The Knight's Bride Read online

  “He has commanded us to wed this day!

  Letter to Reader

  Title Page

  Books by Lyn Stone

  About the Author

  Dedication

  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

  Epilogue

  Copyright

  “He has commanded us to wed this day!

  “He demands that I marry a—”

  “A what?”

  “A Highland savage,” she retorted, shaking a finger under his nose. “Mais oui, I can tell by your speech that is what you are, despite that fine mail you wear! And ignorant, as well, by your own admission!”

  “Unlettered, Lady. ’Tis not the same as ignorant. And devil take ye with all yer plaguey French airs! Ye’re still a Scot yourself!”

  “Praise God, only half!” she shouted.

  “Then I wish to God ’twas the upper half with the mouth!”

  She gaped. “Why would my late husband do this to me?” she demanded.

  “Well, how d’ye think I feel?” Alan countered. “Trapped, is what! Bound by a stout chain of friendship reaching inta the very grave. I’d as lief fall on my dirk as surrender my freedom, but my word’s my word, by God!”

  Dear Reader,

  If you’ve never read a Harlequin Historical novel, you’re in for a treat. We offer compelling, richly developed stories that let you escape to the past—written by some of the best writers in the field!

  Author Lyn Stone is one of those writers. Since her debut in March 1997 with The Wicked Truth, Lyn has sold five more romances. Her warm and entertaining writing style has captured the attention of many critics, including Publishers Weekly, which has reviewed all of her previous Harlequin Historical® novels, and claims that she “creates characters with a refreshing naturalness.” This month’s The Knight’s Bride is about a very true knight who puts his honorable reputation on the line when he’s forced to marry the beautiful widow of his best friend. It’s great!

  Be sure to look for Burke’s Rules by the talented Pat Tracy. This is an adorable story about a Denver schoolmistress who falls for the “protective” banker who helps fund her school. Pride of Lions is the latest in Suzanne Barclay’s highly acclaimed SUTHERLAND SERIES. Two lovers are on opposite sides of a feud in this tale of danger and passion set in medieval Scotland.

  Rounding out the month is The Heart of a Hero by Judith Stacy. Here, a bad boy turned rancher has thirty days to prove he’ll be a good father to his niece and nephew, and enlists the help of the new schoolmarm. Don’t miss it!

  Whatever your tastes in reading, you’ll be sure to find a romantic journey back to the past between the covers of a Harlequin Historical® novel.

  Sincerely,

  Tracy Farrell, Senior Editor

  Please address questions and book requests to:

  Harlequin Reader Service

  U.S.: 3010 Walden Ave., P.O. Box 1325, Buffalo, NY 14269

  Canadian: P.O. Box 609, Fort Erie, Ont. L2A 5X3

  THE KNIGHT’S BRIDE

  LYN STONE

  TORONTO • NEW YORK • LONDON

  AMSTERDAM • PARIS • SYDNEY • HAMBURG

  STOCKHOLM • ATHENS • TOKYO • MILAN • MADRID

  PRAGUE • WARSAW • BUDAPEST • AUCKLAND

  Books by Lyn Stone

  Harlequin Historical

  The Wicked Truth #358

  The Arrangement #389

  The Wilder Wedding #413

  The Knight’s Bride #445

  LYN STONE

  A painter of historical events, Lyn decided to write about them. A canvas, however detailed, limits characters to only one moment in time. “If a picture’s worth a thousand words, the other ninety thousand have to show up somewhere!”

  An avid reader, she admits, “At thirteen, I fell in love with Brontë’s Heathcliff and became Catherine. Next year I fell for Rhett and became Scarlett. Then I fell for the hero I’d known most of my life and finally became myself.”

  After living four years in Europe, Lyn and her husband, Allen, settled into a log house in north Alabama that is crammed to the rafters with antiques, artifacts and the stuff of future tales.

  This book is for my Allen the True.

  Thank you for all the promises kept

  and for the happily ever after we share.

  Prologue

  Near Stirling, Scotland

  June, 1314

  Alan of Strode grimaced at the sickly sweet smell of impending death. Putrefaction. The fever raged now. Tavish would be damned lucky to see the morrow dawn. Alan’s own wound, superficial by comparison, ached with empathy.

  “Four days,” Alan said, forcing the smile into his voice, “Five at most, and your lady can tend ye. We’ll make it, Tav.”

  Carefully ignoring the groans Tavish struggled to suppress, Alan busied himself raking through one of the many English packs he had captured as spoils. He unfolded a crimson silk surcoat embellished with a yellow griffin. Rich stuff, he thought, rubbing the fabric between his fingers.

  Another foray yielded an ornate silver cup, which he filled from his own humble flask of good Scots spirits. “See how much more of this ye can hold, Tav. Ye’ll still hurt, but ye won’t care.”

  Tavish pushed it away. “Only numbs me from the chin up. Have you a quill in there?” he asked, his voice choked with pain.

  Alan poked deeper into the hidebound pouch. “Aye,” he answered as cheerfully as he could manage, “parch and ink as well. Ye’ve a mind to write, then?”

  Tavish nodded slightly and exhaled the words, “To Honor. Help me sit.”

  A half hour later, Tavish Ellerby made a final, stronger scribble and let the feather fall from his hand. “Done.” His weary eyes rested a moment under their grime-crusted lids before he met Alan’s steady gaze. “See if you...agree.”

  “To this?” Alan asked, biting his bottom lip. He touched the page of slanting marks that meant nothing to him.

  “Orders for my lady,” Tavish explained through gritted teeth. His white-knuckled hands clutched the moth-chewed blanket as his breathing grew labored and irregular. “Good plan, eh?”

  Alan followed the wavering lines of lampblack ink and came to rest on the larger, ornate loops at the bottom. “Well writ, Tav.” He tapped the parchment with the back of his fingers and smiled. “’Tis braw advice. She’ll be minding ye, too, if I’ve aught to say to it.” His friend’s peace of mind justified Alan’s small pretense. And the Lady Honor would take comfort in her husband’s last thoughts and wishes, no matter what they were.

  Though he could see Saint Ninian’s roof from here, Alan knew that moving Tavish would only hasten death. He hated to tell Lady Honor that her husband breathed his last neath a gnarled old oak at the edge of the battlefield. But no lie would make it finer. Dead was dead. And if ever a soul made heaven without benefit of a final blessing, it would be that of Tavish Ellerby.

  Everything south of Stirling lay in ashes. He prayed Tavish’s keep, nestled in the Cheviot Hills, lay out of both armies’ paths. What the English had not laid waste to in the last few weeks, Robert Bruce had, in order to keep his enemies shelterless and hungry. Now many Scots would suffer the
same, even though they had won the battle.

  Tavish reached out, fingers weak and trembling as they grasped Alan’s forearm. “You will take me on home? Lay me under a cairn by the Tweed? Do not...let Honor see me first. Not like this. Promise?”

  “Aye, I will. Got yer leg, by God, and I’ll take that, too.”

  Weak laughter trickled out like the dregs from a wineskin. “Put me back together, will you?” The eyes closed again and Tavish shuddered. “Alan, tell her. Tell my Honor...that ’tis for the best, my dying. Say how much I... cared.”

  “She’ll be knowing that, Tav. I’ll sing it like a bard, I swear. Sweet things she’ll be weeping over long after she’s grown old and...Tav? Tavish?”

  Alan drew in a deep, ragged breath and expelled it. Stinging wetness seeped down his cheeks. “Ah, Tav, lad. Would that yer Honor coulda seen ye smile just so.”

  He looked long into the blank, blue eyes before he closed the lids at last.

  Chapter One

  Byelough Keep

  June 28, 1314

  “I saw murder in his eye, my lady. Lord Hume will never let the marriage stand if he finds you. God alone can help you if the comte de Trouville becomes involved.”

  Lady Honor Ellerby fought her rush of alarm at the messenger’s words. She must remain calm, think what next to do.

  Could her father possibly find her here in this littleknown border keep? Would he remember her friendliness toward Tavish Ellerby when they had met at the French court? If so, he would guess where she had flown. Since nearly a year had passed, Honor had begun to hope he would have given up the search. She should have known better, since she was his only heir.

  He could force her to return home with him unless Tavish could hold out against Hume’s forces. Her marriage was very probably invalid. After all, she had stolen and altered the documents her father had prepared, which named the comte de Trouville as her intended bridegroom. The very thought of that man caused her to shiver, even now.

  Trouville had come to her father’s house in Paris, not three days after the death of his second wife, and demanded Honor’s hand. After spending nigh to a week locked away with no food and little water, Honor had reluctantly signed the contracts her father provided. In her mind, that certainly constituted force and was not legal. But since when must relatives of the king adhere to law? If the comte had gotten away with murder, what penalty need he fear for a mere marriage by force? Since wit was her only weapon of defense, Honor had devised a way out of the match.

  Tavish would never have married her unless he believed her father approved, so she had brought her father’s copies of the signed contracts with her, minus, of course, the comte de Trouville’s name. A careful scraping of the parchment had eliminated that, as well as the listed property her father was to receive from the comte in the exchange for her. Honor had inserted some nonsense about her own happiness being sufficient to satisfy her sire. Then she had sold her jewels to provide the mentioned dowry.

  Neatly done, if she did say so, but a dangerous ruse for all that. Consequences could be deadly if her father and the powerful comte regained control of her life.

  She should have confessed her misdeed to Tavish once he had come to care for her, but she had needed to wait until she was absolutely certain he would fight to keep her. Then he had left so suddenly to join Bruce’s forces near Stirling. Hopefully, there would be time to make amends for her deception and soothe Tavish’s anger on his return. She must do so before her father arrived. And he would likely be here, sooner or later, if Melior had the right of things.

  “His lordship is truly furious, Lady Honor. They do say at first he thought you had been stolen. Your lady mother tried to foster that belief, and for a while, succeeded. Then he finally discovered the betrothal and marriage contracts were missing, and that your jewels and clothing were gone.”

  Melior continued, “Not long after I returned from showing you the way here, he began to question the prolonged absence of Father Dennis. When he decided that you had run away, his rage knew no bounds.”

  The musician continued, “Even had I not promised to come and warn you did he guess what happened, I could not have remained there a moment longer. He strikes out at everything and everyone in his path, even after all this time!” Melior declared with a shudder.

  “When has he not?” Honor asked wryly, though she could recall such a time when she was very young. Her father had once been a fair, if not doting, parent. Some unaccountable and violent madness had overtaken him once she reached an age to wed.

  Seven long years she had matched her will to his in selling her off. She meant to have a kind and loving husband, and he had chosen only irksome court toadies. A good dozen suitors Honor had sent running, employing every device possible from outrageous insults to feigning madness. But the comte de Trouville would not be put off by her. And her father had starved her into submission that time. Temporarily.

  “How long before Father finds me, by your reckoning?” she asked Melior.

  “He has already surmised whom you wed, but he dares not abandon his place at court until he has completed his business there. Once that is accomplished, who can say how long his search will take? Not long, I should think. You know his resources as well as I.”

  “You do not believe he has informed the comte de Trouville?”

  “Not as yet, unless he did so after I left. He has stalled your betrothed with some tale of a prolonged illness you had contracted. Said he had sent you to the countryside to recover. Afterward, he vowed to your mother he would have you in hand for the wedding come autumn, and that is nearly upon us, my lady.”

  Honor sighed and shrugged. “Not many know the location of Byelough Keep. Please God, Father cannot find one who does know it until my husband returns from the war.”

  “At least that should happen soon enough,” Melior assured her, imparting the first good news she had heard in many a day. “I did hear upon landing on this coast that there has been some great victory for the Scots at a place called Bannockburn close by Stirling. The English fled like frightened rabbits. Most of the Scots are following into England, giving chase. Some are not, however. I met many on the road, bound for their homes.”

  “Thank God for it. No doubt my lord will rush back with all speed since he seemed so loath to be away.” Honor felt she had seen to that with her parting kisses. Tavish swore he would leave her not an hour longer than he must.

  “I only hope your husband is warrior enough to withstand the wrath when Lord Hume does come,” Melior added with a grimace.

  “As do I!” Honor quaked with apprehension at the very thought of the gentle Tavish facing either her tyrannical sire or the vicious brute who had been her betrothed.

  Unfortunately, she had not had the time to search out a man who was strong as well as kind. At the moment, kind had seemed infinitely more important. “Go and make yourself comfortable, Melior. Will you stay here?”

  “Would you mind, my lady? My journey was no dance around the Maypole. I spent many a year singing keep to keep here before crossing to France, however, and I like Scotland. Have you need of a troubadour?”

  She smiled and reached for his slender hand. “I have need of a friend, which you have certainly proved yourself to be. I owe you much and this will be your home for as long as you like, Melior. You are well come. We have sorely missed your music.”

  Relief flooded his foxlike features as he bowed over her fingers. His thin lips brushed her knuckles in a manner that seemed a bit too familiar, but she knew it was only gratitude mixed with a bit of flattery. The well-traveled minstrel possessed a sly nature and kept an eye out for the main chance, but he knew his place well enough. Entertainers who reached above themselves, especially with a lady, did not survive two score years as this one had done.

  Honor understood Melior’s needs well enough to keep him faithful to her cause. So long as she paid him generously, both in coin and praise for his music, he would serve her without fail. If on
ly she could judge every man as neatly as she did this one, she would not need to fear.

  Her husband presented no challenge at all, though he believed himself cannier than most. Tavish desired her body and the wealth she had brought him. Honor thought those a fair trade for his name and protection.

  He swore he loved her, and she was inclined to believe that he did. She tried as best she could to return the feeling. Once she had even said the words to him and made them sound real. Though Tavish had been overjoyed by it, Honor felt a bit guilty. She had never employed a pretense of affection with any man. It seemed unfair now that she must pretend. She wanted to love him.

  Tavish’s devotion, real or otherwise, certainly sweetened the fact that she had followed him here from France and placed herself at his mercy apurpose.

  She had chosen Tavish Ellerby because he showed himself to be the exact opposite of her father and, not least, for the fact that he owned a secluded keep in the wild borderland of Scotland. To Honor’s relief, she had come to care for her husband in the two short months they had shared. She looked forward to his return from the war so that they might know each other better. Though quite new to this marriage business, Honor felt she could become an excellent wife, given time. Her words of love to him would be true soon enough, for Tavish was a lovable sort.

  For the first time ever, a man with the power to alter her life, willingly gave her some say in her future. He considered her as a real person with desires of her own. However, Tavish’s placid nature might not serve her so well once her father found them.