The Knight's Reward (Border Series Book 10)

by Cecelia Mecca

  This time, Neill was determined to best her.

  Though his senior by nearly thirty years, Lady Cora had no parallel with the longbow. No matter that he was one of the most decorated tournament knights in all of England.

  “Offering advice to the competition,” her husband said from Neill’s other side. “One might think you will the boy to win.”

  Neill’s hands froze in place. “Neither the constant chatter nor your reference to my age will take me off this mark.”

  Adam tsked, clearly disagreeing.

  Cora’s arrow had skewered the target just slightly off-center, enough of a miss for him to capitalize on. Listening to her instructions, he did lower his aim ever so slightly, and let loose.

  Every head in the training yard turned to watch Neill’s arrow land just outside Cora’s.

  “Well met,” she said. “Though it seems you’ll be forced to return to Langford for more lessons.”

  Neill turned to Cora and forced a smile, but her words had pained him. He’d known no other life but Langford and tournaments since he’d arrived here as a young, and very lost, boy. Adam and Cora had not just fostered him into knighthood, they had become his parents these past years.

  But they weren’t his only family, and his siblings needed him now. They needed him to fulfill the end of the bargain he’d made.

  “Perhaps on the way back to court I will come for a rematch.”

  Cora frowned as Neill handed his bow to a squire. “She is lovely.”

  “That hardly matters.”

  “From a good family.”

  “I did not choose her.”

  Since returning from Windsor, he and Cora had gone round and round on this very topic. At least Adam had spoken up for him, though now he remained silent.

  “Few choose their spouses,” Cora continued. She glanced at Adam, a small smile on her lips.

  “Not true,” he interrupted, the sound of clanging swords punctuating their conversation. Now that they’d finished their competition, the men’s training resumed around them.

  “Adam and I—”

  “Were not ordered by the king to marry.”

  “The queen,” Adam offered at last. “I do believe the match was her idea. DeBeers is only a minor baron, but the daughter serves the queen. Likely this is her doing.”

  “King. Queen. What does it matter? Either way, Lady Alina will be my wife.”

  Though he argued against it, Neill’s only choice was to make peace with that fact. A small price to pay, to marry a woman he knew only from description, for the boon King Edward had granted him.

  A small price to pay for peace.

  “More importantly,” he said as they made their way back to the keep. “Caxton will be removed as warden.” He’d planned to go home months ago, back when the Day of Truce had first fallen apart, but the Tournament of Peace had been announced. It was then he and Adam came up with this plan. Ask for the one thing that could restore peace along the border.

  Caxton’s removal.

  “That should have happened long ago,” Cora said.

  “Aye,” he agreed. But now Edward had finally ascended as king, and it seemed he was willing to make some changes. “Once it’s done, the Day of Truce restored—”

  “You will visit often.” Cora stepped over a mud puddle in the center of the courtyard.

  Neill laughed. “Your daily reminders to come back are unnecessary.” He stopped walking and turned to face his foster parents. “I will never forget what either of you have done for me.”

  Under Adam’s tutelage, he’d become a champion.

  Under Cora’s, a gentleman.

  “When Geoffrey sent me here . . .”

  He didn’t need to continue. All three of them were aware of Neill’s past, as was the entire Langford household. His brothers, Geoffrey and Bryce, and his twin, Emma, had stayed in the north. Together. He had been sent south to Langford. He’d raged against their decision at first, feeling he’d unfairly been sent away. But Neill had come to recognize that his brothers, already knights and well into adulthood, had done the best possible thing for him at the time. They’d ensured he would get the training he needed to become the knight they knew he could be.

  “Thank you.”

  The words hardly seemed adequate, and as Cora wrapped her arms around him, he ignored the looks they were receiving from the men in the training yard and hugged her back.

  She never had cared about appearances. A more unconventional lady couldn’t be found anywhere, with the exception of in the north among his own family.

  “Give your siblings our regards,” she whispered. “And Lady Sara too.”

  “I will,” he promised.

  “And Neill . . .” She pulled away slightly but still held his hands. “Please remember what I told you.”

  “The greatest knight in Christendom is nothing without his family.” He winked. “Although I suspect you say that only to remind me to return.”

  She didn’t deny it.

  Neill turned to Adam.

  Lord of Langford, a man who knew very well that not all family was related by blood. Adam himself had been the ward of Spencer Caiser, the former Earl of Kenshire. Neill wished he could have known the great man, the grandfather of his sister-in-law Sara. “You are my Richard Caiser,” he said.

  He embraced the man who’d acted as his father after his own father was killed. He vowed, as he’d done so many times before, to continue to make him proud. To uphold the virtues Adam held dear. Strength with humility, honor and family above all.

  And he’d start by saving the very borderlands that would be his home, apparently with Lady Alina by his side.

  Kathryn was grateful for Magge.

  For The Wild Boar.

  For her new life.

  But she was really not having a good time of it.

  Four of the Scottish king’s men had come to the inn, and she’d thought it her chance to learn something about her father’s murder. But when she’d tried to question them, Magge had promptly shooed her out of sight.

  Later, she’d berated her for a fool.

  “You always talk about stayin’ out of sight. And here you are, doin’ everything but proclaiming yourself a lady to the very same men you’ve been warned away from.”

  Kathryn reminded her it was the English court, not the Scottish one, she was afraid may harbor a traitor. But the innkeeper had insisted that she remain abovestairs until they left.

  Three days had passed.

  Three long, miserable days of nothing but a view of The Wild Boar’s stables, hours spent poring over the books, which were completely up to date, and the orders, which Magge came for each night. At least she knew now not to complain about working down in the hall.

  Unsolicited flirtation was preferable to boredom.

  As she left her room to take inventory at the stables—the men in question had finally left—she heard someone whisper, “Psst, Kathryn.”

  Groaning, she stopped at the top of the stairs. Should she pretend she hadn’t heard Mary’s plea?

  Too late. She’d been seen.

  Mary’s head, and only her head, peered at her from behind the closed door of her room. As Magge reminded them frequently, they were fortunate to each have a private space. “If Magge asks for me, tell her I cannot come down.”

  “If you have a man in there again . . .” She shook her head but couldn’t help but smile at the other girl’s audacity.

  “Please?” Mary blinked, her big brown eyes pleading. “I’ll owe you a boon.”

  “Very well,” she said. The quick flash of a smile was the last thing Kathryn saw before Mary closed the door.

  If she’d found the women at court bawdier than expected, well, they had nothing on Mary. Her well-meaning friend had hardly believed her when she’d explained she was still a virgin, and Mary was eager to see Kathryn initiated into womanhood. She didn’t understand the expectations of Kathryn’s past life, and her inability to throw them off. />
  Not that she would make a good marriage now.

  Even if her situation were to reverse dramatically, her reputation was likely ruined beyond repair for the simple fact that she’d been working here these past months. But she cared about neither of those things, really. Staying alive was her primary concern.

  Even so . . .

  “Have you seen Mary?”

  Of course it was the first thing Magge asked her when she passed through the hall.

  Busy, though not unmanageably so, the inn not quite at capacity. They could easily get by without her for a time.

  “She’ll be along. In the meanwhile—”

  “In the meanwhile, fetch a pitcher of ale, and make it quick.” She nodded to a lone man sitting apart from the others in the corner. His head was down, so Kathryn couldn’t see the reason for Magge’s urgency. The innkeeper typically wasn’t quick about anything unless a royal visitor or important noble was underfoot. There were a few exceptions, this man obviously one of them. Well-dressed but not, by appearance, one of the king’s men.

  Doing as she was bid, Kathryn filled a pitcher and grabbed a tankard, not seeing one already in front of the guest. Which was when her backside was rudely assaulted.

  “Give it here,” said the reiver who’d swatted her so openly.

  As she’d been taught, Kathryn took his measure. Hardened, strong, and more than a bit intimidating, he was not the sort who’d be put off by a few honeyed words. The only course of action here was to acquiesce, as much as it pained her.

  Leaning down to place both the pitcher and tankard on the table, Kathryn gritted her teeth when he reached up to touch her breast, bold as could be. He’d gone too far. Slapping his wrist, she stood, prepared to make a hasty retreat amidst the howls of laughter from his friends.

  But she wasn’t quick enough.

  Kathryn found herself on the man’s lap, his padded gambeson the only soft thing about him, as she struggled to free herself.

  “Let her go.”

  She couldn’t see where the voice had come from, but something flickered in the reiver’s eyes—fear?—and he tossed her to the side and drew a dagger.

  “Put ’em away, gentlemen.”

  Magge.

  Kathryn had leapt to her feet, but she still could not see the man who’d saved her. His back was to her, his stance rigid as he faced off with the reiver.

  “Robert, you don’t want to be messin’ with a Waryn. Now sit down, keep your hands off my ladies, and drink your ale.”

  A Waryn. Was it the earl or the lord of Brockburg?

  The fact that the reiver instantly complied was a testament to the innkeeper’s reputation.

  Magge’s attention turned to the newcomer. “Kathryn will be along shortly.”

  He didn’t move, obviously reluctant to walk away from the fight. But Magge shooed him away, and he finally complied.

  “Many thanks,” he said to Magge. His voice was as deep as his hair was black, curling just slightly at the nape of his neck. He wore only trews and a tunic, so she couldn’t tell his exact status just yet. But a glance over at the empty table confirmed this was the man she’d been bid to serve.

  She watched as he walked back to the table and sat. When he did, Kathryn could see his face clearly. This must be the youngest brother. She had heard he was handsome, but that was hardly an adequate description. Striking. Intense. Godlike with a face to make a woman forget herself. But handsome? Nay, he was much more than that.

  And from his expression, he saw her clearly too.

  Chapter 3

  Neill was surprised to see the serving maid reach across the man who had just assaulted her and snatch the pitcher of ale from his table. He tried not to smile, knowing, as the reiver continued to glare at him, it would only inflame the situation.

  He had noticed her the moment she’d stepped into the hall, as if a force beyond his control had pulled his attention to her. Or maybe it was that the other heads had already turned in her direction.

  Either way, she was difficult to miss.

  Two things had struck him about her at once.

  She was beautiful. Brown hair fell down her back in waves, tied away from her face on both sides, giving him a clear view of her determined expression. As if she were preparing for battle, determined to win.

  Second, she was no serving maid.

  Shoulders back, head held high, this was a highborn woman if ever he’d seen one.

  So what was she doing here, getting fondled by fools reliant on Magge’s reputation for a conflict-free inn? He may have been a young man the last time he and his brothers had graced her hall, but the innkeeper had changed little. As such, he let the matter go for now. She wouldn’t thank him for bringing conflict to this hall—but that didn’t mean he couldn’t retaliate later.

  The reiver would be taught some manners before the night was through.

  Though she’d taken back the pitcher of ale, the maid skirted out of view, presumably to fetch him a new tankard. Watching for her old, cream-colored gown to reappear, Neill finally spotted her.

  As she approached, he noticed something else about the maid.

  Despite the initial spark of interest he’d noticed in her eyes, her expression was now quite neutral. Where had she learned such a skill? Here at the inn? Or from whomever had trained her to walk with such grace?

  “Sir,” she said, correctly guessing his title, “your ale. And a thank you for your assistance back there.”

  Her correct speech and courtly accent confirmed his suspicions.

  “It was my pleasure to serve you.” He paused and watched her carefully. “My lady.”

  Though her shoulders stiffened, the maid gave no other indication his address disconcerted her in any way.

  “Your ale, courtesy of Mistress Magge,” she said, placing both pitcher and tankard on the board in front of him. This particular table was set on two empty ale kegs, although sturdy enough to serve its purpose.

  Her scent drifted to him as she leaned in close.

  Lavender.

  Neill breathed in deeply, the fragrance continuing to linger as she stood.

  “May I serve you anything—”

  “Who are you?”

  Bold, perhaps. But Neill had never pretended to be anything but. Besides which, his time at The Wild Boar was limited. His eldest brother, Geoffrey, would be joining him at any moment, and once he did, they would leave at once for Bristol Manor to meet up with their other brother, Bryce. After visiting with his new nephew, all three intended to make their way to Brockburg Castle in Scotland to take part in a council there. Typically reserved for Scots border lords, their presence would be welcome as Neill planned to relay his king’s message.

  This was, of course, if all went according to plan. Geoffrey’s wife Sara was due to give birth soon, which could alter his brother’s intention.

  “I am—” she frowned, the tiniest of lines appearing on the edges of her very full lips, “—Kathryn.”

  She’d deliberately misunderstood. Interesting.

  “Kathryn,” Magge crooned from the other side of the room.

  “I must go.”

  And so she did.

  Kathryn.

  He turned the name over and over in his head, though he knew very well that he should not do so. He definitely should not watch her move from table to table, effortlessly avoiding overzealous patrons as she served them food and drink. Despite himself, he was impressed by the ease with which she handled herself. Fascinated by her self-assurance. He passed the time trying to imagine why Lady Kathryn passed herself off as simply “Kathryn.”

  It was only when the reiver stood to leave that Neill did the same, following the man wordlessly into the night. Three companions accompanied the man, but Neill was not put off—he simply waited for his moment. He needed to catch all four of them unaware if he had any hope of coming away from this with his body parts intact.

  They entered the stables, and Neill, knowing the quarters we
re too close inside for him to make a move, waited near the entrance. The mostly pleasant smells of the hall, lamb pie and ale, were replaced with the stench of hay and manure. Two men stumbled from the entrance of the inn, looked his way, and then quickly moved off when his hand drifted to the hilt of his sword.

  A whiff of lavender preceded the sound of soft footfalls. How had she come from the inn without his notice?

  “I suspected as much,” she said as Neill turned and stared straight into a pair of clear green eyes. Though the only light beamed down from the moon, it shone uncommonly bright this eve.

  “Please let the matter rest.” She glanced nervously toward the stables. “’Tis not good for business. Magge will be upset and—”

  He nodded, placing his finger to his lips.

  Knowing she must have left the inn through a back door, he circled the stables and headed back toward the larger building. He spotted the back door then and walked toward it.

  “Stay here,” he instructed, fully intending to ignore her request.

  “Please.” She grabbed his hand as he turned back toward the stable. The shock of such a bold gesture wore off quickly when he realized they were still connected, her small fingers wrapped around his much larger ones.

  Fighting the temptation to hold on, Neill allowed her hand to drop. The loss of her touch made him regret his foolishness.

  What would she have done if he had attempted to do so just a bit longer?

  “I cannot allow him to leave—” he began. But even as he said it, Neill watched as the men exited the stables with their hobblers—another indication they were, indeed, reivers—and mounted the small horses.

  “Please, sir, I implore you—”

  He spun on her so fast, Neill worried he may have startled her. But she must have known his intentions were honorable, for she stood tall and did not flinch.

  “Tell me who you are, and I’ll not pursue them.”

  This time, there was no mistaking the flash of panic in her eyes before her calm composure was restored.