Box Set - Knights of Passion (7 Novels)

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

  Tears blurred Juliana’s vision. Drawing her hand from Mayda’s, she stepped back, away, her heart pounding so ferociously in her chest, she could scarcely breathe. What a fool she’d been!

  “Juliana,” Edouard called. “Wait.” His steps unsteady, he started toward her.

  Somehow Juliana managed to lift her chin and hold his gaze. How could he still look so handsome to her? Why did the agony inside her make her want to weep over this wretched rogue?

  “I was about to return to the hall and speak with you,” he said, his tone rough. Glancing at frowning Mayda, now standing beside Juliana, he dragged his hands through his mussed hair. “Look, I know how this must appear.”

  Juliana struggled to hold back the anguish almost choking her. Had he and Kaine made a bet tonight? Since Edouard couldn’t have Juliana’s kiss, he’d win her sister’s? She did not care. “You do not owe me an explanation, milord.”

  Silk rustled as Nara approached his side. “Indeed, he does not. You made it quite clear at Sherstowe that you did not want to be betrothed to him. You never wanted to see him again.”

  A frown darkened Edouard’s face. “Juliana, I never intended to kiss Nara.”

  Disbelieving laughter broke past Juliana’s lips. “It just happened?”

  Nara winked at Edouard and giggled. “Milord, you give the most pleasing kisses.”

  Juliana forced down a sob. To know her sister had enjoyed Edouard’s affections, to see her sister gloating . . . Refusing to let them see her pain, Juliana spun to face the forebuilding. Sorrow in her eyes, Mayda slid an arm around her, and they began walking toward the light.

  “Do not go!” Edouard called.

  Glancing back, Juliana fixed Edouard with a glare. “Tonight has further proven what I realized months ago, milord. You could never be my husband, for when a man kisses me”—her voice wobbled—“I want it to be meaningful. I want it to prove the wondrous love between us. I want it to reinforce that we were destined, out of all the men and women in this vast country, to be together.”

  He loosed a sound akin to a groan. “Juliana.”

  “What she said about a kiss?” Nara brushed up against Edouard. “’Tis how I felt when you kissed me, milord. I vow you were never destined to wed her. Our fathers will have the alliance they desire, for you will marry me.”

  A KNIGHT’S PERSUASION

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Waddesford Keep, Moydenshire

  Late spring, 1214

  From the muzzy depths of sleep, Juliana heard a baby wailing.

  She snuggled deeper into downy softness—the pillows on Mama’s bed? She’d been dreaming of Mama. They sat together in the bed in Sherstowe’s solar, turning the pages of Juliana’s sketchbook, while talking about the drawings: her father’s favorite horse; the stillborn baby boy; and . . . the face of Edouard de Lanceau.

  Why, tonight, had she dreamed of Edouard? Why, after all that had taken place between them, couldn’t she forget him?

  The baby’s cry came again, shriller this time. This infant wasn’t part of her dream.

  Wake up, Juliana! her conscience urged. Little Rosemary is hungry.

  Trying to rouse her sleepy mind, Juliana rubbed her eyes. Her lashes were wet, as they were every time she thought of Mama. When she opened her eyes to darkness, her senses wakened, and she recognized the faintly musty smell of her straw pallet in the antechamber of Waddesford Keep’s solar. She’d slept in the small, adjoining room from the day she became Mayda’s lady-in-waiting, to be close by whenever her friend needed her.

  Why wasn’t Mayda putting her babe to her breast? At just over a week old, Rosemary needed her mother’s milk.

  Mayhap, like Juliana, Mayda was only just rousing to the baby’s cry. Lying motionless, Juliana waited to hear the creak of the large rope bed as Mayda slipped from it, crooning to her child.

  The only sound, apart from Rosemary’s crying, was the faint crackle of the fire.

  Unease tingled through Juliana. Was Mayda all right? She’d been restless and weepy earlier that evening, but had assured Juliana she was merely tired from being wakened often in the night to nurse Rosemary. A reasonable explanation. In most circumstances, Juliana might have accepted it. However, the arguments between Landon and Mayda had become more frequent over past weeks. The birth of the little girl, when his lordship had wanted a son and heir, had added to the strain.

  Juliana pushed aside her blankets, trying not to heed the other suspicions sifting into her mind. But they wouldn’t be ignored. They shoved to the forefront, as demanding as that wretched woman who’d arrived as a guest a short while ago and quickly settled in: Veronique Desjardin. Her rogue of a son, Tye, who looked close to Juliana’s twenty years of age, had also moved into the keep.

  When Juliana set her feet on the icy floorboards, her right foot knocked an object in the dark, sending it sliding away with a hiss: her current sketchbook. She’d set it beside the bed before snuffing the candle to sleep. Groping in the blackness, she found the book, and then tucked it under her pallet. She didn’t want to slip on the tome again, especially if she returned to the antechamber carrying Rosemary.

  As Juliana walked into the solar, her eyes began to adjust to the shadows, tinged with a reddish glow from the hearth’s embers. Her gaze went to the rope bed. Empty. The bedding on Mayda’s side had been pushed to one side, suggesting she’d left the bed for some reason and hadn’t yet returned. The blankets on Landon’s side appeared undisturbed.

  How many nights, now, had he slept somewhere other than the solar?

  And with whom?

  Juliana’s heart squeezed, for she’d seen the scorching glances between Veronique and Landon—looks that went far beyond a lord being attentive to a guest. Not wanting to upset Mayda, Juliana had kept her suspicions of his infidelity to herself. That had become a kind of punishment, for she’d wondered if she should tell Mayda?

  Juliana, though, had no definite proof, and it would be all too easy for Landon to deny all and order Juliana to leave Waddesford; then, Mayda would have no one close to her to help her. In the end, Juliana had chosen to stay silent, while hoping Mayda would discover the affair for herself.

  No doubt, that was why Mayda wasn’t here. She’d gone searching for her husband.

  Juliana hurried across the plank floor to the wooden cradle, trying to ignore the unease racing through her. Mayda had placed Rosemary’s bed at the edge of the hearth tiles, hoping to keep the baby warm through the night, but a draft swept through the room.

  Juliana shivered, and not just from the cold. Mayda adored Rosemary. She’d never let her get so hungry.

  From when they were young girls, Mayda had talked in a dreamy voice about becoming a wife and mother. Despite the difficult pregnancy and ordeal of birthing Rosemary, the joy that lit Mayda’s face whenever she looked at the newborn with a tuft of wispy brown hair and blue eyes was unmistakable.

  “There, now,” Juliana murmured, leaning over the cradle. She slid her hands under the bawling Rosemary and the woolen blanket wrapped around her and picked her up. Humming a lullaby, Juliana tucked the baby into the crook of her arm and gently rocked her.

  Rosemary kept crying.

  “All right,” Juliana soothed. She must find Mayda; if she couldn’t be found swiftly, then a nursemaid who could feed Rosemary.

  As Juliana started toward the solar doorway, her gaze slid over the long trestle table along the opposite wall. Gold glinted. She crossed to see what the object was: Mayda’s wedding ring.

  A violent tremor snaked through Juliana. At the same moment, a memory flashed into her mind, of Mayda’s tearful, whispered words when she lay against bed sheets smeared with blood from Rosemary’s birth. “If aught should happen to me, you must keep the baby safe. Promise me that, Juliana.”

  Sitting on the bed’s edge, watching over Mayda till maidservants returned with clean sheets and the healer brought another pain-dulling tonic, Juliana touched her friend’s hand. “Do not worry. The healer says
you will be fine. So will the babe.”

  “A girl.” Mayda’s lips trembled while she glanced at the infant, sleeping in its cradle beside the bed; Mayda’s gaze looked almost . . . terrified.

  “She is beautiful,” Juliana said. “Perfect, in every way. Tiny, round nose. Chubby fingers—”

  “But not a son.”

  Landon’s wish for a boy was well known to everyone at Waddesford. Juliana forced a comforting smile. “Nay, but—”

  Mayda’s fingers curled into Juliana’s in a tight, almost crushing, grip.

  Juliana fought not to wince. Her friend didn’t seem like herself, and probably didn’t realize her grasp was so strong. “Landon will love her,” Juliana murmured. “Why would he not?”

  How clearly she remembered her mother weeping over her dead son, a baby she’d desperately wanted, whether ’twas a boy or a girl. Surely, no father would reject the miracle of his own healthy child, especially one with such a sweet countenance? “One look at his daughter’s face,” Juliana added, “and Landon will adore her. I vow he will be so proud, he will want to show her off to all within the keep.”

  She hoped so. Mayhap this little girl would bring an end to the terrible arguments and unite the Ferchantes as a family. Mayda deserved to be happy.

  Mayda shook her head against the pillow. How defeated she seemed. “Listen, Juliana. I must tell you before the others return. I have hidden a bag of jewelry—”

  “Mayda.” Juliana struggled against rising worry. Her friend was beginning to sound completely out of her wits. Surely, Mayda didn’t fear for her and Rosemary’s lives?

  “If I come to . . . harm,” Mayda rasped, “you will take what’s hidden and flee far from here with Rosemary. Sell the jewels—”

  “Hush, Mayda—!”

  “—You will have enough coin to provide for both of you for years.” Her tone sharpened. “Promise me.”

  Unnerved by her friend’s wild-eyed stare, Juliana looked to the door, hoping to see the panel open and the healer step inside. Mayhap his lordship would be with her, eager to see his child for the first time.

  “Promise, Juliana.”

  Agree to steal a lord’s daughter and valuable jewelry? Swear to commit crimes that could see her imprisoned for the rest of her life? “I—”

  “Juliana!”

  Mayda’s gaze held such haunted fear, Juliana couldn’t help but nod. “All right. I promise. I will do as you ask.” After all, how likely was it that Mayda would come to the harm she feared?

  Rosemary’s wail snapped Juliana from her memories. “There, there,” she said, as she continued toward the door. When Juliana drew near, she realized the door was slightly ajar; the chilling draft blew in from around it.

  Wishing she’d taken the time to pull on a woolen wrap, but not wanting to delay Rosemary’s feeding any longer, Juliana drew open the door and stepped out into the hallway lit by flaming wall torches. The draft whispered across the passageway’s stone floor; it seemed to be coming from the stairwell farther along, the one leading to a door that opened onto the wind-scoured wall walk.

  Over the sputter of the nearby torches, she heard voices. A man and a woman, arguing. The harsh quarrel drew Juliana toward the stairwell. Some of the words carried down to her on the gusting wind. She recognized Mayda’s voice, shrilled by bitterness. The sound of her friend’s torment . . . Unbearable.

  Juliana hugged Rosemary closer. The baby sniffled, then whimpered, as though about to cry again. Curling her finger, Juliana rubbed it against Rosemary’s toothless gums. Turning her head to follow Juliana’s knuckle, Rosemary began to suck.

  Juliana hesitated at the bottom of the stairwell, caught between eavesdropping or walking away. In truth, she had no right to listen. Landon and Mayda, as lord and lady of this keep, deserved their privacy. But remembering the fear in her friend’s expression and her earlier promise, Juliana forced herself to step into the close stairwell, shivering at the coldness of the stone beneath her bare feet.

  “—do I mean to you? Do you love me? Care for me at all?” A wrenched sob. “I wish to know, Landon.”

  “Cease.”

  Partway up the stairwell, Juliana froze. How could Landon speak to Mayda in that manner? His tone was little more than a snarl. He’d speak that way to a murderous traitor chained in his dungeon. His wife, the mother of his babe, deserved far more respect.

  Regret pierced Juliana, for less than a year ago, Mayda and Landon had seemed so much in love, in the way they’d smiled at each other, exchanged coy words, touched hands, and kissed. Just observing them had stirred yearnings within Juliana, for she’d hoped one day to have a marriage equally as wonderful. But all the trust and happiness between Landon and Mayda seemed to have vanished. For their relationship to have come to this was nothing less than tragic.

  “Do not turn your back on me. I want an answer,” Mayda shrieked.

  “How you tire me,” Landon growled, followed by the rap of footfalls on stone. The sound implied he’d moved away from her.

  More sobbing came from above, and Juliana bit down on her lip. The cruelty of Landon’s tone was truly frightening.

  Was Mayda in danger? Would Landon harm her, as she’d suggested days ago?

  The atmosphere, indeed, seemed ripe for violence. If Juliana dared to interrupt, though, saying the babe had woken and needed feeding, that would give Mayda a reason to return to the solar. She’d be safe then. If she and Landon had more to discuss, they’d do so later, when they’d both had time to calm their tempers.

  Aye. That was the best solution. Yet putting herself in the midst of the disagreement . . . Juliana pressed back against the stone wall and fought a twinge of alarm.

  Don’t be foolish, Juliana. You are friends with Landon. He will not harm you, especially when you have his daughter in your arms. If you care for Mayda and little Rosemary, you will find the strength to act for them.

  Shifting Rosemary closer to her shoulder, to shield her from the wind swirling down into the stairwell, Juliana pressed on.

  “You say I tire you.” Mayda’s words shattered on an angry wail. “I never see you. Day and night, you are always gone. Do you think I am a fool, Landon? Do you believe I do not know of the servants’ gossip? Of the rumors you—”

  “I told you before. Cease!”

  “I will not! I am your wife.”

  Weak moonlight, coming through the open doorway leading onto the wall walk, touched the stairs ahead. As though becoming aware of her mother’s nearness, Rosemary warbled.

  “I warn you, Mayda. If you do not be quiet—”

  The brutal fierceness of Landon’s voice . . . Mere steps away from the open door, Juliana hesitated. A frightened moan scratched her throat, but she forced the sound down. She thrust her finger against Rosemary’s mouth to soothe her hungry snuffles.

  “You will not make a fool of me any longer!” Mayda shouted. “I want the truth—”

  “Veronique excites me.”

  A shuddered gasp. “S-she—?”

  “—pleasures me. Whenever I wish. However I wish. Are you happy now, wife?”

  Juliana squeezed her eyes shut. Oh, Mayda. I am sorry. To be rejected with such indifference must be heartbreaking.

  Hoarse sobs broke from Mayda, each one swollen with helplessness and rage. The sounds pierced deep inside Juliana, for she’d cried that way after her mother had died. She’d wept until every last tear had dried up, and she’d been too exhausted to cry any longer.

  “You bastard.” Mayda’s weeping roughened, while Juliana climbed the last stairs. “How could you betray my love? And to her? Did you not think—?”

  A scraped footfall. A grisly crack: the sound of a fist hitting flesh.

  Mayda groaned, a sound of excruciating pain.

  Oh, God. Oh, God!

  Rosemary struggled, her little legs kicking against the blanket, as Juliana forced herself through the doorway and onto the battlements.

  Landon and Mayda were some distance down
the wall walk, their figures limned in moon glow. The eerie light, cutting through patches of inky shadow, skimmed the squared stone merlons and the gaps between them that overlooked the moat, almost dry from months with little rain.

  Glaring at Mayda, Landon flexed his right fingers, doubtless easing discomfort from the blow, then swept his palm over the front of the brown woolen tunic that reached to his thighs. The lazy gesture, executed with a faint measure of disgust, heightened the warning buzzing inside Juliana.

  “Mayda,” she said. Fear muffled her voice; the wind snatched the sound.

  Landon was dressed in garments fit for a cool spring night, while Mayda wore only her linen night rail, covered by a cloak she’d thrown about her shoulders but hadn’t fastened. Her unbound blond hair snarled in the breeze as she stood with her head bowed to the side, one hand pressed to her cheek, clearly still stunned by the blow. As Juliana hurried forward, her friend straightened. Her hands lowering to clench at her sides, Mayda faced her husband.

  “How dare you hit me? Did you think that would silence me?” she screeched, before she winced and cradled her face again with her hand. “How I hate you!”

  Juliana shivered as a gust whipped at her; yet her chill went beyond physical discomfort. Perilous emotions flowed between Landon and Mayda. Anger and bitterness seemed to cocoon them from all else, for they still hadn’t noticed her, or heard the babe’s fussing.

  “Mayda,” Juliana called again, louder this time. If only she were nearer! Still, her friend didn’t hear her.

  “Listen well, Landon.” Mayda trembled. “Our marriage is ended. I cannot wait to tell my parents, who so admired you, how you—”

  Landon’s face contorted in a sneer. His arm whipped up, no doubt to strike again. Mayda threw up her hands—to hit back or plead with him—even as Juliana cried, “Mayda!”

  Her friend’s head swiveled. When Mayda’s gaze fell upon Juliana and Rosemary, her teary eyes widened. Pain and terror etching her expression, Mayda opened her mouth, clearly about to speak.

  Landon’s fist slammed into her head.