by Julia Latham
Julia Latham
Secrets of the Knight
To my sister-in-law, Jean Caples: As the years have
passed, our friendship has deepened. You’re more to
me than my husband’s sister—you’ve become my
sister, too. Thanks for everything.
Contents
Prologue
In the great hall of Castle Bannaster, the seat of…
Chapter 1
Aching with the cold of winter, Tom Bannaster and his…
Chapter 2
It was late in the evening before Diana was able…
Chapter 3
Staring at his nude chest, Diana felt her face flush.
Chapter 4
For Tom, it had been a long, long day. He’d…
Chapter 5
When Diana slammed the cell door shut, she found Mary…
Chapter 6
Tom waited an hour before making his move, and during…
Chapter 7
Talking about his mistakes was not so terrible, Tom told…
Chapter 8
She tasted like the sweetest wine, Tom thought, lost in…
Chapter 9
As Tom followed Cicely about the castle, he could see…
Chapter 10
She tasted like heaven, smelled like rose petals from the…
Chapter 11
Tom would have preferred to have Diana all to himself,…
Chapter 12
Bannaster’s bedchamber flickered with shadows cast by the dying fire’s…
Chapter 13
Christmas Eve proved colder than the day before. Tom pulled…
Chapter 14
Late that evening, overly full of rich foods and exhausted…
Chapter 15
Through Christmas afternoon, Diana enjoyed watching the merriment of her…
Chapter 16
“A New Year’s Day tournament?” Tom said two days later,…
Chapter 17
Diana moaned with the bliss of being cradled in Tom’s…
Chapter 18
Diana moved through the rest of the evening in a…
Chapter 19
Early in the morning, before mass, Tom knocked on Cicely’s…
Chapter 20
In the middle of the night, the only light in…
Chapter 21
Tom was dressed for a winter’s ride into the village…
About the Author
Other Romances
Copyright
About the Publisher
Prologue
England, 1480
In the great hall of Castle Bannaster, the seat of Nicholas, Viscount Bannaster, Diana Winslow helped serve the evening meal and reminded herself that being the first female member of the League of the Blade was never meant to bring her glory. In the minds of Englishmen, the League was only a myth, with no proof of its existence, except to those grateful few whose lives were changed by the Bladesmen’s assistance. Diana had wanted to fight for justice, just as the shadowy Bladesmen did, and she’d known that someday, only the occasional legend of her deeds might be spoken of in a hushed, disbelieving whisper. But she’d never imagined that her first assignment would turn out to be so difficult!
For three weeks she’d been living as a servant, working to gain the confidence of the other maids. Their master, Viscount Bannaster, was known for abusing his servants. He had bastard children that he did not acknowledge, and the vulnerable female members of his staff were terrified of him. One woman recently killed herself over the disgrace.
Yet still, no one would go to the shire’s royal court of law and ask for help. He had convinced them that no law of the land could touch him. Diana’s mission was to make them understand that if they only stood together, they could ensure that the viscount would be forced to alter his behavior, that he would be held accountable. The League never worked in the open; they used their skills in the shadows, assisting the victims.
Diana carried a tray from table to table, displaying choice selections of roasted lamb. Knights, soldiers, and travelers hungrily jostled each other for the best meat, almost upsetting her tray. They paid her no heed, for she was a maid, plain of face, hiding her only beauty, her long blond hair, beneath a servant’s wimple swathed around her head and neck. For only a moment, she wished she could draw her dagger, insist that they show respect. But her impulsive temper was the one thing she was determined to master.
She deliberately turned her thoughts to Mary Gairdner, wondering where the maidservant was. Mary had already been forced into the viscount’s bed, and the woman’s young cousin was about to follow her into service for the family. Mary didn’t want the girl to suffer the abuse that she had, so she was ready to stand up for herself at Diana’s side. There were so many others to convince. The women were not like Diana, who’d grown up training on the tiltyard with her father’s knights and considered herself a man’s equal.
Yet Mary was supposed to be with Diana in the great hall, helping the other maidservants and valets serve the meal. Where was she? Diana thought, feeling a prickle of unease that never seemed to go away within the oppressive atmosphere of Castle Bannaster.
She looked toward the head table, hoping that the viscount had arrived, but he had not. Sitting there quietly, ignored by the guests of the household, was the viscount’s brother, Thomas Bannaster, only a year older than Diana’s seventeen years. He was destined for the priesthood, and he spent most of his time with the parish priest, preparing for his future life of service and religious duty. She did not see him often, but when she did, her eyes were drawn to him, leaving her feeling confused and embarrassed. He was not as tall as his brother, or as broad, for he was not allowed to train with the squires and knights. He had dark, wavy brown hair and the most somber brown eyes that she had ever seen. His face, though yet thin with youth, showed his handsomeness with angled cheekbones and a square jaw. And there was something about the way he carried himself that made her think that he did not spend all his time kneeling in prayer.
Mary had told her that it was no secret that Master Thomas was reluctant to enter the priesthood, but he knew his family duty. Two years before, when their parents had died of the plague, young Thomas had thought himself free, being the new viscount’s heir. But the older brother he worshiped, Mary had told her coldly, had decreed that Thomas’s life still belonged to the church. Lord Bannaster would marry soon, and beget his own heirs. Mary said that she could still remember Master Thomas’s brief look of despair before it had been wiped away by one of duty.
Could he yet become her ally? Diana thought. Surely a man of God would not want the women of the household abused. When the two remaining men at the head table departed, leaving only Master Thomas, she approached him with her tray, as if to set slices of meat upon his pewter plate. When he looked up at her, their eyes briefly met, and she felt this strange awareness, as if they were somehow connected. But she had never met him before her arrival three weeks ago. His face reddened before he quickly looked away.
“Master Thomas, sir,” she began softly, “were you able to speak with your brother?”
Not meeting her eyes, he nodded. “But I did not achieve the results you had wished for.”
He spoke in his deep, husky voice that seemed strangely incongruous with his youth. No one would ever have a problem listening to his sermons.
She gave a start, realizing she hadn’t even paid attention to his words. Why was it so hard to think when she was near him? “Your brother would not listen?”
“He said it was none of my concern.” His mouth twisted. “He claimed he would only discuss it someday when I hear his confession. But I will try again to reach him. Such behavior is
against God’s commandments.”
Hesitantly, she said, “Perhaps you could suggest he should imagine how it would feel if his own mother or sister were abused.”
“My brother only sees the world as it is,” he said dourly, “and does not concern himself with what might have been.”
“Thank you for any help you can give, Master Thomas,” she said, bowing to him as she took her leave.
She had not counted on the viscount listening to his younger brother, a novice priest, but she felt frustrated all the same.
And where was Mary?
Diana looked again at the viscount’s empty chair, as massive and ornate as his opinion of himself. Her unease blossomed into fear. She wanted to go in search of her friend, but she could not leave her duties, not with the cook, a sharp-eyed man, standing near the doorway leading to his kitchens. So she continued to serve, moving through the aisles between the crowded trestle tables, dipping her tray for people to sample, her attention constantly focused on newcomers.
When at last the cook left the hall, Diana slipped into the stone corridor and began to hurry away from the heat and light. The sound faded until she could only hear her own frantic breathing as she practically ran through the pools of torchlight. She went up another level, using the curved staircase built into the castle wall. She passed the occasional guard or servant, and she nodded with confidence, glad she had brought an empty tray covered with a linen cloth, as if she were on an important errand.
When she reached the viscount’s bedchamber, she set down her tray and put her ear to the door, holding her breath to listen. Suddenly, the door opened and Diana stumbled forward, righting herself in time as a woman—Mary—pushed past. She heard the sobs, saw the bowed head and the frantic, pleading glance that Mary gave her before the maidservant broke into a run.
Then the viscount was towering above Diana, looking over her head as he shouted to Mary, “Return at once! How dare you disobey me!”
Diana took a single step back, pressing herself against the wall beside the door, hoping she was of so little consequence to him that he would ignore her. Mary was safe. That was all that mattered.
But the viscount’s dark eyes fastened on her, and the sudden interest and satisfaction that flared there made nausea swirl within her stomach.
But she was a Bladeswoman; this kind of beast was what she fought against. She would resist him.
He grabbed her by the wimple, pulling painfully on her hair and yanking her into his bedchamber. When he let go she stumbled, but avoided falling to her knees where she would be even more vulnerable. The wimple unwound about her head, revealing the blond braid.
“Aah,” Bannaster murmured, coming up behind her.
She tensed, ready to turn and defend herself, but she knew the subservient role she was playing. All she could do was pretend to cower while he yanked at the tie of her braid, releasing her hair to fall in long gold strands about her upper body.
He gripped her arm and pulled her up against him. Diana lifted her eyes to his, not having to fake her trembling lips.
“With that hair, you’re more of a beauty than you’ve let on,” Bannaster said. “Gray eyes, like storm-tossed seas. Aye, you’ll be spirited in my bed.”
She tried to pull away. “Nay, my lord, unhand me. I am not the sort of woman who—who—”
“Sleeps with a man?” He gave a bark of laughter. “All women are. Now take off those garments, and show me more than the meager offerings of that pasty-faced wench you’ve just replaced.”
Secreted in the girdle about her waist, her two daggers seemed hot against her. She ached to use them, if only as a threat, anything to distract the viscount and escape. God above, she had known coming here was perilous, but to find herself in the same situation as the women she’d been trying to protect was too sad for words.
He grabbed her about the waist and flung her toward his bed. Instinctively, she rolled and came to her feet on the far side. Her hair tangled in her face, and she flung it back.
He grinned, starting toward her, his hand outstretched. “Lively sort, aren’t you?”
He was drunk and too confident when he made another swipe at her, and this time she was able to duck and run toward the door, as desperate as any woman who fled from him. She misjudged his clumsiness, for he caught her hair in his fist and yanked. She found herself on her back on the floor, the breath knocked from her.
He was on her in an instant. She had thought his evil made him weak, but he yet had the body of a warrior, a peer who believed himself invincible in his own world. She brought her knee up hard and he blocked it, pulling her hair even harder until her back arched off the floor beneath him to keep her neck from breaking. His mouth was hot and wet on her throat, and she gagged when he bit her. She tried to slam his ears with her palms, but he evaded her, catching both of her arms and spreading them wide.
“Someone taught you to defend yourself,” he said, before trying to cover her mouth with his.
She shook her head wildly back and forth to evade him, and all she got for her effort was a hard slap across the face. Her ears rang, as the room seemed to tilt crazily.
God above, she could not faint. It wouldn’t matter to this monster. She might awaken and find herself defiled. She began to fight in earnest, butting his face with her head. He reared back as blood began to stream from his nose.
“You bitch!”
She had only a moment to roll out from beneath him and came to her feet, her dagger in her hand. Wearing a bloody grin, he dove at her, catching her around the middle. She fell back, her head hitting a coffer against the wall, but she didn’t lose her grip on the dagger. With incredible strength, he held her wrist immobile with one hand, and as she arched and kicked, he yanked her skirts up with the other, falling between her thighs to hold her down. When she dug her heels into the floor to throw him off, her hand inching down to her waist, he only groaned as if he were in ecstasy.
Her head was pounding from the blow, her heart raced wildly, and she couldn’t catch her breath. He countered everything she tried. She felt trapped, like an animal, and in that moment of desperation, she forgot everything but survival.
Yanking the second dagger from her girdle, she buried it between his ribs.
He went still above her, his expression astonished.
“By the devil—” Then he seemed to look beyond her. “Tom—”
Someone lifted him off her and rolled him onto his back. She was able to scramble onto her hands and knees, wild hair hanging in her eyes. She pulled her hood over her head, desperate to cover herself, to hide from what she’d done. It was surely the viscount’s brother who now stood above her.
Still on her knees, horrified and confused, she could not look away from the viscount, his body going slack, his expression almost comical in its bewilderment. And then his face drooped as the light went out of his eyes.
She’d killed him, a peer of the realm.
She heard nothing but the blood pounding in her ears. A normal woman might faint or scream; Diana’s mind raced to analyze what she should do next. She waited for the novice priest to drag her to her feet, call for the guards, condemn her to hell’s fire, anything. Risking a glance at him from beneath her hood, she saw him staring in shock at the body.
Without looking at her, he said harshly, “Just go.”
Her mouth fell open. She collected herself enough to whisper, “But—I did not mean—he—”
He closed his eyes as if in pain, his expression a grimace of sorrow. “I know what he was doing, and I do not blame you. He bears the sin. Take your dagger and go before you are discovered by someone else. Speak of this to no one. Flee the castle at the first opportunity.”
Bending to hide herself from him, confused and grateful and guilty, she gathered her wimple and both daggers, wiping them clean on a discarded shirt. Lord Bannaster’s brother—the new viscount, she realized—never moved. Taking a deep breath, she listened at the door, unlatched it, and looked out. T
he corridor was deserted. She picked up the empty tray, tucked it under her arm, and walked as slowly as she dared, retracing her steps. All the while, she braided her hair and hid it beneath the wimple. She did not return to the great hall for fear that there might be blood on her clothing or a bruise on her cheek from the viscount’s slap.
As she changed into her night rail in the small chamber she shared with three other maidservants, she did not even think of fleeing. That would make her look guilty. Nay, she would remain until his body was found. Mary already wished to leave Castle Bannaster with her, and being born here would enable Mary to convince the guards that her parents needed her in the village. Together they could escape the castle. After all, Diana and Mary would not be suspects; what man would ever believe that a woman could overpower the viscount?
As Diana lay on her pallet in the darkness, her body began to shake. She told herself it was just relief at how close she’d come to dying. But tonight she’d taken a man’s life, committing a sin that God might not forgive her for, especially since she could not risk confessing to a priest.
She knew she’d acted only to protect herself. But part of her felt guilty—for not feeling more guilt.
And what about the new viscount? Although she did not think he’d seen her face, he knew that his brother’s murderer was one of the castle maids. He was in shock now, but what if he changed his mind about shielding her? What would she do then?
Chapter 1
Yorkshire, six years later
Aching with the cold of winter, Tom Bannaster and his small party of men had been traveling north from London for several weeks, and only the promise of looking over a potential bride made him keep going—and the fact that his cousin, King Henry, had “suggested” he take the journey to meet this particular woman. That in itself made Tom uneasy. But he was a loyal subject, and through the last six years—and four different kings—he’d managed to choose the right path. Not without several stumbles, of course, but when a man had to relearn an entire childhood’s worth of lessons, some mistakes were inevitable.
