again!” he shouted, slamming the door closed behind them.

  Cambria’s fury overrode her fear. She’d had enough of the humiliation of being hauled back and forth like a sack of laundry. The last threads of her temper frayed.

  “I will not be your vassal!” she cried, scrambling to her knees, all caution thrown to the wind in the heat of rage. “I will not sit idly by while you slay my people and take my home! I will never pledge fealty to you, you miserable bastard! There is no torture I will not endure for my clan, and no prison of your making will hold me!”

  Lord Holden looked incredulous at her audacity. “And you think to replace your father as laird of Gavin.” A lock of hair fell over his brow as he railed at her, and he punctuated each of her faults with an accusing finger. “You cannot control your rampant tamper! You greatly overrate your abilities with a sword! And you haven’t got a whit of common sense!” He snapped his fingers at her. “Checkmate, my lady! This is the fortress of the enemy. You have no power here. Your very life is in my hands!”

  She drilled him with her eyes and tugged violently on the shackle. “I’ve escaped you before. I will have my revenge, I swear it!”

  “If you will remember,” he bit out, “you have already taken your revenge. Roger Fitzroi was my knight.”

  “It wasn’t my hand that ended your knight’s life,” she hissed, “although I admit if I’d had a dagger, I might well have done the deed myself. He was a bloody, swiving son of a―“

  “He was the son of a king!” he barked. “You condone his murder, and yet you expect me to believe it wasn’t your doing?” He continued sardonically. “It was likewise never your intent to do me harm on the battlefield in striking me when I’d laid down my arms.”

  She colored at that remark. She knew there was no excuse for her conduct that day, but she’d be damned if she’d yield the point. “I had the courage to face an adversary twice my size. How many of your knights could say that?”

  “None of my knights are that stupid,” he scoffed. “That wasn’t courage. That was foolishness.”

  Damn, she hated the way he stole her words and used them as weapons against her. In frustration, she resorted to hideous name-calling. “You are the vilest baseborn spawn of the devil! I hope to see your black heart torn from you and your putrid remains hung from the foulest tower! You are the very scum of the earth, you filthy, knavish, mud-suckling beast of a...”

  Somewhere in the midst of her colorful tirade, Holden stopped listening. The absurdity of the situation suddenly struck him. Here he was, the lord of the castle, with the most comely wench he’d ever laid eyes on chained to his bed, and he was exchanging insults with her.

  He regarded her with new eyes as she continued her futile raving. Her chestnut tresses cascaded over her shoulders like a waterfall, alternately exposing and concealing her linen-covered breasts with each vehement oath. Her cheeks flushed the color of a ripe peach, and her eyes sparked like two bright crystals flashing fire. Oblivious to her own beauty, unaware of how bewitching she was in her present state, she sat delectably in the midst of his bed like a tempting sweetmeat, ready to be unwrapped and consumed, and that made her all the more attractive. By God, she was distracting. He couldn’t even remember why he was angry with her.

  “...and I promise you my revenge will be slow and painful and merciless!” she finished. She’d apparently run out of curses to lay upon him, simply fixing him now with an icy glare.

  He responded, not with his previous malice, but with a thickness in his voice that felt as if he’d swallowed honey.

  “Revenge?” he asked, moving in on her like his namesake wolf. “What revenge will you take, lady, shackled to my bed?” His eyes flickered over her body, and what he said next was only half a lie. “Ah, indeed you wreak your revenge even now.”

  She might not have understood his words, but the hunger in his regard made her yank the fur coverlet from the bed with her free hand to shield herself. And for the first time, he saw fear in her eyes, genuine, naked fear.

  He narrowed his gaze. Hell, he’d just stumbled upon the chink in the wench’s armor. Violence didn’t frighten her―she’d been trained to accept it. But lust she didn’t understand, and one always feared what one didn’t understand. Perhaps he did have a weapon to use against her after all.

  But not now. Too much was at stake. With a rueful smile and enormous effort, he forced himself to back away till she visibly relaxed. It was the most difficult thing he’d done in his life.

  “Mark well my words, lady. You are powerless, but you are also safe here. Were you to escape again, there are many men who wouldn’t think twice before slitting your pretty throat.” He added, “And I’m not certain they’d be in the wrong.”

  “You believe I killed him.” It wasn’t a question.

  “You’ve done little to prove yourself incapable of the deed.”

  Her frown was thoughtful. “What will you do with me?”

  “For the moment, you’ll remain here.”

  Her eyes widened. “You can’t mean to leave me chained to a bed like some...”

  He smirked at her offended propriety and cocked his brow at her, fueling the fire of her temper. “You have a place to sleep. I’ll have meals brought to you. And there’s a chamberpot beside the bed. You have all the comforts you require.”

  “Have you no...decency?” she sputtered. “I’m a lady.”

  “No lady curses the way you do, and no lady commits murder.”

  “I do not curse, you bloody bastard, and I’ve never killed a man in my life!” she snapped. “How dare you dishonor me by keeping me here. You know well what people will say.”

  “What will they say?”

  She exhaled in a huff of exasperation. “They’ll say that you keep me here for...” She began to blush. It was most becoming. “That we’re...”

  “Lovers?”

  Her face turned crimson.

  “They already think you’re a murderer,” he said. “What do you care if they think you’re a whore?”

  The wench lunged against the chain as if she ached to claw his eyes out. He shook his head at her useless movements.

  “I have things to attend to,” he told her. “I’ll send up bread and wine for you. This time, have a
care for Gwen. She’s a loyal servant. I’d hate to have to beat her for her assistance in your escape.”

  She paled at his words, and he suppressed a smile. His threat was ludicrous. He’d never raised his fist to a woman in his life. He pulled a ring of keys from his pouch and dangled it like a bone before a hound.

  “I hold the key to your shackles. It never leaves me.” Her face fell as he tucked her only hope back into the pouch. “You’ll be isolated here―no one will enter this chamber without my permission.” He folded his arms across his chest. “It shall prove entertaining, I’m certain, to see just how you plan to escape this time.”

  She glared at him as he inclined his head toward her in farewell, exiting with a flourish.

  Cambria, of course, immediately began considering the possibilities for that escape. Unfortunately, with the key in de Ware’s possession, freedom was unlikely. How long would he keep her here? He’s said it would be breaking a vow to slay her, but wouldn’t his knights demand satisfaction? Someone would have to pay for the life of Roger Fitzroi. She crumpled the fur coverlet in her fist. No one would believe the truth. And yet Lord Holden was keeping her alive.

  Perhaps he expected her to confess. After all, an admission of guilt would seal her fate, leaving him blameless. She glanced at the heavy iron band encircling her wrist. Perhaps he intended to shame her into confessing.

  It wouldn’t work, of course. She’d learned long ago to put her own pride aside for the needs of her clan. Still, she hoped none of her men would find her in this compromising position. And she prayed she wouldn’t have to see Lord Holden again today.

  By day’s end, it looked as if one prayer had been answered. Gwen had taken away her half-eaten trencher of pottage, the moon had already risen in the black sky, and the Wolf hadn’t returned.

  He’d probably found some strumpet’s linens to lie between. She flounced onto her side in disgust and punched down the feather bolster. Tucking the warm furs about her and gazing into the dying embers of a fire she couldn’t reach to bank, she slowly faded off to sleep.