Five Unforgettable Knights (5 Medieval Romance Novels)

by Tanya Anne Crosby

  “The only thing I have ever wanted was the right to grieve for my own mother.”

  “Ye canna, Lagan! He does not know.”

  “And, o’ course, as ever, ‘tis him we should be concerned o’er, right?”

  “It was the old laird’s wish,” Glenna reminded him.

  “And what o’ my da’s wishes? What o’ them? The bastard killed him because my mother dared to love him.”

  “It was an accident, Lagan.”

  “How can you defend him?” Lagan returned angrily.

  Glenna shook her head. “He was as much aggrieved by Dougal MacLean’s death as any. The old laird’s anger drove him to it. How can you not forgive?”

  “Och, but ‘tis your own sister’s bairn, your flesh and blood, he denied. Me.”

  Glenna hung her head. “I gave you everything, Lagan. You wanted for naught.”

  “I wanted for plenty. You were just too blind to see.”

  She shook her head, lamenting. “I should ne’er have told ye, Lagan.”

  “Aye, but you did,” he returned acidly, his eyes narrowing wrathfully. “And as God is my witness, it shall be made right.”

  Her gaze flew to his, searching. “What will you do, Lagan? Dinna do anythin’ foolish,” she admonished, worry etched in her eyes.

  “I intend to see that justice is done,” he hissed at her, and walked away, grumbling after.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  It seemed no matter where she went, trouble pursued her.

  Vowing to keep herself free from provocation, Page decided to remain within Iain’s chamber the next day.

  The notion came to her in the middle of the night to refurbish his tower room, and she awoke the next morn with a mission, hoping to complete the task before his return. She waited until he left her, and then enlisted Glenna’s help once more—Broc’s, as well. She began by hauling up buckets with which to clean. That done, she scoured the floors with a vengeance, scrubbing until there was nary a speck of dust or dirt to be found. And when she finished the floors, she moved to the walls, scrubbing until the stone was free of soot and grime.

  Glenna set herself to laundering the bedding.

  There was little enough Page could do to add cheer to the bedchamber, for Iain seemed to have few indulgences. Search though she did, there was nothing she could find to place upon the floors or walls; no tapestries to add color, no rugs to ward away the chill that seemed to permeate the room and remain forever present—despite that the sun shone brightly outside.

  There was, however, one thing she determined would aid immensely, and she started at once for the boarded window, resolving to let in the sunlight. The sun, she was certain, would do wonders to transform the room’s gaol-like quality into something somewhat more gay.

  The wooden slats barring the window were heavy and crude, clearly not meant to be ornate. Placed at odd angles to each other, they gave the impression they were hurriedly placed, and perhaps not meant to be permanent. Well, it was long past time they should come down, she resolved, as she wrestled with the bottommost slat. She struggled with the board only an instant before determining she would need help.

  “Broc!” she called out. No answer. “Broc?” She turned to find he’d vanished from the room. Bewildered by his sudden disappearance, she turned and found Glenna frozen at the far side of the room, staring, a look akin to horror registered upon her face, a bundle of clean bedding visibly clenched within her arms.

  “Where did he go?” Page asked. “I need his help to unbar the window.”

  “Oh, hinnie!” Glenna whispered a little frantically. “I dinna think ye should!” She turned to peer out from the open doorway, as though suddenly afeared someone would spy them.

  Page blinked. “Why? I do not understand,” she said, confused by the grave expression upon the older woman’s face. “Is there a reason this window should remain barred?”

  “Aye... well—aye!” Glenna stammered, shifting her weight from foot to foot, and looking ill at ease.

  Page raised a brow at the much too hesitant and then exuberant reply. “Why?”

  “Och, but ‘tis a long ways down!” Glenna disclosed.

  The explanation sounded lame to Page, and she screwed her face as she contemplated the strange reasoning.

  “For Malcom’s sake!” she added, tossing down the bedsheets upon the bed. “It was boarded to keep him safe!”

  Page nodded in comprehension. “Oh, I see! When he was younger?”

  “Aye!” Glenna exclaimed, looking relieved now.

  Page drew her brows together. “But he’s older,” she reasoned, turning her attention back to the window, eyeing it speculatively. “I can see no harm in removing the bars now. Jesu, but it looks like a gaol in here!” She tested the slats once more—every last one of them, though she had to climb upon the sill to reach the uppermost boards. The top slat cracked free, only a bit, but enough that she was able to pry her fingers beneath and seize hold of it. Using her weight for leverage, she tugged it free. Rather than lose her footing, Page released the board. It landed upon the floor with a resounding clatter.

  A brilliant stream of sunlight pierced the room.

  “Splendid!” she exclaimed. “The floors and walls will dry so much better with the sun!” She turned to appraise Glenna’s reaction and found the older woman had vanished, as well. Her brows knit, for she hadn’t even been the least aware of Glenna’s departure. Page shrugged, thinking Glenna’s reaction to the window curious, but she wasn’t going to let it stop her. She was certain that once they saw the improvement in the room, they would wholeheartedly agree it was the right thing to do. Without delay, she began to work at unbarring the window, removing the gloomy barrier board by board.

  Iain had been repairing the stone enclosure that kept their fold penned when Broc found him. Sputtering some babble about clean floors and unshuttering the tower window, he’d urged Iain to make haste. Dread over whatever dire circumstance had reduced Broc to spouting nonsensical drivel kept him from lingering to decipher the cryptic message. But it wasn’t until Glenna accosted him on his way into the tower that he fully understood what it was that Broc had been trying to say, and he took the tower steps two at a time in his haste to reach her.

  Too late.

  He burst through the doorway of his chamber and froze at the sight that greeted him.

  The room was aglow with light. Brilliant white sunlight flooded every corner and washed over the wooden floors like a mantle of gold.

  In the space of an instant, he was propelled backward in time.

  She stood looking out from the window, sunlight streaming in around her. It touched her hair and brushed it with copper. Iain took a step into the room and felt suddenly as though he’d walked into an inferno... the nightmare real once more.

  Sweat beaded upon his brow and prickled his upper lip.

  She didn’t turn and he couldn’t find his voice to speak.

  Like some beautiful specter from his past, she stood there, peering down at the cliffs below the tower, the wind blowing and lifting her unbound hair. It fluttered at her back and she leaned forward to catch the breeze.

  Iain’s breath caught and his heart began to hammer. In his mind’s eye he saw Mairi, not Page, standing there. Though he stood there empty-handed, he felt again the weight of their newborn bairn in his arms and the sting of tears in his eyes.

  That morning... it had begun just so.

  It couldn’t be happening again.

  He wouldn’t let it.

  Page had never seen such a glorious sight as the one she now beheld.

  In all her life she had never known a view could be so breathtaking. With the advantage of height, one could see clearly out to the loch below the jutting cliffs. From the ground, all that was visible was an upward- sloping hill. She would have guessed that the hill continued to a gentle slope beyond the summit, as well.

  And she would have been wrong.

  The wind was a roar within her ears,
and the sun shining down upon her face was like the hand of God warming her wind-chilled brow. She stood in amazement, marveling over the glitter of blue that stretched forth between one cliffside and the next. Jesu, but she could feel every sensation acutely here—the crispness of the air, the warmth of the sun’s rays, the caress of the wind.

  She couldn’t imagine why the window would have been boarded—it seemed a shame to take for granted something so incredibly beautiful as this view. Glenna’s explanation had been reasonable enough... when one stopped to think of the dangers to a small child, although Page doubted she would ever have considered such a thing. But then, she was neither a mother nor a father, and was like never to be protecting one of her own.

  Lord, but even the breeze was sweet with the scent of wild heather!

  Instinctively she leaned out to seek the elusive scent, to inhale it more deeply into her greedy lungs.

  “Nay!”

  The thunderous command startled her.

  Page spun about, her hand flying to her breast, to find Iain standing in the room. She’d not even heard him approach. “You startled me!” she accused him.

  “Get away from that window!” He came toward her, his eyes narrowed wrathfully. “Now!”

  Page took a step backward, alarmed by the purposeful look in his eyes, the glassy sheen to them. He looked at her as though he did not quite recognize her.

  “I said get away from the bluidy window!” He lunged after her suddenly, before she could take another evasive step, and seized her ruthlessly by the arm. He spun her about, dragging her within the chamber.

  Alarmed, Page struggled against him. Never had she seen him so enraged, so crazed! The flickering gold of his eyes shimmered with the intensity of angry, burning flames. The transformation in him was frightening. “You’re hurting me!” she protested, grimacing.

  Sweet Jesu, but he didn’t seem to hear her!

  He jerked her after him, hurled her heedlessly across his bed. Page landed, disoriented, but didn’t dare wait to catch her breath. She scurried to the far side of the bed and turned to face him there, watching him warily.

  “Who the bluidy hell said you could open that gaddamned window?” he demanded.

  Page shook her head, unable to speak. She didn’t know this side of him. Never once had he looked at her so cruelly, or spoken so harshly. She couldn’t even begin to comprehend what she could have done to provoke him to such an extreme—not when she’d worked so incessantly at it before and had never even managed to prick his temper at all! God’s truth, she’d been more in danger of inspiring his laughter than she ever had his fury!

  Reasoning that he was not lucid this instant, she yielded, “I’m sorry. I... I didn’t know... I didn’t realize... Iain?”

  Strange how, though she knew the lengths to which her father would go, she’d always stood her ground with him. With Iain, she was certain he’d never harm her—ever—and yet she felt the need to conciliate.

  Still, she wasn’t about to come anywhere near him until the cloud of rage cleared from his eyes!

  It was the look upon her face that recalled Iain to himself.

  She crouched upon his bed, her eyes watching him with that same intensely guarded look she’d given him that first night he’d met her. It was wariness, not hatred he saw there.

  Not revulsion.

  He blinked, focusing.

  Christ, it was not Mairi at the window... not Mairi shrinking from him at the far end of the bed.

  And still he couldn’t help but shudder at the look in her eyes. At the black rage in his heart. So many years he’d kept the emotions buried. Damn, but he wasn’t simply angry with Mairi for leaving their son—he despised her for it! Unwilling to betray his emotions, Iain turned his back to Page and sat upon the bed, his body tense and trembling with restraint.

  He sat for what seemed an eternity, staring at the open window.

  Blue skies for as far as the eye could behold.

  Malcom would have his seventh winter soon.

  He looked about him, seeing his chamber for the first time in so many years... He’d always loathed this room. Even before Mairi... he had suffered the dreams. Her death had only intensified them.

  Only, this moment... there was something different about it, he thought... something bright and cheery. He’d seen it this way before... but the difference this instant... was the presence of the woman at his back.

  He started when he felt her delicate tap upon his shoulder. His breath caught, but he didn’t turn to face her.

  Christ, but he didn’t know what to say.

  She likely thought him a madman.

  And he could scarce blame her for it.

  Page approached him warily, laying her hand upon his shoulder, and gasped when he started. He didn’t turn to look at her, seemed discomposed, and she wanted so much to ease his burdens... as he had done so often for her.

  They were true, she realized, as she watched him stare so intently at the window—the rumors she’d heard about his wife.

  And yet it was evident from his expression, from his reaction to the open window, that the memory pained him still. The connection had never occurred to her—the barred window and the death of his wife.

  She swallowed, gathered her courage, and lifted her hand to his clenched jaw.

  Her heart lurched when he leaned into it, allowing her to comfort him, and her breath caught when he turned to look at her suddenly.

  His golden eyes were full of grief.

  “‘Tis true, then? Your wife...”

  For a long instant he didn’t reply. He removed his face from her hand, sitting rigid before her. “What?” he asked her, his whisper sounding pained. “Is it true that I murdered her? That I pushed her from the window?”

  “Nay!” Page said with a rush of breath. She shook her head vehemently. “I never did think so!”

  He closed his eyes and clenched his jaw. “She killed herself.” His voice broke. “Leapt... from that window.” He turned again to the wide, unobstructed opening, nodding.

  Page experienced the most overwhelming desire to embrace him in that instant. She let herself, her heart quickening...

  For the first time in her life, she didn’t worry about rejection... or her own tattered soul. She wrapped her arms about the man she loved. Though he stiffened at the unexpected show of compassion, he allowed it.

  For a long instant they remained just so.

  “It seemed she preferred death... to me,” he admitted softly, brokenly. “Her final words were... I want ye to know... the thought o’ ye ever touchin’ me again did this... You killed me, Iain.”

  Page’s eyes stung with tears for the pain he’d endured at her hands.

  “I hear those words still in my dreams.”

  He shuddered at the confession, and her heart swelled with emotion. “I understand,” she said softly. “I do.” All this time she had never guessed he could be suffering the same as she—he with his good humor and his easy manner. Sweet Jesu, but she knew what it felt like to be unloved, to be cast aside.

  They were the same.

  He turned to look at her, and his eyes crinkled at the corners. “Aye,” he said, “I know ye do, lass.”

  Not this time. She wasn’t going to allow him to divert her attention—for once, it wasn’t about her. “I’m stubborn and canny,” she told him. “Don’t worry about me.” And she smiled softly—for the first time in her life knowing of a certainty it was so.

  He gave her a halfhearted smile, a slight turn of his lips.

  Jesu, but she wanted to love him, wanted to nurture him—wanted him to know that not only would she gladly bear his touch, but she craved it fiercely! And in that instant she knew that she loved him truly. It had to be love, for she was unafraid to offer him all that she had to give—no matter that he had the power to wound her as did no other. Were he to rebuff her, she knew she would never recover.

  Even so... not caring what his reaction to her brazenness might be... s
he bent to brush her lips against his whiskered jaw.

  She kissed him softly, but with all the emotion she possessed in her heart.

  She wanted him to cherish her, wanted him to make love to her, wanted to embrace him just so for the rest of her days.

  He groaned, the guttural sound low and tormented, and Page felt her body quicken in response.

  “Och, mo cridhe... fear mo ruin,” he whispered fiercely, turning and cupping her face within his callused hands. He closed his eyes and kissed her lips with a heart-jolting tenderness that stole her breath away.

  Shuddering as he drew her down upon the bed and covered her body with his own, Page dared to pretend that his strangely muttered words were I love you.

  Chapter Thirty

  It had been a long time since Iain had watched the sun set from his chamber window.

  Even longer since he’d made love by the blush of its waning light. He’d forgotten how sweet it could be. Even more, he had never known the contentment that was possible in the sharing of two bodies.

  Aye, he’d experienced those moments of gratification after a thorough loving... the physical sense of serenity. He’d wallowed in those pleasures like a lazy hound in the heat of a noonday sun. But he’d never imagined such a plane existed within the soul itself.

  Exhausted from her day’s labor within his chamber, and their lovemaking, Page slept deeply beside him. Iain could scarce keep his hands to himself. He stroked her hair reverently, marveling that she slept so peacefully. He traced the outline of her body with his hands, afeared to touch her that she might wake, and yet unable to keep himself from appreciating the beauty of her form. Her long, lean limbs were tangled within the bedsheets. Her golden hair flowed down her back.

  Like a wild woodland nymph, she lay bare beside him, naked and wholly revealed to his eyes—even her heart exposed to him this instant. Och, but he sensed her soul, and it was beauteous beyond imagination. Like a wary sculptor disrobing his long-guarded creation, she’d dared unveil herself to him with this loving, and his heart was filled near to brimming with emotion.