Five Unforgettable Knights (5 Medieval Romance Novels)

by Tanya Anne Crosby

  He’d believed he possessed Cambria. She was his vassal, after all, to command as he did his knights. He was the lord of Blackhaugh, and her world should rightly center on serving him.

  But that wasn’t the truth of it at all. His lip curled in irony as he dismounted to retrieve his helm. His world was the one turned all awry. Cambria could lead him a chase, pricking him like an irremovable thorn and attacking him with the most irreverent tirades. And yet he never felt more alive than when she was working her wiles on him, grappling with him over the Scots’ cause, challenging him with her dagger-sharp wit, taunting him with her glorious body.

  The past few days had been pure hell without her. Merely gazing upon her made his heart quicken. Every turn of her head, every spark in her eye, each gesture that was unique to her captivated him. Nay, he admitted, clutching his helm beneath his arm, he wasn’t lord and master to Cambria Gavin. He was the willing prisoner of her heart.

  And, by God’s grace, when he had pummeled Owen’s men into the dust, he’d sweep her into his arms, surrender the key to his soul, and hold on to her forever.

  ~*~

  The cruel syllables echoed over and over in the empty shell of Cambria’s heart―spoiled goods...keep the whore...

  He couldn’t have meant it, not the man who’d melted her with a kiss, who’d chased away her nightmares in his arms, who’d vowed before God to keep her and honor her. Yet his heartless words bruised her far worse than any blows from Owen’s fists.

  Had she mistaken their silent exchange? She’d sworn in that one moment when they locked gazes that they’d understood each other, that together, somehow, some way, they would overthrow Owen.

  Perhaps she’d been wrong. He’d been so angry with her the last time they spoke. Perhaps the Wolf had only used her to gain control of Blackhaugh. Perhaps she had “served her purpose.” It was too awful, too painful to consider.

  Besides, a greater challenge awaited her.

  Owen had unlocked her shackles and cast her chains to the floor, replacing them with a coat of mail, gauntlets, and a surcoat.

  Half-hysterical laughter threatened to issue from her mouth as she realized Owen’s intent, but in the next heartbeat, the brute stifled it with a wad of cloth stuffed between her lips. Her eyes watered as he shoved the rag deep into her mouth, making her gag. Then he tied it in place with a strip of linen, pulling it so tight that she imagined her lips would crack. Over it all, he plunged a heavy steel helm, and Cambria battled panic as she strove to breathe in the suffocating bascinet.

  ~*~

  From the shade of the dovecote, Katie watched, her chin a-tremble, as the bastard Englishman dragged Cambria to the middle of the courtyard. The old servant chewed on her fist to stop the foolish tears that would do the girl no good, fighting back the urge to rush to her mistress’s aid. She hadn’t laid eyes on Cambria since the lass’s untimely arrival, but by the girl’s staggering gait and the droop of her shoulders, Katie knew she’d been mistreated.

  It vexed her to be so helpless. Owen had given the women the run of the keep―the bastard needed their services―but he’d threatened to slay Cambria at once if any of them left. Katie had thankfully been able to make frequent visits to Malcolm in the dungeon. But the situation was no better. Even if she’d been able to steal the dungeon keys from Owen, which was impossible, since he slept locked in the tower, there was nothing any of them dared do while he held their laird prisoner.

  And now the monster was sending the poor lass out to battle her husband, the Wolf, who would likely cut her down in the wink of an eye before he even knew whom he attacked.

  Katie couldn’t bear it. She’d already witnessed the deaths of Cambria’s mother and father. She couldn’t stand idly by while Owen destroyed what little was left of the Gavin clan.

  As Owen tried to maneuver the unwieldy charger in the middle of the courtyard, the sun caught on the dull iron ring of castle keys dangling from his belt by a leather thong. They jangled against his thigh, taunting her. She gnawed at her lip. If she could get to them, somehow cut that tie...

  Her heart batted against her ribs like a trapped sparrow, but she stepped from hiding and crossed determinedly to where Owen fought to control the nervous steed.

  Sweat beaded the man’s brow, and his face bore a deathly pallor. He reeked of the infection in his leg and the wine he constantly consumed to dull its ache. He was not long for this world, and with a vengeance that surely damned her soul, Katie wished the man would die on the spot. But he only limped forward, jerking hard on the horse’s lead.

  She came up behind him, her heart pounding so fiercely she feared he might hear it. Biting her lip to stop its quivering, she slipped an embroidery needle from her pouch. Before she had time to regret her actions, she jammed it hard into the charger’s flank.

  The horse screamed, rearing in protest, and Katie was nearly trampled. In the confusion, Owen staggered back with a curse. Swiftly, before he could regain his presence of mind, Katie drew her eating dagger and sliced forward.

  The knife grazed his side, scarcely breaking the skin, and he snarled more in fury than pain. But he wheeled on her with eyes as black as the devil’s. The last thing she remembered was the crack of his fist exploding against her chin and splinters of light like a chapel window bursting in her face.

  ~*~

  Cambria’s eyes flooded with tears of anguish and rage. Her poor beloved Katie. The old maid lay still as death on the sward, her russet skirts sprawled on the ground like a withered rose.

  Owen grabbed Cambria’s arm, and she tried to wrench away, wanting nothing more than to beat him to a bloody pulp. But she didn’t have the strength to finish him off, and she couldn’t afford to rile him. He’d only take his anger out on her clan anyway, as he’d already done with Katie.

  So she cast one last despondent look at the servant who had raised her, the dear woman who’d sacrificed herself for the laird.

  Then a dark glimmer within the folds of Katie’s skirt caught her eye. Cradled in the servant’s still palm were the castle keys.

  “Mount!” Owen growled.

  A slender blade of hope pierced her bleak despair. But there was no time now, no chance to take advantage of her discovery. She wasn’t even sure Katie was alive.

  “Mount!”

  Cambria swallowed the impulse to stand her ground and did as she was told. The sooner she was out of the keep, the sooner her clan would be safe. Still, her limbs felt leaden as she climbed into the saddle, albeit more from the burden of duty than from the weight of the armor plate Owen had forced her to wear.

  Owen seized the reins so she couldn’t possibly spur the horse to trample him. Then he issued a dire threat.

  “If you reveal yourself to de Ware or make any attempt to avoid this battle, make no mistake―I’ll torch the dungeon. You’ll hear your clansmen scream your name in agony as they burn alive.”

  Her heart tolling like a burial bell, Cambria rode slowly toward the front gate, likely to her death. Holden would never guess it was she. He’d slay her in a few calculated strokes, never suspecting until he tore her helm away and beheld her sightless eyes that Owen had sent his own wife to fight him.

  But fight him she would, for her clan’s sake. She was a laird now. Her life belonged to the Gavins. If she didn’t do everything in her power to protect them, then she was as worthless as a broken sword. She’d die for them, if need be. She only prayed that if Holden killed her, the Gavins would forgive him, and that he would stay to protect her people.

  She consoled herself with the knowledge that at least it was a noble way to die―in the defense of her clan. Holden would slay her, and Blackhaugh would revert to his hands―his and the Gavins who had grown to respect him, Malcolm and Katie and...

  She sniffed back the tears that threatened to undermine her control and kicked once at the charger. It was best this way, she decided, swift and with honor.

  ~*~

  Holden wasn’t deceived for an instant. He knew
from the size and the carriage of the knight exactly who it was. What bloody trickery was this? His men might be gulled, but did Owen truly imagine Holden wouldn’t recognize his own wife?

  The knights around him began to converse in curious whispers as she approached, falling silent when she halted twenty feet away. Their scowls clearly showed they disapproved of the disparity in size between the imposing Holden de Ware and Owen’s scrawny champion.

  Once Owen had returned to the tower window to watch, Holden made a show of saluting his opponent. “Hola!”

  Cambria made no answer. Holden frowned. So she didn’t wish to be known. Why? Was it possible she’d taken his reckless words to heart? Did she believe she’d been used? Had she come willingly to do battle with him? Nay, it couldn’t be. Surely she wouldn’t champion a monster such as Owen.

  “Have you made your peace with God, sirrah?” he said loudly, buying time so he could nudge Ariel close to her.

  Her nod was barely discernible.

  He murmured just loudly enough for her to hear. “I swear on the honor of de Ware, I meant none of the things I―“

  “Get on with it!” Owen yelled, waving a flaming brand menacingly from the tower window.

  Cambria reined her mount back in panic, trying to maintain distance between them. Clearly she intended to avoid discourse with him at all costs. Maybe Owen had threatened her―her or her clan.

  He cursed softly, wishing he could look her in the eye and know the truth of her silence.

  It appeared battle was unavoidable. He took his time, covering his head with his helm and tugging on his gauntlets. He cast a glance at his weapons. He wouldn’t use the lance―Cambria had little skill with it. Better to use arms for close combat.

  “Swords?” he suggested, as Ariel pawed at the ground and tossed her head impatiently.

  Cambria nodded, and then dismounted, catching at the stirrup for balance as her legs buckled beneath her.

  Holden climbed down from his steed, playing for time to think―bending to adjust a rivet here, examining the surface of his shield. All the while, Cambria stood absolutely still, one mailed hand resting on the pommel of her sheathed sword.

  He flexed his sword arm, analyzing the situation.

  Owen had sent Cambria out as his champion, no doubt assuming Holden would easily dispatch her. But to what end? Murdering his own wife would devastate Holden, ruin him in the eyes of the Gavin clan, and destroy his de Ware reputation. While Holden suffered in shame, Owen would be able to woo the king and perpetrate a permanent claim to Blackhaugh.

  If such were indeed Owen’s purpose, it followed then that he had no intention of honoring his word whatsoever. He intended neither to release the captives nor to surrender the castle, no matter who won the fight.

  Surely Cambria was aware that Owen sent her to her death. On the other hand, maybe that’s what she wanted. Maybe she intended to sacrifice herself to save her clan.

  Damn, he wished Cambria would speak to him―a whisper, a curse, anything. He needed to know what was transpiring in that brain of hers.

  Unable to stall any longer, he moved forward and unsheathed. The whisper of steel on leather seemed deafening on the pregnant air. Cambria drew forth her own blade, holding it before her with both hands. For a moment, she stood frozen, like a hart held captive in a wolf’s soothing stare before the kill. Then he brought his blade around easily, slowly, to test her.

  Her block was sluggish. Whatever Owen had done to her in captivity had weakened her, and this enraged Holden. How he wished it were Owen before him. He’d cut the savage to ribbons.

  ~*~

  Cambria frowned, disgusted by her pathetic block of his blow. Her arm throbbed faintly. The last few days had drained her strength. Now she doddered like a newborn foal. Damn it, she had to do better than this. What if, by some miracle, Katie revived to make use of those keys? Cambria had to summon up the strength to fend off Holden, at least long enough for Katie to free her clansmen. But how could she draw her blade against him when her heart wasn’t in it?

  Spoiled goods, she thought. Keep the whore. She let his brutal words fuel her power and lashed out at him with awakened fire.

  ~*~

  Holden easily dodged the attack, gently turning her blade aside. She was going to tire herself too soon, before he had time to come up with a plan. He had to think quickly.

  A small, subtle movement upon the rise of Blackhaugh Castle distracted him for a moment. Perhaps it was his imagination, and yet...

  He maneuvered the battle so he could watch over Cambria’s head through the narrow slit of his helm. Aye, there had been movement! The great iron-bound gates of the castle were gradually opening.

  He lightly batted at Cambria’s shoulder with the flat of his blade, and then blocked her sideswipe with his shield. Blinking his eyes to make sure he’d seen correctly, he looked again. A thatch of recognizably red hair poked through the crack of the gates. Robbie.

  Fury bubbled up in him like boiling oil. Apparently Owen didn’t intend to fight fairly. He was sending the Gavin rebels out to slaughter him. Did the fool not know the de Ware knights would make minced meat out of the Scots lads? Or was that what he had in mind?

  Cambria stumbled forward, and he caught her against his shield so she wouldn’t fall. Then he glanced again at the gates. Cambria’s maidservant, Katie, widened the breach of the door, and a second, third, and fourth face joined Robbie’s. They were unmistakably Garth, Guy, and Myles, looking none the worse for wear. A sudden rush of joy coursed through Holden’s veins. Bless the clever Gavins―while Owen was chortling gleefully above, someone had set his men free.

  Holden turned his victorious shout into a snarl of rage and pressed his attack in order to distract any onlookers from what was afoot. Winning the hostages back, of course, did not in itself guarantee taking Blackhaugh without bloodshed, and he refused to spill the blood of innocent victims within the castle walls. He needed to send in a small party of men to reclaim the keep peacefully while Owen was distracted.

  Cambria slashed wildly at his neck, and he deflected the blade. The solution came to him all at once. It called for a bit of drama and illusion on his part, playacting more suited to his brother Duncan. But such an unexpected twist might effectively draw Owen’s attention away. It might allow him to get instructions to his knights.

  Cambria’s arm flagged again. He had to revive her spirits. His ruse depended upon her strength.

  “Cambria,” he said softly, “I love you. More than life. But I want you to fight with me now. Fight with me as you’ve never fought before. Fight for the Gavin, and I swear I’ll help you save them.”

  For a moment she stood stunned. He feared she wouldn’t be able to lift her blade again. Then she seemed to grow light, as if a burden had dropped from her shoulders. With renewed vigor, she lashed out at him like a sudden storm, her blade flashing like lightning as it attempted to strike anywhere it could. She advanced on him for the first time, and he retreated a few paces.

  ~*~

  Cambria had prepared herself for Holden’s death blow. Scarcely able to gasp enough air in the close helm and with her muscles reduced to disobedient custard, she’d had neither the will nor the power to continue fighting.

  But when Holden spoke to her, calling her by name, confessing his love, vowing to save her people, sweet hope filled her like a reviving nectar flooding her veins.

  The hurtful words that had seemed so brutal before rang hollow in her ear. Of course. He’d used them as weapons to protect her. She understood that now. His offhand dismissal of her had made it easier for him to pluck her from Owen’s grasp.

  Now he wanted her to fight him with all her might. Why, she couldn’t fathom. But she trusted him. When it came to warfare, she’d never seen a warrior with better instincts.

  So she renewed her attack, and for a strange moment, seemed to take the upper hand. He cowered back. Then, in the blink of an eye, he lost his footing on the slick, dew-washed grass. By some ho
rrible accident, he slipped onto her outstretched sword.

  The blade severed the mail and slid over his ribs at the side. The sensation made Cambria suddenly nauseous. She couldn’t tell how deeply she’d cut him, but when she quickly withdrew her blade, it was stained with blood.

  The cut hurt, much more than Holden had anticipated. He let out a cry of pain that was only half-feigned. But then he knew that believability was essential. The sting was a small price to pay for the safety of those he loved. He groaned again in pretended agony, stumbled, and fell heavily. He could hear the astonished squalling from Owen as the bastard’s plans were foiled.

  Cambria faltered back, shocked. What had she done? Surely the turn of an ankle couldn’t have upset Holden’s keen sense of balance so completely. He’d virtually fallen on her sword. The thought made her stomach lurch dangerously. With the exception of Owen, she’d never seriously wounded anyone, and the sight of a man crashing to the earth by her hand dazed her. That her victim was her own beloved husband made her sink to her knees, unable to tear her eyes away from the sight of Holden’s blood smeared on her sword.

  He was so still. Surely she couldn’t have slain him―the Wolf de Ware, who’d never been defeated in battle. Yet he lay horribly silent on the damp ground.

  In the next breath, her view of Holden was blocked by his knights, who crowded around him in amazement and concern. Between their bodies, she could catch glimpses of his limp form as someone loosened and removed his helm. He looked groggy and weak, his lips trembling with each breath that rattled between them. Dear God, he must be hurt badly.

  ~*~

  Stephen couldn’t understand at first what it was Lord Holden was saying as he bent his head close. He drew his brows together into a grim frown.

  “Do not harm Owen’s champion,” Holden repeated tightly. Then, noting Stephen’s confusion, he said more distinctly, “Owen’s champion―protect Owen’s champion.”