Box Set - Knights of Passion (7 Novels)

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

  “Nay! Neither will he have another chance. I do not wish to see him ever again.”

  Juliana waited for her mother’s nod of approval. Instead, the sorrow in her gaze was shadowed with regret. “Are you certain, Juliana, you feel that way?”

  Juliana plucked at a loose thread on the bedding, while the tangled emotions of the afternoon burgeoned up inside her again. “I do not know what I feel, Mama. When Edouard told me I was beautiful, when he looked at me as though I were the only maiden in this land, I felt such gladness. It seemed as if part of my heart . . . glowed.”

  “Mmm,” Mama murmured, sounding as though she understood.

  “My body felt strange, too, soaring and yet weighty at the same time. I could scarcely breathe. Oh, Mama, I have never felt such odd sensations.”

  “Imagine how you would have felt if he had kissed you.” Mama was smiling in a most curious, knowing way.

  “I do not care to imagine,” Juliana said firmly. “I am glad I discovered what a deceitful rogue he is before that happened.”

  As Mama’s smile faded, the sense of un-rightness weighed deeper, and Juliana looked over at her sketchbook, propped open against the window’s iron grille. A precarious position, but she wanted the tome to dry quickly.

  The parchment pages had buckled. The leather was ruined. But she’d try anything—anything!—to preserve the drawings she’d rendered with such care. Some, like the sketch she’d done of her stillborn baby brother a few weeks ago, before she’d washed and wrapped his body for burial, she could never replace.

  She rose, crossed to the window, and reached out to straighten a wet page that had folded over on itself. Did she dare look at what was left of her brother’s drawing?

  “Tell me more about Edouard.”

  Juliana glanced over her shoulder. Mama lay with her eyes shut, her upturned hands lying like lilies against the bedding.

  “Describe this young man to me,” Mama said softly, “who sought your kiss.”

  Returning her attention to her sketchbook, Juliana sighed. She didn’t want to discuss Edouard. However, if Mama wished it . . . “He is, without question, the most arrogant, sly of tongued—”

  Mama chuckled, before her laughter faded to a tight wheeze. “’Tis what I thought of your father, when I first met him.” A faint pause. “Is Edouard . . . handsome?”

  Oh, aye. Did Juliana want to admit, however, that her fickle heart had been wooed by his beauty?

  “He is attractive enough.” Her finger, somehow, settled near the middle pages of her sketchbook where she’d drawn him. “His hair is dark, his face finely formed. I vow most women would be thrilled to have his kiss.”

  How strained her mother’s breathing sounded. Glancing back at her, Juliana hoped the maidservant would arrive with the ordered meal. Did Mama also need more healing herbs?

  Mama’s damp eyes opened. “Juliana,” she whispered, pleading. About to tell Juliana, no doubt, that she should rethink her opinion of the great lord Geoffrey de Lanceau’s son and heir.

  Juliana stared out the window, barely able to choke down a frustrated cry. “I know what you are about to say, Mama. You believe I should not judge Edouard by what happened at the well, and that I should be happy he wished to kiss me. But he is not like Father. Edouard and I would not suit.”

  Mama moaned.

  “Mayhap one day, I will meet a lord’s son and become betrothed. Right now, I do not care to marry any man.”

  A rattled sigh came from the bed. A sigh of disappointment? Juliana swallowed hard, for she didn’t ever want to disappoint her mother. However, marriage was not a matter to take lightly. “If I wed, I would have to leave Sherstowe. How could I leave behind all I know?” Her finger slid along her sketchbook. “How could I leave you, Mama?”

  Silence.

  “Mama?” Juliana turned. Her mother lay with her eyes shut, her lips slightly parted. The odd slackness of her jaw, the sudden feeling of being alone, sent Juliana rushing to the bedside.

  Shaking, she caught her mother’s hand. Limp.

  Lifeless.

  “M-mama?” Juliana gently shook her mother’s shoulder. Mama’s eyes didn’t open. Neither was she breathing.

  “Mama!”

  Her mother’s head lolled against the pillow.

  “Oh, God,” Juliana sobbed.

  Rowdy laughter rose from the bailey below. Life continued with its relentless momentum, while her mother . . .

  “Mama, please. Come back.” Juliana sniffled and touched her mother’s cheek. Was it selfish to want her mother to keep living? Now, at least, she’d be free of pain.

  A soft knock on the door. “Milady.”

  Juliana slowly rose, uncaring of the tears dripping onto her bodice. She opened the panel.

  The maidservant, holding a laden tray, said, “The fare—”

  “Please find my father,” Juliana said quietly. “Tell him my mother is dead.”

  A KNIGHT’S PERSUASION

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Englestowe Keep, Moydenshire

  Summer, 1213

  Edouard, you are a wretched coward.

  Boisterous music, clapping, and cheering—celebration of the marriage between Landon Ferchante and his bride, Mayda—drifted from Englestowe Keep’s great hall as Edouard staggered through the forebuilding’s open door and out into the night. Sidestepping several sots sprawled unconscious on the ground, he heaved in breaths of cool summer air.

  His head reeled. “Damnation,” he said, then grimaced. He shouldn’t have downed so much wine. Yet in honor of Mayda’s marriage, her proud father, lord of Englestowe, had provided an excellent red imported from France.

  Moreover, in past months, discontent amongst Edouard’s sire’s allies over the king’s injustices had strengthened. In secret, many lords vowed rebellion was inevitable. Among them, Edouard’s father.

  For one night, ’twas good just to drown in the pleasure of now.

  And God help him, she was here.

  Juliana.

  Edouard stumbled away from the weak light coming out of the forebuilding and headed toward the keep’s wall. Earlier that day, he and Kaine—along with Dominic de Terre, Edouard’s father’s closest friend—had arrived at Englestowe to attend the wedding. When still boys, Kaine and Edouard had gone to live at Dominic’s keep to serve as pages and to be trained as squires. In due time, they’d earn their spurs and become knights.

  After Edouard had greeted his parents and Lord de Greyne, he’d turned to counter a remark from Kaine—and had spied Juliana. His words had shattered on his tongue.

  Edouard hadn’t seen her since that day at Sherstowe. He’d heard from friends that soon after her mother’s death, Juliana had gone to live with Mayda, her best friend, and that she planned to move to Waddesford Keep after the wedding to be Mayda’s lady-in-waiting. He’d written a letter to Juliana expressing his condolences for her mother’s death a few months ago, but hadn’t received a reply. Mayhap she’d never received the letter. More likely, she hadn’t cared to respond.

  When he’d spied her, she was walking toward the forebuilding with several other ladies. She hadn’t seen him. Not surprising, since the keep’s bailey was crowded with arriving guests. The instant he’d seen her, though, with her hair bound in a shiny braid down her back and her buttercup yellow gown drifting at her ankles, the world around him had seemed to freeze. Silence had enveloped him, one so intense, he’d heard the choked gurgle of his swallow. Laughing at something her friends had said, she’d disappeared into the forebuilding.

  He’d known then that he had to speak to her. Every day since their disagreement at Sherstowe, he’d thought of her and that kiss they’d almost shared. He couldn’t change the past, but he’d like to know she’d at least acknowledge him again.

  Finding the opportunity to talk to her? That had been a challenge all day.

  His shoulder bumped the keep’s wall. He cursed, turned his back to the wall, and slowly slid down it to a squat. He shouldn’t car
e so much about regaining her favor. It shouldn’t eat at his pride that months ago she’d said “goodbye” in a tone that implied she despised him.

  But it did.

  “Juliana,” he said on a groan. His muddled thoughts drifted to earlier that evening when she’d realized he was in the hall. Her elegant head had turned, as though she’d sensed him nearby. Her posture had stiffened, and when their gazes had locked, her eyes had become huge. Then she’d whirled around and disappeared into the crowd.

  During the lavish meal, where she’d sat one table away, she hadn’t once looked at him, although Nara, sitting farther behind, had caught his gaze and wiggled her fingers at him with annoying frequency. Later, when the dancing and revelry had begun, Juliana had stayed close to her friends and Mayda and had managed to be dancing whenever he’d thought to approach her.

  Coward, Edouard. You should walk back into that hall and demand to speak with her. Refuse to let her elude you. You are, after all, Geoffrey de Lanceau’s son and heir. She owes you respect.

  Aye. ’Tis what he should do. Would do.

  When he wasn’t quite as drunk.

  He sucked in another breath of night air, blinking as his head spun. God’s teeth, he shouldn’t have snatched up the challenge of that last drinking contest with Kaine and several other friends, but he hadn’t wanted to look a fool.

  He blew out a sigh. “Juliana,” he said softly.

  “Not Juliana,” a feminine voice said from the darkness, “but I hope you do not mind, milord.”

  Nara.

  He swallowed down an oath. How had he not heard her approach? Regardless of how he felt about her, his father wanted to keep good relations between their families, especially after the mishap at Sherstowe.

  Edouard rose on an awkward lurch, his woolen tunic scraping the stones behind him. To steady himself, he pressed back against the wall.

  Nara’s silk gown rustled as she stepped from the nearby darkness, another young lady at her side. Nara cupped her hand, whispered in her friend’s ear, and the young woman curtsied shyly to Edouard and then walked back to the forebuilding.

  “Hello, Nara,” he said, hoping he didn’t slur his words. He blinked to clear his bleary gaze, for her gown, exquisitely fashionable, plunged a little too low in front. The night air, or arousal, had caused her nipples to bead against the fabric.

  Unwelcome desire stirred. Nara might be a pretty creature, delightfully formed, but even tonight she didn’t compare to his memories of Juliana.

  “Good evening, milord.” Smiling, Nara strolled closer, her hips swaying more than was appropriate for a maiden. “’Tis a pleasure to see you. You are looking as handsome as ever.”

  He managed a grin. “Thank you.”

  Her gaze traveled over him, and he wondered, as his fuzzy mind sharpened slightly, what she intended by following him outside. Her being here in the dark with him, without a chaperone, wasn’t proper.

  Before he could ask what she wanted, she said, “Why are you out here all alone, milord?”

  “’Twas warm in the great hall, and I wanted some fresh air.” He raised his brows. “You should be inside, showing the young lads how well you can dance.”

  She laughed, a flirtatious sound. “The only lord I want to dance with is here before me.”

  Ugh. A sound must have escaped him, for her smile softened into a pout. “We never got our dance at the feast at Sherstowe. I regret that. Very much.”

  “As I recall, a great deal happened that day.”

  “Especially with Juliana. I heard you speak her name.” Nara raised her brows at him in coy accusation, while her slender fingers swept along her neckline, as though to draw attention to her cleavage.

  Shrugging, he looked out across the darkness. He didn’t have to explain himself to Nara. Caution tingled through his sluggish mind, for he didn’t doubt she was deliberately enticing him. He’d be wise to return to his friends as soon as he could.

  He glanced at the light streaming out from the forebuilding, a beacon leading him back to Juliana. “’Twas a pleasure chatting with you, but—”

  Nara stepped nearer. She stood so close, he could touch her if he wanted. He didn’t. He kept his hands firmly by his sides, wishing he’d had the sense to put distance between him and the wall behind him. “Nara—”

  “Have you spoken to Juliana tonight?” she asked.

  “Not yet. I will, as soon as I reach the hall.”

  Nara tsked and rolled her eyes. “May luck be with you.”

  He tried to ignore a pinch of misgiving. “Why do you say that?”

  “She cannot bear to even hear your name. Did you realize she was so upset after what happened at Sherstowe, she left?” Sympathy crept into Nara’s stare. “I doubt she will ever forgive you for pushing her into the well.”

  “You caused that to happen.”

  Nara smiled. “Me, milord?”

  “Aye.” He forced enough menace into the word that her eyes widened. “You kicked my foot. You made me fall against Juliana, and that caused her to go into the well.”

  With a careless shrug, Nara said, “An accident.”

  “Nay.” Emotions of that day simmered again inside Edouard. “That act was deliberate. You could have killed Juliana.”

  “Mayhap.” Nara’s hand slowly slipped down her throat, drawing his attention to the plumpness of her bosom enhanced by tight silk. “But all turned out well. Except for our dance.”

  He dragged his gaze from her enticing breasts, but not before she saw. She grinned, caught her lip between her teeth, and closed the gap between them.

  “Nara.” Cursing the way his blood heated with interest, he scrambled sideways along the wall, his clumsy legs slow to follow.

  Her arms slid around his neck. Pressing her supple body against him, she cooed, “Kiss me, Edouard. The way you were going to kiss Juliana by the well.”

  His drunken body responded to her enticing feminine scent; his loins stirred from her breathy plea. What are you doing? his mind cried. Shove her away, or you are doomed.

  “Stop, Nara.” His voice emerged a rasp.

  Her lips brushed his chin. “I am the one you want. I will make you forget my sister.”

  Edouard shuddered as her fingers caressed the hairs at his nape. He didn’t want to forget Juliana. He needed to go inside, to speak with her . . .

  Ah, God, he had to make Nara cease.

  “Nay,” he said. Hands on her waist, he began to push her away.

  Her hot, wet, hungry mouth crushed to his.

  ***

  “Come on.” Her eyes bright with excitement, Mayda snatched up Juliana’s hand and pulled her through the noisy crowd toward the forebuilding.

  “Mayda, wait!” Juliana dug in her heels, but her new shoes, bought to go with her gown for the wedding celebration, skidded on the freshly-strewn rushes and herbs on the floorboards. With a helpless squawk, she stumbled along after her friend.

  Mayda whirled around, her finest silk gown, chosen to be her wedding dress, floating about her slender figure. Leaning in close, she murmured, “Do not be silly and protest, Juliana. We both saw Edouard go into the forebuilding. ’Tis the perfect chance for you to find and speak with him, now he is no longer amongst his friends.”

  Giddy anticipation swirled up inside Juliana. She did want to speak with him, but what was she going to say? What if he was still annoyed and didn’t wish to speak with her? Terror rushed up in a daunting wave. “I do not think . . .”

  Mayda narrowed her eyes. With a firm hold, she drew Juliana away from the singing, clapping throng to a quieter section of the hall. “You have been miserable every day since the incident at Sherstowe,” she said, not letting go of Juliana’s hand. “You know ’tis long overdue for you two to reconcile.”

  “True, but . . .”

  Mayda huffed. “Still, you protest. How many times have you told me of that kiss he almost bestowed upon you? The way he admired your beauty?” Her eyes shone with her impassioned words
. “Are you not curious to know if he wants to kiss you again? If the feelings you hold for him are still worth cherishing?”

  “Mayda,” Juliana said softly. “He wooed me to win the bet. I do not know if he truly cared for me.”

  Mayda squeezed Juliana’s fingers. “What man could not care for you?”

  Tears pricked Juliana’s eyes.

  With the swish of silk, Mayda hugged Juliana. “I want you to be happy,” she whispered. “I want you to have a husband as charming as Landon. That man could well be Edouard.” Drawing away, she wiped at her lower lashes. “You must speak with him, Juliana. Tonight, before your opportunity is lost.”

  “All right.” Juliana smiled. Hand in hand with Mayda, she hurried to the forebuilding.

  Mayda led the way down the torch lit stairs, and then they were out into the dark bailey beyond. The cool night air touched Juliana’s face, but her cheeks felt hot and tingly. Oh, but she dared not yield to the happiness bubbling up inside her. If she became too overwrought, she’d not be able to say one sensible word to Edouard. She did not want to ruin this chance.

  “Where might he be?” Juliana’s breath caught. “Mayda, can you feel how I am trembling?”

  “Keep a lookout,” her friend said, still in front, glancing to and fro in the shadows while she drew Juliana forward.

  Mayda came to an abrupt halt.

  Juliana bumped into her. As Mayda’s head turned, her expression filled with shock and dismay, movement in the shadows claimed Juliana’s attention. “Nara,” a male voice said with a groan.

  Blinking hard, Juliana discerned a man and woman pressed against the wall, engaged in lusty kissing: her sister and . . .

  Edouard!

  A gasp lodged in Juliana’s throat.

  As though suddenly becoming aware of spectators, Edouard tore his mouth from Nara’s. His gaze, dazed at first, cleared and widened with astonishment. “Juliana,” he said, breathing hard.

  At the same moment, Nara looked over her shoulder, met Juliana’s stare, and smiled smugly.

  “I am sorry, Juliana,” Mayda said shakily. “I did not know.”