Table of Contents
EMBRACING THE KNIGHT
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Epilogue
EMBRACING THE KNIGHT
Touched By Fire, Book I
JENN LANGSTON
SOUL MATE PUBLISHING
New York
EMBRACING THE KNIGHT
Copyright©2016
JENN LANGSTON
Cover Design by Rae Monet, Inc.
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, business establishments, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
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Published in the United States of America by
Soul Mate Publishing
P.O. Box 24
Macedon, New York, 14502
ISBN: 978-1-68291-242-3
www.SoulMatePublishing.com
The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
BY JENN LANGSTON
THE PERFECT SERIES
His Perfect Bride
His Perfect Game
His Perfect Lady
TOUCHED BY FIRE SERIES
Empracing The Knight
ALSO BY JENN LANGSTON
Catching the Baron
Winning The Duke
Redeeming The Earl
To Claire,
reach for the stars,
and you will catch your dream.
I hope you enjoy reading
Embracing the Knight
(when you’re older, of course).
Then, one day,
you will embrace a knight of your own.
Prologue
“Bloody hell!” Ian Michael Caldwell spat blood onto the ground at his friend’s feet. “Punch me again, Marcus, and I’ll make you regret helping me in that fight at Eton.”
“Insult me again and that fight will seem tame compared to what I’ll do to you.” Marcus Hera glared at him.
Ian’s best friend, Gordon Ashford, groaned. “Will the both of you shut up before I knock you both out?”
Ian pinned his friends with a look he hoped rivaled that of his father’s withering stare, ignoring the swelling of his cheek. “There’s no way you two are going to drag me into another one of those bloody schemes.”
“Quit whining. This is going to be one of my greatest ideas,” Marcus Hera pressed as they mounted their horses.
Ian bit back a response at the excitement on Marcus’s face. His friend was famous for coming up with stupid plans, or ones that landed them in a lot of trouble. Considering they had returned home from Eton for their winter break just three days prior, Ian wasn’t up to experiencing either problem.
Besides, he’d promised his father now that he was fourteen, he would begin acting like a man, leaving his childish ways behind.
“This is just what we need,” Gordon agreed. “I’m growing bored. We’re men now, we need action in our lives.”
Rolling his eyes, Ian resisted the urge to move his horse close enough to punch his best friend, too. “Exactly, we’re men now. We have to start acting like it.”
“Give me some credit, Ian. My idea will be an excellent way to prove you’re a real man,” Marcus bragged. “I heard the Duke of Demoon died two days ago. They have his body laying out in his hunting cabin.”
Gordon laughed. “Of course they do. I wouldn’t want the body of the Devil laid out in my house, either.”
“Anyway,” Marcus continued. “You want to be a man, Ian? Then, prove you’re not scared of the devil and go touch him.”
As his stallion jerked to the side, Ian pressed his lips tight against his teeth. Definitely trouble. However, with smug looks from both of his friends, he couldn’t exactly get out of the challenge. He wasn’t scared and he’d prove it.
“You’re on! Let’s see who gets there first.” Ian turned his horse toward the neighboring property and set him to a run.
Wind whipped across his face as they charged ahead. The four-year-old stallion surged beneath him, a gift from his father earlier today. The horse tackled the open fields, clearly as pleased with the speed as Ian himself.
Glancing back at his two friends, he leaned forward and urged the stallion on. Sheer delight morphed his tense lips from a thin line to full-throated laughter. He would win this race.
Billowing black smoke darkened the sky in front of them, making him pull back. This wasn’t good. Ian shared a look with his friends, then he surged forward again. What if someone needed help?
As they neared the reason for the smoke, Ian gasped. The hunting cabin with the duke’s body was on fire—as if the flames were welcoming their new soul to Hell. The worried looks on the other two boy’s faces mirrored his own thoughts.
“What if the person sitting vigil is still inside?” Gordon’s voice shook.
“We can’t just leave them.” Marcus looked expectantly at Ian.
Narrowing his eyes, Ian set his jaw. “No. We can’t.”
They set their horses back at a run until Ian’s mount snorted and tossed his head.
“We can’t go any further on horseback.” Gordon’s voice carried across the wind. “The beasts can’t handle the fire.”
A loud neigh confirmed the statement as Marcus’s mount reared back on his hind legs.
“Bloody hell!” Marcus let out a nervous laugh once he managed to regain control of his horse. “Nearly ripped my arms off.”
“Might have done you some good to go through life as a cripple,” Ian grumbled as he thought about the reason they were in this predicament in the first place.
“You think so? Well, I think it’s you who needs that blow to his ego. Try getting a girl when you can’t grab her and make her stay.”
“Gentlemen,” Gordon called in a superior tone. “Quit your arguing. We need to settle the horses and get to that fire. There’s a perfect spot over there.”
Swallowing his retort to Marcus, Ian guided his stallion to the grove. Jumping down, he pulled the reigns forward and tossed them to Gordon. “Secure the horses, I’ll go check it out.”
“What about me? I’m not going to just stay here.” Marcus stuck his chin forward, determination flaring in his eyes.
“Come on.” Ian led the way to the cabin. The scent of the burning timber assaulted his senses. Flames licked the rafters and heat seared the moisture from his lungs. The closer he came to the structure the harder it was to breathe. “Try the door, and I’ll check the windows.”
Moving along the building, Ian winced at each pop and crackle of the fire. His heart pumped wildly, but they had a job to do. As he peered into the windows, he yelled into the cabin. No responses or signs of the inhabitants came back to him. Feeling relieved, he looked in the last window.
His stomach rolled at the image of the body displayed on the bed. However, there was someone beside him. A young man huddled next to the corpse.
“Hello!” Ian called, but didn’t get a response. Fire burned along the black fabric covered walls, making the place truly look like the home of the devil. There had to be a way to get to the boy.
“Did you find something?” Gordon’s voice was breathless as he ran up beside him.
Fear clutched Ian. “There’s a boy inside. We have to help him.”
“The door is locked, and I can’t kick it in.” Marcus threw back his shoulders and glared, threating them against any remarks on his strength.
Had the situation not been so serious, Ian would have laughed at Marcus for thinking he could bust down a door. Later, he promised himself as he glanced around.
Grabbing a large tree branch, he fought against the weight. “Help me break out the window.”
Before long, the satisfying sound of shattering glass reached his ears. Smoke poured out the open window, filling his lungs. Coughing, he bent down as tears filled his burning eyes.
Not wasting any time, Gordon punched at the glass with his gloved hand while Ian pulled off his riding coat and laid the garment over the jagged sill.
“I’m going in,” Ian said.
“Not alone.” Marcus puffed out his chest. “You might need help.”
“Together,” Gordon agreed.
With no time for an argument, Ian took a deep breath of fresh air, then moved over the window, wincing at the heat.
“Damn it! Stupid curtain is on fire!” Gordon brought his wrist up to his mouth.
Once they were all inside, Ian second-guessed his plan. The fire was much worse in here than it looked from outside the window. Too late now. Hurrying to the bed, Ian shook the boy but he didn’t move. Unlike the duke’s immovable form, the boy was still breathing.
“I think he’s all right. Let’s just get him outside.” Gordon waved his hand urging him to move faster.
“I’ve got him.” Marcus hefted the heavy load in his arms. “Now, let’s get out of here.”
Turning to the window, Ian froze. The jacket was now on fire, the hot flames covering the opening.
“What now?” The fumes were so strong, Ian put his hand over his mouth as they crouched to the floor. He bit down on his lip. They were all going to die now. He should have come in by himself. So much for being a real man.
“The door.” Gordon crept toward the opening to the main room.
Ian followed after Marcus who struggled with the burden of the boy. As Ian moved through the open doorway, flames and smoke burned his eyes and nose. Tears streamed down his face. He blinked to clear his eyes, assessing the situation.
The front room was much worse. Gordon scrambled around checking for an escape. They’d been lucky they hadn’t come in that way, the door was consumed in flames.
“We need to go back!” Gordon cried, moving past them. When Marcus turned, he shifted the boy, then followed Gordon. The sound of an ear-splitting crack overhead anchored Ian where he stood. A large beam fell from the ceiling toward his friends. Ian stared, transfixed, as the beam made its descent—almost as if it were being lowered gracefully—inch by inch.
With a scream, Ian leapt forward and pushed them out of the way. Searing pain exploded across his back, leaving him breathless. Tears streaked his cheeks, but he didn’t care.
“Help!” Marcus screamed, but Ian could do nothing.
Time froze as he lay there, helpless yet immersed in the agony of the moment. Flames danced up the walls licking at the wood like honey from a spoon. The simple act of turning his head to the side took an eternity, and he was awarded with a sight more excruciating than the melting of flesh from his back.
Marcus hadn’t made it free of the beam. His friend’s leg rested behind him at an odd angle, the beam pinning both his legs, as he suffered under the same burning timber as Ian.
The boy, too, had gone careening into the fire from the force of the fall. His left cheek was bright with burning embers, singeing the delicacy of youth from his face.
A sob tore from Ian’s throat. They would die here, now.
Somewhere from the distance, Gordon’s guttural scream echoed in the room as his friend struggled to free them. The burning beam lifted, then cracked breaking in half with a deafening boom and the two ends skidded from Ian’s back.
As the pressure released, self-preservation kicked in. He ignored the agony and crawled free of his burning prison. Even in his pain-filled fog, Ian knew none of them had escaped the beam unscathed. His cries blended with his friends’ moans and weeping.
Feeling himself fading, Ian allowed his face to touch the scorched floor. He couldn’t go on. With his burned back, Gordon’s blackened hands, the other boy’s scarred face, and Marcus’s broken leg, they were doomed. Acceptance settled on his shoulders as his pain drifted farther away.
“We have to get out of here,” the fourth boy roused from his stupor, anger darkening his mutilated face. “We can’t let the Devil win.”
Sleep beckoned, but the determination of the older boy spurred his resolve. Ian fought through his pain against oblivion’s welcoming release. They would find a way out. He would not let his friends die. Dragging himself up, he grabbed one of Marcus’s arms and the older boy grabbed the other arm.
Whatever it took to survive, they had to keep trying. But, he knew, the tortured sounds coming from the group would never leave his mind—whether they survived or perished.
As soon as they were back in the bedroom, he could breathe easier. Although worse than before, this room was tame compared to the front room.
“Give me your coat,” Ian ground through clenched teeth to the older boy.
Grabbing the burning coat from the window, he tossed it aside, then lay the larger one in its place. They could make it out through the flames. It would be painful, but they would live. As they lifted Marcus through, Ian sagged in relief when large hands took his friend from them.
“Dear God, there are children in here,” the man’s voice bellowed over the spit and roar of the fire. “Quick! Help me!”
Ian lay in the grass, gulping fresh air, and scanned his friend’s faces. They had done it. The older boy was safe and they were all alive.
Feeling the tug of unconsciousness, he closed his eyes and gave into the void.
Chapter 1
Claire Ashford focused on her reflection in the carriage window. Her neck ached and the pressure of her clenched teeth made her jaw burn, but she refused to move. She would not give him the satisfaction of her attention.
He was staring at her. She could feel it. Ian Michael Caldwell, Viscount Knightly, the bane of her existence. She silently cursed the unfortunate circumstances that left her alone in the carriage with him. This day trip to the country should have been a treat, and it would have been had he not been invited. And, she fully intended to let her friend, Camellia, have her thoughts on switching carriages at the last minute.
“Do you intend to stare out the window the entire trip? If so, this will prove to be a long journey.” Lord Knightly’s voice held mild amusement.
“I’m sorry I’m not entertaining enough for you, my lord,” she replied in her haughtiest tone.
> “You used to be.” He sighed, making her grit her teeth in annoyance. “I do miss those days.”
Breaking her vigil, she faced him. A huge mistake. His wind tousled black hair fell to his brow, and his green eyes sparkled in mischief. In all her nineteen years, she’d never seen a more handsome man.
“You can tell falsehoods all you want, but it won’t work. My memory is infallible. You and my brother couldn’t stand to have me tagging along and infringing upon your enjoyment. I was never any more than an irritation to you.”
Growing up with a father like hers hadn’t been easy. Her mother had passed away from consumption when her younger sister had been only two years old. That left her father with nothing to do other than hide the girls away in the nursery. He hadn’t known what to do with them. Her brother had saved her in so many ways.
“Your memory might not be as good as you—”
The carriage halted abruptly, nearly knocking her off her seat and sending Lord Knightly to his knees onto the floorboards. The door slammed open before he had the chance to find his footing. A scream lodged in her throat as a dirty man with a pistol stood before them.
“Out,” the man ordered.
The viscount held his hands up as he did what the man had ordered. “What do you want from us? We don’t want any trouble.”
The man didn’t respond as Lord Knightly exited the carriage. Claire sat frozen as he remained standing in the doorway. Her limbs wouldn’t move. What would become of them?
“The lady, too,” the rough voice demanded.
“Miss Ashford?” Lord Knightly’s voice was tight, but he didn’t turn.
Forcing herself up, she willed the tremble in her legs to still and navigated the steps out of the carriage. Twice, she almost tripped over her skirts, but eventually managed to get to the ground behind the viscount.
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