In The King's Service. Margaret Moore
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“Far be it from me to disappoint a lady—in anything.”
He strode toward her, reached out, took her hand and lifted it to his lips. He pressed a gentle kiss upon her knuckles, then raised his eyes to regard her. “You, my lady, are the most surprising young woman I have ever met.”
Her cheeks flushing, she tugged her hand away. “Hardly a compliment, sir knight. I’m not impressed.”
He lifted the corners of his mouth in the sort of lazy smile he gave a woman after they had made love. “I assure you, a man likes to be surprised by a woman, and a truly surprising woman is a very rare creature.”
For the briefest of moments her eyes widened with shock, and he wanted to shout with triumph.
But then her eyes flashed with scornful fire. “Creatures?” she demanded. “Is that what women are to you—creatures?”
In the King’s Service
Harlequin Historical #675
Praise for USA TODAY bestselling author MARGARET MOORE’S titles
The Overlord’s Bride
“Ms. Moore is a master of the medieval time period.”
—Romantic Times
The Duke’s Desire
“This novel is in true Moore style—sweet, poignant and funny.”
—Halifax Chronicle-Herald
A Warrior’s Kiss
“Margaret Moore remains consistently innovative, matching an ending of romantic perfection to the rest of this highly entertaining read.”
—Romantic Times
In the King’s Service
Margaret Moore
With many thanks to the astute and delightful Melissa Endlich.
Contents
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 One
Sir Blaidd Morgan, knight of the realm, trusted friend of Henry III, champion of tournaments and reputedly able to whisper a woman into his bed, drew his horse to a halt and wiped his nose with the back of his gloved hand. Water dripped from the soaked hood of his woolen cloak, and his boots were spattered with mud. The scent of damp leaves arose from the wood on his left; on his right, some cows stood in a meadow beneath the shelter of an oak, looking as miserable as he felt. At least now, through the teeming downpour, he could make out a village and a castle just beyond.
“That has to be Throckton Castle, thank God,” he said to his equally drenched squire. “I was beginning to fear that we’d taken the wrong fork a few miles back and would have to bed down in the forest for the night.”
His squire pulled the hood of his cloak farther over his head. “I thought you Welsh were used to the rain.”
“Used to it, aye, Trev, I am, and because of your father’s ideas about training, too. But that doesn’t mean I like it.”
Blaidd and Trevelyan Fitzroy’s fathers were old friends, and Trev’s father, Sir Urien, had trained Blaidd in the arts of war, which included drilling in all kinds of weather.
Sixteen-year-old Trev nodded at the fortress looming in the distance. “I thought Lord Throckton wasn’t an important man, but that’s quite a castle.”
“It’s more impressive than I thought it would be, too,” Blaidd confessed.
On closer inspection—or as close as one could get from this vantage point through the rain—it seemed a massive creation, with inner and outer walls, an impressive gatehouse and a large keep in the center. Blaidd hadn’t seen many castles to rival it, and he wondered if King Henry would be equally as surprised to learn the extent of Lord Throckton’s fortifications, or if he already knew. That might explain the king’s suspicions.
“Not every important man goes to court,” Blaidd noted as he nudged his black gelding, Aderyn Du, to a walk. “Our fathers don’t. It’s likely to have some comfortable accommodation, though, thank God.”
“Do you think Lady Laelia will be as beautiful as they say?” Trev asked.
Blaidd gave his companion a brotherly grin. “Probably not, but there’s no harm in looking.”
“We’ve come all this way because you only want to look?” Trev asked, incredulous.
Blaidd wasn’t about to share the real reason Henry had sent him, so he grinned wider. “What else should a chivalrous knight do but look? I’ve heard enough tales of Lady Laelia’s beauty that I decided it was worth a journey to see if they were true. My mother is truly starting to despair that I’ll never find a wife and settle down.”
“So if Lady Laelia’s as beautiful as they say, you’ll marry her?”
Blaidd’s deep bass laughter sounded above the rain and the squelching of the mud beneath their horses’ hooves. “Beauty’s not the only thing a man should think about when it comes to marriage.”
“I suppose not,” Trev replied dubiously.
“Definitely not.”
“So you’ve thought about it before, then?”
Aderyn Du skirted a large puddle in the middle of the rutted road. “Aye, of course,” Blaidd said. “But I’ve never found the right woman.”
“Is that why you’ve been with so many?”
Blaidd slid the youth a wry look. “I haven’t been with that many. I’ll not deny I like women’s company, but I’m not quite the amazing lover gossip paints me.”
“But Gervais says—”
“Your brother has no more knowledge of what I do with my nights than you do.”
A more subdued Trev remained silent as they rode across a stone bridge leading into the village. Blaidd was rather glad of that. He didn’t enjoy discussing his relationships with women with anyone, let alone a sixteen-year-old.
Because of the rain and the spring runoff, the river was high, the water frothing and splashing as it hit the bridge’s foundations. This bridge was a finer piece of engineering than Blaidd had expected to find in a place this far to the north and west of London, too.
Mercifully, the rain began to abate and he could better note the state of the village. It was comprised of several cottages of wattle and daub and thatch. Shops and stalls, many with living quarters above, lined the green.
He’d seen villages in worse repair, but he’d seen plenty better,