Five Unforgettable Knights (5 Medieval Romance Novels)

by Tanya Anne Crosby

  “And then?” Vivienne demanded.

  “And then?” Elizabeth asked.

  “And then a child was drowned in the very lake from which the fairy woman had come. It was a child known well by the couple, a lovely child greeted with fondness at every door. But when the truth was learned, and the people gathered at the shore of the lake where the child’s body had been found, the fairy wife sang. She did not sing a funeral dirge, she sang a song of joy, as if there was a matter to celebrate instead one to mourn.

  “As the people turned from her in disgust, her husband grew impatient yet again. He tapped her on the shoulder, told her that the song was not fitting, and bade her be quiet. She fell silent for a moment, and then she said ‘That would the third strike’. She kissed her sons and caressed her husband’s cheek, and then she walked into the water. She disappeared beneath the surface, lost to him for all time, deaf apparently to his weeping entreaties. And so they were parted, just as the fairy king had foretold.”

  Both girls looked disappointed with this ending, but Rhys lifted a finger, for he was not done. “But it is said that she never forgot her sons or her beloved. Some people say that she would return to that stone on moonlit nights, that she would meet her husband there, and they would sit, an arm’s length apart, and talk. Others say that she visited her sons in their dreams, and that she imparted all her knowledge of healing herbs to them. They became a family of famed physicians, who still can be found beside that lake, to this very day.”

  Vivienne sighed with satisfaction. “What fortune you have, Madeline, to wed a man who can tell a tale so well.”

  “And one descended from fairies!” Elizabeth enthused.

  Rhys glanced down the table and thought he could supply the endorsements of the other two sisters. Annelise had been reassured by his insistence that Alexander not repeat this foolery of an auction, while Isabella seemed content that Rhys and his bid had been responsible for a wedding.

  Madeline alone remained unpersuaded of his merit. Rhys had charmed the sisters, but not his bride.

  “I think it a sad tale,” she said with disapproval, her hands folded tightly together in her lap.

  His bad fortune, it appeared, had not fully changed. But Rhys, like the man in his own tale, did not surrender the challenge of winning his lady’s desire so readily as that.

  Chapter Three

  Madeline thought she might scream in her impatience to be gone. It seemed to take the assembly half the night to tire of Tynan’s wine and ale. Madeline contrived to hide every sign of her desire to flee.

  Rhys did not speak to her directly again, but the heat of his thigh was close to her own and she could fairly hear him listening to her breath. Though he glanced across the hall, apparently unconcerned with her, Madeline knew that she held his complete attention.

  It was more than disconcerting.

  Worse, since his tale of the water fairy, Elizabeth and Vivienne appeared to be charmed by Rhys. Isabella, who always favored a celebration over quieter moments, anticipated the wedding with glee. Even Annelise, who was slow to take a liking to strangers, looked upon Rhys with favor since he had insisted that Alexander not auction more of the sisters.

  Only Madeline seemed to have eyes left in her head, or wits between her ears. She would flee, she would flee so far that they would never hear tell of her again.

  “Are you well, Madeline?” Vivienne asked for what must have been the seventh time. “You are so quiet this night.”

  Knowing full well that Rhys listened to their conversation, Madeline wished her sister could have let the matter be. “I am always so demure,” she said with a sweetness that should have warned her sister.

  Instead, Vivienne laughed. “You? I should think not!”

  Madeline grit her teeth and kicked her sister beneath the table. Vivienne kicked her back, hard enough to leave a bruise upon her shin.

  “How amusing you are, Vivienne,” Madeline said firmly. “We all know that I am the quiet one of the family.”

  Vivienne, blissfully oblivious to the message Madeline was trying to send, giggled so hard that she could barely speak. “You? You talk more than all of us put together! Remember how our old nursemaid used to say as much?”

  “I have forgotten the chatter of that madwoman,” Madeline said firmly.

  “How could you? She was the one who said that you had boldness enough for all eight of us and to spare!”

  Elizabeth hooted. “Remember when she tried to gag you to make you silent for a morning?”

  Madeline felt her color rise at Rhys’ sidelong glance. “I do not recall.”

  “How could you forget? Truly, Madeline, you are not yourself this night.” To Madeline’s disgust, her sister tapped Rhys upon the arm as if they were old comrades. “She must be simply astonished, sir.”

  “This night’s circumstance is certainly an uncommon one,” Rhys acknowledged.

  Vivienne smiled. “Oh, but I assure you that my sister is always more vivacious than this. She is practical, but also outspoken. You can rely upon Madeline, sir, to tell you her thoughts but also to be of aid.”

  “Vivienne!”

  Rhys sipped of his ale and Madeline could have sworn that he smiled. “There is nothing akin to the teasing of a sister,” he said so softly that Vivienne could not hear him.

  Madeline was surprised to find his tone of rueful affection such a perfect echo of her thoughts. “You must have sisters yourself.”

  A shadow touched his face and Madeline found herself intrigued. “Four I had, once,” he admitted and looked away.

  “How can you not have such sisters any longer?”

  Rhys stared across the hall for a long moment, as if he had not heard her. “They are all dead, my lady.”

  Madeline was shocked. He said nothing more, but his grim countenance was enough to tear at her heart. “I am sorry.”

  “As am I.” He brushed his fingertips across her hand and Madeline felt a warmth in her belly, though whether it was due to his gentle touch or his confession, she could not say. She felt a flush stain her cheeks and dropped her gaze to hide her awareness of him.

  Then she wondered whether his confession was truth, or a falsehood intended to soften her resistance to him.

  Vivienne was suddenly attentive again, as if sensing that she had missed something.

  “Perhaps I am slightly more quiet than usual,” Madeline said, “because I have never experienced the eve of my own wedding afore.”

  Vivienne sobered at that. “Oh, but you must not fret about the morrow, Madeline. You will be the most beauteous bride that Ravensmuir has ever seen, I know it well, even if Uncle Tynan does not see fit to surrender more pearls for the hem of your kirtle. The blue samite suits you so well. Rosamunde speaks rightly when she says all will be perfect.”

  Madeline bit her tongue lest she comment that the appearance of her wedding day was not uppermost in her concerns. It was her intent, after all, to let Rhys believe her amenable to this folly.

  “Then I am reassured,” she said stiffly. She took a sip of her ale lest she say more.

  “You, the quiet one,” Vivienne murmured, then shook her head. “I should tell Alexander of that jest.”

  “Perhaps it is concern with wedding a stranger that has stolen the lady’s tongue,” Rhys suggested.

  Madeline felt her color rise that her fear had been so clearly identified, no less that it had been so named by the one who should have known her least of all.

  “No less a stranger of such dark repute,” Rhys amended and Madeline knew she flushed crimson.

  Vivienne’s eyes widened. “Is there truly a price upon your head?” she asked with an admiration that was certainly undeserved.

  Rhys only nodded.

  “Of course, you are unjustly condemned,” Vivienne said with conviction. “And the king will pardon you and beg your forgiveness and it will be as romantic as an old tale. Rosamunde knows you, after all!”

  That Rosamunde knew all manners o
f scoundrels and rogues made this endorsement less compelling than Madeline would have preferred.

  Vivienne chattered on, much enamored of the tale she wove. “Perhaps Madeline will even have to ride to the king’s court to beg his clemency.”

  Elizabeth shivered in delight. “Would that not be a marvel?”

  Rhys seemed to be fighting that smile again.

  “It might be folly.” Madeline could not keep silent any longer.

  Vivienne frowned. “How so?”

  “Perhaps the king has named the crime rightly.”

  “Perhaps he has,” Rhys agreed so easily that the matter could not particularly concern him.

  “Then it would scarcely be sensible to not feel some trepidation in wedding such a man,” Madeline said more sharply than she had intended, then struggled to compose herself. “Might we discuss some other matter? The rain, perhaps?”

  “It rains, as always it does in spring,” Vivienne said dismissively, then leaned toward Rhys again. “Are you guilty of treason, sir?”

  “Vivienne!”

  “Surely you desire to know the truth of it?” Vivienne asked with scorn that one sister reserves solely for another. “You are to wed the man, after all.”

  Madeline bit her tongue so that she did not insult her spouse. She felt him watching her and feigned a fascination with her napkin. His gaze was so intent that she feared he had guessed her plan to flee.

  “Perhaps the lady is unconvinced that I will surrender the truth,” Rhys said with care. “To tell a falsehood would be a much lesser crime than treason, after all.”

  Vivienne looked much impressed by this reasoning, though Madeline fought to hide her surprise. How could this stranger guess her thoughts so readily, when her entire family seemed unable to comprehend her?

  “A traitor in our very ranks,” Vivienne said, again showing unnecessary awe. “But why was the charge made against you? Do you mean to unseat the king? Will you be captured in the night and dragged to the gallows?”

  Rhys’ eyes narrowed slightly. “You need not fear for your sister’s safety in my company. As for the accusations against me, I have found that a dangerous repute keeps wolves from one’s door.”

  “How reassuring,” Madeline said, and took a quaff of ale. Vivienne turned to answer some query from Alexander and Madeline bristled beneath the full weight of Rhys’ attention.

  “Are you fearful?” Rhys asked so quietly that none could hear him save Madeline herself. She was irked that he should be the one to show her compassion and found anger claiming her tongue, despite her intent to be demure.

  “What of it? A man who buys a bride at auction cannot be concerned with that lady’s fears.” She turned to glare at him and was surprised to catch his smile. She stared, for the expression transformed him, making him look younger and more handsome.

  “Finally, the lady deigns to speak her thoughts,” he mused, that smile lighting the darkness of his eyes. He lifted his cup as if in tribute to her. He sipped of his wine, his gaze unswerving from her own.

  Madeline stared at him, for she had always been rebuked for speaking her thoughts clearly. “And what is that to mean?”

  Rhys, though, did not appear to mind. “That I would have expected to be singed by the fire of your anger afore this.”

  Madeline forced herself to recall that she meant to win his trust. She summoned a smile with an effort.

  “There, you disguise your thoughts again,” he said softly.

  Madeline straightened. “Perhaps I am more pleased at the prospect of finally being wedded than fearful.”

  “To a traitor? Your family must be a deceitful lot indeed.” Rhys’ smile still curved his lips and took the sting from his words. Madeline had the sense that he provoked her, and she was provoked, but newly determined to hide her thoughts.

  “Oh a man’s repute is not the same as his truth,” she said so sweetly that her teeth fairly ached. “Doubtless your deeds have been misunderstood or misrepresented by your foes.”

  Rhys leaned on the board, bending toward her so that he was dangerously close. Madeline could smell his very flesh, but worse, she could see the twinkle in his eyes. “You grant me much credit, my lady, considering that I have done little to earn such devotion.”

  Madeline touched his hand, more fleetingly than she had intended. “You have bought a bride, sir, and there is nothing I can do but be happy about that fact.”

  He claimed her hand when she would have pulled it away and she quivered at the heat of his flesh pressed against her own. “Is there not?” he asked softly, so softly that Madeline guessed that he knew she lied.

  She smiled with gritted teeth, fairly writhing beneath his steady perusal. “I am certain we shall be happy indeed.”

  “As am I,” he murmured. “Though I had no expectation that our thoughts would be as one so very soon. Let us celebrate our agreement with vigor, then.”

  There was a dangerous glint in his eye that warned Madeline. Before she could respond, he had caught her nape in his hand with gentle resolve and his mouth had closed determinedly over hers once again. The company hooted with delight and began to pound their cups upon the board.

  Madeline had the sense that Rhys tried to provoke her again, to prod her into showing some response to him. She was tempted to push him away, to slap him before the entire company in retaliation for his boldness.

  He deserved no less and doubtless he knew it. Even Vivienne gasped in awe beside them.

  Madeline just barely recalled her plan to allay his suspicions. She sighed, as if well content, and let her hands land upon his shoulders. It was not so difficult to do.

  Rhys needed no more encouragement than that. He deepened his kiss, pulling her closer with the ease of one more accustomed to sharing such bold embraces than she. He was gentle, though, for all the surprise of his amorous assault.

  And then it was too late to retreat. This kiss was different from his first salute. It was no less thrilling, and awakened no less heat in her belly. But this kiss was possessive and demanding. It called for her, not to surrender, but to join him in the pursuit of pleasure. Her very blood quickened and her lips parted. She heard herself gasp as his tongue darted between her lips, teasing and tasting her.

  And she wanted more.

  In the midst of Rhys’ kiss, Madeline realized a shocking truth. James had kissed her, to be sure, but never had he claimed her mouth with such possessive ardor. Never had he slipped his tongue between her lips, never had he locked his hands around her waist and pulled her so close that her breasts were crushed against his chest.

  Never had she liked his kiss so much as she liked this one from Rhys. And never had her pulse raced so madly in the circle of James’ embrace. It was not so difficult to pretend to enjoy Rhys’ caress, for every fiber of Madeline responded to his sure touch.

  She pulled away with an effort, aware that she was only able to do so because Rhys released her. She flushed furiously when the company burst into applause and took a long draught of her ale to hide her discomfiture.

  It was solely the fact that this would be the last kiss Rhys ever granted her that had persuaded her to make the most of it. That was the truth of it, Madeline assured herself. It was solely that Alexander squirmed to see her handled like a whore before her nuptials and she yearned to pay her brother back for his scheme.

  Despite her ready explanation, Madeline felt flustered as she never had before. Her own body called her a liar. She was no less aware of the way Rhys watched her.

  Satisfaction gleamed in his eyes. Madeline caught her breath and squared her shoulders as the company hollered for more. She certainly felt no yearning to kiss Rhys FitzHenry again. That would not have been sensible.

  Even though her pulse yet raced and her very blood simmered.

  Rhys smiled wickedly, seemingly aware of his effect upon her. His warm fingertip sliding across her cheek as he tucked a tendril of hair behind her ear. “That is more like the wife I expect to meet,” he
murmured.

  Madeline glanced his way, not entirely understanding him. “The wife or the whore?”

  “You are not so meek as to accept this fate as you would have me believe,” he said, his gaze shrewd. “You are too passionate to readily accept such indignity as you have endured this day. Do not lie to me, my lady, and our match will fare well. All I ask of you is loyalty.”

  “All?”

  “And sons, of course.”

  Madeline could not look away from the intensity of his gaze. She was half-persuaded that he tried to compel a confession from her lips of her scheme to escape. His eyes were bright, his manner sure.

  But he could not know. He could not have read her thoughts.

  Madeline granted him a smile. “There is no merit in anger, my lord, when one cannot change one’s fate. I am simply accepting of what will be mine, as a woman should be.”

  Rhys snorted. “You know as well as I do that one can always change one’s fate.”

  “But not necessarily to a better end.” Madeline saw that she had his attention. “You should know the root of my argument with my brother. I refused to wed any man, because my heart is no longer mine to grant.”

  Rhys stilled then, though he did not look away.

  “My betrothed died.”

  To Madeline’s surprise, that compassion again shone in Rhys’ eyes. “I am sorry, my lady.”

  Madeline smiled ruefully. “I thank you for the sentiment, though you cannot be so sorry as I am,” she said, forcing herself to sound demure. “James is gone, though my heart is his forever. I would have chosen not to wed, rather than offer less than my all to a spouse.” She sighed. “My brother, though, saw matters otherwise.”

  “It could be argued that he is concerned for your future.”

  “It could be argued that if he will be rid of me by such means as an auction, then he cannot be trusted either to leave me be, or to find me a spouse by any more fitting manner.”