Forbidden Knight

by Diana Cosby

  The monk shut the door.

  “Tell me,” she stated.

  The brother nodded. “’Tis Burunild MacCheine.”

  Confused, she frowned. “My mother’s personal maid?”

  “Aye, she is dying and has been trying to find you.”

  Alesone glanced at Thomas, then met Nicholai’s gaze. “Why would she look for me? I havena seen her since I was seven.”

  The Brother’s mouth tightened. “’Tis her place to explain.”

  “Where is she?” Alesone asked.

  “Waiting for you at the monastery.”

  She nodded. “Then let us go.”

  * * *

  Hours later tears burned Alesone’s eyes as she stared at the elder who’d been her mother’s personal maid, a woman who’d dared visit her at Grisel’s and had brought treats to make her smile. To see her now, her face sunken with illness, and fighting for every breath broke Alesone’s heart.

  “Sit, child,” the elder wheezed.

  Thomas held her hand as she sat; Brother Nicholai remained discreetly by the door.

  Grief darkened the woman’s gaze as aged fingers lay atop Alesone’s. “I am deeply shamed that I never told you, but I was—” She began to cough, and waved Alesone away when she made to help. “I must finish.” She dragged in a fragile breath. “I was afraid. If you could find it in y-your heart, I beg your forgiveness.”

  The slide of unease rolled through her. “I forgive you.”

  “I pray you will feel the same when I am finished” Bony fingers tightened on Alesone’s hand. “He made me swear never to tell you,” she whispered, “threatened to kill me and my family if I did.” The elder tsked. “A coward I was. I didna do what was right, a sin I carried all these years. With my husband dead, and my sons died in battle, and my own life f-fading, there is naught left for me to lose.”

  Bile rose in Alesone’s throat. “Who threatened you?”

  A tear slid down her wrinkled cheek. “Lord Comyn.”

  That made little sense. “Why would my father threaten you?”

  “Because,” she said on a fragile breath, “he isna your father.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Betrayal and fury hazing her mind, the chair scraped as Alesone shoved to her feet. “What!”

  “Please—” Coughs wracked the elderly maid’s body as she struggled for a breath.

  Nicholai stepped over and laid his hand on Alesone’s shoulder. “Let her finish. Please.”

  Outrage blurred Alesone’s mind at the falsehood she’d believed her entire life, at the shame she’d endured for having been branded as a bastard when the entire time it had been a lie. She gave a curt nod, wanting to scream at the injustice.

  Through broken whispers and several fits of coughing, the elder explained how Alesone’s mother had become pregnant shortly before her husband had departed for a crusade, and so he’d never known.”

  “My father never knew I was his child?” Alesone whispered.

  The elder shook her head. “Nay. You are of noble birth. At the time, Lord Comyn had worried over your father’s growing influence and the respect he held among the nobles. Fearful of his growing power, Comyn wanted to destroy him. Aware your father was a man of pride, one who loved his wife deeply, Comyn devised a plan to shame your mother and destroy their marriage, and in the end, your father.”

  Stunned, Alesone listened, thankful as Thomas gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “After you were born, your mother had a tragic accident, fell, and died. Because you were born late, more than nine months after your father departed, Comyn caused vicious rumors to spread that in secret he and your mother had become lovers, and ashamed of her infidelity, she’d committed suicide.”

  “’Tis all a lie,” Alesone whispered, embracing the words as joy poured through her, cleansing her soul.

  “Aye,” the maid whispered. “I wanted to tell you, but terrified of the threat to my family I remained silent. When your father returned three years later to find his wife dead, he was told that you had been born too late for him to have been your father. Hearing rumors of your mother’s unfaithfulness with a man he’d once considered a friend, he confronted Comyn. A bitter row ensued. No one knew what exact words were passed, but furious, your father cursed Comyn as he strode from his keep, took his belongings, and left.”

  Left believing his daughter was a bastard. Alesone swallowed hard. All these years, weighted beneath the shame of her mother’s actions, she’d learned naught of her birthright except the pittance that her father was a noble. Now to discover that she was legitimate, she yearned to know more about her father. Had he remarried? Did she have half brothers or sisters out there?

  Alesone braced herself. “Who is he?”

  Sadness weighted the elder’s gaze. “Petrus Buchan, Earl of Kinlock.”

  “Nae Alesone MacNiven, but Buchan.” Warmth filled her as the name sifted through her mind, and then she gasped.

  “What is wrong?” Thomas asked.

  “The noble with the Bruce the night he called us to his tent was the Earl of Kinlock.” Except her father didna know the truth. When he learned his wife had remained faithful, would he want Alesone? Unsure of anything, she swallowed hard. “Where is he?”

  “Hopefully en route,” the elder replied. “With Brother Nicholai’s help, I have sent him a missive explaining everything, including where you are. I canna tell you how each day I regretted you nae knowing, despised myself for how you were shunned.”

  “Which is why you visited me often during my youth.”

  “Aye, and because I loved you.” Tenderness warmed her face. “You have the look of your mother, and the spirit of your father. I know when he meets you, he will be so proud of you. I—” Her body began to tremble, and she again began to cough.

  Alesone caught the elder’s hand.

  “Forgive me,” the elder whispered, “please.”

  Tears rolled down Alesone’s cheeks. “I do.”

  Relief sifted in the woman’s eyes, and she smiled, slowly, until her entire face settled into a wash of peace. “I thank you.” Her eyes turned toward the cross on the wall, and she gave one last exhale.

  A sob tore through Alesone, and Thomas drew her against his chest.

  With quiet steps, Nicholai walked over and closed the elder’s eyes. “I will ensure she receives a proper burial.”

  Emotions storming her, Alesone met his gaze. “I want to be there. She deserves to be honored. Burunild was as tormented by Comyn’s treachery as I.”

  The monk nodded. “Word will be sent when all is prepared.”

  Outside the chamber, Alesone shook her head. “All this time ’twas naught but a lie.” She stilled. “God in heaven!”

  “What?” Thomas asked.

  A weight lifted off her soul as joy swept through her. “With her confession, I am free. Lord Comyn canna use me to barter with France’s king, and,” she said with satisfaction, “willna King Philip be furious when he learns the truth?”

  Thomas grinned. “Bruce will ensure the news reaches France’s sovereign.”

  “And,” she said, her voice rough, “I have a father, one of whom I can be proud.”

  “Once the Earl of Kinlock reads the missive, he will come.” Thomas drew her to him. “I was wanting to marry you posthaste. Now we will wait until your father arrives and can give his beautiful daughter away.”

  * * *

  “And do you, Thomas MacKelloch, Earl of Kincaid, take Alesone Elyne Buchan to be your lawful wedded wife?” Nicholai asked.

  Love filled Thomas as he looked at the woman whom he loved with all his heart. “I do.” Cheers rose within the great hall as he sealed his vow with a kiss. Amidst the roar of approval, he and Alesone turned toward the crowd and drew.

  “May I present my wife, Lady Alesone MacKelloch,” Thomas announced.

  Yells of approval again filled the chamber, and well-wishers rushed forward to offer their con
gratulations.

  The Earl of Kinlock stepped before his daughter. “The eve I saw you at the Bruce’s encampment, you looked so familiar. Now I understand why.” A tender smile touched his mouth. “You resemble your beautiful mother. King Robert said you were an extraordinary woman, and I am anxious to learn more. There is so much to discuss, so much time to make up, but nae on your wedding day.”

  Alesone sniffed. “I look forward to getting to know you as well. My humble thanks for being here to give me away.”

  “I wouldna have missed this day, and I wish you every happiness.” Her father’s assessing gaze cut to Thomas. “Our king speaks of you with high praise, a fact that bodes well in my eyes. But, if you make my daughter unhappy, ’twill be me you answer to.”

  “I swear that I will cherish her always.” Nor would he mention that Alesone needed little aid holding her own. “You are always welcome within our home.”

  Satisfaction glinted in his eyes as the earl stepped back, and the crowd of well-wishers rushed forward with congratulations.

  * * *

  A short while later, Thomas stood with his Templar warriors, still stunned by his father’s gift of his mother’s book of drawings and stories. He would cherish it always. He downed the last of his wine.

  “I am happy for you, Thomas,” Aiden MacConnell said. “Alesone is a beautiful lass, but a woman and a family are nae my desire. I prefer the life of a warrior.”

  Cailin scoffed. “One day, Aiden, you may meet a lass who will turn your head.”

  “After the battles I have fought,” Aiden scoffed, “I doubt one simple lass will ever present a challenge.”

  A smile touched Stephan MacQuistan’s eyes as he glanced at Thomas.

  Thomas returned his friend’s grin, remembering how months ago when they’d fled France he’d believed the same. Then he, as Stephan, had found love. His gazed shifted to Alesone, and warmth filled him. Aye he’d enjoyed celebrating with friends, but hours had passed since he’d made love to his beautiful wife, and he’d wait nay longer. “I will see you in the morn.”

  “As if you will get any sleep,” Aiden teased.

  Thomas winked. “I didna say that I had planned to rest.”

  His men laughed, but Thomas ignored them and focused on the woman he loved, the woman who would forever hold his heart. He wove through the throng, and pulled her against him. “Come away with me,” he whispered in her ear. “I want to run my tongue over every naked inch of you.”

  A wicked sensual light shimmered in her eyes. “I think turnaround is fair play,” she replied, her voice low, “except this time when I take you in my mouth, I willna show mercy.”

  The air left him in a rush as his body went up in flames. He tugged her with him and hurried toward the turret. “I am counting on it.”

  With a laugh, she bolted up the steps. Thomas followed, thankful for this woman in his life, one he adored, and one he would love forever.

  Keep reading for a sneak peek at

  FORBIDDEN VOW

  The next in the Forbidden Series

  Coming soon from

  Diana Cosby

  and

  Lyrical Books

  Chapter One

  Scotland, August 1308

  A hawk screeched overhead as Sir Aiden MacConnell wiped the sweat from his brow. He noted his men’s positions, then scoured the uneven ground, smothered with summer dried grass and rocks, to the edge of the forest.

  Blast it! Where was the enemy warrior bearing Lord Comyn’s colors?

  How had he missed the knight’s approach a short while before? He’d double-checked the clearing, had heard naught but the rustle of wind tossed leaves—except when he and his men had slipped from the shield of trees, Comyn’s man had ridden into view.

  As he’d spotted them, eyes wide with terror, the rider had whirled his mount and fled.

  Aiden had noted the blood smearing the man’s chest, and how, as he’d galloped into the woods, his body had slumped over the steed’s neck.

  By God they must find the warrior before he could warn Comyn of their presence. With Latharn Castle’s treacherous cliff-side location, the details he and his men could learn of the fortress were crucial in the Bruce’s preparations for the upcoming attack.

  If they could find a way inside…Nay doubt he could discover the enemy’s weakness, perhaps strength of numbers, and more that would aid his king. If only he could find the injured knight.

  A cool breeze rich with the scent of rain buffeted him. Aiden glanced north. He scowled at the rain-thickened clouds smothering the roll of hills. They had to find the man before a downpour washed away his tracks.

  He scoured the rough slide of land tattered with clumps of brush for any sign of the knight, convinced the warrior who’d galloped away didna travel alone. With Scotland at war only a fool rode without an escort.

  Near several large boulders, the land cut away, but he stared at the swath of red staining the edge of one of the rocks.

  Blood.

  Aiden waved his two friends over, pointed to where clumps of rock disappeared from view. “He must be hiding down the brae. Rónán, circle around to the right. Cailin, you come in from the left. Once in place await my command.”

  His men nodded, then slipped into the dense foliage.

  Dagger in his hand, Aiden crept through the brush. Below, through the break in the rocks, a bay munched on sun bleached grass, his reins dragging on the ground.

  A moan sounded further down the embankment.

  Aiden motioned for his knights to hold. Weapon readied, he edged around the shield of stone. As the bank began a steep decline, he squatted, his gaze narrowing on the prone form.

  Through the summer-burnt shafts swaying in the breeze lay the armored knight. Blood smeared his mail, and one of his legs lay twisted in an awkward shape.

  After another thorough search of his surroundings, confident the warrior was alone, Aiden stood and stepped closer. The dying man looked familiar, but Aiden had left the Highlands too many years ago to remember his name.

  He scanned the bastard’s mail bearing Comyn’s colors.

  Eyes dark with pain focused on him, grew wary. “To whom do you swear your loyalty?” the man rasped.

  His gut tightened. “’Tis to Comyn,” Aiden replied. With the man’s obvious loyalty and this deep within enemy territory, he’d be a fool to state otherwise.

  “Thank God. W-When I saw you, I thought you were with Robert the Bruce.” The stranger gave a rough cough and then sagged back. “Early this morning, my co-contingent was attacked by his forces.”

  “God’s sword, are they near?” he asked, needing the noble to believe him nae a threat.

  “I think I lost them, but I canna be sure.” Wracking coughs shook his body, and a drizzle of blood slid from his mouth.

  Aiden knelt beside him, took in the deep sword slashes along his neck. ’Twas incredible he still lived.

  Face ashen, the stranger grabbed Aiden’s arm. “Y-You must swear to help me.”

  Help him? With the man’s loyalty to Comyn, Aiden would rather drive a dirk into his heart and end his miserable life. Aiden took in his finely crafted armor, stilled. Few could afford mail of such quality. Whoever he was, the man wasna a simple knight. Mayhap the warrior held sensitive information valuable to the Bruce? “What can I do?”

  Hand trembling, the man withdrew a sealed writ, set the missive into Aiden’s hands. “D-Deliver this to Lady Gwendolyn Murphy of Latharn Castle. Warn her that the enemy is near.” Grief-stricken eyes held his. “We were to marry. Tell her…Tell her that I am sorry to have failed her.”

  Aiden’s throat tightened as he glanced at the rolled parchment, the enormity of the man’s disclosure pounding in his chest. Latharn Castle; his and his men’s destination. He refocused on the wounded knight. “I would need your name to tell your betrothed.”

  “Bróccín MacRaith, Earl of Balfour,” the man whispered.
/>   Aiden’s throat constricted. “Of Gilcrest Castle?”

  “Aye.”

  Memories rolled through Aiden of the numerous occasions in his youth of how they’d sparred and hunted, along with the first time they’d tasted mead. Except their friendship was long ago, and everything had changed.

  Nay longer was he an innocent lad with dreams of war and victory in his head. Over the years with in his service to the Knights Templar, he’d seen enough bloodshed, and had witnessed too many of his friend’s die.

  “I will have your name,” Bróccín demanded.

  “Aiden MacConnell, Earl of Lennox.” He swallowed hard. The truth mattered little now.

  Recognition flared in the man’s eyes, replaced by sadness. “After the terrible tragedy of your family, I-I never thought to see you again.”

  Ice slid through his veins at the mention of his family. He shoved the unwanted thought aside. “Nor I you.” Aiden nodded to the writ. “I give you my word, I will deliver the missive to Lady Gwendolyn.”

  “I thank you. ’Twas a blessing that you found me.” Another shudder raked his body. “After all of these years, I canna believe ’tis you. We-We had so many dreams, did we nay?”

  Aiden forced a smile. “Aye, foolish ones. Dreams of lads.”

  “They were.” Bróccín coughed.

  His face twisted in pain, the knight settled back, and Aiden helped him take a sip of water. “I will tend to you as best—”

  “Dinna. My fate is sealed.”

  However much he wished to assure the man otherwise, neither would Aiden lie. “More water?”

  “Nay.” More blood bubbled from the man’s mouth. “In truth,” he forced out, “I have never met my betrothed, but ’tis rumored the lass is a beauty. With the stories I have heard—” He coughed and blood slid down to his chin. “I was anxious to bed her.”

  Cold seeped through Aiden at thought of any woman weakening him to where he’d think of little else but her. His life was dedicated to God and war, nae the luxuries of the flesh. He laid his hand on Bróccín’s shoulder. “I will tell her what a fine man you were.”