Struggling to manage his ailing father, a maverick younger brother, and an unwieldy earldom, Rushbourne’s reunion with the fiery Athene is a welcome distraction. Then he uncovers a conspiracy against him that could lead to his total ruin.
His only hope is to win Athene’s heart…but can he pay the price and accept her bitter revenge?
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The Wayward in Wessex Series
Distracting the Duke
Determined to avoid the strife-filled marriage of his parents, Marcus, the Duke of Ulvercombe, wants an amenable, biddable wife, and has set his cap for a certain pretty miss. Unfortunately, her vastly opinionated, frustrating, and lamentably beautiful guardian, Lady Clara Tinniswood, keeps distracting him, tempting him to consider a far more tempestuous—and passionate—union.
Recently widowed Lady Clara Tinniswood wants only to organize a quiet new life for herself, beyond the control of any man. But one shockingly unguarded moment while confronted by Marcus’s gloriously naked body catapults her headlong into a forbidden passion and threatens to undermine all her well-laid plans.
Even if Marcus abandons his sweet ideal and surrenders to his growing desire for Clara, there's still one thing that could destroy their hopes forever...
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Unmasking the Earl
Devastated by the disappearance of his sister, the Earl of Stranraer has gone to extraordinary lengths to find the notorious rake responsible, and enters his household incognito to wreak his vengeance. But his enemy has an unexpected protector—the innocent but headstrong Miss Cassandra Blythe.
Cassie is determined to learn the art of seduction. But she is blindsided by her body's thrilling response to the wrong man—a mysterious servant who shows up at the most inauspicious moments to spoil her lessons in love with warnings of her imminent ruin. When she learns the handsome servant's identity and the reason for his deception, she resolves to help Stranraer, but only if he abandons his vow to destroy his enemy.
The earl is sorely tempted give the meddlesome beauty a lesson in seduction she’ll never forget. But she turns the tables, and he gets his own lesson in forgiveness…and love.
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Vanquishing the Viscount
Emma Hibbert will never again trust a good-looking man. They offer nothing but heartbreak and humiliation. But her conscience won't let her abandon a sinfully handsome stranger needing help—even if he ignites an unwelcome passion in her. She soon realizes she should have left him in the mud where she found him, for he has the power to ruin everything...
Viscount Tidworth is anything but grateful for being rescued after a tumble from his horse. His pretty saviour may be well-meaning, but forcing him to delay his journey completely wrecks his engagement plans. And Tidworth cannot let that stand. But when he discovers Emma's true identity, he must choose between his desire for revenge...and his baffling attraction to her.
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The Wanton in Wessex Series
A Perilous Passion
Miss Charlotte Allston's curious nature has always led her to trouble. This time, she's tangled in a web of traitors and spies and quite literally swept off her feet by a handsome stranger. But all is not what it seems with the Earl of Beckport.
The earl is living incognito, hunting a band of smugglers at the centre of a plot for the French to invade England. The enigmatic Miss Allston becomes a person of interest...and not just in the smuggling case. Passion flares swift and hot between the two. But when her attempts to help with his secret mission only endanger it, he must question where her loyalty truly lies.
When Charlotte is captured by the very traitor he's after, the earl must decide between redemption...and love.
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A Potion for Passion
When Miss Flora Hartington bumps into a handsome traveling apothecary, she sees her chance at adventure, a brief escape from the shackles of propriety, and she jumps at the opportunity. It doesn’t hurt that he’s incredibly attractive, and kind in his own way. But it’s a temporary solution to her very big problem––namely her family trying to control her entire future.
Kidnapped by traveling folk as a child, Lawrence Campion yearns to be a real doctor, which means earning passage to America. The last thing he needs is to be saddled with the beautiful and feisty Flora. However, he’ll do whatever it takes to protect her, and then be off to fulfil his dreams. But Lawrence has a past that is quickly catching up with him. And he carries a secret that could destroy both their plans.
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One Knight’s Kiss
A Medieval Romance Novella
by
Catherine Kean
Copyright Details
Published by Catherine Kean
P.O. Box 917624
Longwood, FL 32791-7624
Copyright © 2016 by Catherine Kean
Cover design by Dar Albert, Wicked Smart Designs
Cover photo copyright © Period Images
This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved. With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the author.
Chapter One
The town of Wylebury, Hertfordshire, England
December 22, 1209
“Is that a book?” Standing at a merchant’s table laden with fragranced soaps, Lady Honoria Whitford leaned sideways to better see what appeared to be a leather-bound tome lying on a blanket spread on the ground just a few paces away. Market shoppers moved past with their baskets full of goods and blocked her view of the peddler and his wares.
Honoria set down the soap she held. Her pulse fluttered with excitement, for her collection of books was her greatest treasure. She’d frequented the shops at Wylebury since she was a girl, and ’twas rare to find a tome for sale. She must be quick, or someone else would buy it before she could.
Pushing back the hood of her woolen cloak, she tried to locate her older brother, Radley. He’d escorted her and a ward of their late father’s who lived at Ellingstow Keep, sixteen-year-old Lady Cornelia de Bretagne, to the town for the last market day before Christmas. They’d wanted to purchase gifts, to be given on Christmas Day, as had become the custom at the castle. Merchants had all kinds of lovely items for sale, including exotic spices to flavor holiday dishes, painted figurines, table linens, and beribboned bunches of mistletoe. The scent of freshly-baked mince pies wafted from the baker’s shop.
Radley had arranged to meet up with a nobleman named Tristan de Champagne, whom he’d befriended years ago when they were both squires at the same castle in Lincolnshire. They’d trained together to achieve knighthood. While Honoria had never met Tristan before, he’d be spending the holidays with them at Ellingstow.
Rising up on tiptoes, Honoria searched the throng for her brother. Some parts of the market square were obscured by smoke from fires where folk had gathered to warm themselves on the clear, wintry day. Radley had told her and Cornelia that for their safety, they should stay together at all times. One of the armed guards who had accompanied them on the day’s journey was near Cornelia, though; she was stacking soaps into a pile and wouldn’t want to leave her shopping to go
with Honoria to see the peddler’s offerings.
If Honoria was quick, she could buy the book and be back before Cornelia even noticed she’d gone.
Honoria motioned for another Ellingstow guard, who was holding purchases handed to him earlier, to follow her, and went to the peddler sitting on the ground with his hodgepodge of wares. The man, his hair unkempt, his garments torn and stained, scrambled to his feet and bowed to her.
Her sire would have handed this poor soul a few coins to at least get some fare, especially at this time of year, when ’twas important to think of those who were less fortunate.
Oh, Father. How very much I miss you.
Forcing aside her anguish, Honoria reached past the earthenware candle holders, bent hairpins, and assorted wooden toys and picked up the book.
The plain, brown leather cover wasn’t at all remarkable. When she opened the tome, though, the piquant scent of parchment wafted to her: a smell that signified fascinating discoveries, grand adventures, and limitless knowledge. Joy tingled through her as she carefully turned the pages and glanced over the drawings and notes. The book contained the personal writings of a noblewoman who had managed a keep while her lord husband was away on Crusade with King Richard the Lionheart.
Feeling the weight of the peddler’s stare, Honoria asked, “How much for this book?”
“’Tis not fer ye, milady.”
“’Tis for sale, is it not?”
“Aye, but—”
“I have money. More than enough, I vow.”
The peddler’s grubby fingers twitched, as though he was counting out coins. Then he scowled and held his hand out for the book. “As I said, ’tis not fer ye.”
Honoria simply had to have it; ’twould be the perfect addition to the small collection her sire had given her before he’d died. Also, she was eager to know more about the lady who had taken such care to document her life’s accomplishments. One day, Honoria hoped to marry, and then she would be responsible for running her husband’s fortress when he was away visiting other lords, inspecting his estate, or attending meetings in the great city of London; she could learn a great deal from another lady’s experiences. “Please,” she insisted. “Kindly tell me the price.”
“Fine. Thirty pieces o’ silver.”
“Thirty pieces?”
“Robbery,” a man said from behind her. “Unless that book is penned in gold.”
Startled, she glanced over her shoulder. A broad-shouldered man with dark-brown hair that brushed his shoulders stood a few paces away. He was very handsome; as beautiful, she was sure, as the heroic knights in the book of romantic tales she’d inherited from her sire. The stranger was obviously a nobleman, for his black cloak was of fine quality. A sheathed sword rested at his left hip. As his steady, brown-eyed gaze held hers, a shiver trailed through her. Fighting an odd feeling of breathlessness, she focused again on the peddler.
“The book is special.” He held out his dirty hand again.
“What is so special about it?” The nobleman’s voice was deeper than Radley’s, and had a slight rasp that made Honoria think of a dagger grazing a whetstone. Yet, ’twas the deliberateness of his words that made her uneasy.
Had he recognized what a prize the book was? Did he want to buy it, too? Well, she wouldn’t let him; she’d seen it first.
Still holding the tome, she glanced about for her brother again, in case she needed his help. Relief washed through her when she saw him talking with her guard. She would have heard Radley’s voice earlier, but his conversation was being drowned out by men haggling with a wine seller.
“The book, milady,” the peddler insisted. “I will not change me price.”
The nobleman moved closer. “May I see it?”
Part of her immediately protested. Yet, the tome didn’t belong to her. Not yet, anyway.
She handed it to him. He opened it, the binding creaking slightly, and flipped through the pages. As he angled the book to better see a drawing, she saw that the cover had been damaged at some point and repaired; the leather buckled slightly along the back edge.
That didn’t matter to her, though. The damage was part of the provenance of the tome.
The nobleman shut the book. “While I am no expert on tomes, I see no reason for the extortionate price.”
Sweat beaded on the peddler’s brow. “I ’ave a livin’ ta make.”
“As do all merchants in this market. Overpricing of goods, however, is a crime. Shall I find the sheriff and tell him the price you asked of the lady? This tome cannot be worth more than a few pieces of silver.”
The peddler’s gaze darted away. Honoria followed the direction of his glance to see another man had stopped to watch what was going on. A puckered scar slashed down the onlooker’s face. Catching Honoria’s gaze, the man nodded in greeting and then stooped to pick up a candleholder.
“Please,” the peddler whined, “I do not want trouble.”
Honoria reached for the coin purse she wore on a long cord around her neck. “I will give you five pieces of silver for the book,”—she tipped money into her palm—“and five more, so you can buy food and clothes.”
“’Tis a generous offer,” the nobleman said firmly. “I suggest you take it.”
The peddler hesitated, what looked like fear in his eyes, but then snatched the money.
Smiling, Honoria tucked the tome under her arm. The book was hers.
***
The lady was clearly thrilled with her purchase. Happiness sparkled in her hazelnut-brown eyes.
A raw ache gripped Tristan, for Honoria’s winsome smile reminded him of his former intended’s. Lady Odelia Putnam had captivated him with her beauty, won his devotion, and then, three months ago, had crushed him as if their relationship had been a frivolous game—not the beginning of a lifetime together. While he hadn’t loved her with the all-consuming passion some couples experienced, he had cared for her, enough to ask her to be his wife, and her shocking betrayal had been akin to being stabbed through the heart.
Thankfully, his heart had been hardened by other experiences in his twenty years of life. Odelia had wounded him, but not destroyed him—and he’d vowed never to be that vulnerable ever again.
Aware Honoria was still smiling at him, he managed a smile back.
“Thank you, milord,” she said.
Tristan bowed; he might be bitter, but he’d always be chivalrous when in the presence of a noblewoman. “My pleasure, Lady Whitford.”
“How do you know my name?” Her eyes narrowed. “Are you Tristan?”
“I am indeed. Your brother pointed you out to me. When I heard your conversation, I felt obliged to step in.”
Setting his hand at her waist—a bold move, when they’d only just met, as her astonished expression conveyed—Tristan guided her away from the blanket. Working for the past four years as a bodyguard for a wealthy merchant in the town of Lincoln had taught him to rely on his instincts; they’d never failed him, and were warning him now to put distance between her and the peddler, as well as the man with the scar who was lingering nearby.
Tristan escorted her to the soap table, where Radley joined them. “I see you have met Tristan, Sis.”
“He was a lot of help moments ago.” Honoria gestured to the tome.
“Another book?” Radley groaned. “You already have four.”
“I plan to have many more,” she said with a cheeky grin. “A whole shelf of them.”
She was exquisite when she smiled. Dimples formed in her cheeks, and her creamy skin glowed…and Tristan damned well hated the interest stirring inside him. Once Christmas was over and he’d moved to London to become the personal guard of one of England’s leading goldsmiths, who was also close friends with King John, Tristan’s duties would keep him far too busy to fall in love again.
A pretty, blond-haired woman wearing a fur-trimmed cloak and holding a cloth bag turned away from the soap table. A faint scar blemished her cheekbone—an unusual injury for a young lady.
“A whole shelf?” she asked. “Of what?”
“Books,” Radley told her. “What else would Honoria want?”
The younger woman rolled her eyes. “I should have guessed.”
“Oh, cease your teasing, you two,” Honoria said with a chuckle.
The younger lady noticed Tristan. Her blue eyes lit with interest, and her gaze wandered rather brazenly down the front of his cloak. “Forgive me for being bold, but are you Tristan?”
“I am.” Before he could bow, she thrust out her hand. He couldn’t ignore it, not unless he wanted to risk causing offense.
Taking her slender fingers and raising them to his lips for a quick kiss, he asked, “And you are?”
“Cornelia de Bretagne.”
Tristan tried to pull his hand free, but she curled her fingers around his. She held on far longer than was necessary or appropriate, before, with a coy grin, she finally released him.
“Well,” Tristan said, “I am delighted to have finally met the ladies Radley has told me so much about.”
“What did he say?” Cornelia mock-frowned. “You must tell us.”
“After a few goblets of wine, I might,” Tristan agreed, eliciting an indignant cry from Radley. “Truth be told, I am very much looking forward to spending Christmas at Ellingstow.”
“We are thrilled you will be joining us.” Cornelia fluttered her lashes.
Honoria frowned, as if she were growing weary of the banter. “Are we finished shopping at the market? If so, I suggest we start our journey home.”
“A wise idea,” Radley agreed. “I do not like to think of Mother fretting. Yet, after what happened to Father, she will be worrying about us until we ride back through the castle gates.”
Tristan had heard of the brutal attack on Lord Lewis Whitford, and how Radley had inherited his sire’s estates at a far younger age than he’d ever expected. Radley was intelligent and capable, though, and Tristan had no doubt he was managing his duties well.
Movement drew Tristan’s attention to the stall next to the soap table. The man with the scarred face was browsing the goods. He was close enough to hear what they were saying, if he wanted to eavesdrop.
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