Devil's Knight
Page 1
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Excerpt
She must make a decision. . .
"I've been most patient and indulged your whims long enough, my lady," Juliana's father said, before piercing her with a no-nonsense gaze. "But I've given you my word, and I'm honor bound to stand by it. Your brother, Roger, has placed one suit before you." He nodded toward Rhys. "And my lord of Adington brings another. As I promised, my lady, the choice of husband is yours. So which of the two is it to be?"
What?
Heat rushed to Juliana's face at the same time words to correct his faulty memory leapt to her impertinent mouth. To one day stand before him and suffer untold coercion to choose between the lesser of two evils wasn't exactly what he'd promised.
She bit her tongue. Judging from the hardness of his weathered features, he'd not tolerate any insolence.
Instead, she licked parched lips. Her father expected an answer.
And he expected one now.
~~~
EPPIE Award Winner
Best Historical Romance
PRAISE FOR DEVIL'S KNIGHT
"4 ½ Stars! Hilarious and sexy, Devil's Knight is an exciting, satisfying Medieval romance which showcases the talent of the author."
~ Affaire de Coeur Magazine
"4 Stars! A savory medieval romance that resonates with sexual tension and a woman's conflict between her need for independence and her longing to surrender."
~ Romantic Times Magazine
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DEVIL’S KNIGHT
a historical romance
by
Geri Borcz
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This book 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 places, events, persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Copyright 2011 by Geri Buckley Borcz
Cover Design by Laura Morrigan
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced, scanned, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means without the written permission of the author, excepting brief quotes used in critical articles and reviews.
This is a republication in ebook format of an earlier work. Every effort has been made to reproduce the original as accurately as possible.
Discover other titles by Geri Buckley Borcz at http://www.geribuckley.com
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Dear Reader:
In releasing this ebook, I'm revisiting old friends.
Rhys and Juliana's story was originally published by NCP in digital form in 1999, followed in 2002 by the mass-market paperback edition. In the intervening years, my writing has seen many changes, while their tale of divided loyalties and healing love remains one of my favorites.
With this edition, I'm thrilled to be able to introduce these characters to a new generation of readers. Please know I truly appreciate loyal readers like you and value your feedback. Why not take a moment to drop me a line and let me know how I'm doing?
My best,
Geri
geri@geribuckley.com
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Dedication
For Diane Skoriak and Sarah Catherine Young,
whose strength and quiet courage are an inspiration.
And in memory of Barbara
1967 - 1988
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Table of Contents
Book Cover
Excerpt
Praise
Title Page
Dear Reader
Dedication
About the Author
More Books by Geri
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
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CHAPTER 1
Northern England.
Juliana commanded the center crenel in Stanmore's battlements, flanked by the guard captain, her old nurse, and a host of skilled archers. She glared down below at her cousin, Oliver, the drunken sot who staggered across the dirt. At any other time Juliana might have chuckled at Oliver’s sorry state. But not today.
Today, Juliana intended to step into her future.
Everything must be neat and orderly before her father, Earl Baldwin, arrived with his new wife in tow. Juliana had a request to put before him, a request too important for her nerves to tolerate anyone's antics. Today, of all days, she wanted her father in a generous mood.
The sun lit Oliver's head like pale fire as he bellowed up the wall, "Cease this, Ana, you heartless wench. I'd have Agnes tend my wound!" Then he punctuated his demand with a loud belch.
Dame Agnes sniffed and said, "He wails over a paltry scratch."
Sir Thomas turned to Juliana. "My lady, your arrow might have skimmed his backside, but it also pricked his ire. Offer him an apology and he'll forgive your--"
Juliana widened her eyes on the old warrior.
"Apology?" she said. "I'm the one who won't stomach any further loutish behavior from that ill-mannered stripling. Holy Mary and Joseph, leave off your defense of him. How can I offer a good impression of my home with that oaf blocking my door?"
Glistening from stress and the unholy midmorning sun, she blew a frustrated breath and, again, resorted to a means Oliver and the other men in her family understood better than words. She reached toward the quiver slung over a page's back.
"By God," she said, "Oliver will learn I will not trod under any man's boot!"
She grabbed another arrow and notched it to the bow string in her other hand. Sir Thomas and the garrison reacted. To a man, they ducked their heads, all too aware of her unpredictable skill with the weapon.
Juliana ignored their rudeness. She tested the breeze, swung the bow clear of the stone and angled it above her, then drew and leveled it to her face.
"Do not lay this sorry business at my feet." She tugged the notched arrow even to her cheek, blew the hair from her eyes, and aimed. "The fault is Oliver's for being cast on that side of the walls." And let the arrow fly.
* * *
Armed for travel, Rhys Monteux descended toward his great hall, accompanied by the clinking swish of chainmail. The stairway was cold, dank stone, and dim, nearly mirroring his mood. His father commanded the bottom step.
"Ho, son, why so glum?"
"I've bid farewell to Isobel."
Richard nodded. He was tall and firmly built, a duplicate stamp of his son, except for the black shot with silver at his temples that belied his greater age.
"A bad business, this," he said. "You look tired."
"You've been talking with Isobel. She claims I wench too much and sleep too little. Papa, 'tis unseemly for a daughter to speak of such to her father."
"She wants a wife for you, it's her nature." Richard clapped his arm around his son's shoulder, steering toward the foresteps and the stables beyond.
"I've little enough time with Isobel," Rhys said, "and no need for a harpy wife, too."
"Then seek a humble wife. One sweet of nature and properly shy."
Rhys sputtered, a rude noise. "And loyal to what? Her own self-interest? My thanks, but I'd keep my daughter from learning such schemes."
T
hey crossed the courtyard, the day a bad omen as bright morning sun pierced Rhys's black surcoat. By mid-day the chainmail beneath would bake him like an oven. Halfway to the outbuilding, he swiped at drops trickling down his nape and past hair secured by a leather thong. Rhys took the reins from his squire and offered a quick nod, acknowledging two mounted knights. They too, wore surcoats of black atop heavy hauberks.
"I know Isobel misses a home, Papa, a mother's gentling influence."
"You have land, son, why--?"
"The first I've seen it in three years," Rhys said, raising arms in a gesture that encompassed the whole of Adington. "This demesne belongs to Isobel. She is its heir, and I would see her secure and content in her future. I have no need of a woman to breed me sons."
Rhys gathered the reins and mounted his destrier.
"I won't tarry long at Stanmore before I reach the Scots court," he said. "Should you need me, send to me there." He adjusted his seat and fingered the helm strapped to the saddle pommel. "'Tis ill-timed for Henry to order me to settle my grievances with my neighbor. I'd thought to stay here long enough to see you off to Normandy."
"Fret not over Isobel," Richard said. "I'll keep her safely with me." He tilted his chin and squinted into the light while patting the horse's shiny neck. "We've disputed that land for years. How do you plan now to compromise?"
Rhys shrugged, dancing sunbeams off the metal links. "Something will come to me. I want that land."
"Baldwin has refused to deal with my brother, William, or with me. I'd be surprised if you fared any better."
"But this time," said Rhys, "'tis the king who demands. That's a good incentive for my stubborn neighbor to reach an amicable agreement with me."
"Rhys?" Richard shot a serious glance toward the keep before turning back. "Watch Baldwin's eldest son. Remember, Roger bears no love for you."
* * *
Juliana's arrow whistled high over Oliver's golden head, cut off his shriek, and plunged into the grassy tuft yards beyond him.
The archers tittered. She mumbled an oath and yanked another arrow from the quiver.
"Missed his feet," said Agnes, nodding her head, which was encased within a linen wimple so not a silver hair peeked out.
"The wind caught the shaft," Juliana fibbed, "and sent it awry of my target."
Sir Thomas chuckled and rose from his crouch. Juliana glowered at him until his laugh slid into a throat-clearing gurgle.
"'Tis as well," said Agnes. "My Lord Roger would question how you gained any skill in his absence."
Juliana narrowed her eyes. "Do you think to tell my brother that I've disobeyed him and used my bow?"
"Not I. I wouldn't be so disloyal."
Satisfied, Juliana nodded and whirled toward the stairs, the page in tow. She hiked her skirts to climb down from the parapet and felt coolness swirl around her legs. Each step she took added a layer of warmth.
Limestone walls encompassed the courtyard, and the weathered stone absorbed the sun with the greed of a straw hut put to the torch. Each rock radiated heat like smoldering coal, until the air repelled what little breeze drifted over the top.
"I am a truthful woman, though," said the nurse to her back, "and should Lord Roger ask--"
"Riders approach," Sir Thomas called.
Juliana felt the blood drain from her face. Not yet. They weren't ready. She wheeled toward the guard captain.
"My father?"
"Nay," Sir Thomas said, clearing his phlegmy throat. "Four men bearing the colors of the king's guard."
"Another messenger for father?" Juliana asked, and, when Agnes agreed, waved a dismissing hand to let them pass.
Unconcerned right now with men's affairs, she continued the climb down, while Agnes picked up where she'd left off.
"'Tis hoped Earl Baldwin's chosen a sturdy wife this time," she said, "and not one who'll turn squeamish and hie to the convent as the last."
"Bite your tongue old woman," Juliana said.
"If she stays, then your father may be about the business of choosing another husband for you."
Perspiration mingled in the tendrils that hugged Juliana's cheek. She swiped at the drops, pressed her open palm against the wet beads above her lips, and thought of Iain, the man she'd decided to take as husband.
Dull, but suitable Iain.
"You forget, father promised the choice to me."
"So you've decided then?"
"I've decided I will have a gentle man, not a lout." Juliana again halted her step to face the nurse. "I've seen one toady husband to the grave and, by the Saints, I mean to hold my father to his promise. This time, I will choose a man who covets me, as much as he covets the land I bring to him."
Agnes sniffed and pursed her mouth as if she sucked on sour apples. "When you wear that look, it bodes ill. Which man have you in mind?"
Juliana inhaled and then wrinkled her nose.
"Dung!" she said.
"Oh, I know him." Agnes nodded. "And his brother."
Juliana pursed her lips back at the nurse. "Don't you smell it?" A sour odor permeated the bailey. Her temper shortened further.
"God curse laziness," she said. "Does everyone think my cousin is entertaining?" Another offense to lay at Oliver's door. Down the steps she tramped. "You there," she cried to three serfs. "Cease your prattle and finish mucking this yard."
Before Juliana could say more, a half-grown mastiff loped straight toward her and plopped large paws on her, nearly chest high. She shoved him off, but not before her wrinkled gown sported dirty paw tracks imprinted with ropes of slobber.
Behind the dog, two men staggered up to her step. She glared at her older brothers, each leaning on the other to remain upright. They stank of ale.
"What's this I hear?" said Rowland, the bulkier twin, whose head came level with hers, though she stood one step higher. He plowed furrows through the russet hair that tangled around his face. "Something about you murdering Oliver?"
The curious little page wedged his head between the two women where a drippy tongue met him. He palmed the sloppy jowls away, raked his sleeve across his wet face, and slapped the dog's nose. The animal yelped.
Raimund, the other twin, jerked a hand to his temple. White lines creased his mouth. With his elbow, he pointed to the gate, then groaned.
"We've vi-visitors," he said.
All heads turned to see three mounted knights and a squire cross the courtyard toward them.
Juliana grumbled to herself at another untimely delay and glanced to her sotted brothers for help. They, however, offered none.
She tamped down a frustrated scream and saw her duty. Ordering a stable hand to attend to the messenger's horses, she squared her shoulders on a futile wish for a clean gown to appear before she reached their visitors.
As Juliana zigzagged across the yard, she debated whether to apologize for her appearance. Nay. If she mentioned her untidiness, they'd no doubt feel obligated to spout an inane lie. She'd waded up to her ears in the witless gallantry of knights enough for one day.
She halted a few paces from the lead demon--the only word that sprang to her mind--and gave a wide berth to his battle-trained animal. The messenger dismounted, and Juliana arched her brow noting his fluid grace. Something unexpected in such a large man. He commanded her full attention and dwarfed the other two knights, one fair-headed and one dark, who stood as tall as her brothers.
Curious now, Juliana skimmed her gaze over the massive horse's gleaming coat. No scars marked its flanks, giving her a clue to its master's character. The knight tossed the reins to an efficient squire, worked the tight helm off his head, and ruffled sweat-plastered, black hair with strong fingers.
Juliana waited for him to pass the headgear to the lad. Neither the knight's sinister darkness, nor his greater height and breadth intimidated her. She was well accustomed to dealing with bruising louts.
His movements spoke of coiled strength, and she imagined the muscles that shifted beneath his hauberk. Surely he
could hold alone against an army.
When he faced her, her eyes widened a fraction before blinking in surprise. She'd expected coarse features to match the sizable bulk.
Instead, his eyes rivaled the beauty admired in the clearest, sapphire sky. Framed by dusky brows and hooded by long lashes, their intensity pulled Juliana, and to her shock, stared back with a hint of masculine interest. She lowered her gaze only to see high cheekbones set above sensuous lips.
Tingles shot through her beneath the force of his smile, the brilliance heightened by his shadowed jaw. A dimple contradicted his imposing stature, and she bit back a startled giggle that threatened to escape.
Moonling. Surely the sudden flutter in the pit of her stomach owed to her morning fare souring in this heat and not to this oaf.
She'd grown up around big men.
What difference in one more?
To still the unfamiliar quivering at her mid-section, she clasped her palms together at her waist.
And the bow smacked her hard in the nose. Tears sprang to her eyes. A crude grunt exploded from her lips. She strangled the wood, and for a heart beat, focused cross-eyed on her attacker.