by Regan Walker
“My wife enjoys the dancing most,” Rob told Leslie, then sat on the floor by Davina’s feet. He laughed and caught his son when the child leaped from his mother’s lap and into his.
“It’s because I get to dance with Tristan,” Davina admitted, then squealed with laughter when her husband snatched her by the ankles and pulled her, along with their baby daughter, out of their seat and into his lap.
“Ye’ll be gentle with my gel, Robbie.” His aunt, Maggie MacGregor, smacked the side of his head gently before falling into his chair next and accepting wee Caitrina into her arms. “And Colin, ye’ll keep that dog away from my ducks or he’ll deal with me.” She narrowed her eyes on little Edmund’s dog, Aurelius, until the scruffy pup tucked his tail between his legs and looked away.
Aye, Leslie loved Camlochlin and the people in it. The only thing better than being here with them was being alone with Finn. He wanted a daughter. The idea of raising a little girl with him heated her blood.
“We have two hours at least before the stroke of midnight, beloved,” he whispered into her hair, as if knowing her thoughts.
Leslie feigned a gaping yawn, stretching her arms above her head. “I think I will enjoy a short nap before mass.”
“Not too short, we hope,” Tristan called out as Finn rose with her from the settee to escort her to bed.
Leslie blushed two shades darker when she met the knowing faces smiling back at her.
“We’ll see ye all later,” Finn called out over his shoulder, completely unfazed by the fact that everyone in the solar knew where they were heading and why.
The door opened as they reached it and Andrew and Margaret entered with Brodie with Helen Harrison on his arm. Leslie smiled at them all, filled with the truth that the only thing better than living at Camlochlin with Finn was living here with most of her family.
“Where are you off to, dear?”
When their eyes met, Leslie saw the same joy in her mother’s glowing smile that she felt in her own. She had been correct about her mother loving Brodie and being happy with him here in Camlochlin. Leslie wondered if her mother wasn’t happier now than she’d ever been before.
“Just retiring for a short bit, Mother.”
Leslie had never seen her mother blush before. She looked lovely, younger. And it was because of the man at her side. Who would have known that such a brusque, hardened warrior could win her mother’s heart? Brodie MacGregor growled at most folks, whether they were men, women, or children. He didn’t give a rat’s arse about much, except perhaps his whiskey and one other thing.
“Mr. MacGregor?” Leslie stopped him when he would have moved past her.
“Hmm?”
“Thank you for making my mother so happy.”
For a moment he looked at bit lost, then he looked around to make certain no one else was watching or listening to him.
“She’s agreed t’ marry me. So ’tis she who makes me the happy one.”
Leslie’s heart swelled in the doorway of the solar. All of this would have been lost to them if Finn hadn’t come to Glenelg to take her back. He saved her from a miserable, loveless marriage and probably one for her mother, too.
“I’ll see you at mass.” Leslie kissed her mother, took Finn’s hand, and led him away.
“Ye’re eager,” he said deeply against the back of her nape.
“Aye.” She stopped herself from tugging him to go faster. Eager was one thing. Pathetic was another.
But he was braver than any warrior, brighter than any angel, more captivating than any champion of legend.
His heart was true, and it longed for her.
She turned to him and, walking backward, toted him forward. “I’m yours, Finn Grant. I love you and only you for the rest of my days.”
She loved watching his reaction to her ardent confessions. Since returning with him, she’d discovered which things he enjoyed hearing the most and then made it her duty to say them often.
“I want your hands on me…and your mouth—”
He swept his arm around her waist and hauled her against him. His mouth was hot and hungry on hers, his tongue, slow and sensuous…tasting her, teasing her until passion deepened, his embrace tightened and he went hard as a boulder against her.
“Tonight,” he promised thickly, letting her go and staring into her eyes as she stepped away and turned to run, “I’m going to give ye a daughter.”
He followed her up the stairs and along two corridors to the door of their room. Reaching it, he swooped down and pulled her up in his arms to carry her across the threshold and bring her to their bed.
Finlay Grant, master bard to the clan chief MacGregor of the MacGregors of Skye, could find no speech to pay homage to his wife while he watched her take him to the hilt. Her lids were heavy, her full lips parted slightly, expelling short puffs of warm breath. When her tongue peeked from between to lick her ravenous lips, he knew if he kissed her, he would lose control of himself too soon. He tried to think of words befitting and worthy of what she meant to him, how she looked to him, sounded against his ear, felt against his flesh and muscle, but nothing came. Nothing compared. Not that he would be able to speak such praises with his jaw clamped in ecstasy. He would tell her after, when her sinuous smile wasn’t tempting him to take her harder. He lost the battle, much to her delight, and stroked her with long, deep plunges until they both cried out.
Sated, for now, Finn sank to the mattress and pulled her into his embrace. “In a few hours ’twill be Christmas, the day when the greatest gift of love was given to the world. ’Tis fitting that ye are here in my arms, my bed. Ye make words insignificant, but I would tell nonetheless. I love ye, lass.”
He felt her smile against his chest, satisfied with his confession, as bare and simple as it was.
About the Author
Paula Quinn is a New York Times and USA Today bestselling multi-published author of Scottish historical and paranormal romance. Paula also writes fantasy romance under her pen name of Genevra Thorne. She is moved by music, beautiful words, and the sight of a really nice pen.
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Contact me at http://pa0854.wixsite.com/paulaquinn/contact
Follow me at BookBub https://www.bookbub.com/search/authors?search=Paula%20Quinn
Also by Paula Quinn
William the Conqueror series:
Lord of Desire
Lord of Temptation
Lord of Seduction
*
The MacGregor Series:
Laird of the Mist
A Highlander Never Surrenders
Ravished by a Highlander
Seduced by a Highlander
Tamed by a Highlander
Conquered by a Highlander
A Highlander for Christmas (e-novella)
The Seduction of Miss Amelia Bell
The Sweet Surrender of Janet Buchanan (e-novella)
The Wicked Ways of Alexander Kidd
The Scandalous Secret of Abigail MacGregor
The Taming of Malcolm Grant
A Highlander’s Christmas Kiss
The Scot’s Bride
Laird of the Black Isle
Highlander Ever After
Heart of Ashes
Heart of Shadows
Heart of Stone
Also by Paula Quinn aka Genevra Thorne
The Enchanted
The Beloved
A Knight’s Redemption
Catherine Kean
Copyright Details
Copyright © 2018 by Catherine Kean
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Published by Catherine Kean
P.O. Box 917624
Longwood, FL 32791-7624
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Book Cover Design: Daqri Bernardo, Covers by Combs
Cover image: Hot Damn Stock
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This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purch
ase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
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This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved. With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the author
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Praise for Catherine Kean
“Catherine Kean writes dazzling and unforgettable stories.”
Huntress Reviews
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“Ms. Kean continues to snag the reader with her fast-paced tales of heroic knights.”
Affaire de Coeur Magazine
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“Ms. Kean has done it again with her talent to capture the reader's attention with all the elements of a must-read.”
Fresh Fiction
Reader Letter
Dear Readers,
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Writing A Knight’s Redemption was truly a joy, for it allowed me to revisit some of my favorite alpha male knights and their equally strong ladies. If you are new to my Knight’s Series novels, all of the books can be read as stand-alones. However, there is an overall story arc that is best illuminated by reading the novels in the following order:
A Knight’s Vengeance (Book 1)
A Knight’s Reward (Book 2)
A Knight’s Temptation (Book 3)
A Knight’s Persuasion (Book 4)
A Knight’s Seduction (Book 5)
A Knight’s Redemption (Book 6)
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I hope you enjoy Mary and Holden’s romantic adventure and catching up with some of my beloved heroes, heroines, and their little ones.
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Thank you for reading my books, and warmest wishes to you.
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Catherine
Knight’s Series Characters
Geoffrey de Lanceau: Hero of A Knight’s Vengeance. Lord of Branton Keep and the county of Moydenshire. Married to Elizabeth (nee Brackendale). Father of Edouard, Edouard’s sister, and Tye.
Elizabeth de Lanceau: Heroine of A Knight’s Vengeance. Geoffrey’s wife. Edouard’s mother.
Tye: Hero of A Knight’s Seduction. Geoffrey’s illegitimate son. Edouard’s half-brother.
Claire: Heroine of A Knight’s Seduction. Tye’s wife. Mother of Isolde.
Isolde: Tye and Claire’s infant daughter.
Edouard de Lanceau: Hero of A Knight’s Persuasion. Geoffrey and Elizabeth’s son. The de Lanceau heir.
Juliana: Heroine of A Knight’s Persuasion. Edouard’s wife. Mother of Rosemary.
Rosemary: Edouard and Juliana’s adopted daughter.
Dominic de Terre: Hero of A Knight’s Reward. Married to Gisela (nee Balewyne).
Gisela: Heroine of A Knight’s Reward. Dominic’s wife.
Aldwin Treynarde: Hero of A Knight’s Temptation. Crossbow expert. Married to Leona (nee Ransley).
Leona: Heroine of A Knight’s Temptation. Aldwin’s wife.
Chapter 1
The Great Hall of Branton Keep, Moydenshire, England - December 22, 1209
“I have news.” Seated on the opposite side of the oak trestle table, the blond squire grinned.
Chewing a mouthful of vegetable pottage, fourteen-year-old Holden Kendall tried not to seem too intrigued. Selden Brockley was, after all, a bit of an ass. He was always trying to prove himself more informed and better skilled than the rest of the squires. After a long-enough pause, Holden asked: “What kind of news?”
“’Tis about this Christmas’s Lord of Misrule.”
Holden cast a sidelong glance at ginger-haired Penley Fielding, the first friend he’d made upon arriving at Branton Keep last spring. Penley, also a squire, was his closest mate, and they always sat together for meals in the great hall.
With Christmas soon to arrive, they’d both noticed the sense of anticipation spreading throughout the fortress. Lord and Lady Brackendale, the father and step-mother of Elizabeth, the beautiful lady wife of their liege Geoffrey de Lanceau, had visited days ago, as they apparently did around this time every year. Since they lived reasonably close by, they’d be back to spend Christmas Eve and Day at Branton Keep, but their earlier visit had helped spark the feeling that the holiday was swiftly approaching.
Holden had heard from maidservants that the two ladies had spent much of the day crafting wreaths and garlands from pine boughs, holly, pinecones, and ribbons, while the lords had shut themselves away in the solar, likely to discuss matters of estate. Before the evening meal had been served, Holden and several other squires had been summoned to put up the decorations the ladies had made. Since then, whenever Holden had walked into the hall, he’d caught the scent of pine mingled with the earthier smell of smoke from the hearth blaze and wall torches.
The bailey smelled different too. The mouth-watering scents of mince pies and ginger cake wafted from the kitchens. Platters of the delicious treats accompanied meals, and folk talked with excitement of the grand subtlety, shaped like a goose, that the cook planned to make for the Christmas Day feast. And the men-at-arms, who liked to linger around the garrison’s fire in the evenings, had been sharing tales about the Lord of Misrule.
Holden had learned that just before Christmas, as part of the seasonal revelry, de Lanceau would appoint a man in his household to rule the castle for a short while. Two years ago, a stable hand had been given the honor; last year, a gardener. Whatever the Lord of Misrule commanded had to be done—just as if the fortress’s ruling nobleman had given the order. Without fail, mischief and merriment ensued.
While the Lord of Misrule had been originally been a tradition of clergymen, de Lanceau had adopted his own version at Branton Keep. It sounded like great fun, and Holden and Penley had lain awake for the past few nights discussing the tricks they’d play on their friends—especially Selden—if they were ever lucky enough to be appointed Lord of Misrule.
When the blond squire continued to tuck into his pottage rather than divulge his news, Holden sighed. “For God’s sake, what do you have to tell us, then?”
“Aye, Selden,” Penley grumbled around a bite of the coarse grain bread served at almost every meal. “You are cruel to intrigue us and then stay silent.”
“Fine.” The blond lad leaned in closer. “This afternoon, I overheard Lord de Lanceau talking to the captain-of-the-guard—”
“You eavesdropped on his lordship?” Unease racing through Holden, he glanced both ways down the table, to see if any other squires were following the conversation, but their colleagues were involved in other discussions. With the vast room full of men, women, and children partaking of the midday meal, and laughter and conversation creating ongoing noise in the hall, ’twas unlikely anyone at the nearby tables would have heard, either.
As Holden’s gaze returned to Selden, the squire shrugged, clearly not the least bit concerned by his transgression, and shoved more pottage into his mouth.
“’You do realize eavesdropping is dishonorable?” Holden said.
“Ah, Holden.” Selden grimaced. “Always so noble.”
Irritation crackled within Holden. He did strive to be noble, just like the bold, brave knights he admired. One day, he hoped to be as renowned as de Lanceau, who was lauded in chansons.
Selden, a firstborn son and heir, loved to point out that he was destined for far greater things than Holden. Once he inherited, Selden would help govern Moydenshire, while Holden, a fourth son, was not destined to gain titles or lands.
Unfortunately, the blond lad was also one of the most skilled squires at the castle. ’Twas no secret he strove to be the very best. But, Selde
n clearly needed a reminder that he must abide the rules of chivalry, just like everyone else. “We are training to become knights,” Holden said.
“So?”
Holden almost choked on the fare he’d just put in his mouth. He forced himself to chew and swallow. “So?”
Penley slapped his hand on the table. “You two can argue later. What is the news?”
Selden dragged his spoon through his half-finished bowl of fare. “I am not certain now if I will share what I know.”
Eyes narrowing, Holden dropped his gaze to his pottage. Selden was acting the fool, but until he divulged what he knew, Holden wouldn’t challenge him further.
“Tell us,” Penley said eagerly. “Come on.”
After a delay—Selden clearly enjoyed drawing out the torment—he said: “This year, for the Lord of Misrule, de Lanceau will choose a squire.”
Shock raced through Holden, followed by excitement. He could hardly believe what Selden had said. He considered saying so, but he also couldn’t think of any good reason why his lord wouldn’t pick a squire.