A Knight's Persuasion (40 page)

Seated beside her on the stone bench beneath the tree, Edouard said, “Azarel has quite a few servants helping her. I vow she can manage without you for a few moments. And”—his tone softened—“what I must tell you is too important to wait.”

Her heart fluttered. Judging by his expression, his sire had told him something momentous, no doubt related to Nara. Juliana braced herself for unfavorable news. “Go on,” she said.

His attention fell to her hands, clenched in her lap. Turning so that his knees bumped her legs, he leaned over and took both of her hands in his. The brush of his warm skin, slightly damp with sweat, was almost more than she could bear.

“Edouard—” she pleaded.

“There is . . . something I must say. But I must say it the right way.”

Before she could try and guess his intentions, he released her hands and dropped to one knee on the grass. Light spilled through the overhead boughs onto him as he took her right hand. He suddenly looked nervous.

Her heart thundered in her breast. Mayhap she’d heard too many romantic
chansons
, but surely he wouldn’t be down on one knee unless . . .

Shaking his head, he set her hand back into her lap. “’Tis not right at all.”

“Edouard! What . . ?”

He reached under the bench and snapped a long blade of grass, then picked up her hand again. Lifting her ring finger, he looped the grass around it several times. Then he tied the ends to form a makeshift ring.

Her eyes filling with tears, she stared at him. “How can this be? You are betrothed to Nara.”

“Not any longer. She is with child. Not
my
child.” Edouard’s eyes sparkled. “Another man’s.”

Shock rushed through Juliana. “I did not know.”

“I vow ’tis not yet common knowledge. My sire informed me a short while ago. Because of the circumstances, I am no longer bound to marry Nara.”

Juliana’s indrawn breath froze in her lungs. “Really?”

“Really.” Edouard kissed the grass ring he’d made her. Then he lifted his head to meet her gaze. “Will you be my wife, Juliana?”

Joy raced through her.

“I asked my father for his permission. He agreed.” Looking at his makeshift ring, Edouard said, “’Tis not an appropriate ring for a betrothal, but if you agree . . .”

“Aye.”

His gaze flew up. “Aye . . . As in . . ?”

Turning her hand to weave her fingers through his, she said, “I will be honored to be your wife.”

He swallowed, the happiness in his features tinged with anxiety. “You must know . . . I am not asking just . . . because I am no longer betrothed to Nara.” He kissed their joined hands. “I love you, Juliana. I believe I have loved you since you told me ‘goodbye’ at Sherstowe.”

Surprise fluttered through her. “Why then?”

Grudging laughter rumbled from him. “You made me acknowledge my flaws. Because of you, I came to realize that even a wealthy lord’s son must earn respect—and his lady’s love.”

How earnestly he spoke. Yet his honest words buoyed the elation inside her. Unable to restrain her gladness any longer, she smiled. “I love you, Edouard de Lanceau, my soon-to-be husband.”

He grinned. “Soon-to-be husband
and
. . .”

The glint in his eyes hinted at astounding news. “And?” she echoed.

“Lord of Waddesford Keep.”

“Edouard! Oh—!”

“’Tis all right with you? I know this keep holds many ‘ghosts’ for both of us.”

“Together, we shall bring love and happiness to this castle. In Mayda’s honor. If ’tis all right with you?”

“Aye.” Edouard smiled and rose to stand before her, tall and beautiful and . . . hers.

The thought left a delicious, tingling burn in her belly as he drew her to her feet and slid his arms around her waist, drawing her in close. She fell gently against him, her bosom pressed to the front of his hauberk. Love for him soared inside her as she embraced him, washed in shadow and sunlight.

“I am glad you are happy, Lady de Greyne, my soon-to-be wife and lady of this keep.”

“I would be even happier,” she murmured, hardly recognizing her throaty voice, “if you kissed me.”

Desire gleamed in his eyes. “A kiss with meaning?” he said, his mouth tantalizingly close.

An excited shudder raced through Juliana, for he’d remembered her impassioned words from long ago.

“A kiss that proves the love between us?” he added huskily, his eyes glowing with that thrilling blue fire. A roguish grin kicked up his mouth.

“A kiss that proves we were destined to be together,” she whispered, while her breath mingled with his.

“We were,” he whispered back. His arms shifted, squeezing her hips even tighter against his.

She slid up on tiptoes and pressed her lips to his.

A ravenous growl broke from him. She inhaled on a gasp as his mouth swept against hers. So tenderly. As though she was extremely precious to him.

Over and over and over their lips met. Tender kisses. Rougher ones. He groaned and his tongue slid into her mouth, deepening the shocking, breathless, wondrous contact. Oh, God.
Oh. God
.

The burn within her intensified until every tiny part of her body seemed ablaze with hunger.

Drawing back, she shivered through a gasp. “I never imagined a kiss could be so . . . magnificent.”

Edouard winked. “Shall we indulge in another?”

A sound intruded into her bliss: footfalls, drawing near.

Still in Edouard’s embrace, Juliana looked to see who approached. Azarel strode into the garden, a baby cradled in her arms.

“Rosemary!” Juliana cried.

Smiling, Azarel nodded. “Lord de Lanceau sent one of his warriors to the village to collect her. A favor, I am told, for his son.”

“Edouard, thank you,” Juliana cried, stepping from his hold to take Rosemary into her arms. “She has grown.” The little girl warbled. Eyes wide, she stared up at Juliana.

Juliana smiled. How complete she felt. How very, very loved.

Beside her, Edouard chuckled. He slid an arm around her waist and kissed her flushed cheek. “Are you happy, Juliana?”

“I am.”

“Good. I mean to keep you happy for the rest of your living days.” He kissed her again, a slow, passionate mingling of their mouths.

“That was wonderful,” she breathed.

He growled against her ear, a low, lusty sound that told her he’d not only kiss her in that way again, but that he’d share many more sensual delights with her. “I promise you, ’tis only the beginning of my persuasion.”

—The End—

Other eBooks by Catherine Kean:

Bound by His Kiss (Novella)

Dance of Desire

My Lady’s Treasure

A Knight’s Vengeance
(Knight’s Series Book 1)—Geoffrey de Lanceau’s story

A Knight’s Reward
(Knight’s Series Book 2)—Dominic’s story

A Knight’s Temptation
(Knight’s Series Book 3)—Aldwin’s story

A Knight’s Persuasion
(Knight’s Series Book 4)—Young Edouard de Lanceau’s story

***

Available Winter 2013:

A Knight’s Seduction
(Knight’s Series Book 5)—Tye’s story

More from Catherine Kean

If you enjoyed
A Knight’s Persuasion
by Catherine Kean, look for her award-winning medieval romance
Dance of Desire
. Read on to sample the first two chapters . . .

Dance of Desire

She risked everything in one seductive dance . . .

Disguised as a veiled courtesan, Lady Rexana Villeaux dances for Fane Linford, the new High Sheriff of Warringham. Desperate to distract him while her servant steals the missive that condemns her brother as a traitor to the Crown, she entices Fane with all the passion in her soul—and he is tempted.

A hero of the crusades, Fane has been granted an English bride by the king. Fane wants only one woman: the exquisite dancer. When he discovers she’s actually a highborn lady, and that her rebellious brother is imprisoned in his dungeon, he will have no other wife but her.

Rexana doesn’t want to become the sheriff’s bride, but it may be the only way to save her brother. Yet, as she learns more about her brooding husband tormented by barbaric secrets, she finds it harder and harder to deny his love or their dance of desire.

Dance of Desire

Chapter One

Tangston Keep, England, 1192

“I do not like this wretched scheme, milady.”

Lady Rexana Villeaux shivered in the icy night wind that whipped into Tangston Keep’s forebuilding. “I know, Henry, but ’tis the only way to get the list of traitors.”

She drew against the stone wall, into the shadows at the bottom of the stairs. Bawdy laughter and the music of lute and drum carried down into the passage from the great hall. As she smoothed the veil covering her nose and mouth and the silk over her head, tiny bells tinkled at her wrists. The jewelry’s weight pressed upon her skin, a foreign sensation.

She inhaled a shaky breath. Would her deception succeed?

In the dim light, Henry glanced at her, his gaze worried. Rexana’s belly clenched into a knot. She must not succumb to fear. She must focus on her task. Her brother’s life depended on her. Dear, impetuous Rudd, the only family she had left.

Wiping her sweaty palms on her embroidered skirt, she started up the stairs.

Henry strode beside her. Torchlight flickered on his silvery hair and shadowed the grim set of his mouth. “I hope your hot-headed fool of a brother appreciates the risk you are taking to save his arse.”

Rexana shot Henry a sharp glance. “Mind your tongue. He is not your pupil in the tiltyards any longer, but master of Ickleton Keep. Your lord.”

“With respect, he is fifteen and very much a boy.” Henry wagged a finger, callused from years of wielding a sword. “I still remember the day your mother and father presented him to me, all pink, squished, and noisy as a pig’s fart.”

Her heart squeezed. “Henry!”

“You are right. ’Tis no time to speak of such matters. May your parents forever rest in peace.” Henry’s eyes darkened. With a scarred hand, he caught her elbow, halting her just outside the light spilling in from the hall. “Milady, look at you. An earl’s daughter, dressed like an infidel whore. What madness convinced me to let you go through with this?”

She swallowed a sting of irritation. Heaven above, she did not need his permission. When would Henry cease treating her like the child he had bounced on his knee and hand-fed expensive sweetmeats? “Not madness, Henry. Fate. The girl who plays the Saracen’s lover in the local mummer’s troupe would have entertained the sheriff—”

“Except she fell ill.” Henry nodded. “I helped her through Ickleton’s gates, then summoned the healer.”

“A boon, that her costume fit me well enough.”

He snorted in clear disapproval. “Nay, a curse.”

Rexana looked down at her stiff fingers, darkened like her body with thin layers of flour and mud. “The girl knew of no one to take her place, and it provided us a way to get through Tangston’s gates. Henry, we
must
find the missive that lists the names of sworn traitors. The one the sheriff intends to send to the crown.”

“Because somehow Rudd’s signature is on the document.” Henry sighed. “Could the maidservant who fled Tangston be mistaken about what she overheard? She was half mad, ranting about the sheriff’s barbaric ways—”

“Her dead sire swore fealty to my father. Moreover, she is a friend of Rudd’s. She had no reason to speak false.” Cheers and laughter erupted in the hall and, with a shudder, Rexana looked toward the noise. “Rudd is not involved in the rebellion stirring against the crown. I will not see him ruined by accusations of treachery.”

Henry touched her arm. “Please. Must you dance? We will find another way to save Rudd.”

“There is no other way.” Rexana curled her clammy hands into fists. “I can delay no longer. The others know what to do?”

“Aye.”

Footfalls echoed in the corridor. She glanced past Henry to see four musicians approach, men loyal to her and Rudd. They willingly risked their lives this eve. For that, she would be forever grateful.

Rexana’s pulse began a painful thunder against her ribs. Her fingers flitted to the delicate gold brooch pinned to her bodice and hidden by the garment’s fringe. An arrow wrapped with a flowing ribbon, a gift from Rudd a few sennights ago. A reminder of the bond forged between them one snowy day, and why she must not fail.

She pulled from Henry’s grasp. As the mummer had instructed, Rexana removed her leather shoes. If she did not fully accept her role this eve, she would never deceive the barbarian sheriff.

Gasping as her bare feet connected with cold stone, Rexana pressed her shoes into Henry’s hands.

“Milady—”

“Rudd would try to save me,” she said softly. “And I am indebted to him in more ways than you could ever understand.”

Blinking away stinging tears, she stepped into the hall.

***

Fane Linford, High Sheriff of Warringham, sipped his wine and glanced across the vast, smoke-hazed hall. Every nobleman in the county, it seemed, had accepted his invitation to this feast. They celebrated his return to England as well as the position of authority granted to him one hot, bloody morn at Acre by King Richard himself.

All, that is, but a significant few.

His gaze drifted to the lute player sitting near the fire who plucked out a song. More musicians, strangers to Fane like the majority of the guests, moved to the hearth with their instruments.

A rough voice rose above the hall’s noise. Fane’s eyes narrowed on the harnessed black bear which stood on its hind feet, turning in a circle as its trainer shouted commands and flicked a stick. A crude if not effective display of a master’s power over his minion. A display Fane intended to emulate when he crushed the rebellious lords rising against the crown.