Her Gallant Knight: A Medieval Romance Novella

by Catherine Kean

  Her Gallant Knight

  A Medieval Romance Novella

  by

  Catherine Kean

  Copyright Details

  Published by Catherine Kean

  P.O. Box 917624

  Longwood, FL 32791-7624

  Copyright © 2018 by Catherine Kean

  Cover design © 2018 by Cora Graphics

  Images © Depositphotos.com

  This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved. With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the author

  Chapter One

  Merringstow Castle

  Nottinghamshire, England

  Summer, 1186

  “Are you certain we are allowed inside?” Standing next to her older brother, fourteen-year-old Lady Amelia Bainbridge cast a nervous glance down the shadowed, torch-lit passageway outside the keep’s solar. Surely ’twas wrong to be entering his lordship’s private rooms?

  “Ryder has let me into his sire’s antechamber before,” Tilden said with an encouraging grin. “If anyone questions us, I will say I thought I had permission.”

  Amelia nodded, but her churning stomach didn’t calm in the least. She’d only lived at the castle for just over a sennight, sent by her parents to become a ward of the stern, formidable Lord Stanbury. While she’d been uneasy about moving away from Callingston Keep, her home since she’d been a babe, her parents had impressed upon her the tremendous honor of being fostered by his lordship.

  “He is one of the most revered knights in these lands, and he does not accept every young lady to be his ward. Think of the opportunities you will have, the new friends you will make,” her mother had insisted, her eyes sparkling. “Your father and I could not be more proud of you—and, of course, of your brother.”

  Tilden had lived at Merringstow for years. At the age of nine, he’d begun serving his lordship as a page, the first step of Tilden’s goal to become a knight and fight for the crown.

  Amelia had always been close to her sibling, and the chance to see him more frequently than the occasional feast or holiday had encouraged her to pack up her belongings and move to Merringstow. She’d become the oldest of three wards who took lessons in embroidery, social graces, and the responsibilities of managing a fortress—all preparation for married life one day.

  While Tilden, who’d advanced to being one of Lord Stanbury’s squires, had many friends here, she was just getting to know the other wards, pages, and squires.

  And then there was Ryder, his lordship’s youngest son—also a squire at the keep. Handsome. Clever. Annoying Ryder.

  She’d known him since they were very young. She’d considered him a dear friend, but since she’d moved to Merringstow, every chance Ryder got, he teased her.

  If she got into trouble with Lord Stanbury, Ryder would never let her forget it.

  Tilden pushed down on the door handle, and dread gripped her. “Mayhap we should leave—”

  “Stop worrying, Amelia.”

  “Are you sure ’tis all right? What if—?”

  The door opened inward, revealing part of a stone floor streaked with sunlight. Shaking her head, Amelia moved backward, stumbling as she stepped on the hem of her long silk gown, but Tilden grabbed her wrist and pulled her into the antechamber then shut the door behind them.

  Sunshine glinted on the numerous swords, daggers, and shields displayed on the chamber walls, but before she could fully glance around the room, a muffled noise drew her gaze to the floor.

  A dun-colored wolfhound lay on her side in a large, cloth-covered bed. Five dozing puppies lay alongside her. Oh, but they were beautiful pups.

  The mother remained still but watched intently as Tilden slowly drew Amelia toward the dogs. He knelt beside the bed, and as the mother lifted her head and started to rise, he stroked her, calming her. Amelia also sank down to her knees, her gown pooling around her.

  “Look at them,” she whispered in wonder.

  “Ten weeks old. His lordship bred his two favorite wolfhounds for this litter.” Tilden grinned, looking so much like their sire in that moment. “I know how much you like animals, especially puppies.”

  “I do.” She’d enjoyed caring for litters birthed by her father’s hounds.

  A pup, who’d been woken by his mother’s stirrings, whimpered. He was an adorable fellow with silver-gray fur. Tears pricked her eyes, for she’d been very homesick since she’d left Callingston Keep, but seeing these young dogs eased the ache in her breast.

  “I thought visiting these pups might cheer you up,” her brother murmured.

  “You were right.”

  The silver-gray puppy was sitting up now and studying her. Several of the other pups were also stirring.

  “Want to hold that gray one?” Tilden asked.

  Oh, she did! “Do you think ’twill be all right?”

  “The mother is friendly, and Ryder has let me hold the pups before.” Tilden picked up the puppy and handed it to her. As she slipped one arm around its middle and the other under its hindquarters for added support, its inquisitive gaze met hers. Her heart squeezed with love.

  Tilden chuckled. “Careful, now. Do not get too attached.”

  “How can I not?” Amelia kissed the pup’s muzzle.

  “There are three males and two females. So Ryder told me.”

  ’Twas the second time her brother had spoken of Ryder. Jealousy stirred, but she mentally swept it aside, for Ryder would not ruin this cherished moment for her. Yet, ’twas hard to ignore thoughts of the lad she’d known for so long, and who had spent summers with them at Callingston. No longer was he the wiry, often clumsy boy who’d raced through fields and along lakeshores in search of adventure, and who’d cried when the sickly fawn he’d rescued from the forest had died. Fifteen now like Tilden, with tousled brown hair and broad shoulders, he’d hidden his sensitivity behind arrogance, and his stride bore an insolent swagger.

  The other wards at Merringstow were infatuated with him. They preened and giggled when he walked past, and he obviously enjoyed the attention. She, however, refused to swoon. He might be the ruling lord’s son, but she didn’t like who he’d become. He seemed to seize any opportunity to humiliate her. The second day she’d been at Merringstow, he’d taken her eating dagger, a gift from her late grandmother, during the midday meal; thinking the knife had fallen off the table, she’d searched the dirty rushes for some time before he’d plucked the knife from its hiding spot in an arrangement of flowers. The fourth day, he’d dropped a live frog in her soup, and the fifth—

  The puppy squirmed and nuzzled her fingers. “I think he is hungry,” Amelia said. As she set the dog back in the bed, a faint creak sounded behind her: the sound of the chamber door opening.

  As she quickly rose and faced the doorway, Ryder said, “There you are, Tilden. We have been looking for you.”

  Dressed in an emerald green tunic and black hose tucked into polished leather b
oots, Ryder stepped inside, followed by two squires—brothers—who were also good friends of Tilden’s: a brown-haired lad named Stephen, and a blond young man called Gladwin. As several puppies ambled out of the bed to see the newcomers, Ryder shut the door and leaned his shoulder against the wall. Stephen crouched to pet the dogs, while Gladwin hung back, observing.

  Tilden rose, brushing dust from his knees. “I thought Amelia might like to see your pups.”

  “Father’s pups,” Ryder corrected, crossing his arms.

  Misgiving formed a hard knot in Amelia’s throat. She was going to get into trouble. She and her sibling.

  “We did not mean any harm.” With a sheepish grin, Tilden added, “We did not think you or your sire would mind.”

  “Ah.” Ryder turned slightly to study her, and sunlight played over his features. Fringed by dark lashes, his brown eyes, the color of polished yew, gleamed. His strong cheekbones, inherited from his sire, drew her gaze down to the firm slash of his mouth. When he tilted his head to better scrutinize her, his wavy, chestnut brown locks shifted at his shoulders.

  He did not appear at all likely to compromise. Trying not to fidget, Amelia clasped her hands together.

  “Would your father mind?” Uncertainty threaded through Tilden’s words, and she wished she could slip her fingers into his, as she’d done before, to comfort him. He wouldn’t like that sisterly show of affection, though, in front of his friends.

  “My father might mind very much,” Ryder said. “He will be angry indeed if you are late for the feast and not wearing your best clothes, as he ordered.”

  His lordship had made it very clear that his guest arriving that day—Lord Edsel Palmer, a high-ranking official of the Knights Templar—was to be treated with the utmost courtesy. Neither she nor Tilden had changed their garments yet; they’d only intended to spend a moment with the dogs before going to their chambers to get ready.

  Panic flared. “I should go and dress,” she murmured. “If you will excuse me—”

  “Wait.” Ryder halted her before she’d taken two steps toward the door. He nudged Stephen, who was playing with a pup, with the toe of his boot. “Leave. You too, Gladwin, and not a word about this matter to anyone.”

  The two brothers quit the chamber, and Ryder eased away from the wall. Oh, mercy. Surely Ryder wasn’t going to tell his sire about finding her and Tilden with the dogs? She must convince him not to speak of it. “Please, Tilden was only trying to be kind.”

  Ryder’s dark brows rose. “Kind?”

  “He knows how much I adore animals. As do you.”

  Wariness touched Ryder’s expression, as if he didn’t want to be reminded of the boy he’d once been. Then his stare hardened. “Because we are old friends, I will make sure my sire does not find out you were here today.”

  Relief rushed through her. “Thank you.”

  Tilden nodded. “Aye, many thanks—”

  “There is, however, a cost for my silence.”

  Amelia swallowed hard, while her mind scrambled to think of what he could want from her brother. If Ryder intended to coerce her sibling into playing a wicked prank on one of the other squires or wards, she wouldn’t allow it. She’d go straight to his lordship and admit she and Tilden had visited the puppies. Ryder wouldn’t have any hold over either of them then.

  “I agree to your terms,” Tilden said. “What is the cost?”

  Ryder’s mouth curved into a sly grin. “Not from you. From her.”

  “Me?” How she longed to bolt from the room. Yet, to do so would show cowardice.

  She shouldn’t be afraid of Ryder; not when they’d been friends for so long. While he’d acted like a bullying fool lately, she knew the real Ryder: the lad who was fair, loyal, and gallant.

  Pushing her shoulders back, she asked, “What is it that you want?”

  Ryder laughed and stroked his chin, darkened with several days’ worth of stubble. “Well, now….”

  “You have decided already,” she countered. “Otherwise you would not have made such a proposal.”

  Grudging admiration etched Ryder’s features. “You are right. And I must say, I like this courageous Amelia much better than the somber mouse who has lived here for the past week.”

  Her eyes burned.

  “Be kind,” her sibling muttered. “’Tis her first instance away from home.”

  Dear, chivalrous Tilden was watching out for her, as an older brother would, but she wished he hadn’t revealed she’d been homesick. Refusing to give Ryder the chance to taunt her further, she said, “You have not answered my question yet.”

  Ryder’s gaze narrowed.

  “What do you want?”

  His gaze slid down to her mouth. He studied her lips very intently, and they tingled, as if he’d brushed his fingertips over them.

  An astounding thought entered her mind and caused her belly to plummet. Surely he didn’t want—

  “My cost,” Ryder drawled, “is a kiss.”

  ***

  He’d shocked her—as he’d intended.

  A heady thrill of triumph raced through Ryder as Amelia’s eyes, as bright and blue as the heavens on a frosty winter morning, widened with uncertainty. Her fair skin also looked paler.

  Her rosy-pink lips parted, suggesting she was going to protest. But then, clearly deciding against it, she shut her mouth, and her gaze sharpened with defiance.

  “Ryder,” Tilden said in clear warning.

  “’Tis not too much to ask,” Ryder answered. No harm would befall Amelia because of a kiss, especially one that took place in private. Tilden, the ever-protective brother, would keep what happened in this chamber a secret.

  “W-why do you want to kiss me?” Amelia sounded bewildered.

  Would it be enough to tell her she intrigued him? That she always had? Truth be told, of all of his childhood friends, she’d understood him the most; she’d made him feel important. Worthy. As though who he was mattered far more than his noble lineage or his accomplishments.

  What he felt for her now, though, wasn’t friendship. ’Twas far more complex and consuming.

  “Do I need a reason for a kiss? I am the lord’s son. If I want something, I get it.”

  “Aye, you do,” she said with care. “Surely, though, I deserve to know whether you will be kissing me to mock me, or because you…have feelings for me.”

  His masculine pride rebelled. He didn’t want her knowing how he really felt about her; if the other squires found out, they’d torment him. “Feelings?” he echoed; his tone implied she’d suggested something ridiculous.

  Her cheeks reddened.

  “Are you asking if I fancy you?”

  Tilden scowled. “Stop being an ass, Ryder.”

  A twinge of guilt poked at Ryder, but he ignored it, preferring to pursue the intriguing thought that mayhap, she wanted their kiss to have meaning. Did she fancy him? Almost every woman he’d met did, if not for his looks then his title.

  “I will not kiss you so you can taunt me about it,” she said hotly.

  He grinned. “Will you kiss me, though, if I promise ’twill be good?”

  She made a small sound of distress. Fisting her hands, she rushed for the door. He stepped sideways, almost bumping into two growling, wrestling puppies as he blocked her way out.

  Tilden moved to her side. “Leave her alone.”

  Annoyance crackled in Ryder’s veins. He was bloody tired of others telling him what to do and when, especially his father. His sire never stopped insisting that Ryder should be training harder in the tiltyards, studying battle strategies in greater depth, challenging his physical limits in order to achieve more.

  Never enough.

  Always, more.

  “Fine,” Ryder snapped. “I will not expect a kiss.” When Amelia’s shoulders lowered with obvious relief, he added, “Be forewarned. There will be consequences for both you and Tilden.”

  Disquiet shadowed her gaze. He sensed her struggling with her conscience, even as h
er brother strode past and tugged her toward the door.

  With a strangled moan, she wrenched free of Tilden’s grip.

  “Sis?”

  A fresh surge of triumph warmed Ryder’s gut as, head held high, she skirted the nearby pups and approached him. In her expression, he read dismay and fury, but most intensely, determination. Hellfire, she was beautiful. How he wanted to slide his arm around her nipped-in waist, yank her to him, and kiss her witless—

  She swiftly rose on tiptoes, pressed her mouth to his, and bolted for the door.

  “Hold!” He tried to pursue her, but had to dart sideways to avoid more of the young dogs. In an instant, she was halfway down the passageway and then gone from view.

  From the chamber doorway, Tilden chuckled. “You got your kiss after all.”

  Ryder snorted. “’Twas not a kiss.”

  “Looked like one to me.”

  Irritation simmered. “I have to wonder if you have ever properly wooed a woman, for a real kiss involves not only lips, but tongues.”

  “She is a lady,” Tilden said firmly, “not a servant for you to use on a whim and then forsake.”

  “I am well aware—”

  “Good.” Smiling, Tilden straightened away from the door. “Fair is fair, Ryder. She did as you asked. Now, you are honor bound to keep your silence.”

  ***

  Drawing in a steadying breath, Amelia paused on the wooden landing overlooking the crowded great hall and smoothed the draping sleeves of her cornflower-blue gown. It had taken the maidservant longer than anticipated to help her get ready, in part because Amelia hadn’t been able to stop shaking.

  She’d kissed Ryder. Ryder! It might have been quick, but it had been full on the mouth, the way she’d seen her parents and servants who were lovers kiss. More than once, when she’d been alone and daydreaming, she’d imagined herself caught up in a romantic tryst with Ryder, although the lad in her dreams was the Ryder from summers past, not the arrogant knave he was now.

  Oh, God. She’d kissed Ryder.