Five Unforgettable Knights (5 Medieval Romance Novels)

by Tanya Anne Crosby

  “We shall ensure that your dress is absolutely perfect,” Vivienne said with such false cheer that Madeline knew she spoke for the benefit of the younger girls. “Do you think the blue samite needs another row of pearls upon the hem?”

  “A wedding should be rich indeed,” Isabella said. “And you will be the first of us wed, Madeline. Can we come to your new abode to visit?”

  “Of course,” Madeline said, then wondered where that abode might be. Did Rhys even have claim to a keep or a hut, or did he travel all the time? Where would her home be? Had Alexander behaved responsibly, they would all know this critical detail.

  “Will you have babies of your own?” Annelise asked shyly.

  “I suppose that I will,” Madeline said.

  “We could persuade Uncle Tynan to open his treasury and spare more gems for you,” Isabella said. “To ensure that you will be a glorious bride.”

  Rosamunde laughed beneath her breath, her hand landing again on Madeline’s shoulder. “That would be a fair triumph.”

  “But what of you, Aunt Rosamunde?” demanded Isabella. “Will you not shower Madeline with rubies and sapphires on the night before her wedding? She could be as radiant as the sun!”

  “Indeed, Aunt Rosamunde,” Tynan said darkly. “There are treasures aplenty in your stores that you might spare a few.”

  Rosamunde granted him a telling glance. “Madeline will be radiant with or without more gems. I would share with her something more enduring.”

  “Like what?” The girls clustered around Rosamunde, their eyes wide.

  “It will be a secret between Madeline and I,” Rosamunde said mysteriously, which did little to sate the curiosity of Madeline’s sisters. Madeline could not be certain what her aunt meant, though she suspected Rosamunde’s gift would be counsel.

  Madeline knew something of what happened between men and women—she had been in the fields in the spring, when the animals mated, after all—but felt in need of a little more information. She had no doubt that Rosamunde knew much more about such deeds.

  “Nonetheless, we will stay awake all the night long!” Isabella said, happy at the prospect of a celebration. She raced after Tynan, while quiet Annelise hung close to Madeline. Madeline could fairly smell the concern of her next two sisters, the fear for their own futures.

  She had to do something to ensure that Alexander did not repeat this folly.

  To his credit, Alexander looked somewhat uneasy with what he had wrought. “I am sorry, Madeline,” he said. “You must know that this was not the outcome I anticipated.”

  If he thought matters could be repaired with a pretty apology—after he had recklessly shaped the rest of Madeline’s life!—he was mistaken. “You took his coin amiably enough,” she observed, not troubling to hide her displeasure.

  Alexander flushed. “You would not wed of your own volition and I had to make a choice. You will be happy enough in a year, when your belly is round with a child.”

  “You think the matter as simple as that?” Madeline was aghast.

  Alexander’s lips set stubbornly. “I had little choice. You do not understand the challenges before me.”

  “No, I do not.” Madeline held his gaze with no small measure of determination herself. “You might tell me of them.”

  “I cannot.” Alexander cast a glance over the watchful sisters. “Not here. Not now.”

  His reticence made Madeline believe that he had little reason for this foolery—or that his reason was not one flattering to himself. “You merely thought it a jest,” she accused. “But I would have you pledge to me, brother mine, that you will not so shame our sisters as you have me.”

  “I meant well, Madeline. You have to know that!”

  “Your intent is of less import than your deeds. You always were too besotted with your own ideas, however wild they were.” Madeline spoke as sternly as their father oft had. “All the world is not so readily charmed by you and your schemes as Maman and Papa were. Take greater care with our sisters’ lives than you have with mine.”

  Alexander’s mouth set into the relentless line that Madeline knew all too well. “You cannot command me to do your will, not when I am Laird of Kinfairlie.”

  “Swear it!” Madeline cried, her vigor so uncharacteristic that her siblings looked at her in alarm. “I will not suffer you to repeat this foolery! You have coin aplenty to pay any debt as a result of this day’s folly. Swear it, Alexander.”

  Alexander looked disinclined to do as much, and her sisters’ grips tightened on Madeline’s hand.

  “I would suggest you do so as the lady suggests,” Rhys said from unexpected proximity. “Your sister speaks with greater sense than you have shown thus far.”

  “I thought myself among kin,” Alexander complained as he scowled at Rhys. “You should have declared your presence afore this!”

  “And you should look about yourself afore you speak.” Rhys captured Madeline’s hand in his once again, easing Annelise aside. “A man must keep his wits about him better than you have done this night if he means to survive as lord of a holding. He must also guard his treasures more closely than you have guarded the Jewel of Kinfairlie. We will be kin soon enough, Laird of Kinfairlie.”

  Alexander flushed scarlet at this, obviously discerning some truth in Rhys’ words. Madeline was astonished that her new betrothed was the one to champion her demand. Her sisters regarded Rhys with admiration.

  Rhys drew Madeline closer to his side, as if they spoke as one. “Grant my lady the pledge she requests of you and grant it to her immediately.”

  His lady. That treacherous shiver began deep within Madeline’s belly. She was stirred by Rhys’ touch and so surprised by his endorsement that she could not summon a word to her lips.

  Alexander regarded the pair of them sullenly. “I swear it, Madeline. I shall not auction our sisters.”

  And there, the pledge she had requested was hers as readily as that. Madeline had the uncommon sense that Rhys would ensure the promise was kept. She was relieved, yet felt a debt to Rhys that she would have preferred not to owe.

  “Does that suit you well enough?” Rhys demanded of Madeline.

  “It does.”

  “Then what was begun poorly has ended well.” Rhys tucked Madeline’s hand into his elbow. “Come, my lady. Our betrothal feast awaits.”

  Madeline turned at his bidding, as if she would indeed be a dutiful wife to this renegade. She dared not let him see the defiance that roiled within her. She matched her step to his and even managed to grant him a small smile. Though she was glad of Rhys’ intercession, she was wary of his reasons for doing so.

  Her sisters thanked him prettily for his intervention, their estimation of his character obviously improving by the moment. Madeline did not doubt that Rhys cultivated their approval deliberately—and she did not trust that he did so.

  Any man could be charming for one evening.

  Any man of dark repute might find that one evening of such charm served him well, if it gained him the bride he desired for all eternity.

  It was Madeline who would have to live with the result.

  Rhys seemed so determined to eliminate her misgivings—and to think well of her—that he roused her suspicions. That he was a traitor to the crown made Madeline doubly determined to not pledge herself forevermore to an utter stranger. But no matter, by the morning, Madeline would be gone from Ravensmuir, leaving no trace of her destination behind.

  That would be simple to do, for she as yet had no idea where she would go.

  Rhys could fairly smell the defiance of his intended. In truth, he could not blame her for being reluctant to wed under such strange circumstance, no less to a man she did not know.

  No less to a man reputed to be a villain.

  But wed they would be, and wed they would be on the morrow. Rhys would suffer no further delay in his claiming of Caerwyn.

  The sole solution was to reassure the lady, in what little time remained between this meal and t
he exchange of nuptial vows. He had begun with reassuring her sisters, and so he would continue. Indeed, their merry presence awakened a yearning in Rhys, a memory of his own lost sisters and the way they had tormented their only and much younger brother. He felt an uncommon tenderness in the midst of these sisters, for their bickering was evocative of his own half-forgotten past.

  The company were seated at the high board under the direction of Tynan’s castellan. Tynan claimed the central seat, with Rosamunde upon his left and a young boy upon his right. The boy shared the dark hair of Madeline and Alexander, though his eyes were a vivid green, so Rhys guessed him to be another sibling. Further to Tynan’s right was Alexander, then two of the younger sisters.

  Rhys was seated to the left of Rosamunde, Madeline to his left and her sister Vivienne to her left. The sister, Elizabeth, who had seen the fairy had the end place at the table and seemed despondent that no one had believed her earlier. She cast covert glances down the table, often in strange directions, and Rhys wondered what she saw.

  In the first table facing the high table were seated various bishops and dukes and lords in their finery, their wives and consorts at their sides. They were all seated roughly by rank, though the ale had already flowed with sufficient vigor that none were in the mood to take offense at any inevitable slight.

  Rhys saw the women settled and their cups filled, then winked at the dejected Elizabeth. Her color rose and she toyed with her cup, even as she cast him a glare.

  “Do not mock me,” she said.

  “I would not dream of doing as much. You must have a fearsome power to be able to see the fey so clearly.”

  “Do you think so?”

  “Yours is a rare gift.”

  The girl brightened at Rhys’ nod, and Rhys felt Madeline stiffen beside him. He had a thought then that the lady’s resistance could be softened through her siblings.

  “It is pulling your ear and making fearsome faces,” Elizabeth confided.

  “Then it is a mercy that I cannot see it, much less feel the pain.”

  Elizabeth laughed. “Why do you believe in fairies?”

  “Because they exist, of course.”

  “But how can you know as much, if you cannot see them?”

  “My mother and her kin are reputed to be descended from a water fairy, who wed a mortal man, my own forebear.” Rhys watched the girl’s eyes round and felt Vivienne turn to listen to his words. “Do you know the tale of the Gwraggedd Annwn?”

  Both girls shook their heads, while Madeline took a studied interest in the arrival of the venison. Rhys did not doubt that she listened to him, as well, and he was glad to have chosen this tale to recount.

  In fact, it described his own response to the lady beside him perfectly, and he hoped that she would discern the morsel of truth in his words. He was aware of her presence, of the spill of her kirtle so close to his leg, of the soft scent of her flesh, of her thigh beside his own. Her hand rested on the board, soft and finely wrought, and though he yearned to capture it within his own, he feared to frighten her.

  A tale might soften her resistance to him.

  He cleared his throat and began. “There are many lakes in Wales, where I was born, and most of them have a mysterious air. It is said that there are fairies living beneath the surface, in splendid palaces that mortal men can only glimpse once in a long while. It is said that their daughters are beauteous beyond belief, and immortal, and wise. And it is told that one such lake maiden liked to sit on a certain rock on the shore, and comb her hair in the sunlight.”

  “I would wager that a mortal man spied her there,” Vivienne said, her eyes glowing.

  “Indeed, one such man did,” Rhys agreed. “And as you might anticipate, he was smitten at the sight of this rare beauty. Some say that she was singing and that her voice was such a marvel that he was enchanted. Others recount that it was her beauty alone that snared him. I heard that she had hair as dark as a raven’s wing, and eyes that flashed like sapphires. I have heard that he had only to see her the once to lose his heart completely.”

  Madeline cast him a glance at this description, which so nearly matched her own, and Rhys held her gaze as he continued. “She was a beauty beyond beauties, that much is for certain, and her character was no less attractive than her face. And so, the mortal man was smitten, and in the hope of winning her attention, he offered to share his bread with her.”

  Rhys glanced down at the table, knowing Madeline’s gaze would follow his own, and considered the trencher cut of bread that they were to share. Madeline’s cheeks were stained with sudden color and she looked across the hall.

  “And what happened?” Elizabeth demanded.

  “The fairy maiden said that his bread was too hard. She may have laughed at his dismay, then she disappeared beneath the water, scarcely leaving a ripple on its surface.”

  “Oh.” Elizabeth was clearly disappointed, thinking the tale finished, but Vivienne spoke up.

  “He probably did not give up easily.”

  “Indeed he did not, for love is a fearsome power. He knew that he had to win this maiden’s favor, and he did not care how difficult the task might prove to be. No man of merit surrenders readily to the challenge of his lady’s desire.”

  A page placed meat upon the trencher and Rhys nudged the choice morsels toward Madeline. She glanced down, took nothing, and looked away again, her back straight.

  Rhys was not deterred.

  “The man returned home and sought his mother’s counsel, and that woman gave him bread the following morning which had not been baked. He went back to the same place, and was thrilled to find the lake maiden there again. He offered to share this bread, but she laughed and said it was too soft for her. With that, she disappeared into the lake once more.”

  “And the third day?” Elizabeth prompted.

  “On the third day, he brought bread that was half-baked, and the fairy maiden liked it very well. Indeed, I suspect that she liked that he labored so determinedly to win her favor.” Vivienne laughed at this, though Madeline drew slightly away from Rhys. Did she find herself susceptible to his meager charm, or was she repulsed by him? He could not guess, but continued on. “No sooner had she eaten of the bread, though, than she disappeared again into the lake. The man was disappointed by this, for he thought the fairy maiden spurned him.”

  The girls were rapt, and even Madeline glanced over her shoulder at Rhys. “Did he abandon his quest, then?” she asked and Rhys let himself smile.

  “Did I not mention that love had a hold upon him? No sooner had he begun to fret than three resplendent figures rose from depths of the lake. They walked across its surface to him, their garb and jewels glittering in the sunlight. There were two maidens, each as beautiful as the other, both so similar as to have been the same woman in two places. They stood on either side of an older gentleman in fine garb, who informed the mortal man that he was the king of the fairies beneath the lake. The king offered one of his daughters in marriage to the mortal man, if that man could identify which daughter had accepted his bread.”

  Rhys pursed his lips. “This was no easy task. The man looked between them and feared that he would fail, for he could discern no difference between the sisters. And just when he thought all to be lost, the one on the right slid her foot slightly forward. For you see, the fairy maiden had fallen in love with the mortal man, and she did not desire to lose him.”

  He captured Madeline’s hand and let his thumb slide over her skin. She shivered and her eyes turned a more fervid blue, though she did not pull her hand from his grasp. “He recognized the slipper of his lady love immediately, and was overjoyed that she too was willing to make this match. Thus he spoke out and chose his bride correctly.”

  “And so they were wed,” Vivienne prompted.

  “And so they were wed, though the fairy king granted an injunction. If the mortal man struck his fairy wife three times, then he would lose her forever, for she would be compelled to return to her father�
�s kingdom beneath the lake.”

  “And he agreed to this?” Madeline asked.

  “Of course.” Rhys held her gaze. “No man of merit strikes his lady wife, for any reason.” A little of the stiffness seemed to ease from her shoulders. “The mortal man agreed to the father’s demand, seeing no reason why he would so abuse his beautiful bride. And so they were wed, and so they had sons, and good fortune, and bountiful crops and many sheep to call their own. It was said by all his neighbors that the man had been blessed indeed on the day that he wed this bride.”

  Rhys sipped of his ale, aware that Madeline had eaten nothing and had had little to drink. Her hand seemed to tremble within his own, as if he had snared a wild bird, and when she pulled her hand this time, he released his grip. Did she understand that he meant to reassure her with this tale?

  “That cannot be the end of their tale,” Vivienne charged.

  “Far from it, for there was an oddity about the man’s fairy wife. Perhaps because she was immortal, perhaps because she had a touch of the Sight, they tended to disagree on occasion. First, she laughed at a funeral, laughed with such gusto that her husband felt compelled to tap her on the shoulder and demand that she be quiet. She fell silent for a moment, and then she said ‘That would be the first strike’. The man was appalled by what he had done, and he resolved to be more careful in future.”

  “But he was not,” Elizabeth guessed.

  “She wept at a wedding,” Rhys agreed with a nod. “Wept as if all the merit of the world were lost in the forming of this union. And the people gathered there looked askance at her manner, and the man finally lost his temper. He tapped his wife on the shoulder and bade her be quiet. She fell silent for a moment, and then she said ‘That would be the second strike’. And she did not speak to him for days, for she loved him as much as he loved her, and she feared that he would compel them to separate for all eternity. Matters went well for a number of years, their sons grew ever taller, and their sheep more numerous.”