Contents
The Traveller
Lynn Kurland
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
The Minstrel
Patricia Potter
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Epilogue
The Bachelor Knight
Deborah Simmons
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
The Siege
Glynnis Campbell
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Epilogue
Chivalry at its finest...
“The Traveller”
By Lynn Kurland,
USA TODAY BESTSELLING AUTHOR OF MY HEART STOOD STILL
A bedraggled knight makes a solemn vow to protect, defend,
and rescue any and all maidens in distress—
even those from Manhattan...
“The Minstrel”
By Patricia Potter,
USA TODAY BESTSELLING AUTHOR OF THE PERFECT FAMILY
A vow to marry for love transforms a marquis into
a minstrel who must sing for his supper—
and for a woman whose heart is true...
“The Bachelor Knight”
By Deborah Simmons,
USA TODAY BESTSELLING AUTHOR OF MY LORD DEBURGH
A forgotten vow comes back to haunt
the greatest knight in all the land,
when a fair maiden asks for
hand in marriage...
“The Siege”
By Glynnis Campbell,
AUTHOR OF MY CHAMPION
Trapped underground with his unwilling betrothed,
a determined knight vows to free her—body and soul...
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
A KNIGHT'S VOW
A Jove Book / published by arrangement with the authors
PRINTING HISTORY
Jove edition / September 2001
All rights reserved.
Copyright © 2001 by Penguin Putnam Inc.
"The Traveller" copyright © 2001 by Lynn Curland.
"The Minstrel" copyright © 2001 by Patricia Potter.
"The Bachelor Knight" copyright © 2001 by Deborah Siegenthal.
"The Siege" copyright © 2001 by Glynnis Campbell.
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PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
The
Traveller
Lynn Kurland
Once upon a time there was a knight who made a vow, a solemn vow given with all his heart and soul to protect…
one
A nearly deserted chapel near the Scottish border, 1299
The air inside the small chapel was thick with portents, omens, and a goodly amount of dust. The latter caused the resident priest to double over with hacking that came close to rendering him quite unfit for his duties. He straightened finally with a great creaking noise, then coughed gingerly a time or two to test the workings of his frail frame. Finding it not unequal to his present business, he took a deep, wheezing breath and continued.
"Ah, let me think a moment," he said, scratching his stubbled cheek, "urn… a vow… ah, a solemn vow to protect—"
"Aye, aye," the knight standing before him said impatiently, picking a nit or two off his tabard and noting the threadbare patches. Damned seamstresses.
"And defend women of all stations—"
The knight grunted in grudging assent. All women save seamstresses, perhaps.
"And champion children—"
The knight turned a baleful eye on the nearest child he could see—his squire, no less—who was currently rummaging about behind the altar. The old priest was concentrating so hard on remembering what he was trying to say that he apparently didn't realize what mischief the boy was combining. The squire popped up from behind the stones with a triumphant smile, holding aloft a loaf of bread in one hand and a jug of drink in the other.
"Excuse me for but a moment, Father," the knight said politely. He strode around to relieve the lad of his burdens, then booted him strongly on the backside. The boy went scampering off with a curse. Not as foul a curse as it likely could have been, though. The lad had no illusions about not receiving his share of the spoils. He scuttled to the back of the crumbling chapel and huddled near the knight's gear. The knight tucked the bread under one arm, the bottle under the other and went to stand in front of the friar yet again.
"Now," he said shortly, "let us be about this sorry business. I've an assault to mount, and I need your blessing."
The priest chewed upon toothless gums. "Let us see, my lord," he said, fumbling nervously with his robes and apparently searching his aging mind for further promises to bind upon the hapless man before him. "Um… women… um… children… er—"
"Nuisances, both," the knight muttered.
"Hoisting of swords and such," the priest said, looking upward for a bit of inspiration.
"Aye, aye," the man said, wondering if hoisting his sword with a man of the cloth skewered thereon would count as a breach of the vow he was making. He forbore, however. He had need of whatever help he could obtain. His inheritance hung in the balance.
"Ah," the priest said suddenly, springing to life as if he'd been pierced by St. George's sainted blade itself. "Aye, one last thing is needful."
The knight felt himself chill at the sudden fire that burned brightly in the priest's eyes. He hardly dared speculate on what it might mean for him. Even so, he was no coward, so he pressed forward.
"And that would be?" the knight asked, steeling himself for the worst.
The priest's words spewed forth in a great rush. "The most important thing of all, something that no honorable knight would think to go into battle without, aye, likely the most fitting vow a man of a chivalrous nature would take upon himself…"
The knight flinched. The saints preserve him.
"A vow to protect—"
Never a pleasant word.
"Defend—"
Even worse.
"And rescue—"
The knight closed his eyes and began a prayer of his own.
"Any and all maidens in distress, but preferably a maiden in the greatest of distress…"
And then Sir William de Piaget, rebellious son of the useless, never-take-a-vow-upon-pain-of-death Hubert of Artane, grandson of the illustrious Phillip of Artane and great-grandson of the legendary Robin of Artane, knew he was in deep trouble, for no lad from Artane—save his sire, of course—had ever made a vow he hadn't kept. It would be as impossible for William to break his word as
it would be to take his own life.
But the thought of a possible maiden in distress, added to his other problems, was almost enough to induce him to consider both.
Once upon a time there was a knight who made a vow, a solemn vow given with all his heart and soul to protect women of all stations, champion children, defend and rescue any and all maidens in distress, but preferably one in the greatest of distress…
two
A deserted health-food store in Manhattan, June 2001
Julianna Nelson stared glumly at the selections facing her at the counter. What she wanted was a DoveBar with dark chocolate firmly encasing chocolate ice cream that would leave her twitching till about 2 A.M. But in her continuing and eternal quest to remove ten pounds from her thighs, she had decided that the pleasures of the cocoa bean were no longer hers.
Damn it anyway.
"I'll take the carob-covered raisins," she said with a sigh.
"Excellent choice," the salesgirl said. "I'll throw in a few carob-covered carrot slices as well. They're well chilled," she said with a bright smile. "You'll love 'em."
Julianna could imagine many things she might feel toward them, but she suspected love would not be on that list.
"Anything to drink?"
Julianna looked hopefully for some sort of cola dispenser, but she saw nothing but a blender and what looked remarkably like lawn clippings in the bowl next to it, so she shook her head no. Quickly. Before the girl decided to puree any of that grass into something resembling a beverage.
Julianna took her purchases, hoisted her bag onto her shoulder and shuffled gloomily toward an empty table near the window. Actually, all the tables were empty, but she hoped that at least there she might soak in a few UV rays to cheer herself up. She sat, tried a carrot, tried not to gag, and looked around for something to take her mind off what she was trying to ingest.
Ah, her mail. She'd grabbed it on her way out that morning for another ugly day of job hunting. She'd made it through two interviews before stopping for sustenance. Unfortunately, there wasn't much call for her kind of specialty in New York these days. Her prospects were grim and her savings account balance even grimmer. She'd have to do something, and soon, if she intended to eat again. It was tempting to indulge in a far-fetched wish that a knight in shining armor might come to rescue her from her plight. That was certainly more appealing than the alternatives.
Going home wasn't an option. She'd have to listen to her father lecture her on the idiocy of having gotten two advanced degrees in Ancient Languages while dabbling in cartooning and lapidary arts. She'd have to yet again explain her fascination with all things old, with things that made her laugh, and with sparkling things that went around her wrists and dangled from her ears—and why she had no desire to teach any of the above.
Her mother would look at her reproachfully and ask when she planned on settling down and producing a few grandchildren. Then she would face the inevitable comparisons between her and her sisters. No, home was not the place for her right now.
Siblings? Well, there was always her older sister's offer of a couch, but that came with let-me-set-you-up strings attached and Julianna didn't want to be set up. If she couldn't manage to land a decent job, how was she supposed to land a decent guy—even if he came as a fix-up? No, far better that she get her life together, then look for a man.
She could only hope that when she managed the former, she wouldn't be too old to attempt the latter.
She sighed, indulged in carob-covered raisins, and pulled out her mail. Bills, bills, and catalogs she could never afford to order from. She gathered up the lot to pitch in the trash when something slipped out, falling onto the table with a substantial plop. Julianna looked at the return address and blinked in surprise.
All right, so she wasn't completely surprised. The letter was from a college roommate she hadn't seen in years, but it was, after all, not entirely unsolicited. Julianna had written her old roommate in care of that roommate's publisher, but she'd only half expected a response. That she'd actually run across Elizabeth again was something of a miracle.
She'd been intending to use some scraped-together money for a nice, highbrow piece of ancient poetry when she'd seen a book just lying on a chair in her favorite bookstore. She'd picked it up and almost put it back down again. Romance wasn't her thing, but she'd flipped back to look at the author photo just to see what kind of yahoo wrote the stuff. Her surprise was complete when Elizabeth Smith's face stared back at her.
Elizabeth's bio had said she was married and living in Scotland. Julianna wasn't very good at keeping up with old friends, but she'd found herself turning over a new leaf. She had taken the plunge and written. It had seemed like a good thing to do at the time, though she hadn't really expected anything to come of it.
Now as she read her old friend's letter, she realized that maybe that small effort on her part might have been one of the best decisions she'd ever made.
There was the usual business about home and family (husband, son and another child on the way), and a dismissive line or two about what was apparently a very successful career. But it was the very last of the letter that had Julianna sitting up straighter in her chair.
You mentioned you were changing jobs. If you have some free time, why don't you come to Scotland? We have plenty of room in the keep, and you'd be amazed at what Jamie's land can do toward healing all sorts of hurts. You can stay as long as you like. Who knows, you might even find yourself never wanting to leave.
But I have to warn you now, you'll need to be careful where you go. I know you'll hare a hard time believing this, and I probably shouldn't be putting it in writing, but there are several places near our home that require care while roaming.
Julianna frowned. And just what was that supposed to mean? Would she be thrown in jail for trampling clumps of heather or annoying delicately constitutioned sheep?
You have to be careful in England, too, or so we've found. I'm sending you a map. If you come straight here and don't stray off the beaten path, you should be okay. In case you get lost, though, be careful. Like I said, you never know what kinds of unexpected travel you might be doing thanks to an innocent patch of grass.
Julianna flipped to the last page and looked at the map Elizabeth had drawn. She recognized England's shape. There were several Xs drawn here and there. Julianna peered more closely and saw that beside each was a little label written in Elizabeth's clear hand.
Chaucer's England.
Revolutionary France.
Trip to the Picts.
Julianna laughed. She couldn't help it. Either Elizabeth was trying to cheer her up with a little make-believe, or she had smelled too much pure air and lost her mind. Julianna suspected that perhaps it was the former. Elizabeth had always been able to make her laugh, had always thought Julianna's forays into cartoonland were brilliant and had worn every piece of jewelry Julianna had made her—even when the metal had been of considerably iffy quality.
And now an invitation to visit. Julianna looked out the window and felt a strange hope begin to bloom in her heart. Scotland in the spring. Could there be a more lovely place to try to right what was wrong in her heart? She mentally counted the meager contents of her savings account. If she found a cheap fare, didn't eat much en route (or afterward), and mooched off Elizabeth while she was there, she might ac-tually manage it. Besides, who knew what kind of contacts she might make? Maybe she'd ran into someone who had a need for a little Old English translation, or help with his Anglo-Saxon, or had some Roman inscriptions he was just dying to learn to read. She had skills. She was just trying to use them in the wrong place.
Julianna folded the letter up and had almost tucked it away in her purse when she noticed a very small postscript.
By the way, watch out for Gramercy Park as well. That place is a minefield. Fell asleep on a bench there once and wound up practically on another planet. Love, E.
Julianna revisited her earlier opinion of her friend's mental
state. It was obvious Elizabeth had lost her mind and was now mixing fantasy with reality. The book Elizabeth had written had been a time-travel where the heroine had fallen asleep on a park bench and woken up in medieval Scotland, but that had been pure fiction as far as Julianna had been concerned. Obviously, Elizabeth was starting to take herself way too seriously.
Well, the very least she could do as a friend was to hurry over and bring the girl to her senses. Surely she could deplete the rest of her meager funds on such a mission of mercy and not feel guilty about it.
Julianna shoved her carob delights into her high-capacity black shoulder bag, hoisted it and left the shop. Too bad such Gramercy-Park transporting wasn't possible. It would have saved on plane fare.
She paused outside Rockefeller Center and contemplated her next two appointments with placement agencies.
A dead-end job or a trip to Gramercy Park?
A painful afternoon trying to justify her skills, or an afternoon in the sunshine on a park bench, willing herself across the ocean?
It took her all of two minutes to decide before she turned and jaywalked across the street—communicating to the angry cabbies in the multilingual hand gestures all true New Yorkers instinctively knew—then stopped in at Godiva's to charge a very expensive box of assorted truffles. That necessity seen to, she then headed toward the subway that would drop her near Gramercy Park. What the hell. If she was going to lose her mind, her savings and all possibilities of food and rent money in one afternoon, she might as well be fat, happy and relaxed while she did it.
Once she'd reached the park, she concentrated on finding a likely bench. All were occupied with various sorts of people she had no desire to get to know better.
And then she came upon The Bench.