“Do you want to learn how to protect yourself?” Stephen asked.
Green eyes sparking with fire, Isobel raised her sword and said, “Teach me.”
“You should carry a short blade as well,” he instructed as he fended off her attack.
“Why? You think you can knock my sword from my hand?”
“I can. But I will not have to. You will drop it.”
He forced her to step back, and back, and back again. She threw her hands up, sending the sword clattering against the wall as she tumbled backward.
“I’m afraid you have the advantage of me,” she said, reaching her hand up for him. He took it and sank to his knees beside her.
“Not true, Isobel,” he said in a harsh whisper. “ ’Tis I who am at your mercy.”
His eyes fixed on her lips, full and parted. The moment their lips touched, fire seared through him. She was kissing him back, mouth open. Slowly, he lowered his body…
He froze the instant he felt the prick of cold steel against his neck.
“You are right,” Isobel said so close to Stephen’s ear that he could feel her breath, “ ’tis wise to carry a short blade.”
Praise for KNIGHT OF DESIRE
“An impressive debut… Margaret Mallory is a star in the making.”
—Mary Balogh, New York Times bestselling author of At Last Comes Love
“5 Stars! Amazing… The fifteenth century came alive… I swear the turning pages crackled with the friction both characters put out… Knight of Desire is the first in the All the King’s Men series and what a way to start it off.”
— CoffeeTimeRomance.com
“A fast-paced tale of romance and intrigue that will sweep you along and have you rooting for William and his fair Catherine to fight their way to love at last.”
—Candace Camp, New York Times bestselling author of The Courtship Dance
“4 Stars! Mallory’s debut is impressive. She breathes life into major historical characters… in a dramatic romance.”
—Romantic Times BOOKreviews Magazine
“A lavish historical romance, evocative and emotionally rich. Knight of Desire will transport you.”
—Sophie Jordan, USA Today bestselling author of Sins of a Wicked Duke
“4 Hearts! A breath of fresh air… a fascinating tale, mixing emotionally complex characters with a captivating plot… I really enjoyed following William and Catherine as they explored their growing feelings for each other.”
— NightOwlRomance.com
“Knight of Desire is akin to stepping into another century; Mallory has a grasp of history reminiscent of reading the great Roberta Gellis.”
—Jackie Ivie, author of A Knight Well Spent
“Stunning! Margaret Mallory writes with a freshness that dazzles.”
—Gerri Russell, author of Warrior’s Lady
“An amazing debut… I’m looking forward to the next installment of this series.”
— TheRomanceReadersConnection.com
“Medieval romance has a refreshing new voice in Margaret Mallory!”
—Paula Quinn, author of A Highlander Never Surrenders
“Mallory spins a masterful tale, blending history and passion into a sensuous delight.”
—Sue-Ellen Welfonder, USA Today bestselling author of Seducing a Scottish Bride
“Terrific… strong… Fans will desire more deep historical romances from Ms. Mallory.”
— HarrietKlausner.wwwi.com
“Margaret Mallory writes with intense passion and beautiful, believable emotion.”
—Lucy Monroe, bestselling author of Annabelle’s Courtship
“The story sizzles with romance and adventure.”
— RomRevToday.com
ALSO BY MARGARET MALLORY
Knight of Desire
Copyright
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Copyright © 2009 by Peggy L. Brown
Excerpt from Knight of Passion copyright © 2009 by Peggy L. Brown
All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
Forever
Hachette Book Group
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New York, NY 10017
Visit our website at www.HachetteBookGroup.com.
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Forever is an imprint of Grand Central Publishing. The Forever name and logo are trademarks of Hachette Book Group, Inc.
First eBook Edition: December 2009
ISBN: 978-0-446-55854-9
Contents
Copyright
Acknowledgments
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-four
Chapter Twenty-five
Chapter Twenty-six
Chapter Twenty-seven
Chapter Twenty-eight
Chapter Twenty-nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-one
Chapter Thirty-two
Chapter Thirty-three
Chapter Thirty-four
Chapter Thirty-five
Chapter Thirty-six
Chapter Thirty-seven
Epilogue
Historical Note
A Preview of Knight of Passion
The Dish
For my parents, Norman and Audrey Brown, who gave me my love of history, books, and foreign places.
Acknowledgments
I will be forever grateful to Alex Logan at Grand Central Publishing for plucking Knight of Pleasure from the vast sea of manuscripts before her and saying, “Yes, I want this one.” A special thank-you also goes to my agent and friend, Kevan Lyon, for her faith in me.
When I started my first novel, my favorite librarian (my sister) told me to join Romance Writers of America (RWA). Thanks to her sage advice, I am part of the generous community of romance writers. I am grateful to the members of my local RWA chapters, who cheer me on every step of the way; to my critique buddies, who always tell me what they really think; and to the published authors who were exceedingly kind in their support of my first book, Knight of Desire.
I beg forgiveness of my friends and family for neglecting them while I wrote this book. (We all know I will do it again.) My love and thanks go to all of them, especially my husband.
Prologue
Northumberland, England
1409
Which of you brave Knights of the Round Table will fight me?” Isobel called out.
“Me! Choose me! Isobel, choose me!”
Isobel ignored the shouts of the boys jumping up and down around her and rose up on her toes, searching for her brother. Where was Geoffrey? When she spotted him in the tall grass, she dropped to her heels and sighed.
Her brother was gazing at the sky, a smile on his face, happily talking to himself.
She pointed instead to a frail-looking boy at the back of the circle. “You shall be Gawain.”
The other boys groaned as Gawain stepped forward, dragging his wooden sword behind him.
“Sir Gawain,” Isobel said, giving him a low bow. “I am the evil Black Knight who has captured Queen Guinevere.”
The little boy scrunched up his face. “Why do you not play Queen Gui-, Gui-, Gui-”
“Because I am the Black Knight.” At thirteen, she was the eldest here and got to set the rules.
She glared up at the gray stone walls of Hume Castle. The boys her age were inside, practicing with real swords in the castle’s bailey yard. ’Twas so unfair! For no cause at all, her father forbade her to go off with the boys—or touch a sword—while they were at this gathering. She was to sit quietly and keep her gown clean.
She turned back to Gawain and raised her sword. “Will you not fight to save your queen?”
Gawain stood frozen, his eyes round with panic.
Quickly, she leaned down and cupped her hand to the boy’s ear. “The Knight of the Round Table always prevails, I promise.”
She did her best to make his clumsy swings look skilled. When that proved hopeless, she jumped about, making faces and acting the fool. Soon, even Gawain was laughing. She finished with a most worthy death, moaning and clutching her chest before sprawling full length on the ground.
She lay, sweaty and breathless, listening to the boys’ cheers. The rare sunshine felt good on her face. When a shadow passed over her, she opened her eyes. She squinted at the tall figure looming over her and groaned. Would Bartholomew Graham not leave her alone? He plagued her!
“Go away, calf brain,” she said and stuck her tongue out.
She pushed herself up onto her elbows. More ill luck. All the older boys had come out to watch.
“You’ve changed since last summer,” Bartholomew Graham said. He moved his eyes deliberately to her chest.
“ ’Tis a shame you have not.” She batted away the hand he offered and scrambled to her feet. “Or have you ceased to cheat at games and bully the younger boys?”
“I have a real sword, pretty Isobel,” he said with a wink. “If you’ll go into the wood with me, I’ll let you play with it.”
The older boys guffawed at this witless remark. Praise God, she would marry none of them! Her father would find a young man as noble and worthy as Galahad for her.
“Isobel!”
The boys’ laughter died as her father’s voice boomed out across the field. Isobel was the apple of her father’s eye, and woe to any boy caught offending her. Boys, big and small, began slipping away through the field. All save one. Her brother looked about him as though awakened from a dream.
“Geoffrey, go!” she hissed at him. “It will not help to have you in trouble, as well.”
Isobel waved to her father. Ah, she was in luck. The man lumbering beside him with a gait like a pregnant cow was their host, Lord Hume. Her father would keep his temper around the old man. All the same, she opened her other hand and let the wooden sword slip to the ground beside her.
When the men finally reached her, she gave Lord Hume her best curtsy. She wanted to make a good impression, since her father said Lord Hume could help them regain their lands.
“I am most sorry for your loss,” she said, pleased with herself for remembering the recent death of his wife.
What an old man he was! ’Twas hard to look at him with all that loose skin hanging from his neck and those puffy bags under his eyes drooping halfway down his cheeks. But he must be wealthy. As wealthy as her father said, to own a jeweled belt that could reach around that immense belly of his.
“Your daughter is the image of your lovely wife,” Hume said. “And she has spirit enough to keep a man young.”
How often did her father say she would make him old before his time? A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth as she slid a look at him, hoping to catch his eye.
“Aye, she is a lively girl,” her father said.
The cheerfulness of his reply gave Isobel hope she might escape a scolding for her swordplay with the boys. While the men talked on and on about some event that would take place in the autumn, she grew bored and tried not to fidget.
“ ’Tis settled then,” Lord Hume said, taking his leave at last. “You will want to speak to your daughter now.”
Lord Hume took hold of her hand before she could hide it behind her back. She tried not to make a face as he slavered on it. As soon as his back was turned, though, she wiped it on her gown.
She stood beside her father, waiting to be chastised about swords and dirty gowns. When Hume finally hobbled through the castle gate, she turned to face her father.
To her amazement, he was hopping from foot to foot, doing a little dance!
“Father, what has happened?”
He picked her up and swung her in a circle. Then he did his little dance again. Seeing him so gloriously happy made her heart swell with pleasure.
“Tell me, tell me!” she said, laughing.
He raised his hands toward the heavens and shouted, “God forgive me for ever wishing you were a boy!”
Her father grinned down at her, eyes shining, as if she had just handed him the moon and stars.
“Isobel, my girl, I have such good news!”
Chapter One
Northumberland, England
September 1417
The cold from the chapel’s stone floor seeped through Isobel’s knees. Her every bone and muscle ached with it. ’Twas not the cold, however, that caused her to pause in her prayers. Once again, she ran her eyes over the shrouded corpse surrounded by tall, flickering candles.
When her gaze reached the corpse’s belly, high and wide beneath the cloth, a small sigh escaped her. The body was, indeed, Lord Hume’s.
This need for reassurance was childish. Chastising herself for her lapse, Isobel returned to her prayers. She would fulfill this last duty to her husband.
And then she would be free of him.
When next she opened her eyes, it was to find the pinched face of the castle chaplain leaning over her.
“I must speak with you,” he said without apology.
She nodded and held her breath until he straightened. Did the man never bathe? He smelled almost as bad as Hume.
Whatever the priest had to tell her must be important. As her husband’s confessor, he had reason to know Hume’s soul was in need of every prayer. Still, she was reluctant to leave the servants to keep vigil without her. Despite the extra coin she gave them, they would cease their prayers the moment the door closed behind her.
Hume had not been a well-loved lord.
When she attempted to rise, her legs failed her, and the priest had to grasp her arm to keep her from falling. She let him lead her out of the tower that housed the castle’s small chapel. As she stepped out into the bailey yard, a gush of wind cut through her cloak and gown. She waited, shivering, while Father Dunne fought the wind to close the heavy wooden door.
As soon as he joined her in the yard, she asked, “What is it, Father Dunne?”
Father Dunne pulled his hood low over his face, took her arm, and started walking her toward the keep. “Please, let us wait to speak until we are inside.”
“Of course.”
The frozen ground crunched beneath their feet. Thinking of the blazing hearth in the hall, Isobel quickened her steps. Food would do her good, as well. She’d missed the midday meal.
As they went up the steps of the keep, she noticed two of them were cracked. She added the repair to the list in her head. The castle was hers now. No more begging Hume’s permission to take care of what needed to be done.
As she entered the hall, she saw their nearest neighbor warming his hands at the hearth. She gave Father Dunne a sharp look. The priest was sorely mistaken if he thought the arrival of Bartholomew Graham was good cause to draw
her from her vigil.
“Isobel!”
It set her teeth on edge to hear Graham address her by her Christian name, despite her repeated requests that he not.
“My most sincere regrets at Lord Hume’s passing,” Graham said as he rushed toward her, arms extended.
She offered her hand to prevent his coming closer. Fixing fine gray eyes on her, he pressed his lips to it. He lingered unnecessarily. As he always did.
She should not have been shocked when Graham pursued her during her marriage. After all, he’d been a liar and a cheat as a boy. But how he could still not know his good looks and easy charm were lost on her—that was a mystery.
“Thank you for your concern, but I must speak with Father Dunne now,” she said, tugging her hand from Graham’s grip.
She clenched her jaw to keep from snapping at him. Usually, she handled Graham’s attentions with more grace, but she was tired and her patience short. The last days of Hume’s illness had not been easy.
“If you wish to wait,” she made herself say, “I will have some refreshment brought.”
Father Dunne cleared his throat. “Forgive me, Lady Hume, but I must ask that he join us.” Her face must have shown her irritation, for Father Dunne hastened to add, “I have good cause, as you shall see.”
She could not very well argue with the castle chaplain in front of the servants in the hall. Biting back her temper, she turned and led the two men up the circular stairs to the family’s private rooms on the floor above.
She added replacing the castle chaplain to her list.
Once they were in the privacy of the family solar, she did not bother to keep the sharpness from her tone. “Now, Father Dunne, what is so important that you have seen fit to call me away from my prayers for my husband’s soul?”
The chaplain bristled. “I felt it my duty to inform you of a document your husband entrusted into my care.”
“A document?” She felt a pang of anxiety in the pit of her stomach. “What sort of document?”
“ ’Tis a conveyance of certain properties.”
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