One Knight's Kiss: A Medieval Romance Novella

by Catherine Kean

  “When I realized you might be hurt or killed, naught was as important to me as your life. I did not want to lose you. I simply could not. You have been such a generous friend, and I…I am sorry for being so horrible to you tonight.”

  Honoria could hardly believe what she was hearing, but she was grateful for the apology. “Thank you, Cornelia.”

  “I have been selfish and spiteful. Well, no more.” The younger woman’s lips formed a wobbly smile. “I am going to work hard to be a better person. I want to be a brave, clever, honorable lady just like you.”

  “You already are brave. You alerted everyone in the hall to the intruder.”

  Cornelia’s eyes shone. “That was rather brave, was it not?”

  “Just like a damsel from one of my books.”

  “Oh, Honoria.” There was no censure in the younger woman’s voice; only admiration. “Mayhap sometime, I can borrow that book? I have decided I would like to read the old stories.”

  “I would be happy to let you borrow it.”

  As they embraced again, armed guards hurried past, headed for the keep’s upper level, no doubt undertaking the search that had been ordered.

  Tristan approached, carrying the tome. His tender gaze skimmed over Honoria. “You are well? Unhurt?”

  “Aye, I am well.” She wanted so desperately to throw herself into his arms and kiss him. Did she dare?

  “Wait just a moment you two.” Cornelia dashed off into the crowd that had resumed mingling.

  Tristan stepped closer. Far too close to be gallant.

  He skimmed the backs of his fingers down her cheek, a touch so gentle, Honoria thought she might swoon. “Tonight, may I dance with you?”

  She couldn’t tear her gaze from his. “You may. Also, I—”

  Cornelia rushed up beside them, her hands behind her back. A little breathlessly, she said, “Honoria, hold out your hand.”

  “Why? And what are you hiding behind your back?”

  The younger woman giggled. “Just hold out your hand.”

  When she did, Cornelia dropped a small object into Honoria’s palm: a mistletoe berry.

  Tristan chuckled and held up another white berry between his thumb and forefinger. “Willow helped me find this one.”

  “Willow?” Oh, mercy.

  With the rustle of greenery and ribbon, Cornelia drew the kissing bough out from behind her back. Radley, who must have seen what she was doing, strode over and lifted her up, sitting her on his shoulder so that she could hold the bough over Honoria and Tristan’s heads.

  “I guess this means we are going to kiss,” Honoria murmured.

  “What an excellent idea.” Tristan’s strong arm slid around her waist, and he pulled her flush against him. She lifted her chin and his mouth descended upon hers.

  Oh, God. Oh, good heavenly gracious….

  Her mind went blank as she surrendered to the incredible pleasure. His lips moved gently, skillfully, but with definite purpose, as in his chamber: He was teasing her into craving more. And she did want more. Her whole body sang with the joy—the rightness—of kissing him…. He made her feel cherished. Complete. As if they belonged together, now and forever, like the knights and damsels of lore.

  She became aware of cheering and whistling. When the kiss ended, and she opened her eyes, she saw they were surrounded by castle folk, including her mother and Guillaume.

  Tristan pressed his forehead to hers and grinned down at her. “That was some kiss, milady.”

  “’Twas the perfect kiss under the kissing bough, milord.”

  “One more, and we will go inspect your book. Radley wants to find out why ’tis so important.”

  “We could do that now.”

  Tristan growled. “Kiss me again, or I swear, I will—”

  Laughing, she rose on tiptoes and crushed her mouth to his.

  Moments later, Honoria surfaced to hear a renewed burst of revelry. When she drew back from Tristan, though, she realized Cornelia no longer held the kissing bough above them.

  Glancing over her shoulder, Honoria found the younger woman in her brother’s arms. They were kissing!

  “You were incredibly brave,” Radley said, gazing into Cornelia’s eyes.

  “So were you,” she whispered.

  Smiling, Honoria leaned in against Tristan’s broad chest. Cornelia might have found a lord to love her, after all.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Tristan studied the tome lying open on the lord’s table. Guillaume, Lady Whitford, and Cornelia stood close by, while he and Honoria examined the book from cover to cover. Before Radley returned from the dungeon, Tristan hoped to have the answers they all wanted.

  The top right corners of the tome were battered, likely damaged when it had hit the wall in Honoria’s chamber, but the rest of it was as he remembered.

  Tristan turned more pages. He did not see aught suspicious; not unless the lady’s writings contained some kind of secret code. That would require taking the book to London, to be passed on to an expert who—

  “Wait.” Honoria leaned in closer, her finger trailing along the back cover. “This section that was repaired.”

  Tristan turned to the back cover. Several of the stitches had torn.

  His mind buzzed. “Mayhap John was not worried about what was written in the book, but what might fall out of it.”

  Honoria’s eyes widened.

  He pulled out more of the stitches and drew the pieces of leather apart. Honoria gasped, reached in, and took out a folded sheet of parchment, which she flattened out on the table between them.

  “What is it?” Guillaume asked, moving in with Lady Whitford to better see.

  “Aye, do tell us,” Cornelia said excitedly.

  The parchment bore a list of dates, some less than a sennight away; names of crown officials and lords, including John Putnam’s; descriptions of specific bends and parts of forest roads—

  “God’s blood.” Tristan’s innards grew cold.

  “What does it all mean?” Honoria asked.

  “If I am reading this correctly, these are instructions for ambushes.”

  “Ambushes?” Guillaume echoed.

  Tristan nodded grimly. “This man”—he pointed to a name on the parchment—“is responsible for gathering taxes in this part of England. He is good at his job, and as you can imagine, he is despised by many. With him dead—”

  “The King would appoint another to take his place,” Honoria said.

  “Aye, but ’twould take days or even sennights. Moreover, if the attackers stole the collected tax money that would have ended up in the crown’s coffers, they could use it to pay men to rise up against the King in armed revolt.”

  “Mother Mary,” Lady Whitford whispered. “My dear Lewis always feared there would be such an uprising.”

  “Why are these lords plotting attacks?” Guillaume asked with a frown. “Why do they not write up their grievances and request an audience with the sovereign or his ministers?”

  “From all I have heard, some have tried, and have had little success. By slaying crown officials and lords who are loyal to King John, the discontent nobles hope to sway the balance of power in England.”

  Her thoughts racing, Honoria found John Putnam’s name again on the page. “This man who wanted my book—”

  “Is in charge of the attack planned for the seventh day of January.”

  “I am guessing he intended to buy the tome to get his instructions, except I purchased it first?”

  “Exactly. He couldn’t get the book from you in the market without attracting unwanted attention or being arrested, so he waited until he could get inside the keep and steal it.” Tristan scowled. “I expect he was the main contact in this area. He would pass on details of the ambushes to other lords, including the two who accompanied him this eve, who would also carry out attacks.”

  “What about the peddler?” Honoria asked. “Was he involved too?”

  “Mayhap, but I doubt it. I suspect he h
ad no knowledge of the missive or the ambushes. Someone likely gave him the book and paid him to sell it in the market, where John was to buy it. The peddler agreed because he needed the money.”

  “We must get this document to London,” Guillaume said, “as swiftly as possible. There must be other lords involved in this treachery whose names are not on the parchment. They must be identified and captured, before ’tis too late.”

  Tristan nodded. “Radley will reach the same conclusion.”

  A sickening realization made Honoria press her hand to her stomach. She hardly dared to speak the words, for they would upset her mother, but she must. “Father died after an ambush. He was accompanying a crown minister. Do you think…?”

  Tristan’s gaze held hers. “If you are asking whether the men on this list might be responsible for your sire’s death—”

  “Aye.”

  “I expect so. If they are not, they will know the men who are.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Late afternoon, six days later

  Cornelia raced into the great hall. “They are back! Radley and Tristan are back.”

  Sitting by the still-decorated hearth with Willow and her mother, who was dozing with her embroidery in her lap, Honoria set down her book. Happiness swirled up inside her, for she’d missed Tristan so much.

  They’d all attended the traditional Shepherd’s Mass at dawn on Christmas Day. However, before the gift-giving, the magnificent feast, the Mass of the Divine Word, and the rest of the merrymaking, Radley had sent missives to the local sheriff as well as the lords and crown officials who, according to the parchment, were going to be ambushed. The following day, with the snow beginning to melt, Radley, Tristan, and eight heavily-armed guards had taken the document and the three captured men to London, to be handed over to the King; no other intruders had been found in the search on Christmas Eve. With luck, all of the attacks that had been planned had been thwarted.

  Disquiet gnawed at Honoria as she set aside her tome and stood. What if in their days apart Tristan had decided he didn’t love her as much as he’d thought? He’d told her before that he was going to start a new position in London. He might want to remain unattached so he could start afresh in the great city.

  If that was so, then their love wasn’t destined to be after all. She would let him go. Regardless of any commitment that had been forged by their kiss under the kissing bough, she cared for him too much to force him to wed her.

  Honoria went with Cornelia to the bailey. The younger woman had changed so much since Christmas Eve; she was a much happier person altogether.

  “Cornelia.” Radley handed his destrier’s reins to a groom, threw his arms around her, picked her up, and twirled her around. She squealed in delight before kissing him.

  “Good afternoon, my love,” Tristan murmured.

  My love. How Honoria loved that endearment. He leaned down and kissed her, a long, slow, most tantalizing kiss that made her want to be his forever.

  “Your journey went well?” she asked, trying not to think of the important conversation they must have later.

  “Better than we had hoped.” Tristan slung his saddlebag over his shoulder. “The King granted us both special commendations for bringing the men and the parchment to him.”

  “How wonderful!”

  Smiling, Tristan kissed her again. “I am hoping my sire will be impressed when he hears of it.”

  “I am sure he will be.” She linked her arm through Tristan’s. “Also, when your father finds out Odelia’s brother is a traitor, he will be glad you did not marry her. You saved your family from being drawn into a scandal.”

  “True. Hopefully now, my sire and I can resolve our differences. By the way, the King told me you should expect a letter from him soon.”

  Her pulse jolted. She was to receive a letter from the sovereign? “Really? Why?”

  “You saved many lives by purchasing that tome. You might even have prevented a war.”

  She’d never have believed that what was hidden in a book could affect all of England—not until this Christmas.

  They walked to the keep, Cornelia and Radley a short distance behind them.

  In the hall, Lady Whitford greeted the men warmly and ordered a servant to bring mulled wine. “Guillaume sends his regards,” she said. “He returned to his fortress several days ago, but will be back at Ellingstow this evening. He is anxious to know what happened in London.”

  “We will be glad to tell you what we can,” Radley said, setting down his saddlebag.

  To Honoria, Tristan said, “I have something you must see. A surprise.”

  “What kind of surprise?”

  Radley grinned. “One you are sure to like.”

  As everyone gathered round, Tristan set his saddlebag on the nearest trestle table and pulled out a rectangular, cloth-wrapped object. “For you, my love.”

  A heady thrill rippled through Honoria as she set the parcel down. She drew back the fabric to reveal a tome with an exquisite, tooled-leather cover. “Oh, Tristan!”

  “This one’s extra special,” Radley said, his arm around Cornelia’s waist.

  Honoria’s hand trembled as she opened the front cover. The Romance of Tristan and Honoria was written in elegant script on the front page. Beneath the title were two beautifully painted figures: a knight in chain mail armor and a lady in a flowing gown, facing each other and holding hands. Tristan must have commissioned the book while he was in London.

  Cornelia cooed. “How incredibly romantic.”

  “And perfect,” Honoria’s mother murmured.

  ’Twas indeed a perfect and most thoughtful gift. When Honoria turned to the next page, and the next, though, she saw they were blank. “Why—?”

  “The story of our love is yet to be written,” Tristan said.

  Her stomach somersaulted as she met his gaze. “Are you certain about us? We have only known each a short while—”

  “And yet, in our hearts and souls, we have known each other forever.”

  They had indeed. Oh, he was going to make her weep, saying such lovely things.

  Tristan caught her hand and kissed it, before dropping down on one knee before her. He reached into the leather bag at his hip and withdrew a gold band inlaid with gemstones.

  Honoria gasped.

  “Lady Honoria Whitford, will you be my beloved damsel for the rest of our lives? Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

  I will. Oh, I will! How she wanted to immediately agree, yet she had to be absolutely sure about the decision. “Can I keep Willow and my books?”

  He laughed. “Of course you can. That dog is your devoted protector. As for the books, we will start our own collection. We can read the stories to our children.”

  Her heart soared. “I would like that.” Remembering the tomes from his youth that his sire had ruined, she said, “Mayhap in London we can find a craftsman to repair your books, so they can become part of our collection.”

  “Agreed.” Still down on one knee, he asked, “So, my love, is that an ‘aye’?”

  Tears in her eyes, she nodded. “Most definitely an ‘aye.’”

  He slid the ring onto her finger. When he stood, she threw her arms around his neck and soundly kissed him.

  Cornelia squealed.

  Honoria’s mother sniffled and wiped her eyes. “Oh, Honoria, your father would be so thrilled for you.”

  “Many congratulations, you two.” Radley said. “Now, if I may, I have something to ask Cornelia.” He dropped down on one knee on the rushes in front of the younger woman and presented her with a gold ring set with a blue gem the color of her eyes.

  “Radley?” the younger woman whispered.

  “Will you be my wife?” he asked solemnly. “I have loved you since we were children, although it took the danger on Christmas Eve for me to realize just how much. We can have a fine life together, if you are willing.”

  “I am.”

  Radley put the ring on her finger
and stood. They kissed.

  “Three betrothals in just a few days,” Honoria’s mother said. “Who would have guessed?”

  With a contented sigh, Honoria gazed up at her husband-to be. “This has been a remarkable holiday.”

  “It has indeed.” He kissed her, so tenderly. “You might like to know that when we were riding to London, I threw the pouch with Odelia’s hair into a river. There was no sense holding onto it any longer. The vow I had made to myself was pointless, because my destiny is to be with you.”

  “Oh, Tristan, I love you.” Those words didn’t come close to conveying how much she treasured him or how truly happy she was.

  “I love you, too.” He winked. “In the coming weeks and months, we will fill our book with incredible stories. We might start with our first meeting in the market and how the mischief of this year’s kissing bough ended up with us getting betrothed.”

  Honoria smiled. “What a good idea. ’Tis quite an extraordinary tale, indeed.”

  About Catherine Kean

  Bestselling, award-winning novelist Catherine Kean is a Kindle Unlimited All-Star author of medieval romances. Her love of history began with visits to England during summer vacations, when her British father took her to crumbling medieval castles, dusty museums filled with fascinating artifacts, and historic churches. Her love of the awe-inspiring past stuck with her as she completed a B.A. (Double Major, First Class) in English and History. She completed a year-long Post Graduate course with Sotheby’s auctioneers in London, England, and worked for several years in Canada as an antiques and fine art appraiser.

  After she married a tall, handsome, and charming Brit and moved to Florida, she started writing novels, her lifelong dream. She wrote her first medieval romance, A Knight’s Vengeance, while her baby daughter was napping. Catherine’s books were originally published in paperback and several were released in Czech, German, and Thai foreign editions. She has won numerous awards for her stories, including the Gayle Wilson Award of Excellence. Her novels also finaled in the Next Generation Indie Book Awards and the National Readers’ Choice Awards.