Five Unforgettable Knights (5 Medieval Romance Novels)

by Tanya Anne Crosby

  Iain barely heard his wife’s clipped command, or the door closing behind Glenna, so overwhelmed was he with the incredible gift his wife had given him.

  His throat constricted as he examined his son... so tiny... so incredibly beautiful... He began to count toes, fingers, dared to touch the little nose, lips... skin so soft.

  “A son!” he whispered in awe, and glanced up momentarily to find his wife at the window. “Mairi, come away from there,” he said softly, his voice choking with emotion, “afore ye catch your death.” His heart pounded joyfully as he returned to the inspection of his babe.

  “I wanted to show ye something, Iain.”

  Her voice was lacking emotion, weary. He looked up to find her staring from the window, the breeze blowing gently through her beautifully mussed hair. A lovely halo surrounded her, he thought, the mother of his child. “You should rest,” he advised her. “Show me later, Mairi. Get yourself back to bed now.” She turned to face him then, and there was something indiscernible in her expression.

  The hair at his nape prickled.

  She tilted her head and smiled a little. “I wanted ye to see that bearin’ your bairn didna kill me, after all. Here I am, ye see!” She swayed like a drunkard, and guilt wrenched at his gut. “Two days it took me, but here I stand!” She laughed softly, and choked on her emotion.

  “Thank God!” he said, and meant it fiercely. He peered down at their son, unable to endure her accusing gaze any longer. Self-disgust flowed through him. “Thank you,” he whispered, unsure of what it was he was supposed to say. “I’ll make it up to ye, Mairi. I swear it!”

  “I want only one thing from you,” she spat.

  “Anything—” He choked on the declaration, but swore he’d give her whatever she so desired. Anything. She need only ask for it.

  “I only wanted ye to see me wi’ your own eyes... to know the thought o’ bearin’ ye another—endurin’ your touch!” She shuddered and turned from him abruptly, leaning out from the tower window. “Dear, God!” she sobbed. “I’ll never do it again! I’ll not!”

  Iain’s arms went numb with the weight of their child. A sense of foreboding rushed through him. She leaned farther, and a shudder shook him. “Mairi, come away from there now!”

  “I want ye to know!”

  A cold sweat broke over him. “Now!” he barked. “Get away from there, Mairi! Glenna!” he shouted and he started toward his wife with the babe in his arms, unsure of whether to lay the child down.

  “The thought o’ ye ever touching me again did this! You killed me, Iain!”

  “Mairi, nay!”

  She flung herself from the window before he could reach her.

  Iain staggered to his knees, clutching their babe against his pounding heart.

  The babe.

  His son.

  He might have reached her had he not been holding their son.

  Startled by his bellow, the babe began to squeal and Iain could only stare, stupidly, at the open window where an instant before his wife had stood.

  Chapter One

  Northumbria 1124

  Someone was watching; she could feel it.

  Page froze in the midst of donning her undergown.

  A twig snapped, muffled by the bracken of the forest floor, and she snatched down the hem, her eyes focusing upon the twisting shadows of the not too distant woods.

  She could see naught through the midnight blackness, and naught more than silence reached her—a silence that settled like the night mist, formless and unnatural. Her teeth began to chatter, and for a long instant she stood there, chilled and wary, but she could hear nothing more than familiar night sounds: the croaking of frogs, the trilling of crickets, the distant howl of a wolf.

  A quiver passed down her spine, for she had heard something. She was nearly sure of it.

  ’Twould behoove her, she decided, to hie back to the safety of the keep—perhaps to rethink the wisdom in coming out alone at night. All these months of slipping out without incident had made her lax in her guard.

  Like a hundred nights before, Page had come out for her swim, without bothering to inform anyone of her destination—not that anyone would have cared, she assured herself quickly. God’s truth, but the only blessed good to come of being daughter to a man who only wanted sons was that she had the freedom to do as she pleased. And yet it truly meant that nobody cared one whit where she went, what she did, or what became of her. And she didn’t trouble herself to think tonight would be any different.

  On the other hand, she cared! She cared very much, and she had no intention of becoming somebody’s—or something’s—prey!

  She sat hurriedly upon the boulder beside where she’d lain her clothes, and reached down to pluck up her beaten shoes from the dewy ground. She donned one quickly, muffling silent curses as her wet foot impeded her progress, and then changed her mind about lingering long enough to dress.

  Mist crept about her feet, nebulous fingers wrapping about her ankles, unsettling her. She didn’t consider herself an overly fanciful person, but this instant, she might as well have been a timid church mouse for all that her heart was racing. Peering up at the sliver of moon that hovered above, she surged to her feet, bending hurriedly to retrieve the remainder of her garments.

  Her eyes sought the metallic glimmer of her dagger beneath the pile of her clothing, and the downy hairs at her nape prickled when she failed to find it.

  For the love of Christ, where could she have put it?

  What good were clothing if she were dead. Dumping her gathered bundle, she lifted the other shoe to peer inside, thinking mayhap she’d placed the small dagger within it, but it wasn’t there, and she stifled a curse, fearing God was like to banish her to purgatory for an eternity already for her irreverence. Damnation, but she couldn’t help it.

  Where could it possibly be?

  Another twig snapped, closer this time, and Page decided she didn’t need the dagger after all. No sooner was her decision made when there was a hideous outcry. In the next instant they appeared—three barely discernible figures scrambling from the woods.

  She didn’t linger to discover their intent.

  Shrieking in fear, Page bolted, flinging the shoe behind her. An answering curse rang out, but she didn’t bother turning to see what damage it may have inflicted—minimal, if any, she was certain, for the sole was soft and worn with age—more’s the pity! She would’ve hoped to pluck out an eye with it!

  Spouting oaths she didn’t like to admit she knew, she ran with all her might towards the castle, crying out for aid, hoping Edwin, the gatekeeper, wasn’t so inebriated that he thought her pleas a mere fancy of his cockeyed dreams. Blundering sot! If he had been at his post to begin with, she might not be in this predicament—she mightn’t have left the castle so effortlessly. And yet she knew the fault was not his, but hers. She should have known better—curse her rotten luck!

  Her heart pounded faster with every stride she took.

  Like a death knell, the sound of their footfalls came faster.

  Closer.

  She quickened her pace, surging forward with a burst of energy born of terror. Ignoring the pain that flared at her side, Page kept near to the stream lest she collide with the enormous oak tree that guarded the pathway to the castle. God forgive her, but she hoped they wouldn’t see it and break their bloody necks for their efforts!

  Her chest heaved. The pain in her side came sharper as she raced past the old oak. Still they remained behind her, their footfalls catching her shorter strides with too little effort.

  She wasn’t going to make it! She really wasn’t going to make it!

  Page wanted to weep with fear and despair.

  Ahead of her, Aldergh Castle loomed, a distant silhouette against the ebony sky.

  Distant and unreachable.

  Like her father.

  Her heart hammered.

  She wasn’t going to make it!

  Still she ran, nearly toppling headlong into the wa
ter when the path curved too sharply before her.

  Their voices chased her, indistinguishable and alien, like bats in the darkness of a cave, flying at her from all directions.

  Jesu, where were they now?

  Ahead of her? Behind? Where?

  She wasn’t going to make it!

  The stream wended its way before her, blanketed by a sheet of mist. A glimmer of hope sparked. Mayhap they couldn’t swim? She didn’t know many who could! Perchance she could lose them beneath the mist!

  A hand reached out, brushing her leg and nearly snatching her shift, followed by a profusion of indecipherable curses when her pursuer realized he’d missed. But the shock of his touch made Page’s decision for her. She couldn’t afford to take the time to consider the consequences. Arms flailing, she hurled herself into the stream. Her legs followed like deadweight. She landed smack upon her belly, icy water striking her full in the face. The impact reverberated through her, numbing her senses, but Page recovered her faculties quickly. Ignoring the sting of her flesh, she swam with all her might toward the opposite shore, all the while listening for sounds of pursuit behind her. Relief flowed through her when there were none.

  Thank God! Thank you, God! she prayed.

  Even after reaching the bank, there was still no evidence of her pursuers, only shouts and curses she couldn’t quite decipher—coming from somewhere on the opposite shore. But she didn’t dare feel triumphant. If they were even vaguely familiar with the lay of the land, they would know that, but a few furlongs ahead, the stream ended and they would once again meet en route to the castle. Page didn’t intend to take that risk. Lifting herself from the water, sopping to her bones, she made instead for the sanctuary of the forest. They might expect her to run for the castle—as instinct was crying out she do. Logic told her she would fare much better doing the unexpected.

  If she made it into the safety of the woods—and perchance climbed a tree—she could wait for them to tire of searching and then go home. They were likely no more than brigands—she their luckless prey. She was certain that given the choice of searching all night for some faceless woman to rut with, or seeking out more profitable victims, they would tire sooner rather than later and leave her be.

  Encouraged, she ran, panting, her heart pounding. Her wet undergown clung to her legs. Running, she tried not to trip as she peered behind to make certain they were not following, and once again relief surged through her, for there was no sign of her attackers.

  Euphoria washed over her.

  Sweet Jesu, she was going to make it, after all!

  That, regrettably, was her last coherent thought, before she turned and collided with a tree.

  At least Page thought it was a tree.

  The impact knocked her flat upon her back and left her reeling. She lay there, stupefied, staring up at a Goliath of a man.

  Jesu, but he was tall!

  Within the instant, she was surrounded by the rest of them. Their faces a blur in her benumbed state, they seemed to be leering down at her, disembodied teeth shining in the moonlight.

  “Och, mon, ye’ve gone and made her daft!” she understood one to say.

  “Eh, she’ll come aboot,” assured another.

  Scots.

  Bloody damned Scots.

  She could tell by their brogue, but that was her last thought before darkness swallowed her.

  Chapter Two

  The scent of grain surrounded her... golden fields abloom... Page was running through them... running... running...

  For a befuddled instant, she thought she’d died and entered the hallowed gates of Heaven.

  Had they killed her already?

  Nay... she didn’t think so.

  A groan sounded in her ears and she thought it might be her own. Her body felt... squashed... broken, detached somehow.

  At least she was able to feel!

  Run, she commanded herself—run!

  Her body jerked into full cognizance only to find that she was being jostled between them inside a meal sack—a meal sack, for the love of Christ! Tiny leftover grains stuck to her face.

  She wondered hysterically if they were going to kill her now, stuffed as she was, like some pesky cat to be drowned in the river!

  At least the sack wasn’t filled with stones, she reasoned.

  But it seemed they were moving away from the bank... into the woods… She sensed the darkness close about them and struggled in vain, screaming until her throat turned raw. God curse them! Her abductors seemed impervious to her struggles.

  Hysterical laughter bubbled from the depths of her.

  Her father’s prophecy was about to come true. Jesu! He’d always said she’d be her own ruin someday. That someday was now.

  She should never have come out at night to wade alone. She should have brought Cora with her—now she was going to die for her recklessness.

  What an empty-headed fool she was!

  “Release me!” she shrieked, tearing at the sack with renewed determination. “Release me at once!”

  Heart pounding, Page twisted and fought like a savage, kicking and bucking against their hold upon the sack. “Release me this instant, bloody rotten heathens—let me go!”

  They broke into fits of laughter—but didn’t bother to comply!

  Well! She wasn’t about to make this painless for them! Twisting and turning, she vowed that when they finally released her, she was going to pluck out their eyes!

  If only she had her dagger!

  But it lay somewhere along the bank along with—Mother of God!

  Her struggles ceased at once with the realization that she was half naked to boot! Pure hysteria welled within her. She couldn’t have made it easier for them to ravage and murder her had she sent them bloody invitations!

  And no one would miss her.

  Her stomach wrenched.

  Aye, she’d be fortunate enough if her father even noticed she was gone after a sennight. He was more attentive to his Scots guest than he’d ever considered being to her. Well, she thought despairingly, mayhap he would take note sooner, if only because she seemed to have the most unfortunate gift for getting herself into his ill graces—just as she had a genius for getting herself into trouble! She was ill fated, to be sure! He was bound to miss the mayhem.

  Fueled with a fresh wave of desperation, Page began her struggles again, only to be jabbed with a knee for her efforts.

  Damn their bloody heathen hides!

  She didn’t care if they bruised her body until every inch of it was blue, she wasn’t going to simply lie quietly while they raped and murdered her!

  The sound of new voices stopped her struggles abruptly.

  Suddenly, without warning, the sack was overturned and she was tossed unceremoniously upon the ground.

  Page shrieked in outrage.

  Reeling, she surged to her feet, only to sway dizzily backward and fall back upon her rump to stare, dumbfounded, at the barest pair of limbs she’d ever laid eyes upon.

  Strong male legs.

  Bloody rotten luck.

  Another giant.

  Her gaze flew upward and locked with eyes that gleamed with amusement at her expense, eyes that were filled with arrogance and cool disdain. Sweet Jesu, but she’d seen that look too oft to mistake it! Like everyone else, he’d peered down his nose at her and found her wanting.

  Well! She didn’t care what the dirty Scot thought of her! Particularly as he was likely to be planning ahead to her demise now that he’d changed his mind about the ravaging.

  She didn’t look much like an earl’s daughter—more like a drowned wretch, Iain thought—save for the eyes. Nestled within them he spied all the haughtiness of her breeding.

  Impudent little wench.

  Like some mad, cornered hare, she looked ready to pounce upon him. And yet, for the briefest instant, when she’d first peered up at him, a flash of pain had shadowed those soulful dark eyes. A trick of the moonlight, no doubt, for as quickly as it had appeared, the
look vanished, replaced by that fierce glare of open defiance she now wore.

  That and little else, he couldn’t help but note.

  A shudder coursed through him, for he hadn’t missed her bold appraisal of his legs. Had she been the least bit nearer and chanced to peer up his tunic, she might have earned herself an eyeful. Despite her bedraggled appearance, he found himself fully aroused by the sight of her. Christ, that body—even cloaked in mist and shadows, her graceful curves were more than discernible. Even through the silken shadows, her perfect breasts rose to tempt him, dark nipples plainly visible, teased by the cold night air.

  His brows drew together as he considered her state of undress. Garbed in little more than her sodden shift, she seemed completely oblivious, in her anger, to the sight she presented to his men.

  Shaking his head over her foolishness, he made an effort to dispel the images that accosted him: long luscious legs wrapped about his waist... full, ripe breasts arched in passion, beckoning to his lips... He knew the taste of them would be like manna from heaven.

  Bones o’ the bloody saints, he was just a bloody man!

  What sort of father allowed his only daughter to roam free at will? At night, no less?

  “She was just where they said she would be,” his cousin disclosed.

  “So she was.” Iain’s voice was husky with lust he couldn’t quite eschew.

  He didn’t want her, he told himself, shaking himself out of his reverie. No good would come of wanting such an impertinent wench.

  He crossed his arms and glowered down at her. “D’ ye make it a habit to bathe yourself afore God and man alike?” He wasn’t certain why he’d asked the question; he knew she must. ’Twas how they’d managed to find her, after all, and yet he found himself oddly vexed over the notion.

  She lifted her chin, denying him an answer, her dark eyes flaring with undisguised anger, and Iain tried not to chuckle at her mettle. Here she was, no more than a slip of a lass, challenging him before his men, when even his enemies dared not face him so directly.

  Fools, all, for he intended to discover the name of the Judas who’d dared to hand his son over to the bloody English for barter. He planned to rip out the serpent’s tongue and stuff it up his bloody arse!