Knights of de Ware 01 - My Champion Read online

  Table of Contents

  Sealed with a Kiss…

  Copyright

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  EPILOGUE

  Excerpt from MY WARRIOR

  About The Author

  Sealed with a Kiss…

  He lifted one hand to tangle it in her hair.

  “Stay away from me, you…you cur!” she cried. “I am a de Mont—“

  The beggar’s lips came down on hers before she could finish. His kiss was deep, demanding, and his chin rough and foreign against her cheek. For a moment she was too stunned to resist. Then her head cleared, and she began to struggle in his confining embrace. She tried to scream, but his mouth cut off the sound. This couldn’t be happening, she thought distantly.

  Not with a peasant.

  Not her first kiss.

  She pushed against the firm wall of his chest and tried to twist in his arms, but he held her fast. The kiss seemed to last forever. To her growing dismay, her breath quickened, and her heart began to beat erratically against her throat at the place where his thumb rested. Then, all at once, he pulled back. For one instant, as she looked up into his smoky eyes, he looked as dazed as she felt.

  Nominated for RITA Best First Book Award

  “Sparkles with humor, vivid imagery, and charming characters. A delightful book!”

  —Katherine Sutcliffe

  “Glynnis Campbell is a gifted new voice, and My Champion is a breathtaking story!”

  —Tanya Anne Crosby

  “From the first vivid word, Glynnis Campbell immerses the reader deep in medieval England, creating characters rich with texture and emotion…vibrant.”

  —Amy J. Fetzer

  “Ms. Campbell’s debut novel propels readers into the fourteenth century with vivid descriptions and details of the life of the commoner. The nonstop action, strong plot, and fascinating characters draw you deeply into the story. As the first in a trilogy about the de Ware brothers, My Champion will have readers clamoring for more.”

  —Romantic Times

  “Well-written, with a fine sense of detail, My Champion is a sexy, lighthearted romp of a story.”

  —Rexanne Becnel

  MY CHAMPION

  Glynnis Campbell

  Other books by Glynnis Campbell:

  My Warrior

  My Hero

  Lady Danger (writing as Sarah McKerrigan)

  Captive Heart (writing as Sarah McKerrigan)

  Knight’s Prize (writing as Sarah McKerrigan)

  Danger’s Kiss (writing as Sarah McKerrigan)

  Captured by Desire (writing as Kira Morgan)

  Seduced by Destiny (writing as Kira Morgan)

  Passion’s Exile

  Copyright

  This work is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Copyright © 2000 by Glynnis Campbell

  E-book Copyright © 2012 by Glynnis Campbell

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review.

  Book design and illustration by Richard Campbell

  Glynnis Campbell – Publisher

  P. O. Box 341144

  Arleta, California 91331

  Contact:[email protected]

  For Blake, who opened the door,

  Lynette, who pushed me through it,

  and Richard, who held it wide

  Acknowledgments

  With special thanks

  To two of the loveliest ladies

  in the world,

  Helen and Cindy,

  And my sisters at OCC/RWA

  PROLOGUE

  SUMMER 1318

  “But before young Perceval left his home to seek King Arthur, his mother said to him, ‘There are three things you must remember if you’re to be a proper knight.’”

  Lady Alyce had the boys’ attention now. The three of them hung on her every word as they sat at her feet, listening to the tale of Sir Perceval. At their age, there was nothing they wanted more than to be knights. After all, it was the de Ware legacy. Their family was rich with great warriors and high adventure.

  “I wonder,” she mused, eyeing the lads in turn, “if you can guess what those three things are.”

  Garth, the youngest and her only son by birth, screwed up his four-year-old brow and narrowed his gray-green eyes. “Wash your stockings before the Sabbath.”

  Holden, the middle boy, snickered, earning an elbow in the ribs from his scowling older brother.

  Lady Alyce bit her lip, determined not to laugh. “Well, aye, Garth, that is very important. Can you think of anything else?”

  All three frowned then, their bright little minds busy. Deep in thought, they didn’t hear their father come in. Lord James leaned against the doorway with his arms folded and his eyes twinkling. He flashed Alyce that smile that always set her heart a-flutter and made her grateful that she’d been able to ease the pain of his first wife’s death, that the handsome Wolf de Ware had married her.

  She would have welcomed him to sit on the bench beside her, but he cautioned her to silence, content to listen to his sons in secret.

  Holden was the first to look up at her. “I know.”

  She smiled wistfully back. The path of life wouldn’t be easy for Holden. His mother had died giving birth to him. His past was stained, and his future was uncertain. Duncan, as the oldest, would inherit de Ware Castle. Her youngest, Garth, would likely pursue the clergy. Middle sons like Holden had nothing handed to them. Everything they gained they earned. But if anyone could fight his way to the top, it was Holden, with his wild ways and those stormy green eyes that could glare down the most formidable foe.

  “A knight must protect ladies…” he said.

  “Exactly right!” Lady Alyce sang, delighted.

  “Because the silly wenches haven’t got the slightest idea of how to wield a sword or ride a horse or—“

  “Holden!” she interrupted with a scolding shake of her head. “Aye, a knight must protect ladies. What else?”

  Garth squirmed and glanced at his older siblings, clearly reluctant to make any more mistakes. He so admired his half-brothers, and Alyce dreaded the time when he might be compared less than favorably to them. Duncan and Holden had inherited their father’s stature and striking looks, and already they demonstrated prowess with wooden swords. But Garth was a beautiful child in his own right, possessing his unique strength by way of intelligence and a depth of character unusual in one so young.

  “A knight must…” he began tentatively.

  “Go on.”

  “A knight must obey God.”

  “Excellent!” She clapped her hands together. “A knight must always keep the Holy Church in his heart. Ah, what brilliant lads you are.”

  They all turned to Duncan then. Clearly, a burden l
ay on the oldest sibling’s shoulders. He was a handsome youth of eight years, with his father’s raven-black hair and eyes as bright as sapphires. His charming wit and natural warmth made him fast friends with everyone. But sometimes Alyce fretted that he might never adapt his dreamy idealism to the harsh realities of the world.

  “Hmm, a knight…must…” Duncan’s lips slowly curved into a mirror image of his father’s smile, and the spark in his eyes told her he was up to some mischief.

  He cleared his throat and began very dramatically. “A knight must vanquish dragons and save damsels in distress…”

  Holden smirked, and Garth giggled. They instantly recognized the meter of the verses Duncan was always inventing.

  “And kiss his lady’s hand…” The boys cringed in revulsion. “And let his father win at chess!”

  His brothers tumbled with laughter now, and even Alyce had to grin.

  Then Duncan’s eyes gentled into the serious gaze he would retain as a young man, and he continued thoughtfully. “A knight must save his fellow man from pain and poverty, for a noble knight, in thought and deed, a champion must be.”

  Alyce and the boys cheered and applauded his clever verse. But beyond them, Alyce caught a glimpse of her husband, still standing in the doorway, his arms now unfolded, his smile gone. He stood tall and silent, and for a moment, she worried that James didn’t approve of his son’s levity. But then she noticed the trembling of his chin, the mistiness of his eyes. Bless him, he wasn’t angry. He was proud, proud as a father could be, of the little wolf cubs they’d reared together.

  She gave him her own watery smile. Sooner than they imagined, the boys would be grown, with ladies and children and homes of their own. They’d live and love and hurt and mend and wind their way down life’s path as young men with promise in their eyes, fire in their veins, and love in their hearts. And she couldn’t help but wonder what fine adventures the future held for the Wolves de Ware…

  CHAPTER 1

  Duncan de Ware took a refreshing breath of cool, salty air and glanced toward the sea, over the heads of the people who schooled like herring at the Dorwich dock. The crowd didn’t bother him. In fact, he liked the lively chaos.

  Sailors swarmed down the gangplanks of grand vessels. Little boys darted past him toward the crates of newly arrived goods, guessing excitedly at their contents. Cats roamed the walkways for discarded bits of fish. At the farthest edge of the pier, merchants flung orders like gauntlets, daring the dockworkers to let harm come to their precious wares.

  A number of foreign merchants had arrived by ship to sell their goods at the spring fair and perhaps continue west to London. Among the throng were serfs of Duncan’s father, earning a spare coin here and there by selling their home-brewed ale or freshly dug leeks to the hungry travelers. But a few of those strolling along the wharf were knaves, and a few were troublemakers, like the brash guildswoman for whom Duncan and his three companions kept watch.

  Some foolhardy wench had filed and won letters of marque from the king. Since she’d had goods stolen from her by the Spanish, the letters granted her the right to collect compensation from any Spanish ship in port. Consequently, early this morn, the panicked harbormaster had sent word to Lord James that trouble was brewing at the dock, trouble that required a man skilled with a sword. Duncan had naturally obliged.

  Letters of marque were a messy affair. No ship’s captain liked to be held responsible for the underhanded business practices of his countrymen simply because they sailed under the same flag. And if this guildswoman had an ounce of sense, she’d hike up her skirts and run for the hills when she saw which captain she was about to engage.

  “You’re certain the harbormaster said ‘letters of marque’?” muttered Robert, Duncan’s oldest friend and constant companion. He nodded toward an unsavory bunch of recent arrivals. “Not something else? Perhaps ‘debtors disembark’?”

  Duncan smirked. He stared past the hordes of milling strangers toward the moored vessels that creaked slowly on the gentle current like complaining old women. Then he saw it, just as the harbormaster had said—the Corona Negra, the ship of the infamous El Gallo, its Spanish flag flapping in the breeze. And swaggering along the dock was the unmistakable villain himself.

  Duncan’s brother Holden stiffened. “Filthy bastards,” he growled, his emerald eyes darkening. Holden had a history with another Spaniard of ill repute, a vicious woman-killer. And while Duncan couldn’t condone his brother’s blind hatred of all things Spanish, he could understand it.

  “By the Saints,” Robert said, his voice thick with sarcasm, “I believe the lad’s grown since the last time we saw him.”

  El Gallo was roughly the size of a young elephant. And he had a temper to match. It was rumored that the sea captain had once torn a servant limb from limb for being late with his supper. No one with an ounce of common sense would pass within arm’s reach of the hotheaded Spaniard.

  Until now.

  While Duncan watched in amazement, a little bit of a wench stepped out of the crowd and planted herself brazenly before the beast, standing toe-to-toe with El Gallo like a tiny David facing Goliath.

  Duncan’s half-brother Garth whispered a prayer of disbelief. “Dear God.”

  The woman turned toward them only briefly, but in that instant her image was impressed indelibly upon Duncan’s mind.

  Never before had he glimpsed such rare beauty. She must have fallen from heaven. That was the only explanation for such translucent, ethereal skin. Her face, framed by a ruffled veil of ivory silk and a halo of gold, was all cream and roses, surely too delicate to endure the harsh climes of this world. Her lips looked soft and vulnerable, as if she dined on nothing heavier than spun sugar, and her eyes were as wide and innocent as a fawn’s.

  She was small, no bigger than a child, and yet the jade-colored kirtle embracing her body left no doubt that she possessed the curves of a young woman. Nay, not a woman, he decided—an angel.

  Only this angel was about to confront the devil himself, El Gallo, the most notorious reiver on the high seas.

  “If he touches one hair on her head…” Holden challenged.

  “God save her,” Garth petitioned.

  “She needs my help,” Duncan decided, starting forward.

  Robert stopped him, gripping his forearm. “Lads, lads,” he chided, “the maid can take care of herself. Look. She has the letters of marque with her.”

  The angel clutched a sealed parchment in her small fist. But that didn’t stop her from looking like a cornered field mouse trembling before the corpulent El Gallo.

  A breeze suddenly whipped mischief along the ocean’s edge. It fluttered the angel’s skirts and snatched the veil from her head, startling her and nearly stealing her precious document. The girl made a wild grab for the veil, but the winds had their way with it. It promptly sailed off the dock and into the water, where the greedy sea swallowed it whole.

  Her shoulders slumped infinitesimally, and she ran a slender hand through her unbound hair, which had spilled free like honey from a crushed comb.

  Duncan let the breath whistle out between his teeth. Her hair was utterly divine. There were long, golden masses of it, all silky and luminous, the color of ripe wheat shining in the afternoon sun and moonlight reflected in a still pool. It cascaded over her shoulders and down her back like a melting halo. He could almost imagine how the shimmering tresses would feel entwined around his fingers.

  Then he frowned. The angel had lost her veil. She could just as easily lose her head. “She’s mad.”

  “Utterly,” Holden agreed.

  “Remarkable,” Robert declared. “She’s the first woman I’ve seen with the mettle to stand up to these despicable reivers. The king obviously supports her claim,” he said in admiration, “and it looks like she’s about to collect what’s owed to her.”

  Duncan lowered his brows. “More than what’s owed to her, if it’s from El Gallo.” He pursed his lips thoughtfully. “Mettle or not, lads,
I suggest we make our presence known until this business is settled.”

  His men fanned out among the crowd, finding vantage points where they could see and be seen in their recognizable de Ware tabards. Their hands never strayed far from their hilts. Duncan pretended to idly carve a chunk of driftwood with his dagger, all the while letting the steel glint menacingly across El Gallo’s field of vision. The reiver would know he was being watched.

  Linet de Montfort swept the annoying curtain of hair away from her face. She wished she’d taken the time to secure her veil properly. This encounter would be difficult enough without the added distraction of her unruly tresses tangling about her.

  “I have the letters here,” she told El Gallo in what she hoped was a firm voice.

  “What!” the overgrown, scowling Spaniard boomed at her through his scraggly red beard.

  His exclamation did what normally only a thundertube could have—it effectively silenced the bustle of the docks. Merchants halted in the streets. Harlots turned lazy glances his way. Even fishmongers stopped hawking their wares to see who had dared vex El Gallo.

  Linet prayed no one could detect the quivering of her knees as she stood on the dock within an ell of the Spaniard they called The Rooster. In the hush, she could hear the lapping of the waves that had devoured her veil and the snapping of Spanish sails. The sudden prankish screech of a swooping gull nearly made her jump out of her skin.

  Her sweaty fingertips were smearing the ink of the royal writ. She ran her thumb once again over the wax of King Edward’s seal, reassuring herself that the letters were genuine. Before this behemoth of a man, the document seemed only a frail piece of meaningless parchment.

  “You dare bring this to me?” El Gallo snarled, taking a threatening step forward.