by Joanne Rock
Yorkshire Coast, 1344
After paying a hefty bride-price for Lady Matilda of Glen Rising, Simon of Longford is furious when her father reneges on the agreement. Prepared to fight for what is rightfully his, Simon journeys to the earl’s stronghold—and stumbles upon the lady herself alone in the forest. He had been seeking only a suitable mother for his daughter and a dowry to reinforce his keep—he never expected his betrothed to be such a bold beauty. Now, he intends to hold Matilda captive until her father honors the wedding contract. But he cannot guarantee she will still be a maid come morning…
Maid Until Midnight
Joanne Rock
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Historical Undone BPA
Copyright
Chapter One
Yorkshire Coast, 1344
Simon of Longford cursed the Fates as he began writing the missive he’d most hoped to avoid.
“Send men and supplies for siege,” he began, his pen scrawling awkwardly across the parchment draped over his knee. He sat on a downed tree as the sun rose to its peak. This was a battle he could not afford, but he had no choice if he wanted to protect his daughter. He had to fight to regain the bride and the dowry that he’d been promised.
His squire, a sulky boy of thirteen who sat beside him in a Yorkshire forest, threw dice while Simon balanced the writing implements on his thigh.
“Do you hear that?” Will asked suddenly.
“What?” Simon paused, unwilling to be caught by surprise in the land of his enemy.
No sooner had he asked than a woman’s voice, lifted in song, answered.
“For the maiden she said unto me...” A tune trilled along the spring breeze, the feminine notes just barely catching his ear from higher up the hill.
They sat in thick woods outside Glen Rising Keep, a stronghold Simon had studied for the past three days in an effort to determine the fortress’s vulnerabilities. Simon did not trust the evaluation of any man save himself, so he’d dragged his squire into the forest surrounding the keep to scout the lands. He’d come to the conclusion that he would need at least twelve men to infiltrate the keep under cover of night and obtain what he wanted from it.
One Lady Matilda of Glen Rising, his former betrothed. A woman now denied him, thanks to her greedy sire. Worse, Simon’s six-year-old daughter Rowena had been denied the mother that Simon had promised her. After losing his first wife three years ago, Simon was on a mission to give Rowena more than a nursemaid as a replacement. During the first year after his wife’s death, he’d been away from home on business for the king. By the time he’d understood the need to replace his wife, he’d been slowed by the politics of an appropriate match.
His little girl’s slow development would put her at risk in a world where any defect was viewed as a form of idiocy, and an excuse for the king to seize the family’s assets. Henry III had created the law during his reign, and it allowed the crown to steal guardianship of people afflicted with insanity and make a predatory land grab along with it. Simon would protect Rowena from coming under royal scrutiny at any cost. No matter that Edward III now sat on the throne—one king was as greedy as the next in Simon’s eyes.
“Never again will I hold thee...” The voice continued, animated and slightly louder, as if the songstress drew near.
William straightened from his dice game, craning his neck toward the sound. “Perhaps it is a shepherdess up to mischief,” he guessed. “Or a washerwoman finding her way home for the day?”
Simon set the quill and parchment aside, tucking the materials into a leather satchel to craft the missive later. This wandering female could be of use to his cause. No woman would be out here unaccompanied unless she came from Glen Rising.
And Simon was ready to gamble since his time had run out to retrieve Lady Matilda. He had never met Matilda, but the earl had sworn an oath to him a year ago, giving Simon enough of a dowry to begin reinforcing his keep on lands nearby. In turn, Simon had sent his future bride a ruby necklace his grandfather had brought back from a long-ago Crusade. With the bargain struck, Simon had begun work on his stronghold, needing to create an impregnable fortress to deter any invaders that might discover his daughter’s condition. Unfortunately, the greedy earl had gotten the idea to offer his fair daughter to the highest bidder instead, leaving Simon with stonemasons he could not pay and a child more vulnerable than ever. Not to mention, he was not without his family’s most precious heirloom.
Now, it was rumored that Lord Ulric entertained several nobles and an announcement of Lady Matilda’s new betrothal was imminent. Simon had to act quickly to stake an irrefutable claim to the maid.
“Unless you prove your loyalty!” The songstress hit a high note with enthusiasm. And as she did, the sound of her tripping through the brush became more apparent.
Simon put his finger to his lips to signal for quiet, then tugged on William’s arm before he whispered, “Take the horse to the south and wait for me at camp.”
If young Will had been sulky before, he turned fully sullen now, his eyebrows swooping down in dark furrows. No doubt the boy wanted a glimpse of the mystery woman, as he’d reached the age when all females seemed exotic and enticing. Especially those who ventured too far from home.
Alone.
Still, the young man did as he was bade, moving silently thanks to hours of practice these past three days when they’d surveyed the perimeter of Glen Rising in search of breaks in the wall. Did the warbling maid know of an opening they had missed? Perhaps she would save Simon valuable resources in gaining access to Glen Rising.
A few moments of softer humming helped orient him to her direction while Will disappeared with his horse.
“And I said, won’t you have pity?” The high-pitched question rang out through the forest in simple melody, startling a rabbit that hopped over Simon’s foot. “Such pleasure you would ne`er forget.”
The maid’s ballad took a decidedly bawdy turn, tugging an unexpected grin from his lips. When was the last time he had indulged himself? His quest for vengeance on the lord of Glen Rising had left little room for the pleasures the maid celebrated in questionable harmony.
Now, creeping forward to position himself behind a craggy hawthorn tree, Simon prepared to snare his prey. He would not risk a chase through the brush and perhaps alert a sentinel on the walls of Glen Rising. Better to catch her cleanly. Quietly.
The woman hummed as she walked, her tune increasing in volume with each step, alerting Simon to the exact moment he needed to reach out and...
“Oh!” A startled squeak was the only sound she made before he clamped a hand over her mouth and an arm around her waist.
She wore a long, hooded cloak that put her features in shadow and shrouded her body, but she felt wholly feminine beneath the supple wool garment as she twisted in vain against him.
“The sooner you are still and quiet, the sooner I will release you,” he promised, speaking softly against her hood.
But the foolish maid struggled harder, biting his hand and kicking his shins in a bid for freedom. With no choice but to tighten his grip, he sealed her body to his.
The curve of her rump seared his groin, the indent of her waist providing the perfect spot to secure her. Both of his arms grazed her breasts, the soft swell of unmistakable female reminding him how long it had been since he’d taken a woman to his bed. Unfortunately, his prickly quarry didn’t seem as inclined to idle pleasures as her song had implied.
“I am surprised a scullery maid who sings coarse songs while wandering far from home would prove so defiant in a man’s arms,” he remarked, his carnal
interest waning at her resistance. “But do not fear me. I only wish to know how you departed Glen Rising.”
The maid shook her head furiously, loosening her hood as she did. The black wool slipped back, revealing unbound tresses the color of spun gold in the sunlight.
Spun gold? Simon was not a man given to fanciful thoughts, but the woman was no ordinary female. In profile, her features were perfectly carved, as smooth and unblemished as an alabaster statue. Long, dark eyelashes swept along the top of her cheek as she blinked up at him, turning to peer over her shoulder with silver-gray eyes.
Such perfection did not exist in scullery maids. No woman who appeared thus had ever known hardship, had ever gone to bed hungry. No matter that her cloak was the garb of a humble servant, she could only be a noblewoman.
“Who are you?” he demanded, his gaze roving the hillside below the keep’s walls to see if he missed her guards. “No lady of noble birth is allowed to wander the woods without escort.”
He knew a moment’s cold dread as he held her. Such a prize would be missed. If this exquisite lady belonged to him, he would unleash the hounds of hell on anyone who dared to touch her. Was his Matilda as fair as this winsome beauty? Behind his palm, his captive made an urgent sound that vibrated along the skin where she’d bitten him. Her gray eyes pleaded silently, the appearance of tears reminding him she must be frightened.
“Do not scream,” he warned, enthralled by her uncommon beauty and the feel of her against him. “I will not harm you, but if you lift your voice now, there will be consequences.”
Like his death, perhaps, by the arrow of some member of a retinue that must surely accompany her. He peered around again but spied nothing save trees and birds.
“Nod if you understand,” he insisted, though he would put little stock in a woman’s word given under such circumstances.
She inclined her head and Simon loosened his hold on her mouth. Shamed to see the light red imprint of his fingers on her creamy cheek, he also eased his grip on her waist, regretting the loss of her hips pinned to his.
She lurched forward with renewed vigor. Lifting her skirts to her knees she took off like a deer.
Cursing himself, he took chase, crashing through the underbrush while her feet fell lightly on the forest floor. The gap between them widened until he realized how well she moved, darting trees and leaping fallen logs.
He was not pursuing a terrified maid, but a cagey foe with a plan. Picking up speed, he extended an arm and half dived to reach her. And still, he treated her with care. Instead of landing on top of her, he spun them in midair so that he took the brunt of the fall on his shoulder.
She landed atop him in a sprawl that tangled her skirts about his legs and dislodged her hair from her hood. The silken mass pooled alongside his neck, her cheek grazing his.
“You are a madman!” She tried to lever herself up but winced when she put her hand on the ground.
He picked up her palm and discovered an assortment of cuts there. She must have braced herself when they tumbled to the ground, skidding her flesh along the stones and pinecones.
“Not half as mad as a noblewoman who ventures alone in the woods.” Thinking about it made him angry. When he’d assumed she was a solitary laundress, he envisioned a woman of sense and experience, not this delicate creature thinly disguised as a serving wench. “How did you escape without anyone seeing you?”
He needed to wrest just this one answer from her before he released her. Before he did something foolish like sift his fingers through the fall of golden locks tickling his cheek or roll her beneath him for a better feel of her body.
“I am no noblewoman,” she protested, trying to slide off him. “I am a maid to the lady of the keep and I do her bidding. If you would not have me flayed alive when I return, I pray you will release me unharmed.”
“Not a noblewoman? Aye, and I’m the village priest.” He wondered how long he could keep her here, her thigh dipping lightly between his.
Her breasts rose and fell against his chest with each ragged breath she took. The sensation tantalized.
“Do not be absurd,” she chastened him with an imperious command no servant would dare. “Lady Matilda will miss me at any moment. I merely gather herbs for her bath.”
Simon tensed at the name of his betrothed. He did not see any herbs. Nor did he see a basket for gathering. Instead, he saw a liar desperate to escape. How interesting that she’d chosen to hide behind Matilda. If he did not know better, he would think she might be the lady herself. But if noblemen gathered from throughout England and Wales to view the earl’s prized daughter, she would be the last female to escape the keep.
And yet...
The woman he held was beyond beautiful. How many maids of such uncommon looks could take shelter in Glen Rising this eve?
Could he be so fortunate to have snagged his quarry so easily? Favorable luck had eluded him since his wife’s death. He hardly dared to believe it would visit him now. Heart slogging harder against his chest, he kept one arm around his captive and rolled her to her back in the warm patch of sun-dappled grass. Her gray eyes widened in alarm.
“Sir, please,” she protested, her hands coming to rest on his chest as if she could pry him off.
Her touch inflamed him. The thrill of the chase had roused sleeping hungers. He caught the sun-warmed scent of lavender soap and fought the urge to bury his nose in her neck. Nay, her bodice. His gaze flicked lower to the soft swell of her breasts. His fingers itched to unfasten her brooch and part her long woolen cloak to reveal her garb beneath. Would it be the rough fabric of a maid’s clothing? Or the silk of a lady’s?
More than that, he simply wanted an excuse to undress her.
“You walked these hills singing, as if you’d done it dozens of times and knew your way.” He scanned her face for any trace of the greedy earl’s visage passed down to this woman. But if that man had fathered this graceful beauty, he’d left no trace of his squashed features or scowling countenance.
“I have done it dozens of times!” she retorted, giving away too much with that answer. She tracked his gaze with a nervous, darting glance. “As Lady Matilda’s maid, I fetch things for her often.”
The only noblewoman who would have traversed these hills dozens of time would be one who lived at Glen Rising permanently. Since Matilda’s mother had died many years prior, that left only one possibility for the noblewoman beneath him.
Matilda herself.
Triumph swelled in his chest along with the hunger for possession. She belonged to him.
“Prove it.” His breath rasped in a throat gone dry, his hip covering her left thigh to hold her in place.
She was sun warmed and soft. Her heart raced with a fear he couldn’t ease quite yet.
“W-what do you mean?”
“Prove you are a servant by opening your cloak. Show me your garments.” He fingered the simple silver brooch at her throat, tracing the cool metal. “Do you wear the garb of a serving girl beneath humble wool? Or will I find evidence of the noble lineage I suspect?”
Lady Matilda’s mouth went dry as the knight’s weathered hands hovered at the base of her neck.
She had only sought a moment’s freedom from the suffocating attentions of her father’s guests, suitors who looked her over with the same assessment one might give to a cow in the village market. One prospective husband had asked her to show her teeth so he might determine her health and expected longevity. Another had tried to drag her behind a tapestry to dishonor her so she would be forced to wed him, an incident that had driven her to seek shelter in a favored hiding place outside the keep. The abandoned hermit’s cottage had been vacant since she was a child and had always provided a safe place to gather her thoughts.
Until now. The knight who pinned her to the ground would have been handsome at a distance. Up close, he was thoroughly intimidating, with blue eyes that seemed out of place on a man with such a dark complexion. His hair and brows were the color of ink while
his cheeks were shadowed with the rough scratch of a newly begun beard. She would have feared him as a thief or some other woodland predator except that his tunic was clean and woven of the softest lawn.
“Sir.” She allowed her desperation to come through in her voice, hoping the man would be reminded of the chivalrous vows he would have taken as a knight. “I beg of you. Release me at once.”
“If you have told me the truth, I will escort you safely back to Glen Rising immediately.” He lifted his right hand and pressed his palm over his heart in the sign of an oath. “I swear it on my life.”
Saints above, help me.
Matilda prayed for divine intercession. She needed a miracle to escape now and she vowed if she could flee now, she would never be so reckless again. Her heart threatened to beat right out of her chest. Her hands fisted in the grass at her sides. Even if this knight did escort her back to Glen Rising, her father would throttle her upon arrival.
“What kind of nobleman insists that any woman—servant or lady—remove an article of clothing?” Fear pushed the words from her mouth. She did not wish to antagonize her captor, but she was too frightened to think clearly.
The dark-haired knight lifted a brow. “`Tis a cloak, not a chemise.”
His finger had halted on her brooch. His thumb grazed her throat. A warm tingle of sensation tripped over her skin as his gentle touch unnerved her.
“`Tis an invasion,” she protested weakly, wondering why an echo of the knight’s touch licked over her skin beneath the cloak when he hadn’t even touched her there.
A knowing smile transformed the man’s face from fearsome to...less so. A spark of heat and humor illuminated those cool blue eyes. Her gaze went to his mouth, where his full lips lifted, creating a crease in his cheek she could almost believe was a dimple.
“I’ve no plans for invasion unless you would welcome it.” He tugged the pin from her cloak, unfastening the fabric from her throat.
The odd warmth in her blood seemed a warning. He shifted against her slightly, his heavy thigh sliding lower on her leg. The heat of his lower body warmed her. Summoning her courage, she made one last effort to roll out from under him. Jerking to her left, she succeeded only in shifting open her cloak.
