Box Set - Knights of Passion (7 Novels)

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

  “She was English,” he said, sure the recounting of the tale would shake him to soul, ridding him of the foolish wish to kiss Mairi MacKenzie. “We met at a champion tournament in France. She was there with her father and brothers. They’d hoped to arrange a good marriage for her, either to a man of rank at the French court, or to one of the attending foreign or English noblemen. I should ne’er have touched her, but she’d caught my eye and so when opportunity arose…”

  He let the words trail away, knowing she knew what transpired. “I never saw her again after that night. Indeed, I even forgot her.” Guilt stabbed him on that admission, but it was the truth. “I was journeying round the tourney circuit, bold, brash, and full of swagger, enjoying all the attendant pleasures available to such young just-earned-their spurs knights.”

  “Here, sir.” Mairi pressed a cup of warm, spiced ale into his hand, closing his fingers around the offering, urging him to drink.

  He hadn’t realized she’d left his side.

  That she had, and to fetch him such a soothing brew, sent a crack tearing through whatever hard, tightness had settled so uncomfortably in his chest. He could feel it breaking apart, threatening to split wide.

  “What happened then?” She watched as he raised the cup to his lips, took a grateful swallow. “When did you see her again? Was it at court? Here in Scotland, or south in-”

  “It was in England, aye.” Gare tipped back his head, downing the ale. “But we didn’t meet at court, and neither at any fine high table in an English stronghold. We clashed at Neville’s Cross five years ago, coming face to face during that ill-starred battle.”

  “She was at the battle, a spectator?” Mairi took the ale cup from his hand, went to pour him another. “I have heard some women travel round with their knightly husbands. Had she wed and was riding with her-”

  “She was fighting, in the affray.” The horror of the memory rushed Gare, chilling his blood anew. “She wore full armor, sat a caparisoned destrier, and couched a lance as good as any tournament knight. When I first glimpsed her, she was barreling down on me, her spear aimed at my heart, her face and hair hidden beneath her helm.”

  Mairi gasped, once again looking shocked. “Why would she have been in the battle?”

  “I’ll ne’er know, no’ truly.” It was one of his greatest regrets. “She was an excellent rider when I first met her. She’d claimed to have mastered swordery and jousting, skills taught to her by her brothers.

  “But I ne’er dreamt to face her in war.” Gare shuddered, hoped Mairi hadn’t seen. “I did learn that she’d lost a brother and it’d been his gear she’d donned, even his horse and spear.”

  Mairi stepped closer to the door opening to peer out into the thick, cold mist. Her gaze was on Troll who sat near her peat stack. He’d cocked his head, seemingly entranced by the mist blowing past the broch, the birches at the glen’s edge. They tossed in the wind, their silvery branches like raised, waving arms.

  “Can it be she wished to avenge someone, her dead brother, a lover or husband?” She turned back to Gare, her brow furrowed as if her next words were difficult. “Or…” She bit her lip, threw another quick look at Troll. “Some women have a wildness in their hearts. Perhaps she did and sought to quench hers by riding into an affray?”

  Gare closed his eyes, drew a tight breath.

  “There was talk.” He wished it wasn’t so for he felt, in part, responsible. “Men in taverns and inns spoke of her, a sad tale.” He paused, braced a hand against the thick stone edge of the door opening. “I wasnae the only young knight she dallied with at French jousting competitions. Regrettably, she was caught, her name ruined, her family scandalized. They left her there when their party sailed back to England and that was the last I’d heard of her until after Neville’s Cross when I made discreet enquiries.”

  “You cannot blame yourself.” Mairi slid an arm around him, leaning into him so that her warmth was a balm to his soul. “Many women have met such fates, lost everything because they were too spirited, giving full rein to their passion.”

  “That doesnae clear the guilt of the men who helped them into ruin.” Gare bowed his head, a muscle jerking in jaw. “A moment’s pleasure for a life ruined. It is no good bargain, my lady, and my regrets are deep.

  “At the battle, I’d lost my mount and was fighting afoot. That we’d lost was clear, the Scots nobles and most of their captains and best knights had fled the field, but some skirmishes kept on, mostly at the field’s edge for too many fallen Scots warriors littered the main battleground. I’d just cut my way out of one of the last smaller routs when a horsed knight charged me, coming at speed and lance couched, ready to run me through. A knight grounded is no match for a mounted opponent – unless, as happened to me, the horse can be brought down and the knight toppled, evening the fight.

  “So I grabbed a spear from a slain foot soldier and dropped to one knee, aiming the lance at the charging warhorse.” He paused, stepping out into the night’s chill damp and tipping back his head to stare up at the dark, racing clouds. “I only needed to wait, see you? The horse couldn’t halt his forward rush.”

  He turned to look at Mairi when she appeared beside him, resting a hand lightly on his arm. “The destrier leapt over a pile of fallen men, then lost his footing, slipping on the blood-slicked ground.

  “The beast went down, his rider sailing over his head, straight onto my waiting spearhead.” Gare placed a hand over hers, squeezing her fingers before breaking free to pace deeper into the mist, away from the broch. “The cheek pieces of the knight’s helm flew open at impact and Lady Gwendolyn’s shocked eyes stared into mine as she fell, slumping to the red ground, my lance piercing her through.

  “She recognized me, I know.” He stopped, reaching to rub the back of his neck, wishing it’d been him that had met such an end, not a young woman whose only sin had been her enthusiasm for life.

  He waited as Mairi came up to him, the sympathy on her face making it worse. “I saw the recognition flare in her eyes. She couldn’t speak, but she stared at me as I eased the helm from her head, needing to be sure it was her - that I’d done the unthinkable and slain an innocent.”

  “Are you sure it was her?” Mairi’s voice was soft and gentle, a beckoning relief in the horror of his memories. “You hadn’t seen her in years.”

  “It was her, beyond doubt.” Gare could see the nightmarish scene again now, as clearly as yesterday. “She had unusually light green eyes and a heart-shaped birthmark on her cheek. I knelt beside her, smoothing back her spilled hair to be sure I wasn’t mistaken. Her gaze locked on mine, blood trickling from her mouth. Then she was gone, the deed done.

  “I broke my sword there and then, vowing to never lift it again.” Gare clenched his fists, drew a deep shuddering breath. “When I returned to Blackrock, I did more. I knew I could ne’er again touch a woman.”

  ***

  “You have touched this one.” Mairi slid her arms around him, holding tight. She could hardly speak for the thickness in her throat, scarce see his handsome face for the hot, unshed tears stinging her eyes. “No man’s sorrow has ever moved me so deeply. I do not have a love charm for you, or spelling words to ease your pain, but I can give you comfort and solace for however long it takes to heal your heart.”

  “I am no’ sure I have one, lady.” He looked down at her, his dark eyes glinting in the mist and moon-washed darkness. “No’ since Neville’s Cross, anyway.”

  “But you do.” She rested her cheek on his plaid-and-mail covered chest, hearing his heart’s steady thumping. “Everyone does, no matter what happens to us. Yours is only sleeping, waiting for revival.”

  “Then all will be well.” He extracted himself from her embrace, stepping away from her. “For the good people of Blackrock, and for Lady Beatrice Burnett, who shall soon be my bride.”

  “I am glad.” Your lady shall be the most blessed maid in the land.

  And I shall be the most bereft.

  Mair
i turned aside, going over to where his dog had plopped down before a bench against the broch wall. She didn’t want Gare to see the shimmer of tears in her eyes, to guess that his words had stilled her own heart, dashing ridiculous hopes that he’d kindled inside her. A hot tide of jealousy gripped her, squeezing like an iron fist. Feelings she had no right to, a fierce unjustified sense of possessiveness that was frightening in its intensity.

  If she didn’t know better, she’d think she was falling in love with the man.

  Yet she’d only just met him.

  Her heart laughed at the argument, her soul – an old one, she was sure – only smiled, nodding silently, admonishing her for doubting what was true.

  Hadn’t she known when their gazes first met, that theirs was a meeting unlike any before?

  The jolt that had hit her then was proof enough.

  But to what end?

  He intended to wed another, had sought her aid for that very purpose. She was even helping him, her words this night forging a path he was already following, moving away from her. He’d leave Dunwynde and the Glen of Winds, and return to his own distant stronghold where he’d wed and resume his life with the faceless noblewoman, Lady Beatrice Burnett.

  She would remain here, as always on her own with the wind, rocks, and loneliness of the glen.

  Only now, unlike ever before, she’d yearn to be elsewhere.

  Not at all liking that he’d slipped so easily past her defenses, Mairi dropped onto the little wooden bench beside her door and leaned back against the hard, cold stone of the broch wall. She closed her eyes, furious when she was immediately assailed with images of herself and Gare naked and entwined on the furs of her sleeping pallet. She saw them mad for each other, then flushed and sated from their passionate lovemaking, their hearts pounding with the newfound love neither had thought to find.

  A chill ran through her, rippling down her nerves. The pointlessness of her yearning split her heart, making it hard to even breathe.

  Gare didn’t need help.

  She did.

  And she didn’t know how to begin to fix the ache building inside her.

  She was about to push to her feet and go back inside the broch when she heard, “Lady, I have ne’er spoken so fully of that day.”

  She stood quickly, turning to see Gare striding toward her, his mail and the Thor’s hammer amulet at his neck catching the moonlight.

  “I still don’t understand about Lady Gwendolyn,” Mairi said when he stopped before her. I cannot speak to you about the other one, Lady Beatrice.

  He glanced aside, his gaze on a nearby burn, its surface shining silver through the mist. “There is no’ much else to say.”

  We have more to say than could fill a lifetime. Mairi kept the words silent, waiting as Troll gave a great, noisy yawn. He stretched and then pushed his face against her arm, kissing her hand, before leaving them to disappear into the warmth of the broch.

  “He likes you.” Gare looked after the dog as he vanished into the broch’s shadows. “He aye gave my sister those nichtie-nicht kisses. I have no’ seen him show such affection to anyone else.”

  “He is a good dog.” He is wonderful, and I could love him, too.

  Mary drew her shawl closer about her shoulders, not willing to start down that road. Too much pain and sorrow waited at its end, and each step she’d take along the journey would only break her heart the more.

  So she brushed down her skirts, stood straighter, and met Gare’s eye, preparing to hear the last bits she needed to push his tragic tale from her mind. “I understand Lady Gwendolyn’s fall from grace, as such matters are often called, but whatever made her don a knight’s armor and ride into battle, meeting a man’s war and risking a warrior’s death?

  “It doesn’t make sense, and” – her heart clenched for the long-dead woman – “I am sorry for her.”

  “As am I, lady.” The bleak look returned to Gare’s eyes, his face once more a mask of numb misery. “I meant to tell you. She’d fallen on such hard times that she’d taken to bartering her life for the necks of those knights and soldiers who, for whatever reason, chose not to honor an overlord’s call to arms. For coin, she went in their place.”

  “Oh!” Mairi’s eyes rounded. She felt ill.

  The poor woman’s plight was a worse fate than anything she’d endured.

  Nor had she ever heard the like.

  “There are men who pay others to fight for them?” As a proud MacKenzie, hailing from a clan forged of Scotland’s most valiant and fierce warriors, she could scarce credit any man sinking so low, especially to employ a woman. “You said she was a born horsewoman, had learned to joust like a champion. These are the skills she sold?”

  Gare nodded. “I was told she claimed she’d rather die on the field, lance in hand, than in a whore’s bed because some lecher gave her the pox.”

  “Oh, dear…” Mairi’s eyed filled and she dashed at her cheeks, her throat thickening again. “A thousand blessings and graces on her soul.”

  “And on you, my lady.” He reached for her hands, linking their fingers when she accepted his grasp. “I thank whate’er powers led me to you. My remorse will ne’er completely fade, nor would I wish it to, given the past. But I now believe I can offer for Lady Beatrice with a clear conscience, certain I will make her a good husband.”

  “I am glad,” Mairi said again, finding no other words.

  Those three tasted like cold ash on her tongue, and so suited her mind beautifully. He was squeezing her fingers now, the contact sending currents of sensation up her arms, across her skin and along her nerves. Tingly liquid heat that rushed straight to her heart and poured into deeper, intimate places, damning her.

  Her breath hitched and she’d swear the fine hairs on her nape were lifting from the shock. It felt as if she’d snatched a lightning bolt from the sky, closing her fingers around its hot, sizzling core.

  Never had a man’s touch affected her powerfully.

  And he was only holding her hands!

  She pulled free, half wondering if he wasn’t the one said to cast miracles.

  She met his gaze, hoped her voice wouldn’t betray her. “Then there is no further reason for you to stay on here.” I wish you would leave now, so swiftly I cannot even draw another breath before the mist closes around you, hiding you from my sight. “I will prepare a food hamper for you in the morning, enough provender to see you and Troll well beyond Kintail’s farthest boundaries.”

  “You are kind.” He was so tall, broad-shouldered, and well-muscled, so ruggedly handsome in the silvery light of so much swirling mist and moon glow. “I will honor your secret here, telling no one that I met you. But this, I promise,” he added, taking both her hands again and bringing them to his lips. “I shall ne’er forget you.”

  “You will leave at first light?” She could hardly speak.

  “Aye, you have my word.” He nodded, breaking her heart. “I shall pay your respects to your chieftain, Duncan, when I call at Eilean Creag Castle to collect my horse. He should know what a fine kinswoman he has, that I am grateful-”

  A great crash came from the broch, the unmistakable toppling of a table, the shattering of earthen cups and bowls, and the loud slurping of a dog eating spilled stew off the hard-packed dirt floor.

  “Troll!” Gare sprinted into the broch, calling to his dog.

  Mairi followed more slowly, needing to gather her wits. She was almost glad the beast had made such a mess, knocking over the table to steal the remaining stew in their dinner bowls, the untouched cheese and her famed bannocks. Cleaning up after him would keep her occupied, giving her something to do besides make a pallet for Gare.

  She wasn’t sure she could bear that.

  Not knowing that once he’d slept there, he’d leave her forever.

  Dunwynde and the Glen of Winds banshee forgotten and wiped from his mind, no matter how much he swore that he would always remember her.

  She knew better.

  Much as
she wished she didn’t.

  THE TAMING OF MAIRI MACKENZIE

  CHAPTER FIVE

  “Troll!” Gare skidded to a halt inside the broch’s devastated main room. In truth, the ancient ruin’s only room. He set his hands on his hips, frowned at his dog. “Have you gone daft, laddie? Did the lass no’ give you a well-filled stew bowl of your own?”

  The dog looked back at him, licking his lips as he did so, his canine gaze unblinking.

  Guileless, he dropped his huge haunches in the middle of the mess from Mairi’s toppled table. One leg had broken. The two earthen bowls that had held his and Mairi’s supper were cracked in halves, the useless shards cleaned of any stew that might have clung to their sides. Nary a speck of food littered the well-swept floor, making clear that Troll had gobbled all evidence of his mischief, save the pool of spilled ale that was slowly spreading. The ale cups were intact, but the jug was shattered beyond repair.

  Blessedly, the night wind had extinguished the table candle when Mairi latched back the entry’s leather curtain or a worse disaster might have greeted them.

  As things stood, Gare felt terrible.

  “My apologies, ne’er has he done anything the like.” He turned to her for she was still behind him, in the doorway. He was stunned to see her smiling.

  Troll barked and lumbered over to her, pressing his bulk into her legs.

  The fiend’s tail swished, his lolling tongue almost making him look proud of his handiwork.

  “It’s no bother.” Mairi turned her smile on the dog, reaching down to ruffle his ears. “He was hungry, no more.”

  Gare rubbed the back of his neck, frowning. “He broke your table,” he said, glancing at the rickety piece that was already a disgrace.

  Stooping, he picked up the shattered leg and tossed it on the room’s central hearthstone. It caught fire at once, the flames bright and blue-orange, crackling loudly as the wood quickly burned.