It was Cambria’s familiar moan that pulled at his very soul, that human sound that rent his heart and made him drop his sword and his guard to go to her. Fear slammed into his chest. There was blood everywhere. Her whimpers were piteous, gut-wrenching. Dear God, he prayed, let her be unhurt. Let her live.
“Cambria,” he called hoarsely, kneeling beside her.
The moaning ceased.
“Cambria!” he cried, reaching his hands out, yet afraid to make contact.
Her head whipped around, and he could see the shine of her wide eyes.
“Holden?” her voice was weak.
Tears filled his eyes. He let them fall. “I’m here now. You’ll be safe. I swear it.”
She groaned again.
He touched her cheek tentatively. “Oh, God, Cambria, what’s been done to you?”
A sound eerily like a chuckle escaped Cambria, but it was immediately wrenched from her mouth as another wave of pain overpowered her. When she could speak again, she said rapidly, “Fetch a clean blanket or something, Holden, hurry.”
She was dying, he thought. But he didn’t question her command. He would have brought her the moon. The best he could offer was his cloak.
“Now cut me loose,” she gasped before pain rendered her speechless once more.
He swiped at his tear-blinded eyes and carefully severed the cords about her wrists and ankles. It was all his fault. If only he’d stayed with her...
Cambria huffed heavily, and Holden closed his eyes. Tears squeezed between his lashes and left burning trails down his cheeks. Please, God, he prayed, don’t let her die. He was afraid to touch her, afraid of what mortal wound he would find. He cast his gaze away in despair, and it was then that he divined what the lump beside him was. He nearly fell back on his haunches as he recognized the ashen face of Sir Owen’s slut, Agnes.
“She’s dead,” Cambria whispered. Then she moaned loud.
Her cries were driving him mad. He had to do something. He wiped at his trembling mouth with the back of his hand.
“Cambria, we have to get you home, to Blackhaugh, to the physician.”
“Not...now. Too...late.”
“I’ll carry you,” he pleaded, reaching beneath her. God, her garments were drenched. “Cambria, if you lose any more blood―“
She barked out a little laugh. “It isn’t blood.”
She must be delirious. He tried to move her.
“Nay!” she cried. “It comes! It comes!”
She clenched her fists and lifted her head from the floor. For an awful moment, he thought she’d seen the specter of death coming for her, that she was about to breathe her last. Her features contorted in a grimace that seemed part anguish and part ecstasy. Then his eyes adjusted to the low light of the room. He could make out Cambria’s profile. She was as round as an overstuffed goose.
“You’re not having... Holy Mother of God,” he breathed, and for an irrational instant wondered how it could have happened. “You’re not...”
“Not...for...long,” she panted.
Reality hit him like a mallet. Cambria wasn’t wounded. She was in the throes of labor.
Any other man would have been relieved. But dread ran icy fingers along Holden’s spine. Nightmares of his own mother, screaming and writhing in agony as she succumbed to a bloody death, racked his mind. Cambria bore down, her body heaving with effort, and an overwhelming urge to flee consumed him. But he was immobilized by panic.
“You must...help...” she gasped.
Holden turned his head away in terror. He’d done this to her. He’d gotten her with child. He was fated to kill another kinswoman.
Suddenly Cambria’s fists tangled in his tabard, and she yanked him down to her. “Listen, Englishman!” she hissed like an angry cat between gulps of air. “If you don’t help me...I’ll tell your son...his father is an English coward.”
Her threat brought him around faster than a hard slap. It wasn’t what she said. It was the determination with which she said it. She had faith, even if he didn’t. Together they would get through this. Had he been gone so long he’d forgotten Cambria’s stubbornness, her will, her tenacity? She was nothing like his pale, delicate mother. Cambria was a Scotswoman, by God, a laird, a warrior. She would battle heaven and hell to survive, if only to scoff at the weakness an Englishman had shown her. She would live, if only to boast about how she’d birthed her firstborn by herself in a humble cottage. And she’d gloat about the fact that he’d sat helplessly by while she did it.
Holden swallowed hard and pushed back the sleeves of his hauberk. He murmured a prayer and moved between Cambria’s knees. If she could fight the battle, so could he.
He looked into her pain-glazed eyes and saw no fear, no hesitation, only challenge and determination. “God, I love you.” His voice broke, and his hands trembled as he placed them upon her bloody thighs. But he told her.
“And I love you,” she said between ragged gasps, giving him a brilliant smile.
The heir of de Ware and the next laird of Gavin was about to enter the world. He’d be damned if he’d desert his wife on the battlefield. And he’d be damned if he’d be excluded from this legendary birth.
EPILOGUE
~*~
“Mama!”
Cambria could hear the wailing of her four-year-old nephew all the way across Blackhaugh’s rise. She looked up from her sketches of armor designs and raised an inquisitive brow.
Linet clucked her tongue and tossed her long golden braid over her shoulder. She set aside the swatches of wool she’d been showing to Cambria and waited for her son to come crying into her skirts.
“Mama!” he called, his hand clenched to his eye and his chubby legs pumping through the grass. “Skye did it again!”
Cambria brought her hand up to her mouth, half in horror and half to cover her amusement. It was good to have Holden’s kin at Blackhaugh again. But they’d been in Scotland a mere two days, and already Cambria’s daughter had bested her cousin in a brawl for the third time. She looked to Linet in apology and set off to seek out her wayward child.
Skye was a handful, that was sure, as wild and unbiddable as...well, as she had once been. At least, so Malcolm the Steward oft complained. Still, Cambria frequently discovered the grumbling steward and his ubiquitous companion, Sir Guy, arguing the nuances of a certain maneuver of the sword while Skye aped them brilliantly.
Holden didn’t seem to mind. Her abduction had convinced him of the merits of arming his women. Indeed, he’d taken it upon himself to teach them the finer points of defense.
He also had great plans for their two-year-old son, Angus, who was farther up the hill at present, sleeping off a meal of porridge in his father’s arms. Holden had already begun the little lad’s training, giving him a wooden sword and carrying him proudly upon Ariel as he pointed out the best warriors in his company.
Ah, there was one of his best now, Cambria thought with a smile as she spied Skye leaping over a boulder to battle an oak stump. The wee brawler was certainly good for one thing, she had to admit―Skye tested Cambria’s armor designs before they were forged for the knights. No warrior could have put chain mail and plate through a more thorough trial.
“Mama!” Skye cried as she spotted her mother. “I defeated that varlet, Sir Roland de Ware! I am the champion!”
Cambria forced her features into a frown, which was no easy feat. “And why were you battling your cousin?”
Skye pouted. “He said his papa could best my papa.” She screwed up her forehead. “It isn’t true, is it?”
Cambria let a grin slip onto her face. “Well, that will be determined tomorrow in the great tournament, Skye. But it’s nothing for you and Roland to battle over. You know, not all disagreements need to be settled with fists and sword.” She sat upon the boulder and wrapped an arm around her mail-clad daughter. “Have I ever told you the story of how your papa convinced me to marry him?”
~*~
Holden shifted his sleepy son
in his arms and examined more closely the monk’s missive.
“I’ll be damned,” he whispered.
The monk flinched visibly at the oath.
“Well, well,” his brother Duncan chimed in over his shoulder, his blue eyes sparkling as he perused the note. “It’s high time, isn’t it?”
Then Duncan peered past him, and Holden followed his gaze. Linet was waddling up the hill toward them, her flaxen-haired son clinging to her swollen belly.
“Ah, Linet, my love, there you are,” Duncan beamed, holding his hand out to assist her. “I fear, my lady, I may have to delay besting this brother of mine in the lists. It seems we’re needed back in England.”
Linet absently stroked her belly, her soft green eyes dimming sadly. Holden knew she wanted Cambria by her side for the birth.
“I see no reason Cambria and I can’t come as well,” Holden assured her.
“Roland!” Duncan shouted suddenly at the sight of his son, whose eye appeared to be turning an ugly shade of purple. “How did you get that black eye?”
“Skye did it!” the little boy cried in barely discernible words. “Skye said she was a knight, and we were having a battle!”
Holden rolled his eyes and clenched his jaw. He’d been hearing tales like this one for some six months now. More than half the castle children had injuries somehow related to Skye. It was beginning to be an embarrassment.
Duncan, however, only laughed and tapped at the document in his hand. “Well, it seems our little brother is in for a bit of fatherly woes himself!”
“Garth?” Linet asked.
“He’s taking a wife. A matter of honor, it says here,” Duncan said with a grin, gesturing to the missive.
“He is to be a father himself shortly,” Holden explained. “And it appears he doesn’t mean a holy father. He’s summoned us to come in all haste to his wedding.”
“Garth?” Linet asked. “Married?”
She swatted little Roland on the bottom and sent him racing off into the arms of his favorite new friend, Sir Guy, who had appeared on the field.
“But Garth has been living in a monastery,” she argued.
Holden and Duncan exchanged knowing grins.
“He is a de Ware,” Duncan explained.
Holden chuckled, disturbing his slumbering son, and then jiggled the boy back to sleep. He was delighted that Garth was going to have a family. There was nothing quite so rewarding as a cherished wife and nothing as balancing as fatherhood. No glorious campaign, no accumulation of wealth, no victory in the tournament could please him so well as the piece of heaven he’d found in his family’s embrace.
A silver flash across the field caught his eye. There were his precious jewels now―Cambria and Skye―bounding across the grass in twin coats of sparkling mail. His heart swelled at the sight of them. They were his beloved ladies, both as beautiful as Highland lochs, as bewitching as woodland sprites, as abandoned and carefree as Scotland herself.
He took a deep breath of fresh Gavin air and strode toward them to share the good news.
Books by
Glynnis Campbell…
THE KNIGHTS OF DE WARE...
From a long line of legendary warriors come three brothers to carry on the rich and powerful de Ware legacy: Duncan the Champion...Holden the Warrior...Garth the Hero...
My Champion
Book 1 of the
Knights de Ware Trilogy
Buy from Amazon
* * *
My Hero
Book 3 of the
Knights de Ware Trilogy
Buy from Amazon
About Glynnis
Born in Paradise, California, Glynnis Campbell has embraced her inner Gemini by leading an eclectic life. As a teen, she danced with the Sacramento Ballet, worked in her father’s graphic arts studio, and composed music for award-winning science films. She sang arias in college, graduating with a degree in Music, then toured with The Pinups, an all-girl rock band on CBS Records. She once played drums for a Tom Jones video and is currently a voice-over actress with credits including “Star Wars” audio adventures, JumpStart educational CDs, Diablo and Starcraft video games, and the MTV animated series, “The Maxx.” She now indulges her lifelong love of towering castles, trusty swords, and knights (and damsels) in shining armor by writing historical romances featuring kick-arse heroines. She is married to a rock star, is the proud mom of two grown-up nerds, and lives in a part of L.A. where nobody thinks she’s weird.
The Beauty Bride© Copyright 2005, 2011 Claire Delacroix, Inc.
All rights reserved by the author.
This re-release has had only minor corrections from the original text. It is essentially the same as the original print edition, although there are minor variations.
Without limiting the rights under copyright preserved above, no part of this book may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior written permission of both the copyright holder and the publisher of this book.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
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Cover art by Kim Killion
Author's Note
Dear Reader:
Ideas come from many places, but I think the most satisfying story ideas are those that grow out of other stories. When I wrote The Rogue, I fully anticipated that Merlyn and Ysabella’s story would stand alone. In the course of writing that book, however, I became fascinated by Merlyn’s wicked brother, Gawain. I wondered whether the love of the right woman would reform him, and Evangeline volunteered for the job. Their story was told in The Scoundrel. Evangeline had such a passion for her family holding of Inverfyre that I was anxious to see how that story was resolved—my curiosity resulted in The Warrior, about the Hawk’s attempts to secure Inverfyre for the future. Of course, he could not have managed it without the aid of the woman he seized for his bride, Aileen, and her psychic powers.
At the end of The Warrior, there is a celebration, and the entire extended Lammergeier family gathers at Inverfyre. There is a single sentence about Roland of Kinfairlie, his wife and their eight children. Eight children! I started to think about the ruckus of a big family like that and the interplay between all those kids. Before I knew it, Roland and his wife had been tragically killed and their eldest son, Alexander, was left to deal with the legacy of Kinfairlie much earlier than he’d ever expected. For financial reasons, he needs to see his sisters married—although his sisters are used to speaking their mind around their brother and are less than willing to comply with his plans.
My Rogues of Ravensmuir trilogy and my Jewels of Kinfairlie trilogy are linked, but you don’t have to read The Rogues of Ravensmuir first to enjoy The Jewels of Kinfairlie.
The Beauty Bride is the first book in The Jewels of Kinfairlie trilogy. Here you’ll meet Alexander and his seven siblings, as well as follow Madeline’s adventures as the first to be wed. This book was originally titled The Bride Auction and there is an excerpt of it in the back of the original print edition of The Warrior with that title. The title was changed before the book was printed, but the story remains the same. All of the Jewels of Kinfairlie books are available once more in digital editions and new print editions.
Recently, I’ve returned to medieval Scotland, to Ravensmuir and Kinfairlie. The Renegade’s Heart, a new medieval romance from me and the first in a new series called The T
rue Love Brides, will be published. This series picks up after The Jewels of Kinfairlie. The Renegade’s Heart is the story of Isabella’s romance. (Neither I nor Annelise are surprised that Isabella had to have her story told first, even if she was out of turn!)
As with all of my re-releases, I’ve chosen not to revise this book, but to republish it pretty much the way it was published in the first place. There may be a few typos missing in this version, but otherwise it is very similar to the original.
I’ve enjoyed revisiting The Beauty Bride, and hope you enjoy reading it, as well.
Until next time, I hope you are well and have plenty of good books to read.
All my best,
Claire
Prologue
Kinfairlie, on the east coast of Scotland
April 1421
Alexander, newly made Laird of Kinfairlie, glowered at his sister.
There was no immediate effect. In fact, Madeline granted him a charming smile. She was a beautiful woman, dark of hair and blue of eye, her coloring and comeliness so striking that men oft stared at her in awe. She was fiercely clever and charming, as well. All of these traits, along with the score of men anxious to win her hand, only made Madeline’s refusal to wed more irksome.
“You need not look so annoyed, Alexander,” she said, her tone teasing. “My suggestion is wrought of good sense.”
“It is no good sense for a woman of three and twenty summers to remain unwed,” he grumbled. “I cannot imagine what Papa was thinking not to have seen you safely wed a decade ago.”
Madeline’s eyes flashed. “Papa was thinking that I loved James and that I would wed James in time.”
“James is dead,” Alexander retorted, speaking more harshly than was his wont. They had had this argument a dozen times and he tired of his sister’s stubborn refusal to accept the obvious truth. “And dead the better part of a year.”
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