Box Set - Knights of Passion (7 Novels)

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

  “Yea, I understand, as my brother doth lack discretion in his conquests.” Then she tugged gently and said, “Thou dost want me.”

  A violent shudder seized him, and his seed shot forth as though launched from an imposing carro-ballista. Groaning as wave upon wave of release wracked his frame, Arucard rested his head on the edge of the ancere and closed his eyes. A repetitive spasm drew out the blissful release, and he shifted his hips and savored what he had not enjoyed since joining the Templars and mastering his base desires, as the Lord’s men revered austerity in all things.

  Anon, he recovered enough to muster a chuckle and discern his wife’s distress. “What is wrong? Have I frightened thee?”

  “Perchance, as I know not what happened.” With an expression of horror, she blinked. “Did I wound something of importance?”

  “Nay, my sweet Isolde.” Given that gem of logic, he surrendered to a full belly laugh. When she frowned and sat on her heels, he stood, snatched a towel from the stool, and wrapped the square of linen about his waist to mitigate his nudity. Dripping wet, he bent, slipped his arms about her waist, and lifted her. “Thou hast bestowed upon me another treasure, and thou art most kind.” He claimed another kiss and set her on her feet. “Now I must don my garb and fetch fresh water for thy bath.”

  “Prithee, only a pail, and I shall make do with that.” Unaware that the entire front of her slip had been rendered sheer by his damp hug, she shielded naught from him, and he took advantage of the moment to look his fill as he dressed.

  “As thou dost wish.” With that, Arucard nodded once and stepped into the chilly night air, which he hoped might cool his blood. Beneath the silver light of the moon, he glanced at the starry sky and smiled. Yea, the lady Isolde had cast a spell, and he ached to yield to her demands, but he would linger and win her fealty. Then he would claim her body.

  ARUCARD

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Four days later, Isolde descended from the traveling wagon, after the procession pulled into an expansive glade for the night. The distinct keen of sea gulls declared they neared the coast and Chichester, but the weather had turned, the roads had deteriorated, and the sun had set, so Arucard commanded they halt their progress, rather than risk a broken wheel or an injured horse due to the muddy ruts.

  “So thou hast not consummated thy vows?” Margery arched a brow and snorted. “Thou hast always been stubborn to a fault, and this instance mayest be thy worst yet.”

  “But my husband hath been most supportive.” With a groan of exertion, Isolde dragged the trunk containing the cooking utensils to the place that would serve as the temporary kitchen. Given the length of their journey, she had organized the necessities to ensure rapid setup and packing. “And he shows his affection with greater frequency.”

  Not to mention, he had become far more amorous. Ever since that glorious interlude in their tent, when she had accidentally brought him to completion with her hand, Arucard had increased their intimacy in small but effective strides. The previous eventide, after supper, they took to their bed and explored their bodies beneath the animal pelts they shared to keep warm, and just thinking of it gave her a shiver of delight, because he touched her as he had never touched her.

  As they kissed, she caressed his man’s yard, and he eased his hand between her legs. At his first brush of her most sensitive flesh, Isolde knew not how to respond to the experience, but his whispers of praise and encouragement had soothed her nerves and calmed her fears, and she allowed him free rein. The end result, a rather quick affair, required a change of braies for her knight, and she could not stifle a giggle at the thought.

  “Then thou would do well to surrender thy maidenhead before telling him of the letter.” The irascible steward hefted additional items and followed in Isolde’s wake. “Else Sir Arucard could accuse thee of betrayal and ship thee home.”

  “Must thou always sing the same tune?” The relative euphoria vanished, as she pondered the possibility. In a short span of time, she had grown fond of her husband and their fledgling routine. “And Arucard is my champion, so he would never do such a thing. Set up the spit, so we can serve a hot meal, as the rain has stopped.”

  With that, Isolde abandoned the task at hand and sought her knight for inspiration and confidence. As was his way, he supervised the preparation of their tent, their ancere, and their bed, so she could situate their belongings and hasten their rendezvous after dinner. When she found him, she smiled.

  “Place the rug at center, as the ground is damp, and I would ensure my wife’s comfort.” As he directed the servants, Arucard fluffed the straw-filled mattress and placed it on the ropes of the bed frame. “And fetch the large brazier, as the wind is strong, and it will be a cold night.”

  The servants scrambled to fulfill his commands, and she pressed a finger to her lips as she entered their temporary quarters. Alone with her husband, she slipped her arms about his waist and hugged him from behind. “Wherefore dost thou require a brazier, when thou shalt keep me warm?”

  “My lady.” Covering her hands with his, he squeezed her fingers. “Am I not thy champion? Thy health and welfare art of great importance, and I would not fail thee.”

  “When shall we arrive at Chichester, as I long to have thee to myself?” The attendant returned, carrying the requisite item, and Isolde released her knight. “Perchance, I should move the small table into our tent, and we could dine in privacy. Thou hast never finished thy story last eventide, and I do so wish to know more of thy family history.”

  “Mayhap tomorrow, mayhap the day after, our journey will end.” Quick as a flash, he turned and pulled her into a more intimate embrace. “And perchance thou shalt take thy sup in my lap, if thy meal is pleasing.”

  “I am making cameline meat brewets, as my lord declared them another favorite.” How she adored his smile, which featured the hint of a dimple on his left cheek. “Will that suffice?”

  “Sounds delicious, and Demetrius will be happy, as they art his favorite.” Then he bent his head and kissed her. As she suckled and laved his full lips, a bewitching aspect of marital life she had mastered, she relished the taste of him. All too soon, he ceased the interlude but kept her close. “Isolde, thy mouth is far more tempting than thy fare, although thou art an excellent cook.”

  “Praise, indeed.” For a scarce second, she pondered Margery’s warning and considering revealing the letter to Arucard. But they had yet to consummate their vows, and Isolde feared he might return her to London and her father. And she viewed that as a fate worse than death. With a wicked shudder, she rubbed her arms and laughed. “Allow me to be of use and gather the skins for our bedding. Mayhap thou should place clean braies beneath thy pillow, in anticipation of our nightly games.”

  “Mayhap thou should keep thy hands to thyself, thus I would have no need of clean braies.” When she pouted, he winked. “Perchance I should forgo braies, altogether, when we retire.”

  “Art thou complaining? And I didst naught more than thee instructed.” Isolde spread the hides, as he positioned the ancere and carried in the table. Then she checked the pillows, as her husband preferred the firmer cushion. “Thither, it is done. Now I should return to the kitchen, as Margery and Anne might have need of me.”

  “Prithee, a moment.” Ah, how well she knew his playful side. She lowered her chin, he arched a brow, she veered left, and he caught her. “Dost thou run from me?”

  “Never.” With a squeal of joy, she wrapped her arms about his neck. “But thou hast quite an appetite, and supper will not cook itself.”

  “Anon, might I persuade thee to forgo a night rail?” He nuzzled her temple, and she well nigh melted. “As never have I seen thee without benefit of clothing.”

  “Thou dost wish me to sleep nude?” At the prospect, she gulped, as she had kept her scarred back hidden from view, given she feared he would use her marked body as an excuse to end their marriage. Until they consummated their vows, she wanted to maintain that secret, along with Fathe
r’s correspondence. “Dost thou intend to claim my maidenhead?”

  And that singular query interrupted his mischievous diversion.

  “Isolde, as I told thee, it will happen when it happens.” To her regret, he frowned and put her on her feet. “I had thought we could advance our forays between the covers, and thou dost not know whither that mayest lead us.”

  “Until then, my lord.” In a rare display of confidence, she jumped up, kissed him hard and fast, and ran from their tent, and his chuckle rang clear behind her. As she marched for the makeshift kitchen, she thrust her hands in her fitchet and came to an abrupt halt. For several seconds, she dug and searched, as her heart pounded, her ears rang, and her breath came in fits and starts. When reality set in, a chill of dread settled in her chest.

  Father’s letter was gone.

  Ever since she read the missive, she kept it on her person, as she could not risk her husband finding it, hadst she hid it amongst her belongings. The earth seemed to pitch and roll beneath her leather slippers, as she hiked the skirts of her cotehardie and ran to the tent.

  Standing with his back to her, Arucard loomed large but appeared fine, as he dismissed the help.

  She exhaled in relief and dipped her chin to the servants, as they exited. “My lord, I was just—”

  Slowly, her knight faced her. In his grasp, he held her downfall, the telltale parchment. “Is this what thou dost seek?”

  #

  “Wherefore art thou so determined to consummate our nuptials?” Raw rage charged the field, as Isolde’s treachery cut like a knife, and Arucard crumpled the damning correspondence. “Dost thou intend to seduce me into thy web before thou dost betray me to thy father? And is that the reason thou dost seem so interested in my history?”

  “Nay.” As he expected she wept, but her tears moved him not. “Pray, thou must believe me. Never would I disclose the information Father demands, as I owe him naught. Thou dost own my allegiance, and never would I break my vow.”

  “Thou dost speak pretty words, but thy letter reveals the truth of thy character and motives.” And pain cut to his core, as he contemplated her deception, given his stated intent to foster marital accord and trust. “I should hie thee back to London and the earl.”

  “Nay.” With a wild-eyed expression, she threw herself at his feet. “Prithee, nay. I beseech thee to have mercy, sir.” Clutching his shins, she bowed her head. “I hid the missive because I feared thou would send me away, and I was wrong. By my troth, I am thine to command.”

  How he longed to believe her, as he revisited brief but cherished moments of their journey. But the truth was she had wounded him, and he had not prepared for that injury, which hurt worse than any he had suffered in battle.

  “Arucard, come hither.” Morgan charged into the tent. “We art under attack by an unknown enemy.”

  Operating on instinct, Arucard grabbed his sword and shield. “Lady Isolde, thou wilt remain hither, as I am not done with thee. And if thou art not present when I return, I will search for thee, and when I find thee, thou wilt not enjoy the outcome. Dost thou understand?”

  Sitting on her heels, she wiped her nose and whimpered. “Aye, my lord.”

  Riding a wave of righteous fury mixed with bone-chilling disappointment, he ran into the field, whither he found hooded bandits engaging soldiers in combat. As the men had been setting up the encampment, and none had anticipated an assault, the raiders had met little resistance—until Arucard and the Brethren entered the fray.

  Forming a formidable line of defense, the Brethren of the Coast waged war with a rallying cry. Bereft of heavy armor, Arucard moved swift and sure, thrusting and swinging, and taking down various adversaries with his weapon. With a single graceful flourish, he severed the head of a marauder and impaled another. Standing shoulder to shoulder with Demetrius, Arucard’s faithful comrade in arms, they plowed a wide path through the boothalers.

  To his right, Arucard noticed Pellier struggling to subdue a large assailant. “Step aside, old friend.” Arucard pushed his marshalsea clear. “Let us see how the ornery giant handles an evenly matched opponent.”

  “Thou dost not intimidate me, silk-snatcher.” The flaxen-haired oaf rushed Arucard, and steel clashed with steel. “If thou hast come hither to steal more lands on behalf of the King, thou art mistaken, as we rebuke thy authority.”

  “I know naught of what thou speaks.” As his opponent swung wide, Arucard landed a fist to the rival’s chin, and the young man dropped to his arse. With the pointed end of his sword leveled at the combatant’s throat, Arucard lowered his chin. “If thou wilt call off thy forces, I shall hear thy complaints, as I am the newly commissioned guardian of Chichester.”

  “I care not for fancy titles.” The provoking challenger spat blood and wiped his mouth. “And wherefore should I believe anything thou dost say?”

  “Because I will spare thy companions, good sirrah.” Arucard stretched to full height. “Otherwise, if thou dost prefer a warrior’s death, I shall indulge thee. And my knights and I will slaughter thy men. The choice is thine.”

  “Wherefore should I take thee at thy word?” He frowned. “The Crown spreads lies, denying the rape of our property, while we endure the thefts and the accompanying humiliation.”

  “I am Arucard de Villiers, the King’s emissary, and on my honor, I shall deal with thee honestly and fairly.” He retreated a step and extended a hand in a gesture of faith. “What is thy name?”

  “I am called Aeduuard de Cadby.” The gadling stood, and his scowl deepened. “Wherefore should I trust thee, when I know thee not? Thou could renege and run me through, as lies know no boundaries, rank, or sworn oaths, sir. And a few pretty words cannot undo years of ill treatment, thus I have had little reason to confide in anyone.”

  The statement, stark in its meaning, jolted Arucard.

  In an instant, he recalled Isolde and her tragic relationship with her father and brother, which she shared in bits and pieces over the past few days. Like de Cadby, she had been cautious and suspicious of Arucard’s motives, and he had considered her misgivings a barrier he had yet to breach. Given the dissension in her family, the letter should have struck Arucard as odd. Instead, unchecked ire blinded him, and he leapt to unsupported conclusions, when he should have permitted his wife to explain her situation. Despite the urgency of the conflict, he needed to return to his bride.

  Regardless of their short acquaintance, Isolde would never betray him, and he knew that now as he sure as he knew the origins of his birth. Pain of a different sort settled in his chest, and he rubbed the back of his neck. Around him, the fighting ceased, as the Brethren bested the ill-skilled raiders.

  “Stand down thy men, and I shall see to their welfare.” Arucard signaled Demetrius. “We have plenty of stores and a physic. If thou hast knowledge of a particular complication in Chichester, then I should know it, so that I may deal with it.”

  “And how shalt thou deal with it?” Aeduuard sheathed his sword. “As we will tolerate no more.”

  “What is thy command, brother?” Holding three fighters at bay, Demetrius neared. “What would thou have me do with these whelps, as they do not appear old enough to grow a beard?”

  “Treat them with respect, and see to their comfort.” Arucard glanced at his fellow knight of the realm. “Give Aeduuard accommodations fitting his stature, and comprise a list of injuries and losses. I shall be in my tent.”

  With that, Arucard turned on a heel and navigated the crowd. Driven by the urge to reconcile with Isolde, he broke into a sprint. Anon, he ducked beneath the flap, entered his quarters, and breathed a sigh of relief to find her thither still. When she spied him, she choked on a sob.

  “My lord, art thou wounded?” In silence, he cursed, as he noted her swollen eyes and tear-stained cheeks.

  “Nay.” He tossed aside his sword and shield. “Wherefore dost thou ask?”

  “Thou art covered in blood.” It was then he noticed she shivered violently.

/>   “It is not mine.” At the small washstand, he scrubbed his face. “But I struck a tenuous accord, and the battle is ended.”

  “I am grateful my prayers were answered, so I might beg thy forgiveness. I was wrong to conceal Father’s letter, but I did so because I feared thou might send me to London, and I did not want to be parted from thee. While I disappointed thee, I am thy wife, and I owe thee my loyalty. Thou must know I trust not my father.” It was just as he suspected, but he had not anticipated her next move. To his shock and amazement, Isolde neared and presented his belt, which he accepted. Then she unbuttoned her cotehardie, loosened the ribbon of her chemise, and inched the garments to her hips. Without hesitation, she turned and knelt on the ground. “Thou art justified in thy anger, and I have earned thy discipline, which I pledge to take in the spirit of recompense, if thou would mete it and be satisfied.”

  It had to be a nightmare of the worst sort, as he blinked and winced. Suddenly, everything made sense, as he recalled her reaction on their wedding night, when he attempted to disrobe, and she armed herself with his halberd. Frozen in some hell on earth, Arucard bent and studied her back. Mottled scars declared years of brutal abuse, and fresh injuries marred her creamy flesh. As he pondered the cruelty she had survived, he swallowed hard. Then he stomped forth, grasped her by the shoulders, drew her to stand, turned her about, and shook her.

  “Who is responsible for this travesty?” Again, he rocked her. “Who did this to thee?”

  “Who dost thou think?” He caught his breath when he glimpsed the terror in her expression. “My father.”

  “Wherefore?” Arucard narrowed his stare. “What could thou possibly have done to merit such barbarity?”

  “As I already told thee, my mother died giving birth to me.” Now Isolde wept without restraint. “I took the love of his life, and I must pay just penance for my crime.”

  “By Christ’s fingernails. What manner of people art thine, that they doth commit such heinous atrocities on a vulnerable lady? Whither I hail, we shield our women.” In frustration, he flung the leather strap into the brazier. Then he sighed. “That was my favorite belt.”