Madeline Hunter - Regency Post Regency 06 - Lord Of A Thousand Nights.pdf - English books - link999

LORD OF A THOUSAND

NIGHTS

MADELINE HUNTER

A Bantam Book

PUBLISHING HISTORY

A Bantam Book / January 2002

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or

mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system,

without permission in writing from the publisher. For information address: Bantam Books.

If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was

reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher and neither the author nor the publisher has received

any payment for this “stripped book.”

ISBN 0-553-58355-7

Published simultaneously in the United States and Canada

Bantam Books are published by Bantam Books, a division of Random House, Inc. Its trademark,

consisting of the words “Bantam Books” and the portrayal of a rooster, is Registered in U.S. Patent and

Trademark Office and in other countries. Marca Registrada. Bantam Books, 1540 Broadway, New

York, New York 10036.

For Thomas and Joseph, whose smiles mean more to me than any words.

MAIN CHARACTERS

Scottish

Maccus Armstrong: Scottish Lord of Clivedale; he took Harclow from Morvan Fitzwaryn’s father

James Armstrong: Maccus’s dead son

Thomas Armstrong: Maccus’s nephew Margery: Thomas’s wife

Andrew Armstrong: Kinsman to Maccus, and the steward of Black Lyne Keep

Robert of Kelso: A knight in service to Maccus, and the lord of Black Lyne Keep

Reyna Graham: Robert of Kelso’s widow

Duncan Graham: Reyna’s father

Aymer Graham: Reyna’s half-brother

Alice: The cook at Black Lyne Keep

Sir Reginald: One of Robert of Kelso’s knights

Sir Edmund: Reginald’s brother, and a Hospitallar

English

Morvan Fitzwaryn: English knight and dispossessed heir of Harclow

Ian of Guilford: A knight in Morvan’s service

Anna de Leon: Morvan’s wife

Christiana Fitzwaryn: Morvan’s sister

David de Abyndon: Christiana’s husband

Gregory: An archer in Morvan’s service

John: Ian’s squire

Chapter One

The Scottish Border 1357

“Be sure he drinks the wine before he gets your clothes off.” The instruction was merely the last in a

litany of warnings that Reyna had heard as she sightlessly felt her way along the cavernous tunnel.

She squeezed the thick hand of the motherly woman who accompanied her. “I will be sure to do it as

planned, Alice. They appear a coarse lot, and this siege must be boring. He should be glad for the

diversion.”

“There’s only one diversion most men are interested in, child. That is the danger, isn’t it?”

“Do not worry so.”

The total darkness in the tunnel terrified Reyna, so she moved quickly, one hand securely in Alice’s and

the other on the wall.

Sounds resonated through the stone beneath her palm. Sappers dug their own tunnel not far from this

one. Over the months, she had come to this hidden exit, torch in hand, and listened, judging their

progress. She hadn’t worried at first, because surely help must come before they completed their work.

It wasn’t a large army that surrounded the tower house, and a small force from either Harclow or

Clivedale could easily lift the siege. But no relief had arrived, and now the sappers were within days of

reaching the surrounding wall. Even more worrisome had been the second excavation progressing on the

southern side of the fortress.

They reached a sharp jog to the right. A sliver of light flooded through the narrow entrance carved

behind an obscuring rock formation. Thick brush further hid the entrance from view, and only someone

carefully examining the entire terrain had any chance of finding it. This army had not done so thus far, and

Reyna smiled at the irony of all of that digging when the postern entrance stood just feet away.

“You will know by morning if I have succeeded, Alice. Watch from the tower and alert Sir Thomas and

Reginald.” Reyna took the basket that Alice carried, and tried to sound brave and calm. “I will go to my

mother first, and then to Edinburgh. I will let you know when I am safe there, and you can join me.”

Alice hugged her. “It is a brave but rash plan that you have, child. Sir Robert would not have approved if

he were alive.”

“If Robert were alive, I would not have to do it.” The older woman nodded in resignation. “God go with

you, then.”

Reyna pushed through the entrance and stood within the obscuring brush. Fifty yards away lay the

camps that ringed the tower house. It was not a big army, but large enough to ensure that no one left and

no provisions arrived. There had been no assaults, no wall scaling, no war machines hurling fire and

stones. Nor had there been any negotiations. Just two months of relentless siege.

Men moved around the camp, their motions lazy in the summer heat. They didn’t wear many clothes,

and their bodies had browned in the sun. A few had adopted the cooler kilts of the Scots. But these men

were not Scots.

English, she thought with disgust, and the notion gave her renewed resolve. The English had been the

monsters of her childhood and the enemies of her youth. Their Scottish king may have accepted defeat

by King Edward of England ten years ago, but no Scot, especially those on the borders of Cumbria and

Northumberland, readily submitted to the authority that the English claimed.

She knew all about English soldiers, and what would happen if their sappers succeeded in breaching the

walls. Descriptions of English atrocities had been repeated for generations. She forced herself to picture

people she knew being butchered and tortured, and she sought strength in those horrible images. It was

not in her nature to do what she planned now, but she saw no alternative. Hopefully God would aid her,

and then forgive her.

She darted out of the brush and walked at an angle until she would appear to have arrived off one of the

northern paths.

The men examined her, assessing the meaning of her unbound hair and silk gown. She marched on,

circling around to the western camp and the large tent in its center. When it came in sight, she slowed.

Once she entered, there would be no turning back.

A lewd whistle caught her attention. Two knights grinned at each other and began walking toward her,

making obscene sounds with their mouths, taunting her.

Her skin prickled, and she ran the last few yards to the large tent with green-and-white pennants.

A squire sat by the entrance cleaning weapons. He looked up, startled, as she bore down on him, swept

past, and plunged through the flap. She prayed that the man she sought was within, and that these others

would not follow. Then again, for all she knew, he might simply shrug and let them carry her away.

The white canvas created a diffused, soft light, and it took her a moment to adjust her eyes. She looked

around at the simple cot and table and chest that the tent contained. Polished armor glowed on the

ground a few steps from her. Not a sound filled the space.

And then a shadow moved. A man rose from the stool where he had been sitting with his back propped

against the tent’s central supporting pole.

“What are you doing here?” he asked sharply. She just stared.

She had watched this man from the top reaches of the tower house. He was taller than most, but when

everyone is just a speck that doesn’t count for much. However, she was shorter than most, and the

marked difference in their sizes suddenly made her acutely aware of her vulnerability.

What she hadn’t seen from the tower was just how handsome he was. Thick lashes softened and framed

dark, brooding eyes that looked like liquid smudges in this light. Sharp bones defined his cheeks and jaw.

A wide, straight, slightly full mouth compelled her attention. Dark hair hung to his shoulders, bound by a

sweat cloth twisted and tied around his forehead.

He wore only a pair of loose peasant chausses, cut off above the knees. Those legs were well formed,

all slender muscles and tight lines. The same athletic leanness shaped his broad shoulders and sculpted

chest. With his primitive garment, he reminded her of the ancient warriors she had read about in Robert’s

books. He was the enemy, but her breath caught all the same.

Magnificent. Stunning.

Too bad she had to kill him.

He walked toward her. He gave her gown and hair and tinted cheeks a cool appraisal while he pulled

the sweat band from his forehead and ran a strong hand through his hair. She hoped that he couldn’t see

her blush, because the woman she was today would never be disconcerted by a man’s examination, no

matter how handsome he might be.

His expression lightened, and he raised one speculative eyebrow. He had figured out the only part he

needed to know.

He smiled.

Dear lord, what a smile. Close-lipped, straight, the edges barely lifting at the corners. Utterly charming,

subtly suggestive, vaguely sardonic. It formed alluring little creases on either side of his mouth. It

transformed the handsome face and fathomless eyes from distant and brooding to sensual and friendly.

But she saw something else as he looked down at her. She saw it in the casual stance of his body and

the glint in his eyes and even in the smile itself. Conceit. Arrogance. Pride. Insufferable self-confidence.

She read his awareness of the effect his face and body had on her. On all women.

She had met such men before. Her father’s household had been full of them. Perhaps she wouldn’t mind

killing him so much after all.

“What are you doing here?” he repeated.

She gathered her wits. “I was called by the town of Bewton. The town sent to Glasgow to hire me. The

townspeople wanted to be sure that their gift would please you, Sir Morvan.”

“Gift? Are you saying that the town bought a whore—”

“I am Melissa, a courtesan,” she said peevishly. “I assure you I am no whore. That is why I am here.

The town did not trust their bawds with such a duty.”

“And what is the purpose of this gift?”

“They hope that, if you are well pleased, you will spare the town and restrain your army.”

“And you have come to persuade me of this?” He stepped around her, examining her like an animal for

purchase. She half expected him to yawn and announce that she wouldn’t do at all. “The knight who

gives such an order to his men would have to be very pleased indeed. What is the good of conquering if

there are no spoils?”

“The town will pay tribute. There will be spoils enough. It is the barbaric looting and rape that they wish

to avoid.”

He reached out and stroked her hair, lifting a section, letting his gaze and fingers run along its

considerable length. “What did you say your name is?”

“Melissa. You may not have heard of me, but I was trained by the famous Dionysia.”

“You don’t look like a courtesan to me, Melissa. I had always assumed that they were voluptuous

women. You appear too puny and scrawny for it. Lovely hair, though. An unusual color. Very pale, like

spun moonlight.” He still held the end of the long strand of hair, and it hung between them like a strip of

silk.

“What you call puny and scrawny, great lords consider diminutive and delicate, Sir Morvan. Besides, a

courtesan’s skills make such details insignificant. However, it is clear that you are base in your

preferences. I will return and tell the town elders that they miscalculated.”

“Nay. It was a brilliant strategy. There is just one problem with it, and it is not your size.” He still

fingered her hair. “I am not Sir Morvan.”

“But this is the largest tent, in the center of the camp. I was told that this army belongs to Morvan

Fitzwaryn.”

“It does at that, but I command here. Morvan is occupied elsewhere. The main army is at Harclow.”

Madeline Hunter - Regency Post Regency 06 - Lord Of A Thousand Nights.pdf

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