Table of Contents
Cover Page
Excerpt
Dear Reader
Title Page
Books by Tori Phillips
About the Author
Dedication
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Epilogue
Author Note
Copyright
A nameless desire consumed her.
Alicia’s pulse quickened in anticipation of Thomas’ next move. The very air in the chamber seemed to crackle like a fire leaping in the grate.
Without uttering a word, he gathered her into his arms. He clasped her body tightly against his. She inhaled sharply at the contact, intoxicated by his warm, manly scent. She felt her blood coursing through her veins like a flooding mountain brook in springtime. His broad shoulders heaved as if he had just run a footrace. His hard-muscled thigh brushed against her hip, sending a thousand sparks dancing up her leg. The touch of his hands on her spine, firm and persuasive, invited more intimacy. Abandoning her shyness, she wound her arms around his neck, and locked herself within his embrace.
“Alicia.” He murmured her name like a prayer. His warm breath fanned her face.
Her thoughts spun…
Dear Reader,
This month we’ve covered all the bases. You’ll laugh, you’ll cry, you’ll find romance. To begin, Tori Phillips is back with her third Cavendish knight—the one who’s often flanked by his three canines in the aptly titled Three Dog Knight. In this charming and clever tale, a shy earl and an illegitimate noblewoman forge a marriage of convenience based on trust, and later love, despite the machinations of an evil sister-in-law. It’s no wonder critics have described her books as “superb,” “SPLENDID!” and “delightfully mischievous.”
We are also delighted to feature Ruth Langan’s Blackthorne, her first medieval novel in nearly four years! Packed with intrigue and emotion, this is the story of a haunted widower, the lord of Blackthorne, whose child’s governess teaches him how to love again. And be sure to look for Apache Fire by longtime author Elizabeth Lane, about a Native American army scout on the run from vigilantes, who finds shelter in the arms of a beautiful young widow.
Rounding out the month is Lost Acres Bride by rising talent Lynna Banning. Here, a rugged, by-the-book rancher must contend with the female spitfire who inherits a piece of his land—and gets a piece of his heart! Don’t miss this fun and frolicking Western!
Whatever your tastes in reading, you’ll be sure to find a romantic journey back to the past between the covers of a Harlequin Historicals® novel.
Sincerely,
Tracy Farrell, Senior Editor
Please address questions and book requests to:
Harlequin Reader Service
U.S.: 3010 Walden Ave., P.O. Box 1325, Buffalo, NY 14269
Canadian: P.O. Box 609, Fort Erie, Ont. L2A 5X3
Three Dog Knight
Tori Phillips
Books by Tori Phillips
Harlequin Historicals
Fool’s Paradise #307
*Silent Knight #343
*Midsummer’s Knight #415
*Three Dog Knight #438
* The Cavendish Chronicles
TORI PHILLIPS
After receiving her degree in theater arts from the University of San Diego, Tori worked at MGM Studios, acted in numerous summer stock musicals and appeared in Paramount Pictures’ The Great Gatsby. Her plays, published by Dramatic Publishing Co., have been produced in the U.S. and Canada, and her poetry is included in several anthologies. She has directed over forty plays, including twenty-one Shakespeare productions. Currently, she is a first-person, Living History actress at the Folger Shakespearean Library in Washington, D.C. She lives with her husband in Burke, VA.
To my three nieces—Anni Peduzzi, Sarah and Louise Welling who all love cats
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I am deeply grateful to all my friends in the Richard III Society, especially Laura Blanchard, Carol Bessette, her husband, John (of the Loyal Opposition) and particularly to Judie Gall, who allowed me to purloin her excellent work, FERNE-AGO, a dictionary of medieval words and terms.
Chapter One
“And dog will have his day.”
—William Shakespeare
Hamlet, V, i
Wolf Hall, Northumberland, England
October 1487
“She’s a long-limbed lass,” observed Sir Giles Cavendish, Earl of Thornbury. “Looks like a spring colt”
The girl’s guardian, Sir Edward Brampton, forced his smile, though the earl’s assessment of his darling Alicia made him fearful for her future. Aloud, he replied, “Aye, and one fine day she will grow into a beauty. You have already noticed that she has inherited her father’s height. She also possesses the family’s legendary good looks.”
Indeed, Alicia was the spitting image of her royal sire, although she did not enjoy the protection of a legitimate birth. A cold shiver raced down Sir Edward’s spine at the mere thought of what would happen to his ward if Henry Tudor’s agents learned of her existence. Her first cousin, the poor half-witted Earl of Warwick, already languished in the Tower at the new king’s pleasure.
The earl shifted his gaze away from the golden-haired child who amused herself with a game of cat’s cradle at the far end of the hall. “Does the lass know of her parents?” he queried.
Sir Edward shook his head. “Nay, she thinks her family were yeomen farmers who died of the plague when she was a baby.” He gave a rueful smile. “She believes that my lady and I are the goldsmith of York and his wife. I thought it safest to keep the truth from her until she is of age—or married.” He allowed the last word to hang in the air between them.
Sir Giles sipped from his pewter tankard of ale. “Why have you chosen my family?” he asked. “Would it not be better for the girl to marry within her own class and be lost amid the bustle of York?”
Sir Edward furrowed his brow. “That is precisely the reason why I have come to you, my lord. She was born higher than any merchant of York. Though her father lifted skirts from France to the Scottish borders, he was also our late King Edward, God rest his soul.” He made a hasty sign of the cross.
Sir Giles followed suit. “Amen to that.” He stared at Sir Edward, while he drummed his fingers on the wide-planked tabletop. “You have told me an interesting tale, Lord Brampton. I especially like the part when King Richard called you to his tent before the battle of Bosworth, and gave his brother’s waif into your care.” He leaned forward in his chair. “But what proof do you have?”
Sir Edward drew in his breath. The next few minutes would decide Alicia’s fate. “Did you know King Edward well?” he asked, as he fumbled with the buckle of the worn leather pouch on his lap.
“Aye, as well as I knew my own wife of blessed memory.” The old earl chuckled. “My lady often swore that I preferred Edward’s company to her own. Bestrew me, but at times I did, for the woman tended to nag.” He sighed, then took another swallow of ale. “Now that she has gone to her heavenly reward, I miss her. But to your point, my lord.”
Sir Edward drew a blue velvet bag from the pouch. “Perchance you recognize this?” He cradled a jeweled br
ooch in his palm.
Sir Giles’s eyes widened when he beheld the splendid oval ruby nestled in a golden setting. A large teardrop pearl dangled from it. “Aye, ‘tis a gladsome sight to see it again. ‘Twas His Grace’s favorite bauble to deck his cap. He is wearing it in a portrait that I have hidden away.”
“A fitting dowry for his last child.” Sensing his goal within reach, Sir Edward lowered his voice. “King Richard gave me a bag of gold sovereigns to accompany the brooch. He did not wish Alicia to come to her husband as a pauper.”
The earl glared at him. “The jewel is enough, though the coin would make my tax burden lighter. May the Tudor and his minions rot in hell! They will squeeze the country dry with their damnable taxes. I can barely make ends meet. My tenants are already destitute.”
“I warrant you, ‘tis equally as hard on honest goldsmiths, my lord.” Sir Edward held up the brooch. The light from the hearth fire brought the ruby to life. “’Tis a match then? Your son for my fair Alicia, daughter of Edward IV?”
Sir Giles stroked his chin. “I have three boys.”
“Alicia needs only one of them for a husband.” Sir Edward glanced at the young girl on the bench. The pale rays of the sun shining through the high-arched window caught the red-gold of her hair, turning it into a blazing halo about her heart-shaped face. An angel, he thought with a surge of pride. Just like all the Plantagenets. Sweet Jesu, protect her from the Tudor upstart.
The earl cleared his throat. “My eldest, John, is near twenty. He has been married once already, but she died. When he takes his next wife, she must be descended from…legitimate parentage, as John will be the Earl of Thornbury after me.”
“Just so.” Sir Edward drank deeply of the ale in his tankard lest he be tempted to challenge the earl’s thinly veiled insult.
“William, my second son, is betrothed to one of Bedford’s quiverful of daughters. That boy is a wild one. Only sixteen, and already he’s gotten two of the village maids with child.”
By the tone of the earl’s voice, Sir Edward suspected the young rogue’s father was secretly proud of his son’s proven virility. He cleared his throat. “Alicia needs a strong arm and a loyal heart to protect her.” She should be loved and cherished, his heart cried out in silence, as I have loved and cherished her since she was in leading strings.
Thornbury sighed, and drained his tankard. “Then there is Thomas.” He chewed on his lower lip. “Just fourteen, but as big as the other two. Rides well. Best sword arm of the lot.”
“He sounds promising.” What was the problem? Sir Edward wondered. Was the boy poxed? With growing misgivings, he waited for the earl to continue.
Sir Giles refilled their tankards from the clay jug on the table between them. “The lad is…honest and true as the day is long. Methinks he does not know how to lie. He speaks his mind plain—that is, when he decides to speak at all.”
Sir Edward blinked. “Your pardon, my lord?”
The earl sank back against the cushions of his chair. “Methinks the boy was coddled by his mother too much. From childhood Thomas shunned the company of his brothers and my fosterlings. He grew even more reclusive after my wife died in childbirth. Now he spends most of the day out of doors, either at practice in the tilt yard, or hunting in the forest.”
Sir Edward found himself holding his breath. Alicia needed the protection of a strong family loyal to the Yorkist cause. If his future plans proved successful, the child would be the half sister of the rightful king. Young Richard of York lay hidden away in the countryside of Flanders, waiting until he was old enough to claim his birthright. Sir Edward measured his next words carefully.
“Your Thomas sounds like the very match for my ward.”
Sir Giles massaged the bridge of his nose. “My Thomas may have the strength of an ox, but he has the brain of one as well. He hardly talks, and when he does, ‘tis usually to one of his damnable dogs. In plain truth, my third son is a lackwit.”
“Oh.” Sir Edward felt like a fool’s inflated bladder after some unfortunate person had sat upon it.
God in heaven, how could he possibly betroth Alicia to a half-wit? What other choice did he have? By the stain of her birth, she would be an outcast at the court of Burgundy, where the Yorkist sympathizers resided. Should he send her over the border to Scotland, or into a nunnery? She would whither away in either place. Nay, Sir Edward had given his solemn vow to King Richard to marry Alicia well. That oath had been sworn the day before the king had been cruelly slain by the Tudor dog who now wore his crown.
A ripple of silvery laughter interrupted Sir Edward’s dark musings. At the far end of the hall, Alicia slid to the floor to intercept an apricot-colored mastiff puppy. It scampered up to her on oversize paws; a long pink tongue hung from its wide, black muzzle. The little fellow greeted the girl with wet affection. The sound of spurs scraping the flagstones, and several male voices speaking at once heralded the arrival of the earl’s sons.
One of the blond giants spied Alicia. “Good sooth, what have we here?” he greeted her. “‘Tis an angel come down to earth.”
Sir Giles shook his head. “My second son, William. He is never at loss for words.”
“Good day, young mistress,” added the older son, giving Alicia a small bow.
Holding the puppy in her arms, Alicia rose from the floor in a fluid motion. “God give you a good day, my lords,” she replied in her clear, sweet voice.
Despite the wiggling animal, she executed a lovely curtsy. Sir Edward smiled at his ward. Only seven years old, yet she carried herself like a princess. If the fickle fates had been kinder, she would have been a true one, he thought. God forgive Edward Plantagenet’s philandering ways.
William shouted across the hall. “How now, father? Is this one my new bride? By the stars, mistress, you are a lofty creature! I like my women small. They are easier to subdue.”
John clapped a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “You are frightening the child,” he admonished mildly. To Alicia, he added, “Welcome to Wolf Hall.”
“Ah,” she replied with a pert smile. “Is this one of the dreadful wolves?” She held up the puppy.
“He is mine.” Stepping out of the shadows, the third son took the dog from her hands.
God’s teeth! The boy was a handsome brute, Sir Edward thought. Blonder than either of his brothers, with well-defined features yet unblessed by a whisker, Thomas Cavendish reminded Brampton of an avenging angel chiseled in marble. At fourteen, the third son stood as tall as the other two. His wide shoulders and loose-hung arms and legs gave promise of the powerful man he would become when fully grown. Sir Edward searched the boy’s face for some sign of mental incapacity. Surprised, he saw none. Instead of retreating with his pup, Thomas stood before Alicia as if rooted to the spot.
“You see what I mean?” the earl muttered to his guest. “Says nothing.” He motioned for his sons to join him. The older two obeyed. Thomas either did not see his father beckon to him, or he chose to ignore it. Instead, he allowed Alicia to pet the dog.
“John, William, this is…ah…”
“Master Roger Broom, goldsmith, my lords.” Sir Edward slipped into his daily guise. He bowed with the deference of a merchant before nobility. “I am honored.”
“Just so,” the earl rumbled under his breath. “And the child is Alicia Broom.”
“My daughter,” Sir Edward added smoothly.
“A pretty wench,” William remarked, appraising her over his shoulder.
Sir Edward did not like the roving gleam in William’s eye. Thank all the saints Alicia was too young yet for bedding, or that young man might attempt to do her mischief. Silently he applauded Sir Giles’s prudence to contract his second son as quickly as possible. He was glad that the earl had not offered William for Alicia. The rogue would make life a merry hell for any poor woman.
John elbowed his brother in the stomach. “Forgive William’s manners, master goldsmith. Methinks he forgot to put them on with his hat this morning
.”
The earl growled an oath under his breath.
Sir Edward flourished another bow. “Youth must be served, my lord.”
“Avaunt, you two! Begone!” Sir Giles snapped his fingers several times. “We desire some conference with Thomas—in private.”
William brayed a laugh. “What ho! You plan to apprentice old Tom to a goldsmith? What a jest!”
“Out!” roared Sir Giles. “Thomas! A word with you—and put that damnable dog down!”
“Or better yet, marry him to the goldsmith’s daughter!” William jibed as John hauled him up the broad stairs at the near end of the hall. “When you need instruction in the arts of swiving, Tom, call me and—”
John’s audible blow between William’s shoulder blades put a quick end to the young man’s lewd suggestion. Flinging oaths at each other, the two brothers disappeared into the gallery above.
Sir Giles poured himself a third tankard of ale. “The devil take all offspring. I fear that my family makes hawks look as tame as robins. Thomas! Come here!” To Brampton, he murmured, “Now you will see what I mean. A good boy—but he does not know the letter B from battledore.”
Alicia stepped closer to the tall lad. “If it please you, my lord, I could hold your dog while you speak with your father.” She held out her hands. “Come, let us all go together.”
Thomas handed the puppy back to Alicia. “His name is Georgie.”
Georgie greeted her with another long slurp of his tongue. She giggled, then tucked the pup under one arm. She slipped her free hand into Thomas’s. Startled by the contact, the boy looked as if he might pull away. Alicia merely cast him a beatific smile. Without a word, they presented themselves to Sir Giles.
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