Box Set - Knights of Passion (7 Novels)

by Catherine Kean, Anna Markland, Elizabeth Rose, Laurel ODonnell, Barbara Devlin, SueEllen Welfonder, Amy Jarecki

  Juliana nodded and looked down at the tray. He followed her gaze to the wheat bread, sliced fowl, and jam tart. A meager repast, compared to the feast. He tried to tamp down inconvenient remorse.

  “I did not expect you to be in the bailey, milord.” While flawlessly polite, her tone conveyed her suspicions as to how he happened to be nearby at just the right moment to save her mother’s healing drink.

  “I became concerned when I could not find you in the hall.” Unable to resist, he added, “I thought you were avoiding me and the dance you promised me.”

  A hint of defiance sparked in Juliana’s eyes. “Mother refused the meal the maidservant brought her. I hope she will feel well enough now to eat a little of this for me.”

  Edouard set the mug back on the tray. “’Tis kind of you.”

  “She is my mother.”

  The protectiveness in Juliana’s voice made him smile. He admired such loyalty to one’s family; he was very close to his parents and younger sister. If and when he married, he’d like that quality in a wife.

  He suddenly became aware of footsteps a short distance away, accompanied by an astonished chuckle. Kaine.

  Go on, fool! Kiss her right here, in Kaine’s view, coaxed a mischievous voice inside his head. Press your lips to hers and win the bet.

  A tempting thought. The drunken servants were farther down the bailey and caught up in their revelry; they wouldn’t notice the kiss. The kitchen door was open, but the folk inside would be dealing with the leftover food, not watching the well. His sire would never know . . .

  What are you thinking? a more rational voice intruded. Have you, the firstborn son of a famous knight, forgotten how to be chivalrous? Stand down from your bet, out of respect for her.

  At that moment, Juliana looked past him and dipped her head in a gracious nod to Kaine. Edouard sensed her preparing to say “goodbye” to go and see her mother. Sunlight swept her profile, turning her skin to the hue of virgin snow. Her lips were the color of the trellised roses growing in Branton Keep’s gardens.

  He swallowed, stunned by the realization forming in his mind. He wanted Lady Juliana de Greyne’s kiss. Not merely to win the bet, but because he wished to kiss her.

  She started to turn away. Purely on instinct, he touched her right arm; his fingers rubbed over her silk sleeve, noting the warmth of the skin beneath.

  Juliana jumped and then twisted free, her skirt rasping against the well’s stonework; the mortared side was level with her lower thigh. Wide-eyed, she said, “Milord, I . . . must be on my way.”

  How loudly his pulse was drumming. “When you have visited your mother, will you grant me our dance?”

  Her breathing quickened. He glanced at her luscious bosom outlined by the shimmering silk—he couldn’t help himself—then raised his gaze to meet hers.

  “I . . . Mayhap, milord.”

  The unguarded insolence in her tone should annoy him; he was, after all, the son of the most powerful man in Moydenshire. But he found himself even more captivated. He hadn’t yet met a woman who didn’t giggle and swoon when he wooed them. Juliana, however, still seemed immune to his attempts to charm her.

  He clearly hadn’t found the right means of persuasion.

  Aye, ’tis the right of it, the mischievous voice coaxed. You must lure her in, convince her she’s the only lady you’ve ever desired, and then claim your kiss.

  “Please, Juliana.” Edouard smiled as though he found her the most ravishing of women and dared to close the slight distance between them. “Surely you will not deny me one dance? I would be honored to have that memory of this day.”

  She gnawed her lip and glanced about the bailey, obviously unsure. Before she could move away, he closed his hands over hers, still holding the tray.

  “Milord!”

  She trembled in his grasp. How soft her skin felt against his. The yearning inside him strengthened.

  Hurry! Kiss her.

  He sensed Kaine edging nearer for a better view.

  “Juliana,” Edouard murmured, leaning forward, the tray pressing against his belly. He didn’t care. His mind shut out all but her, very close now. Instinct told him he had an excellent chance of succeeding in his kiss. And he craved it. How he craved it.

  “Milord.” Her gaze locked on his mouth. “What—?”

  “You are beautiful, Juliana.”

  A shivered sigh broke from her. “I . . . am?”

  “I want to kiss you,” he whispered.

  “Kiss?” Her gaze darted away, as though searching for Kaine.

  Did she fear him witnessing their kiss and then telling their sires? She might think he and Edouard were trying to trap her into a betrothal; she couldn’t possibly know about the bet.

  “Kaine will tell no one,” he said softly, trying to think past the anticipation humming in his blood. “’Twill be our secret. I promise.”

  He lifted his hands from hers, readying to trail his fingers along her jaw and tilt her face up for his kiss. Juliana’s lavender scent flooded his senses. He could almost taste the sweetness of her lips.

  Just as he reached for her, stomped footfalls approached.

  “Juliana!” Nara shrieked.

  “Nara?” Kaine called. “What are you—?”

  Before Edouard could glance her way, Nara plowed into her sister. A deliberate attempt to thwart the kiss.

  Juliana gasped. Stumbled sideways.

  Forcing down a curse, Edouard caught the younger lady’s arm and hauled her away from Juliana. Giggling, Nara spun against him and slid her arm around his neck. “I am tired of waiting for our dance. Return to the hall with me.”

  Scowling, he pushed her toward a shocked-looking Kaine and turned back to Juliana. She’d almost regained balance of the tray, but it teetered. An object hit the rim of the well, then landed with a slap.

  “My sketchbook!” Juliana cried.

  Edouard looked at the tome, lying partway over the well’s opening. The parchment pages, secured to the cover by a strip of leather, had fallen open to reveal a rough sketch of a man’s face.

  His face.

  Surprise rippled through him, while with a low moan, Juliana scrambled to retrieve the book. Trying to help, he grabbed for it, and his elbow knocked the tray.

  As it crashed onto the rim, the mug shattered. The bread and fowl fell into the well, while the jam tart landed sticky side down near Juliana’s sketchbook.

  Edouard groaned. “I am sorry.”

  Moving in behind him, Nara tsked. “Now look what you have done, Juliana.” How horribly smug she sounded.

  “What Juliana has done?” Kaine snorted.

  Edouard glared at Nara. What a nasty, deceitful little—

  “Why, ’twas not your fault, milord.” With a blinding smile, the young woman blinked up at him and squeezed her way in between him and Juliana. “Let me get that sketchbook.”

  “Nay!” Juliana grabbed for the tome. Her shaking fingers tried to grasp hold of the sliding book, spattered with green droplets.

  With a rasp, the tome slid closer to the opening of the well.

  “Careful!” Edouard snapped.

  Just as he reached past Nara to snatch hold of the book, she poked out a finger . . . and shoved the book off the edge. Pages turned as it tumbled down into the darkness.

  “Nay!” he roared.

  With a choked cry, Juliana lurched forward. She fell to her stomach on the well’s rim and made a frantic downward grab.

  Nara sniffed, a sound of disdain. “Forget those foolish sketches.”

  “Go away, Nara.” Anguish thickened Juliana’s voice. “You have done quite enough.”

  Edouard’s gut clenched. If Juliana leaned any farther into the well, she might fall in.

  He pushed Nara out of the way. Now that he stood beside Juliana, he leaned forward to hold her waist.

  A swift kick knocked his right foot, causing his boot’s sole to skid on the dirt. Nara’s doing. He roared, even as he tried to regain his balance.
Losing his foothold, he pitched toward Juliana.

  “God’s teeth,” Kaine shouted.

  Edouard fell against her. With a shrill scream, she hurtled forward.

  Her hands flailed, trying to grab the opposite side of the rim. Her legs thrashed. Kicking up a froth of silk, she continued to slide forward.

  Worry and rage threatened to choke Edouard. She could be badly injured falling into the well. She could die. Grabbing for Juliana’s skirts, he yelled, “Hold still!”

  “I am falling!” she shrieked.

  Edouard caught rising voices somewhere nearby. Others about the castle were aware of the crisis. Soon, all would know. Including his father.

  He couldn’t think of that now. “Do not worry,” he called to her. “I will pull you out.”

  “Edouard!” Kaine, too, caught part of Juliana’s gown.

  The fragile silk tore.

  “Juliana!” Edouard cried, lunging for her arm.

  She screamed again and plummeted head first into the depths.

  A KNIGHT’S PERSUASION

  CHAPTER THREE

  The scream seared the back of Juliana’s throat as she fell in the inky dankness.

  She scrambled to catch hold of the stones passing by, to find a handhold and stop her descent. Impossible. She was falling too fast.

  The wooden bucket for drawing water loomed ahead. She twisted her body, tried to grab for the bucket, but missed.

  Down she plunged, for what seemed an eternity, until she splashed feet first into icy water. Before she could draw a shocked gasp, she submerged; the water dragged her into its depths. She shoved out with her arms, forced her body upward. When she broke through the surface, she hauled air into her lungs. The sound echoed back to her, ghastly and hollow.

  Kicking her feet, she fought to stay afloat.

  “Help!” she yelled to the circle of sunlight far above. “Help!”

  “Juliana!” Edouard called down to her, while Kaine and Nara leaned in beside him. Edouard sounded anxious. Worried, no doubt, that he’d be in trouble for what had happened. Well, he deserved to be punished for shoving her into this hellish pit!

  “Help me!” she shrilled. The darkness was so intense, she couldn’t even see her arms moving in the water. She’d been told Sherstowe’s well was wider and deeper than most; a long-ago lord had ordered it built that way, so if necessary, the castle could withstand months of siege.

  If she didn’t leave these depths soon, she could suffer a severe chill or drown.

  She moaned.

  “Hold on,” Edouard said. “I promise, Juliana, we will get you out.”

  An eerie whisper echoed—her silk gown, floating on the water’s surface. She couldn’t see it, but fabric bobbed against her skin, a sensation akin to the nudging of a submerged creature.

  Something else bumped against her. A bit of wood? A lost toy? A monstrous toad who was lord of this underworld? Smothering a hysterical giggle, she dared to reach out and touch the object and found her floating, waterlogged sketchbook.

  Tears stung her eyes as she drew the book close. It squelched as she pressed it tight to her chest, the odor of soggy parchment sharp in her nostrils. Her book was ruined. She’d know for certain when she’d got it into the light, but she doubted her sketches had survived.

  How kind of you, Nara, a bitter voice cried inside Juliana. Are you pleased that you managed to push my sketchbook into the water? Was destroying my drawings—something so important to me—your way of showing off for Edouard?

  Juliana’s teeth chattered. The coldness seeped to her bones. Why wasn’t Edouard lowering the bucket to pull her out? Or, if that wouldn’t work, sending down a rope?

  Frantic activity seemed to be taking place at the surface: heated discussion, a squeaking noise, shouts. Panic shivered through her as she continued to tread water. She must stay calm. Be patient. But what if the pulley for the bucket was broken? Father had planned to replace it, because it kept jamming. That might have happened now. How, then, would she get out?

  She didn’t want to die. Not today. Not when Mother needed her help to recover.

  Not like this.

  “Help m-me.” Juliana drew upon all of the fear coalescing inside her. “Help. Meee!”

  “Juliana!” Edouard shouted down.

  “Get m-me out!” she screamed, not caring if she sounded like a frightened child. Terror pounded at her temples. She didn’t want to die. She didn’t want to die!

  “Stay calm,” Edouard said, his soothing voice floating down to her. “I imagine ’tis dark and frightening—”

  “Aye!”

  “But we will rescue you. We will not leave you down there, I promise. I give you my word.”

  The word of a rogue who’d tempted her with a kiss and pushed her into this dangerous place? She didn’t want his help. Yet he seemed to be leading efforts to get her out. “W-what is wrong? Why is it t-taking so l-long?”

  “The pulley was stuck, but we fixed it. Listen, now. We are going to lower the bucket. ’Twill be easier than you trying to hold on to a rope while we draw you all the way to the surface. Stand in the bucket. We will pull you up.”

  What if the pulley jammed again? What if the bucket couldn’t hold her weight and broke? She might perish before they could find another way rescue her. “Edouard!”

  “I am here, Juliana. You will be all right,” he said. “Trust me.”

  A muffled creak came from above. He’d started lowering the bucket.

  Hurry. Hurry!

  She waited, treading with her tiring legs. Her harsh breaths echoed.

  “The bucket will reach you soon,” Edouard said.

  Holding her breath, she tried to discern its arrival. The air stirred close to her face. An object splashed nearby.

  She reached out and touched the rough-hewn side of the bucket.

  “I have it!” she called, relief soaring inside her. She reached higher to grab hold of the connecting rope. The bucket shifted, sloshed, but she managed to slide one leg over the side, then the other, and set her feet on the bottom.

  “I am in!” she cried.

  Tucking her sketchbook under her arm, she held tight to the coarse rope with numb hands. One shuddered breath. Two. The rope tautened under her grip, and then she felt herself slowly rising. A joyous sob rattled in her throat.

  Little by little, she rose. The bucket swung gently with each tug from above, while water trickled from her gown, hanging over the bucket’s side, to the surface below. Her teeth were still chattering, but hope glowed inside her. Soon, she’d be on solid ground.

  Long moments seemed to pass before the sunlit stones of the well’s rim came into view. A crowd of servants and guests had gathered around the opening, many of the men assisting with the rope.

  One more tug and her head cleared the well. Edouard and Kaine reached in to catch hold of her arms. They pulled her up to the well’s edge.

  Clutching her sketchbook before her like a shield, she swung her trembling legs over the well’s side and stood.

  The crowd cheered and clapped. “Lady Juliana is safe!”

  “Well done, milords,” one of the men cried.

  “What heroes!” another man shouted.

  Juliana sucked in a breath of fresh air, all too aware of the water dripping from her ruined gown to puddle in the dirt. Her bodice stuck to her skin; the wet silk had turned indecently sheer, but at least the sketchbook hid her bosom from the crowd’s view.

  Most importantly, though, she was safe.

  “Thank you,” she said to the helpers by the well, to Kaine, and at last, to Edouard.

  He no longer looked the arrogant rogue. His expression grim, he dipped his head in reply. Dirt streaked his right cheek and grubby patches marked his tunic. He’d taken off his mantle. It lay in a heap on the edge of the well.

  As conversation spread through the crowd, Edouard touched her arm. “Are you hurt?”

  “Nay.” Juliana jerked from his gentle grip.

 
“Are you certain—?”

  “I am.” She could hardly bear to look at him, the man who’d told her, of all astonishing things, that she was beautiful. The man who’d almost kissed her, knocked over the tray, pushed her into the well—and then rescued her. She didn’t know how to feel about him.

  Worst of all, the excitement stirred up by his desire for a kiss still simmered inside her, taunting her with what might have been.

  Edouard sighed, a sound heavy with regret. “I am glad you found your sketchbook.”

  Most likely a ruined sketchbook. Unable to speak past the tightness in her throat, she nodded.

  “That . . . drawing of me . . .”

  Heat swept Julian’s face. She’d never intended for Edouard to see that foolish, impulsive sketch. Never should she have indulged that curious desire to draw him, and not merely so Mother could see what he looked like.

  Fingering wet hair from her cheek, a gesture Juliana hoped might hide her blush, she shivered and glanced toward the keep. Somehow, she must excuse herself, make her way to her chamber, change her garments, and then tend to Mother, all without her sire learning of this mishap.

  Of course, he might already know. He’d be very upset to have this incident happen on such a crucial day. She tried not to let her shoulders droop. How she’d wanted this celebration to be perfect.

  Nara patted her arm. “Poor Juliana. You must feel rotten, soaked through as you are. What a shame about your new gown. And your sketchbook . . .” She wrinkled her nose. “Is that what smells?”

  “With careful drying,” Juliana said firmly, “the odor will go away.”

  “Really?” From Nara’s tone of voice, she meant, “Not likely.”

  A tart retort flew to Juliana’s tongue. Nay. She wouldn’t speak so to her sister in front of Edouard and the other guests. Enough dramatics had already occurred, and an argument between her and Nara would only feed gossip. What she needed to say to Nara could wait till later that evening when they were alone.

  Looking again at Edouard, Juliana dropped into a stiff but elegant curtsey. “Please excuse me, milord.”