Lord of a Thousand Nights

by Madeline Hunter

  A horrible thickness lodged in the pit of Reyna's stomach. She guessed how this tale would end, and almost urged him to silence to spare him the pain of telling it.

  “She watched. They all watched. I had never experienced such fear and confusion in my life. This was my father, and he came at me with fury, and I was sure that I was going to die. But I was young and skilled, and we were more evenly matched than I expected. I do not know how long we fought, but finally he stepped back for a moment. In that pause, I looked over at her, and from her expression I knew that she had planned it, that she did not want the marriage, that she sought him maimed or dead and herself free of him, and that she had used me for that end.”

  “Why you? Why not one of the others there?”

  “Perhaps she knew that he would be more rash with his own blood. Maybe she had heard that of the squires my sword arm was the best. Most likely she just recognized a fool when she saw one. I turned back and saw my father also looking at her. When his eyes met mine again, I knew that he had seen what I had. And I also saw that we had both been fools, that he had fallen in love with her too. Something went out of him then. You could practically see it fly away. I urged him to end it, but he did not. Perhaps it was pride, but I think it was despair. I hoped I could bring it to a draw. But we were both tiring, and our blows were getting careless. His guard fell, and he all but turned into my blade.”

  His jaw flexed and eyes narrowed. Reyna ached to say something to soothe him and ease the guilt written on his face.

  “He did not die right away. I stayed with him, and we never spoke of her the whole time. He forgave me and made my brother do so too, and bid my lord come and dub me in his presence. Then he gave me some coin and told me to go to my mother's people, far away from the whispers that were already saying that I had lusted after my new mother and killed my father in order to have her.”

  “But it was not so. She was not yet tied to him.”

  “A small point, Reyna.”

  “An important one. You would have never—if the betrothal had been made—”

  He turned smoldering eyes on her. “You are so sure? I confess I am not.”

  “I am. Nor did you seek to kill your father. How could people speak such slander?”

  “People only know what they saw. This tale might sound very different coming from another mouth,” he said harshly, but the anger was not for her. “I made excuses for her at first. Tried to convince myself she had sought my death, not his. Perhaps she was not a maid, and my rape would provide an explanation for that. I found it impossible to accept that one so young could be so evil. But while I was in London, I heard that she had married my brother. The old lord or the second son would not do for her, but the young heir—that was different. I think that she wanted him from the start, and was dismayed to learn that the offer came not from the son but the father. So she needed my father gone before the betrothal, or the true prize would forever be out of reach. A son can not marry his dead father's wife.”

  “Does your brother know?”

  “I wondered for a while if he had been a partner in it, but I can not believe it of him. But when I go to Guilford I will find out. And I will let her know that I know she killed my father as surely as I did.”

  “You did not really—”

  “I did, Reyna. I accepted the truth of it long ago. I am grateful that you try to defend me, though. I thought that you would damn me for this.”

  He looked tired, as though the telling of this story had taken most of his strength. She embraced him and hoped he could feel her love. “How could I damn you? You were unjustly accused. Should you have offered your neck to your father's sword?”

  “He gave me life. Most would say it was his right to take it away. I was not blameless, and patricide under any condition is unforgivable.”

  “Nothing is unforgivable,” she said. “However, I think that you never forgave yourself. I think that you believed the deed had revealed and determined your nature and you let your soul drift without reflecting on where it went. But in truth your nature is warm and good, Ian. I could never have loved you if I did not sense that.”

  “Nay, love, not so good. You make me better than I am.” He turned into her embrace and buried his face against her neck, as if he took succor from her warmth. “I should have shown more strength, and calculated what she wanted from me. It was a hard lesson, but I have been thinking that I learned it too well.”

  He finally set her away and lifted the chalice. “There is more, I think. Four lines cross the circle of the ditch. This is just part of it. I thought it would be a few hundred pounds' worth of gold. Nothing like this.”

  “I do not care what you decide to do. It belongs to no one.”

  “If I hand Edmund over to the church, he will probably never see justice. The ecclesiastical courts take care of their own, and they never execute their clerics. He will claim self-defense with his brother, and there is no proof with Robert. He will spin a tale that they will be glad to believe rather than condemn a Hospitaller.”

  “Easier then to give him some gold and send him away. He will leave Scotland if you demand it.”

  “It was you he wronged, Reyna. Your husband and friend whom he killed. Your life he endangered. Will this gold satisfy you that you have been compensated?”

  Would it? The yellow metal glittered, offering to bury all pain in luxury never imagined. It worked its seductive magic on her in an insidious way, and excuses and rationales seemed to literally flow to her with its glow. If it had this effect on her, what did it do to Ian, who had pursued booty and plunder for years?

  “You decide, Ian. I can not. You discovered it.”

  He ran his finger along her jaw and tilted her chin up. “It would secure our children's futures.”

  “Aye, that is so. You are right.”

  “Make this humble keep strong and safe, and buy a house in York or even London.”

  “Robert would have wanted us safe.”

  He gazed at the gold he held. “Then why do I feel this would be a worse theft than any ransom that I ever asked a town to pay? Keeping it, especially if it means giving some to his murderer—no justice at all for Robert, and not what he planned for this treasure.”

  She sensed the battle in him. It mattered not to her love which course he chose, but she wondered if it mattered to him in ways she could only guess. “So, what do we do, Ian?”

  He ran his thumb over a blue stone. “Sapphires, I think.” He sighed, shook his head, and smiled ruefully. “Ten years from now, if you are impoverished, I am going to curse myself.”

  Little wings of joy fluttered in her chest. “There will be enough for me here. Will there be enough for you?”

  He turned his gaze and looked right in her eyes. The gold in his hand ceased to exist. “I love you with all my heart, Reyna. There will always be enough for me if you are mine.”

  He placed the chalice and candle holders back in the sack. “We will take these to the keep. Later, after I have sent some men to fetch Edmund, I will come back and dig up the rest. We will send Edmund and the gold and books to Glasgow. We will tell the bishop that the books are for an abbey school, but the gold is to be used to aid the poor and those displaced by war. If I make this sacrifice, I want to expiate a few of my past sins.”

  They walked up the motte to their horses. “I will miss the books more than the gold, I think,” Reyna admitted.

  “We will send only the ones with Jacques Molay's initials, so it is not all of them.”

  She grimaced. “That is all the philosophy.”

  “You know it by heart. You can spend the winters explaining it all to me, and I will argue against the logic. The debate should keep your memory fresh.”

  “My Book of Hours will have to go. I know that by heart too, but I will miss it.”

  “That one stays, I think.”

  “It bears the initials, I am sure.”

  “I looked before I came here. I saw no initials.”


  “On the first page—”

  “I think not.” He lifted her onto her saddle.

  “Ian,” she said, eyeing him suspiciously.

  He looked up with a smile.

  Dear saints, what a smile.

  “There is such a thing as being too good, Reyna.”

  Chapter TWENTY-SEVEN

  I will miss this,” Reyna said lazily. She stretched her naked body against Ian's, and the flowers that he had entwined in her hair streamed amidst her tresses over her face and his chest. The late summer sun shimmered her skin with warmth. She soaked in the sensation, knowing that it might be months before they lay near the river like this again. Already some days held winter's chill, and the nights had cooled the water enough that she and Ian had ventured only a brief swim.

  “Winter has its own pleasures,” Ian said. “Furs by the hearth fire. Warm spiced wine. Very long nights.”

  “And I will get to wear my new gowns. It was kind of David to bring the cloth from Carlisle.”

  “They are lovely, although I wasn't picturing you by the hearth in one just now.”

  She giggled and propped herself above his chest. “Just as well you got rid of those books on philosophy, Ian. I remember there being sections warning against carnal pleasure. I never paid much attention to those parts, not having had experience in such things, but now—and those penitentials! Did you know that one of them forbade coupling on Mondays and Thursdays as well as Sundays, not to mention Advent and Lent and dozens of holy days?”

  “I am fortunate that you never were swayed by such misplaced logic.”

  “Well, I was never very logical where you were concerned. You have a talent for making philosophy the last thing on a woman's mind.”

  He pulled her into an embrace, laying her along his length so that her toes tickled his shins and her breasts pressed against the firm warmth of his chest. With kisses and caresses he lured her back to the sensual dream they had recently left.

  Abruptly, his hands stopped and his expression turned alert and concentrated. “A horse. Someone comes.” He slid her away and knelt. “Cover yourself, Reyna. We have a visitor.”

  She had just pulled on her shift when the horse approached. She smoothed the garment down and blushed up at the smiling face of the Comte de Senlis.

  “I have intruded,” David said while Ian pulled on the old cut chausses. “I apologize, Reyna. They said at the keep I would find Ian here, and I am only passing by.”

  “I am the one you should apologize to, but it is good to see you. And this is an odd place to pass by, David, since we are on the route to nowhere,” Ian said.

  David swung off his horse, and Ian glanced pointedly at Reyna's gown. She bent and snatched it up.

  David made a casual gesture. “Do not bother, my lady. I'll only stop a moment, and then you two can return to your play.” He settled himself down on the grass beside Ian. “I am on my way to Harclow and then Carlisle. Christiana and I will sail to London soon, and from there to France. On my way back from Glasgow I sidetracked to see Duncan. I just came from there. It was a pleasant visit. I informed him of how things stand between Morvan and the Armstrongs, and slipped in some words about Aymer's kidnapping the ladies. Duncan knew nothing about it, and I thought his fury at his son would bring the hall beams down on us.” He smiled. “I do not think that you will have trouble from that side for a few years, as long as Duncan lives.”

  “You went there from Glasgow? It is done then?” Reyna asked.

  “Very done. The bishop received the books and gold, and gladly accepted your instructions as to their use. He appears a good man, and I think none of that gold will find its way to paying for his own comfort, which is always a danger with bishops.”

  She knew that if he had sensed otherwise he might not have delivered the treasure to that particular bishop at all. Nor would she and Ian have objected. In entrusting him with that duty, they had accepted his judgment.

  “And Edmund?” Ian asked.

  “Ah. Well, there was a little trouble there. Edmund is dead.” He looked at Ian directly, his expression inscrutable. “It happened on the way north. Because of the gold, we took less-traveled routes, high roads mostly. On one particularly treacherous path, his horse lost its footing. The fall was steep.” He paused. “A tragedy. Under the circumstances, however, it hardly seemed worthwhile to mention any of his crimes to the bishop, so the whole story of Robert and the Templars and the source of the gold never was explained. I think that the bishop will be grateful for that. It would have been difficult to battle the Hospitallers over their claim to that property, if Edmund had decided to tell all and bargain for his life.”

  Reyna looked at Ian, who carefully studied their guest.

  “We must thank you for your aid in this, David,” Ian said. “It has delayed your return to London by several weeks, and dragged you all over southern Scotland.”

  “Merchants are accustomed to travel.” He turned to Reyna. “Christiana charged me to remind you that we will return to London in the spring. She expects to see you there. And Lady Anna insisted I add that unless a birth is imminent, you are not to let Ian stop you from coming if you are with child.”

  Ian groaned. “That woman. I swear it is her quest to subvert all men.”

  “Nay. She just knows her strength and her worth, as your nymph knows hers. I doubt that Reyna needs any instruction from Anna.”

  Reyna blushed at this peculiar compliment. David rose and brushed off his garments. “I must go. Morvan and Anna will stay at Harclow at least another month before they sail for Brittany. I'm sure he will visit before he leaves. He has arranged for one of his knights to stay as seneschal, but he will rely on you to keep an eye on things, Ian.”

  They accompanied him back to his horse, where he opened one of the saddlebags. “This had been packed on a separate horse from the others, and I forgot about it while I was in Glasgow. You will have to keep it until someone goes north again.” He pulled out the thick Summa by Aquinas and placed it in Reyna's arms.

  Startled, she stared down at the huge tome cradled against her breasts. “We should really—”

  “It is the one work the abbey school is sure to already own, my lady. It will not be missed.” He swung up on his saddle and bent to clasp Ian's hand. “Until the spring, then.”

  They watched him trot toward the men and banners waiting in the distance. “I wonder if it was really an accident. About Edmund, I mean,” Reyna said.

  Ian's gaze had not left the group turning now toward the moss. “I'm sure it was an accident.”

  “Fortuitous, then.”

  “Some justice at least.” He looked down at the book. “It may be a long while before I travel to Glasgow. Years.”

  “Something else to do on long winter nights.”

  “Aye, we can discuss philosophy part of the night and make love the rest. I might have never given it up if such a reward had waited in my youth. I shall have to finish rereading it, though, if I am to hold my own with you.”

  He led her back to their bed of grass. She sat cross-legged and opened the tome on her lap.

  “Half the time for the mind, and half for the passions. That sounds like a fair division, Ian.”

  “I said part, not half. I have no intention of being fair. Especially not right now, since I think it is time to rebalance the scales that you tipped at Harclow.”

  He stood by her shoulder. She glanced up. From beneath those feathered lashes, the Lord of a Thousand Nights looked at her. His expression made her tingle with anticipation. Nay, he was not going to be fair at all.

  He removed the book from her arms and set it aside on the ground. Taking her hand, he pulled her back up on her feet. He stepped to where he could see all of her.

  “Remove your shift, Reyna.”

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  MADELINE HUNTER'S first novel was published in 2000. Since then, she has had fif-teen historical romances and one novella published, and her books have been trans
lated into five languages. She is a five-time RITA finalist, and won the long historical RITA in 2003. Twelve of her books have been on the USA Today bestseller list, and she also has had titles on the New York Times extended list. Madeline has a Ph.D. in art history, which she teaches at an eastern university. She currently lives in Pennsylvania with her husband and two sons. Readers can contact Madeline through her website www.madelinehunter.com.

  Read on for a sneak peek at the next scintillating historical romance by

  Madeline Hunter

  SECRETS of SURRENDER

  Coming in June 2008

  SECRETS OF SURRENDER

  On sale in June 2008

  CHAPTER ONE

  Miss Longworth walked beside him like a queen. Kyle admired how well she hid her humiliation. No one else saw the moistness in her eyes.

  She almost broke once the doors closed behind them. Almost. One long pause in her steps, one deep inhale, and she walked on.

  She refused to acknowledge him. Of course not. She was in a very vulnerable position now. They both knew she was at his mercy. The amount he had bid gave her good reason to worry.

  Nine hundred and fifty pounds. How impulsively reckless. He had been an idiot. The alternative had been to allow that sordid auction to take its own course, however. Fat, pliable George would not have won, either.

  Sir Maurice Fenwick had been determined to have her, and the way he examined the property for sale did not speak well of his intentions. Sir Maurice's dark excesses were infamous.

  “I called for my carriage,” he said. “Go up with the footman here and pack. He will carry your baggage down. Be quick about it.”

  Her posture straightened more, if that was possible. “I will not need to pack. Everything up there was ill-gotten, and I want no reminder of the man who gave it.”