Margaret Moore - Knave's Honour

Praise for USA TODAY bestselling author Margaret Moore

‘The story is fresh, fun, fast-paced, engaging, and passionate, with an added touch of adventure.’

— The Romance Readers Connection on THE NOTORIOUS KNIGHT

‘… filled with fast-paced dialogue and historical details that add depth and authenticity to the story. Readers will be well entertained.’

— RT Book Reviews on MY LORD’S DESIRE

‘Readers continue to ask for “Moore.” Her latest book is a sparkling, dynamic tale of two lonely hearts who find each other despite their pasts and the evil forces surrounding them.’

— RT Book Reviews on HERS TO DESIRE

‘Colourful and compelling details of life in the Middle Ages abound.’

— Publishers Weekly on HERS TO COMMAND

‘A lively adventure with enough tension and romance to keep me turning pages.’—International bestselling author Roberta Gellis on HERS TO COMMAND

‘This captivating adventure of thirteenth-century Scotland kept me enthralled from beginning to end. It’s a keeper!’

— Romance Junkies on BRIDE OF LOCHBARR

‘Margaret Moore is a master storyteller who has the uncanny ability to develop new twists on old themes.’

— Affaire de Coeur

‘When it comes to excellence in historical romance books, no one provides the audience with more than the award-winning Ms Moore.’

— Under the Covers

She’d had no idea a kiss could make her wish that he’d pick her up and carry her somewhere, anywhere, where they could be alone …

Overwhelmed by desire, she ran her hands up Finn’s back, pressing her body against his. She recalled how he’d saved her from Lindall and those others. How kind he’d been to Keldra and Garreth, and how marvellous he looked …

Someone cleared a throat, and she abruptly remembered where she was, and that she had a part to play, too, as Finn did—and this kiss must be no more than a part of their ruse.

Award-winning author MARGARET MOOREbegan her career at the age of eight, when she and a friend concocted stories featuring a lovely damsel and a handsome, misunderstood thief nicknamed ‘The Red Sheik’. Unknowingly pursuing her destiny, Margaret graduated with distinction from the University of Toronto, Canada. She has been a Leading Wren in the Royal Canadian Naval Reserve, an award-winning public speaker, a member of an archery team, and a student of fencing and ballroom dancing. She has also worked for every major department store chain in Canada.

Margaret lives in Toronto, Ontario, with her husband of over twenty-five years. Her two children have grown up understanding that it’s part of their mother’s job to discuss non-existent people and their problems. When not writing, Margaret updates her blog and website at www.margaretmoore.com

KNAVE’S HONOUR

Margaret Moore

www.millsandboon.co.uk

With many thanks to Karen Solem and Donna Warren for their calm guidance and sage advice.

The Midlands, 1204

“I FEARED I’D GO MAD if I had to sit in that wagon another moment,” Lady Elizabeth of Averette declared as she lifted the skirts of her blue woolen traveling gown and delicately picked her way toward the mossy bank of the swift-moving stream.

“Don’t you think we ought to stay with the men?” her maidservant asked, anxiously glancing back toward the escort of mail-clad soldiers who had dismounted nearby.

As such men were wont to do, they joked and cursed among themselves while they led their horses to drink or let them eat the plentiful grass by the side of the road. Some of them took out heels of bread from their packs or downed a sip of ale. The leader of the cortege, Iain Mac Kendren, did neither. He stood with feet planted and arms akimbo as if he were a statue, only his turning head giving any hint that he was alive and keeping watch.

“Last night I heard the innkeeper talking about a thief who sets upon travelers hereabouts,” Keldra said, breathless with a fearful excitement. “A huge fellow, fierce and terrible!”

Lizette, as she was known to her sisters and the people of Averette, gave Keldra a sympathetic smile. Keldra was only fifteen, and not used to travel. It was no wonder every tale of every thief, no matter how bizarre or exaggerated, frightened her. “According to a serving wench, he’s a very handsome thief. She also says he won’t rob a woman if she’ll give him a kiss, which sounds like something out of a minstrel’s song to me. Whatever this thief may be like, though, we have fifty men to guard us, and Iain Mac Kendren, too, so I’m sure we’ll be quite safe.”

“I hope so!” Keldra whispered, as if she feared the thief might be listening.

Smiling and very glad to be out of the stuffy confines of the wagon, Lizette removed her silver coronet and silken veil, then crouched down on the bank of the stream. “As long as he takes a kiss instead of my clothes or jewelry, I might even enjoy meeting this thief.”

“Oh, my lady, you wouldn’t!” Keldra exclaimed, scandalized—which showed how little she really knew her mistress.

Lizette cupped some clear, cold water in her hands and lifted it to her lips before she answered. “Wouldn’t you be willing to kiss a handsome rogue?”

“Not if he’s an outlaw!”

“I’d rather kiss a handsome outlaw than some courtier who may then assume I want to marry him,” Lizette said as she rose.

Men she might—and did—appreciate. She enjoyed their company and the teasing banter of flirtation. She envied them their easy camaraderie, although not as much as she envied them their freedom.

Marriage, however, was something else entirely. Most women might find those bonds a form of security, but after witnessing what passed for marriage between her parents, Elizabeth of Averette did not.

“I don’t have any jewels, my lady,” Keldra pointed out as she, too, bent down to drink. “He might make me kiss him!”

“Being kissed against one’s will is rather unpleasant,” Lizette conceded, as she had cause to know. More than one eager suitor who’d come to Averette seeking a wealthy bride had been swift to try seduction of the lord’s youngest, and presumably most innocent, daughter as a means to that end.

“I wouldn’t really want to meet a thief, of course,” she admitted, listening to the birds sing as if they hadn’t a care in the world. “It would be frightening.”

Like the time that drunken nobleman had cornered her in the chapel and no amount of gentle admonition would persuade him to let her go, until she’d finally promised to meet him later in a more secluded place. Her older sister had gone in her stead, and while Adelaide never revealed precisely what had transpired, Lord Smurton and his entourage had departed the next day at first light without even a farewell to his host.

“Oh, my lady!”

Lizette raised her eyes at the sound of Keldra’s cry and found her maid pointing at the middle of the stream—where her new silk veil was floating away on the water.

With a curse, Lizette hiked up her skirts and immediately gave chase along the slippery bank. She didn’t dare run because the rocks were too slick, but she had to get her veil. Iain would no doubt say she deserved to lose it if she was so careless and he’d probably never let her out of his sight for the rest of the journey home.