Five Unforgettable Knights (5 Medieval Romance Novels)

by Tanya Anne Crosby

  The abbess looked then at Madeline. “But earthly temptation and its satisfactions are fleeting, and I can be as vigilant in defending those beneath my care as any man. Choose the veil and I will defend you even from my own nephew.”

  “And all this you would do for the reward of the smallest relic from Ravensmuir’s hoard,” Rhys added quietly. His eyes were narrowed, his usual skeptical manner restored, though still he did not release Madeline’s hand.

  The abbess’ eyes flashed. “Do not place a price upon good will!”

  “Not even when it has one?”

  The abbess’ nostrils flared and Madeline spoke with care. “You would not be the first to offer some favor in exchange for a relic from Ravensmuir’s hoard. Perhaps you should know that access to its treasures is not mine to grant.”

  The abbess scoffed. “Surely you could persuade your uncle to make a donation for the good of his immortal soul?”

  “And the sustenance of you in this abbey in this life,” Rhys amended wryly.

  “Whatsoever my uncle does with his inheritance is his choice, not mine.”

  “Well spoken, my lady.”

  The abbess flushed as she lost her temper. “You are impertinent, Rhys, as always you have been! I bid you begone from this abbey!”

  “I will begone on the morrow,” he said calmly. “After my bride and I exchange our vows and consummate our match.”

  “Not within the walls of this abbey!”

  “You have a priest and a chapel, which suits me well.”

  The abbess shook a finger at her nephew. “You are a rogue and a man who finds trouble whether he seeks it or nay. You will lead this woman to woe, I know the truth of it.”

  Rhys shook his head, untroubled by his aunt’s condemnation. “And you forget, Aunt, that I know you save your harshest words for those who defy your will.” He granted Madeline a piercing glance. “Prepare yourself for an onslaught of cruel words, my lady, afore you decline her offer.”

  “No woman of sense would deny me!” The abbess flung out her hand. “What have you to offer a bride, Rhys? A life at the side of a man with no abode, a man hunted by the king himself?”

  “Caerwyn,” Rhys said softly, his grip on Madeline’s hand tightening anew. He uttered the word with all the reverence of a benediction. “My bride will be the Lady of Caerwyn, as I am its lord.”

  “Caerwyn!” the abbess retorted. “You may dream all you choose, but you do not hold that fortress as your own!”

  Rhys might have been wrought of stone. He spoke with quiet vigor, though his eyes snapped with fire. “Aye, I do. And thus I have need of a bride, and thus I have chosen one.”

  “You do not have to accept this,” the abbess said angrily to Madeline. “You do not have to believe this fanciful tale. Choose, child! Choose sin or the veil.”

  But Rhys’ words gave Madeline an inkling of how he could have been named a traitor by England’s land-hungry king. “Is this holding yours in truth?” she asked.

  Rhys nodded. “By Welsh law and custom, it comes fully to my hands upon our nuptials.”

  The abbess frowned, her manner becoming intent. “But...”

  Madeline interrupted her firmly, not trusting whatsoever the older woman might say. She understood the choice before her, and understood that it truly was not a choice. It was not within her to retire from the mortal world and become a bride of Christ. She could not return to Kinfairlie, given that she had been alone with Kerr and Rhys this day. Rumor would destroy her reputation. And she could not wed the man she had chosen herself.

  Rhys had paid the price for her hand and proven his intent to defend her. He had a home and a title. She would judge him by his deeds, not his shadowed repute.

  “I will make an agreement with you, Rhys.”

  He inclined his head to hers. “Name it.”

  “You say you have need only of sons.” Madeline was well aware of the abbess’ gaze flicking between them. “There must be more between us than that. I offer you my loyalty in exchange for your honesty. Whatsoever occurs, Rhys, I will never betray your trust. I ask only that you keep no secrets from me.”

  “And sons?”

  Madeline nodded, her mouth dry. “As many as God has the grace to grant to us.”

  Rhys’ smile flashed with such sudden brilliance that Madeline blinked. “There is a wager no man could refuse.” Before she could speak, he cupped the back of her head in his hand and bent to kiss her so thoroughly that she was left dizzy.

  His kiss teased and tempted, it cajoled her to join him. Madeline closed her eyes and surrendered to his touch, wondering whether his passion was wrought of relief or a desire to reassure her about their wedding night.

  In truth, she did not care.

  When he finally lifted his head, the abbess made a sound of disgust. Madeline could not look away from Rhys, though, nor could she seem to draw a full breath. His eyes glimmered with satisfaction and humor, and that smile lifted the corner of his firm lips.

  “Call your priest, Aunt,” Rhys said with purpose.

  “This will not be done in my abbey!”

  “Aye, it will.” Rhys granted the abbess a grim glance. “There will be no questions, Aunt, and no suspicions. Our marriage with be consummated this very night, with your blessing, and you will witness the mark upon the linens.”

  He was so determined that Madeline wondered. Why was it of such import to Rhys that their match have no chance of being annulled?

  Something had changed, Miriam knew it well. She had seen enough of the world before retiring to this convent to know that men like her nephew did not suddenly rechart their course. A mere fortnight past, Rhys had had no intent of wedding. It made no sense that he now professed such a vigorous desire for this bride.

  Even if he had bought her hand at that auction, Miriam could not understand why he had even offered a bid. To be sure, Madeline was a beauty, but Rhys was not the manner of man swayed by a pretty smile — and he had not known the woman long enough to be certain of her character.

  And Caerwyn! If Rhys had secured his claim to Caerwyn a fortnight past, he would have crowed his triumph from the rooftops. She knew how much he desired that holding, knew how often his attempt to secure it had been foiled.

  What could have changed in his days here, near Scotland’s borders? What had he sought here?

  And what had he found?

  The puzzle missed a piece. Miriam liked to understand how matters fit together, why people made the choices that they did. She told herself that she had need of this knowledge to better guide her charges, but the truth was that the only element of the mortal world that she missed was gossip.

  She watched the sun set, tapping her fingertips upon the window sill. The wedding ceremony had been unremarkable, as barren an exchange of pledges as she could have offered to this pair. It had dissuaded neither of them from their course, but then, Miriam had not expected it to do so.

  They were stubborn, both of them. She shook her head, recalling this Madeline’s outspoken manner. She would have made a poor nun, at any rate. Perhaps she and Rhys deserved each other.

  Had Rhys fallen in love, as abruptly as some fool in a troubador’s tale? Knowing him as the stern warrior he was, Miriam could not imagine as much.

  She drummed her fingers again, knowing she missed some detail that might grant her a clue. Thomas undoubtedly knew more than he had confessed to her, but that wily monk was cursedly difficult to interrogate. He would tease her with his more fulsome knowledge but surrender no crumb of information in the end.

  Miriam’s fingers halted suddenly. Why had Rhys been here a fortnight past? She had offered him sanctuary in the hope of gaining news, but he had had a mission of some kind, and he had been characteristically close with the details.

  He and Thomas were of a kind, that was for certain.

  But Miriam’s sister would either know or she could be prompted unearth the truth. They did not have a strong bond beyond blood, Rhys’ mother and Miriam,
for there were too many years between them, but they shared a taste for knowing other people’s concerns. Adele would pry the truth from Rhys, one way or the other, if she did not know it already.

  Miriam smiled, anticipating that her sister probably did not know that her son was a wedded man—how could she?—and that Miriam could be the one to offer this delicious tidbit of news to her sibling. It could not hurt to put Adele in her debt in terms of information shared.

  Miriam chose a relatively unused sheet of vellum, dipped her quill and began to write a missive to her sister. A runner could leave with the dawn and soon, soon she would know the truth.

  Whatever store of charm Rhys might have possessed had obviously been exhausted during that interview in his aunt’s presence. The exchange of their nuptial vows had been cursory, at best, the priest distracted, and Rhys feared that Madeline might be sorely disappointed in the ritual they had been granted.

  Afterward, Rhys stood in the chamber he and Madeline had been allotted, astounded that she truly had pledged to be his wife, and was completely uncertain how to proceed.

  He knew what had to happen, of course, and he knew how to do the deed itself, but he had never met a virgin abed. To be sure, he had never coupled with a woman when there was so much at stake.

  Madeline could still spurn him. She could refuse his affections or dislike his touch. She could be fearful or cold. She could find him rough and unsavory, ill-mannered or coarse. This amorous encounter could proceed very badly.

  That Rhys was so anxious that all go well did little to ease his trepidation. How much did Madeline know of such matters? What had she been told? He watched Madeline light the candles and found her composed manner difficult to interpret. He thought that she carried the flame from candle to the next with unnecessary care, and wondered whether she too was uncertain.

  She lit every candle in the chamber, then extinguished the piece of kindling she had used to light them with the same thoroughness. She blew out the flame, dipped the kindling in a pail of water, then plunged it into sand. She looked about the chamber, as if seeking some other duty to perform, but it was sparsely furnished.

  Madeline turned to face Rhys only then, only when she had no choice. She clasped her hands together before herself, but not so quickly that Rhys did not see them tremble. She seemed to take a deep breath before she offered him a thin smile.

  And then Rhys knew what he must do.

  He a deliberate glance over the contents of the white-washed chamber, hoping his manner was that of a man utterly at ease. There was but a narrow pallet on the floor, the candles and a wooden carving of Christ in agony hanging upon the wall. The artist had shown a particular interest in the more grisly details, and Rhys did not doubt that his aunt had deliberately chosen this room for them with the crucifix in mind.

  He would not be deterred by so obvious a ploy.

  He shook his head, as if bemused. “I never imagined that I would be wed in an abbey.”

  Madeline laughed, her merriment of short duration. “Nor I,” she said, her eyes widening as she stared at him. She swallowed visibly and began to twist the plain silver ring he had so recently moved from his finger to her own. It was as if its newfound weight plagued her, as if its burden upon her finger only now reminded her of what she had sworn to do.

  Rhys felt protective of his new wife then, and doubly determined to ensure that this night was one of pleasure for her. He crossed the chamber and stood before the crucifix. “Truth be told, I would feel less like a man sinning in church if we had no audience.” He glanced at Madeline for approval. “It but hangs on a nail, my lady, and can be laid upon the sill for a while, if you share my thought.”

  Madeline nodded hastily. “I would prefer that.” She crossed herself as Rhys lifted the sculpture from the wall and seemed to heave a sigh of relief when it was laid aside. “Rhys, I know that you have the right to do whatsoever you will this night, but...”

  He crossed the floor, watching how her breath hastened as he drew near, and laid a finger across her lips to silence her. “My right is of less import on this night than my duty.”

  She regarded him quizzically. “I do not understand.”

  “A man has many duties to his bride, the most important of which is not writ in the law of any land.”

  “What duty is this?”

  Rhys lifted the end of her braid in his hand and concentrated fully upon loosening the knot in the tie that held it bound. “I owe you pleasure abed on this night of nights. We will have no other nuptial night together, so memories must be wrought of this one.” He met her gaze. “I would have them be fond memories.”

  “As would I.”

  He worked his fingers through the dark silk of her hair, delighted that it curled around his fingers like the tendrils of a possessive vine. He spread it across her shoulders with care and she did not seem to breathe. He kept his voice low and even, for he knew she had need of reassurance. “What do you know of this deed, my lady? I would not surprise you.”

  “Little enough,” she admitted with a shrug. “Save the lewd tales one hears in the kitchens. And I have seen horses, of course.”

  He eased the last of the braid from the hair at her nape, then pressed a kiss to the soft flesh beneath her ear. She caught her breath, but did not move away. Rhys ran a fingertip down her throat in a gentle caress, then turned his attention to the laces on the sides of her kirtle.

  “I heard it oft hurts the first time,” Madeline said suddenly.

  Rhys nodded. “I have heard the same.” He unfastened the lace and drew it from the eyelets, pondering his course. He could not pledge to halt if she was hurt, not on this night. “We shall have to endeavor to ensure otherwise,” he said, then removed the second lace as he had the first. Her kirtle hung open on the sides now, and he slipped his hands beneath it, lifting it over her head and casting it aside.

  The rough garment, even though somewhat fitted, had not begun to do her justice. He could discern her curves beneath the sheer linen chemise and her beauty left him speechless. She was tall, his lady wife, and wrought with slender strength. Her breasts were full, her nipples dark through the linen and pertly erect.

  “You are beautiful,” he whispered, hearing the awe in his voice. He cupped one of her breasts in his hand, the linen an irksome barrier to her flesh. He loosed the tie at the neck of the garment, then eased the linen aside. She wore some token around her neck, trapped as it was in a velvet sack, and he did not risk removing it. Who knew what it might be?

  Instead, he slipped his hand beneath it and could not believe her softness. “Softer than a rose petal,” he murmured, then bent and kissed her nipple.

  Madeline caught her breath. He proceeded with gentle determination until she sighed, until she softened, until she clutched at his hair.

  Rhys halted with an effort and leaned his brow upon her shoulder. “I would not hasten you. I would not remind you of Kerr,” he said thickly.

  “I doubt that you could,” she whispered.

  He looked and noted the stars glittering in her eyes.

  “You are so gentle, Rhys.” She smiled at him. “You ask, you do not demand, and it makes all the difference.”

  They shared a smile that heated his blood and he resolved to continue asking, to ask all the night long if she would let him do so. He bent and kissed her other nipple, liking well how she caught her breath again, as if surprised by the pleasure he granted. Madeline arched her back and moaned softly, that sound and the taut peak of her nipple telling Rhys that she was pleased.

  She whispered his name. He chose to take that as an invitation and trailed slow kisses up her throat. He encircled her ear with tiny kisses, taking a thousand years to reach her lips. She gasped and began to rub her breasts against him. He loved how she wound her fingers into his hair, how she made little sounds of pleasure. He slipped his thumb over the fluttering pulse in her throat and held her fast against him.

  When he finally captured her lips, she opened he
r mouth immediately to him. To his delight and astonishment, her tongue touched his, tentatively at first, then with increasing demand. Her fingers locked into his hair, she pulled him closer and Rhys was lost.

  His restraint was banished by her willing participation, by her sweet softness matched with passion. His intent to be cautious was vanquished and he drew her hard against his chest. Madeline met him touch for touch, her kisses as fervid as his own. He caught her buttocks in his hands and drew her heat against him, lifting her off her feet and letting her feel her effect upon him.

  Madeline broke her kiss suddenly and Rhys was ashamed to realize that he had been close to simply claiming her. She did not seem to be disgusted with him, though. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes sparkling, her breath came quickly. “I never knew that kissing could give such pleasure.”

  “You have seen but the half of it.” He set her upon her feet and took a deep breath.

  Madeline poked his boiled leather jerkin chest playfully. “And I have seen none of you, sir. Do you mean to meet me abed in your armor?”

  “Is that an invitation?”

  She lifted her chin with admirable spirit. “I am curious, Rhys, and we are wedded in truth. Surely you intend to sate my curiosity?” The proposition in her sapphire gaze was one that no man with blood in his veins could refuse.

  Rhys FitzHenry had blood in his veins.

  Chapter Eight

  Rhys undressed with unholy haste, holding Madeline’s gaze all the while. He hoped that she did not change her thinking on this matter. He unbuckled his belt and laid his sword upon the floor with care, then unlaced his jerkin and cast it aside.

  Madeline’s cheeks grew pinker with every item of clothing he discarded, though she did not look away. Indeed, she surveyed him with such curiosity that he dared to hope events might proceed well. Rhys shed his tall boots, pulled his shirt and then his chemise over his head, and paused only when he stood before his wife in no more than his chausses.