Kinley MacGregor - Midsummer's Knight


Midsummer's Knight
Brotherhood of the Sword - 1
By
Kinley MacGregor
Where's My Hero - Anthology


CONTENTS
| Prologue  | 1  | 2  | 3  | 4  | 5  | 6  | Epilogue  |



Prologue
^ »
A tournament in Rouen
"Simon, Help!"
Simon of Ravenswood looked up from his table inside the blue-and-white striped 
tent.
Through the tent's opening, he saw Christopher of Blackmoor running toward him 
as fast as he could. Barely three years younger than Simon, Christopher wasn't 
the kind of man to ever run. He was normally slow to move, reluctant to exert 
himself, and had never once raised his voice. Some might call him lazy, but 
Simon knew otherwise.
Christopher was a dedicated man, albeit a leisurely one.
Christopher's tunic was torn, his face pale.
Simon stood up immediately, his letter forgotten as he saw the panic reflected 
in Christopher's green eyes.
The younger man rushed into the tent, straight to him.
"What is it, Kit?"
Christopher grabbed Simon's arm and pulled him toward the entrance. "Come 
quickly. Stryder needs aid. He's about to be torn asunder."
Simon didn't hesitate. Spinning out of Christopher's grip, he grabbed up his 
sword from the cot and belted it on as he ran for the list where Stryder had 
been training.
Christopher's elder brother, Stryder, the fourth earl of Blackmoor, was a man of 
many enemies and one of Simon's closest friends. It wasn't the first time Simon 
had heard of opponents attacking a man while in the confines of a tournament or 
practice, but woe to those who would attack Stryder in such a cowardly fashion.
No one would ever attack a friend of his with immunity. Simon would have the 
villains' heads.
Or so he thought.
He skidded to a halt as he came to the field where Stryder stood in the midst of 
what appeared to be two score of women.
Man-hungry women to be precise, who had a taste for an earl who was still in the 
prime of his life and fighting prowess.
They surrounded Stryder like a sea of sharks hungry for a morsel of flesh.
Among other things.
A tall, slender blonde shrieked, "Stryder! Take my favor."
"I love you, Lord Stryder!"
"Move aside, you fat cow." another woman shouted, "I can't see him."
"Lord Stryder touched me!"
The screams of the women were deafening as they elbowed and shoved one another 
in an effort to reach the poor man in their center. Stryder was trying 
desperately to extract himself, but the more he tried to flee, the more the 
ladies held him fast.
Simon burst out laughing at the sight of one of the most powerful men in 
Christendom being captured and jostled about by mere women. It wasn't often 
anyone saw uncertainty from Stryder of Blackmoor.
And Simon had to admit he enjoyed seeing his friend at a loss for once. It was 
refreshing to know that Stryder really was human and not the soulless demon of 
Blackmoor legend.
"Stryder?" Simon called, raising his voice to make sure it carried over the 
women's. "The leech gave me the cream you requested. He said your rash should 
clear up soon, but in the meantime, 'tis highly contagious."
Silence descended on the crowd almost instantly.
"What did he say?" one of the women asked.
"Rash," another repeated.
"I've no wish for another rash," another chimed in, stepping back.
"Just how contagious is it?" Stryder asked, his blue eyes dancing with merry 
mischief as he joined the game.
Simon kept his face serious, his tone dire. "Extremely. The leech says you 
should be quarantined before you spread it about the castle and make everyone 
ill from it. He said it could cause you to go blind if you're not careful."
One woman shrieked and jumped away while the crowd as a whole pulled back only 
slightly from Stryder. Some of the more intelligent women looked skeptically at 
Simon.
"What sort of rash is this?" a short, dark-haired woman asked. "I've never heard 
of such and I see no rash on Lord Stryder."
Simon dropped his gaze to the area just below the man's belt. "That's because it 
resides in a most private place." He clucked his tongue at his friend. "Next 
time I tell you to refrain from houses of ill repute, you'll be listening to me, 
won't you?"
The women made various noises of distress and ran for cover.
Stryder eyed him, his face a mixture of mirth and murder. "I'm not sure if I 
should thank you for that, or beat you."
Simon offered him a lopsided grin. "Would you rather I left you to them?"
Stryder rubbed the back of his neck and frowned as he saw the blood on his hand 
where one of the women had scratched him. "Nay, I suppose not, but I wish you 
could have thought of a better tale."
"Very well, then, next time I shall tell them you are betrothed."
Stryder laughed openly at that. "Now there's an event that shall never happen. 
The earth as we know it will perish long before the earl of Blackmoor ever takes 
a bride."
"Never say never, my friend," Simon warned. "Far more stubborn men than you have 
proclaimed that and fallen to Cupid's bow."
"Mayhap, but I'm not like other men."
And neither was Simon, but then the two of them had a different calling—one that 
took both their lives away from the thought of matrimony.
Nay, neither he nor Stryder would ever marry. There were too many other lives 
that depended on both of them. Too many others who looked to them for 
protection.
A wife would never understand their commitments.
Stryder joined him, and they headed back toward the tents. "Just promise me one 
thing, Simon."
"And that is?"
"That on the day I pledge my troth to a woman, you'll run me through."
Simon laughed at that. "You'd rather be dead than married?"
Stryder's face turned deadly serious. "Aye, I would."
Simon nodded in understanding. As his mother had, so had Stryder's mother died a 
violent death during her son's childhood. It had been one of the things that had 
forged their friendship years ago, a shared tragedy that allowed them to 
understand each other.
Over the years, even more tragedies had bound them closer than brothers.
"Very well. But I still say a betrothal is just what you need in order to deal 
with your legion of rabid admirers. A wife would ease them back and allow you 
some time to go about your business without ladies throwing themselves at you."
The humor returned to Stryder's eyes. "Hmmm, a lady wife. Find me a wench with a 
level head whom I can be tempted by, Simon, and I might take you up on that."
Frankfurt, Germany 
Three months later
The roar of the crowd was deafening, but then it always was whenever Stryder of 
Blackmoor took the field.
Knights were dressed in full tourney armor as they were introduced by the 
heralds to the eager crowd that had gathered for today's sport.
Simon stayed in the background, watching Stryder's back as he always did. It was 
what he was best at. His brother, Draven, had oft referred to him as his anchor. 
While others sought glory and fame, Simon sought only to protect those he loved.
He had learned long ago that glory and riches meant nothing while standing over 
the grave of someone who was dear. Neither brought comfort or warmth.
Neither brought true happiness.
Only friendship and brotherhood did that.
And, of course, love.
Simon didn't need troubadours to write songs about him. He held no desire to 
make any woman swoon.
Except for one.
She whose name he dare not say because she was the one thing he could never 
have.
Long ago, in a barren land, when he'd been nothing more than a starving boy 
yearning for home, he had made a promise that, so long as he lived, he would 
spend his life helping others return home to the families that loved them.
Home. It was the one thing he'd lacked growing up. Aye, Draven had loved him, 
but as children they'd had no real home. Ravenswood had been harsh and 
frightening.
Normandy had been endless and unfriendly, and even now he didn't want any 
thoughts at all of Outremer.
The only thing Simon had ever been able to depend upon was the three men whom he 
considered his family—Draven of Ravenswood, Sin MacAllister and Stryder of 
Blackmoor.
Draven and Sin had allowed him to survive the horrors of his childhood at 
Ravenswood, and Stryder had been the one who had kept him sane and whole while 
living in the hell that was a Saracen prison.
There was nothing he wouldn't do for them.
"Si?"
Simon looked to Stryder, who was to his right, mounting his horse.
Once settled on his horse, Stryder flashed him a taunting grin. "Are you 
daydreaming again, man? Pick up your sword and stand ready."
Simon scoffed at him. "Daydreaming? Ha! Merely plotting the way I intend to 
spend my winnings this day when I unhorse you."
Stryder laughed aloud at that. He inclined his head toward the red ribbon Simon 
had tied around his biceps. "Who's the fortunate lady?"
"She's no concern of yours."
He smiled knowingly. "Mayhap I'll take a bit of pity on you then and let you get 
in a few blows before I undignify you. With any luck, she might be willing to 
kiss your injuries."
If only Simon could be so lucky.
But alas, his lady was far away from him.
She would always be so. It wasn't possible for a pebble to touch a star. And she 
was a star. Bright, shining. Yet so far above him that he dare not even look at 
her because in the end, he could never lay claim to her.
He glanced down at the ribbon and his heart ached.
The heralds called them to field, and the day proved to be a long one.
How Simon grew weary of the tournament circuit. Unlike Stryder, he saw no use in 
it. But he stayed out of loyalty—Stryder needed someone to protect him who was 
beyond bribery.
And for the price on Stryder's head, those people were far too few and rare.
As the day finally drew to a close, Simon found himself with Stryder and 
Christopher, walking toward their tents as women tried to grab Stryder and 
proposition him.
"It's a sad sight, isn't it?" Christopher asked wearily. "Methinks I should have 
the armorer make a larger helm for tomorrow so that it can fit over Stryder's 
big head."
Simon laughed at that. "Indeed, but I fear a shortage in steel might occur if we 
tried to accommodate his ugly noggin."
Stryder scoffed. "You're both just jealous. I have my choice of bedmates, while 
the two of you sleep alone."
Simon passed a knowing look to Christopher. "It seems to me, Kit, that there's 
only enough room in his bed for him and his ego. It makes one wonder how he ever 
manages to squeeze a woman in."
Christopher laughed.
"A pox on both of you," Stryder said.
Simon smiled. "And one on your ego."
Stryder grunted, walking with his head down as he fumbled with a knotted lace on 
his cuirass.
When they rounded a tent, a shadow caught Simon's eye. He barely had time to 
react as a man came rushing at Stryder with a drawn dagger.
Before the assassin could reach his friend, Simon grabbed him and, after a brief 
struggle, threw the man to the ground. Simon disarmed him quickly and held him 
pinned by his neck.
Stryder curled his lip in disgust. "These attempts on my life are becoming quite 
monotonous."
Simon looked at him drolly. "Pray they don't become successful."
Stryder nodded as he pulled the assassin up. "Thank you, Simon. Christopher and 
I will see him to the guards. Would you care to join us in the hall?"
Simon went to touch the ribbon on his arm, only to realize it had been torn off 
during the struggle.
His stomach shrank. "Nay, I have something I need to do."
"Not another letter." Christopher moaned. "I swear, Simon, you've gotten to 
where you write more than I do, and I'm a minstrel."
Simon didn't say anything as they left him alone. Instead, he searched the 
ground until he found the tattered pieces of his ribbon.
Instantly relieved, he clutched them in his hand and pulled the letter out of 
his tunic, where he had laced it tightly against his chest.
It had been delivered just this morn as he'd been donning his armor for the 
tourney.
He broke the Scottish seal, and as he opened the letter, he found a tiny lock of 
brown hair.
Her hair.
He held it tightly in his hand, not wanting to let it go. Lifting it to his 
face, he smelled the faintest trace of her scent.
Simon smiled.
Then he eagerly read her feminine script.
My Dearest Warrior,I hope this finds you well and unhurt. I fear the last 
messenger you sent will never be bribed to carry another of your letters to me. 
It appears I rather damaged him a bit in my enthusiasm to relieve him of his 
vellum burden.
I only hope his ankle heals soon.
Your words touched me deeply, and I am truly sorry that you are homesick. I was 
going to send you a bit of soil, but thought it might be rather ridiculous to 
burden you with such. Not to mention that dirt is rather the same, isn't it? And 
if you dropped it, you wouldn't be able to reclaim it.
So I thought perhaps my hair might bring some comfort to you. I hope you won't 
notice the bit of singing around the ends of it. I fear I learned a valuable 
lesson the day before yesterday.
While daydreaming of you and your last letter, I became distracted in the 
kitchen and wasn't paying attention to where I set down the candle.
But I discovered something most important. Larders catch fire rather easily. And 
once burned, sandstone is impossible to clean. The cook has banned me eternally 
from the kitchen and at first forbade me ever to partake of her services again.
After some consoling, she has at last granted me the right to eat, but only so 
long as I swear never again to enter her domain.
I miss you, my dearest. Know that wherever you are tonight, my thoughts and 
heart are with you.
Please take care of yourself and may God grant you peace and health until you 
find yourself home again with those who love you.
Ever yours, 
K
Simon held her letter to his heart. How he wanted this woman. Needed her.
If only he were Stryder. Then he could court her. Propose to her.
But as Simon of Ravenswood, he could do nothing more than pine away for his 
star, knowing that the day would never come when they could be together.
He had found her only so that he could lose her.
Fate was often unmerciful.
Sighing, he took his letter and headed for his tent. At least there, for a 
little while, he could pretend to be someone else.
Someone who could offer his troth to his lady love.



Chapter 1
« ^ »
England
Eleven months later
"Congratulations, Lord Stryder. I never thought to see the day when you would 
take a bride."
Stryder looked up as the older nobleman's words rang in his ears. He'd just sat 
down no more than five minutes before to break his fast after a morning spent 
training in the list.
He was hot and sweaty, and not quite sure he had heard the man correctly.
"A bride?" Stryder repeated skeptically.
The old man's wizened face beamed at him, and his faded brown eyes were bright 
with well wishes. "And a Scots heiress, no less. A fine match you've made, my 
boy. Fine indeed." He clapped Stryder on the back and ambled off.
Stupefied, Stryder frowned and returned to his food. No doubt the nobleman had 
gone daft with his old age.
Or so he thought.
That was the first of several such encounters, and as the morning wore on while 
he went about his duties, Stryder could think of only one person who would 
spread such unfounded gossip regarding him.
Simon of Ravenswood.
He smiled to himself. Simon had promised him peace while they were in England 
for the yearly show of arms at Stantington. Every nobleman in England, as well 
as the king, was here for the event.
Along with the men had come their numerous unmarried daughters who were all 
eagerly seeking husbands with rich purses.
In other words, they were all seeking him.
Normally, he would have been hounded and mobbed by the wealth-hungry women who 
coveted his lands, his prowess in bed, and his body.
In that order.
Simon had promised him that if he would return home for this spectacle, Simon 
would keep the women and their scheming mothers far away.
Stryder still didn't know why his returning to England had been so important to 
Simon. After all, the man didn't owe him anything and was quite free to leave 
his service at any time.
Still, Simon had wanted them to come home, and so Stryder had humored him even 
though he hated to be in England, where the past haunted him all too vividly.
A fortnight in England, my friend. 'Tis all I ask of you. Have no fear, I shall 
keep the eager wenches far away.
He should have known Simon would make good his word. The man always did.
A wedding.
Stryder laughed again at the thought. Leave it to Simon to concoct such a tale. 
He owed his friend a flagon of ale for his inventiveness.
"Stryder?"
Stryder paused halfway across the yard as he heard the hesitant call of an 
unfamiliar feminine voice. His eyes focused on an average-looking woman who 
appeared to be around Simon's age.
There was something about her that was vaguely familiar, as if they had met once 
but he couldn't really recall her.
Her light brown hair was braided with a dark red ribbon. Her body leaned toward 
plump, and her eyes were large and brown and possessed a sweet, doelike quality.
She was pleasing enough to look at but was far from the tall, slender maids who 
turned his head.
She smiled a welcoming smile at him that gave him the sudden urge to bolt.
Before he could move, she crossed the distance between them and threw herself 
into his arms.
"Oh, Stryder!" she cried, her voice thick with a Scots brogue. "You've made me 
the happiest woman on earth!"
He stood woodenly as she embraced him. "I beg your pardon? Lady, who are you?"
She laughed at that and pulled back. "Who am I? Oh, Stryder, you are a funny one 
to be sure."
She turned back to the man and woman who had been with her. They came to rest 
just behind her.
Stryder knew the man, but he hadn't seen him in quite a few years.
Standing two inches taller with a body that had been made to slay any man 
foolish enough to get in his way, Sin MacAllister was known more by reputation 
than anything else. His slack hair was only slightly shorter than Stryder's, and 
the Sin's black eyes watched Stryder and the unknown lady curiously.
"Lord Sin." Stryder said, inclining his head to the earl. "It's been a long 
time."
And it had been. In some ways it seemed an eternity. Stryder had just earned his 
spurs. During the celebration, Sin had given him sound advice that had saved his 
life on more than one occasion.
Let no one at your back.
Sin shook his arm. "Aye, it has. I have to tell you, I was rather surprised when 
my cousin told me she was to wed you. It just doesn't seem like the Stryder of 
Blackmoor everyone whispers about."
A feeling of dread settled over Stryder.
He wasn't sure what part of that statement shocked him most. He looked back at 
the plump woman.
"Beg pardon?" he asked. "Cousin?"
The woman beamed. "Remember? I told you in my letter that my cousin 
Caledonia"—she indicated the beautiful red-haired lady standing beside Sin— "had 
married Lord Sin. You said in your letter that you and Sin knew each other."
"Your letter?" he repeated in a shocked whisper.
"Aye," she said, her brow puckering with a rown. "Don't you recall it?" She 
moved closer to him. "Stryder? Are you all right? You look ill."
He was ill. Sick to his stomach, to be precise. "Excuse me for a moment. 
Please?"
Stryder didn't wait for permission. He bolted toward the hall with the speed he 
only used in battle, while pursuing someone he wished to ill…
"How odd," Kenna said as she watched her bethrothed speed away. "What do you 
suppose got into him?"
Sin passed an amused look at Caledonia. "Common sense, no doubt."
Caledonia lightly struck him on the stomach. "Shame on you, Sin. Kenna might 
think you're serious."
"I was." He sidestepped her next playful blow. "But not that Stryder should 
avoid Kenna per se. More that he should run from any woman walking about with a 
matrimonial loose."
Caledonia gasped in feigned indignation. "Oh, thank you so much. I never 
realized I was such a vile cross for you to bear."
Kenna ignored her cousin's playful bantering with her husband. She'd learned the 
day she met Lord Sin that he and Caledonia shared a deep, respectful love of 
each other. The two of them lived to tease one another.
But that wasn't where her attention was focused. "Think you Stryder changed his 
mind?"
Caledonia scoffed at the idea. "Nay, love. No doubt he had other duties more 
pressing. I'm quite certain that he will return to your side as soon as he can."
She hoped so. The alternative wasn't a pleasant thought. She'd traveled so far 
already just to see him, and in truth his cool reception cut her deeply.
Had she done something wrong?
Had he not meant the letters he had written to her?
Uncertain and fearful of what his reaction meant, Kenna excused herself and 
headed for the castle.
She entered the mammoth donjon and made her way to the stone, curving stairs 
that led to her chambers on an upper floor.
Surely she hadn't mistaken Lord Stryder's intent. Surely. Nervous, she made 
straight away for her satchel on the desk by the window. She always stored her 
most prized possessions inside the dark tanned skin.
Her letters.
She pulled out the one letter on top—the one she had secured with a special red 
ribbon that matched the one she always wore in her hair. The one she had sent to 
Stryder while he was in Germany. Her hands shaking from worry, she opened it and 
sought verification.
As she read the elegant, flowing script, the familiar joy spread through her, 
warming every inch of her body.
My dearest Kenna,The sun has set now and I find myself outside the town of 
Frankfurt. The tournament went well today, but I am rather bored by the events, 
by the crowd and most especially by the knights who recount their noble deeds.
I'm bored with much of late.
I miss England a great deal, but Scotland even more. Strange, isn't it? I've 
only been to the Highlands once and then only briefly.
Yet when I read your words, I can feel the breath of the Scots winds on my skin, 
remember the sweet smell of the air. The sound of your voice speaking to me.
I cherish the story of your learning experience in the kitchen. Like you, I had 
no idea how easily one could burn down a larder, nor how hard it is to clean 
soot from sandstone. I am only grateful that no one, least of all you, was hurt 
and I'm sorry you have now been banished from the kitchens for eternity.
Further, I am glad that the cook has decided to let you eat again.
Like always, you remind me of the things that are gentle and good, and bring a 
smile to my lips when I think of you.
I was excited this morning when the messenger came with your letter. This one 
still held the scent of your sweet hands upon it. More and more, I find myself 
looking for them. Looking for my connection to you.
Your words see me through the days and especially the long nights while I remain 
far from home and familiar comforts. I know we have only met once, and yet I 
feel as though I know you in a way I have never known anyone.
I miss you, Kenna. Every moment of my day is spent wondering how you are doing 
and if something has made you smile in my absence.
I have the lock of hair that you sent me. I wear it inside a circlet that rests 
over my heart to remind me of your gentle words and kindness. It is my most 
treasured possession, it and the letters you send.
In truth, I can't imagine living in a world where you are not a part of it. If I 
could, I would gladly spend the rest of my life with you, making you happy.
Meet me in England on my return, my lady, and there I would make true my heart's 
fondest wish. A kiss from your tender lips and a pledge from my heart to yours.
Until then, let sweet dreams be with you.
Ever your knight, 
S.
Kenna closed her eyes and held the letter close to her heart. Stryder loved her. 
She was certain of it. Surely no man could write such tender words unless he 
meant them.
But perhaps she had misread them.
They had sounded like a proposal upon her first three dozen readings, but now 
that she had seen Stryder again, she wasn't so sure. He'd acted as if he'd had 
no idea who she was, and yet the two of them had been writing for well over a 
year now.
"Kenna?"
She turned to find Caledonia standing in the doorway.
"Are you all right?"
Kenna nodded as she folded up the letter and returned it to the satchel. 
Stryder's words had been written for her alone, and she had never wanted to 
share their precious sentiments. "I'm just trying to understand Stryder's 
reaction."
From the words he had written to her, she'd expected him to scoop her up in his 
arms and cry out in delight at her presence. Instead, he had excused himself and 
run for cover as if the devil himself had been after him.
Could he have been lying to her all this time?
But why would he do such?
Their letters had been innocent at first, just little notes to each other about 
the weather and what they were up to. He had been the one who had turned their 
missives into more serious matters.
Perhaps he had thought her to be another lady. Perhaps he had remembered her to 
be beautiful and elegant like her cousin Callie, and now, having seen her again, 
he was disappointed and regretful of his writings.
She shivered at the thought.
Nay, surely not. He had shared too much of himself with her. Told her of his 
mother's death, of his brutal past.
He had told her things she was quite certain he had shared with no one else.
"Men can be strange beasties." Caledonia said quietly as she shut the door 
behind her and drew closer. "You've no idea what a hard time I had with Sin when 
I first met him. He was prickly and harsh, always seeking to put distance 
between us."
Kenna took comfort at her cousin's words. "I find that hard to believe."
"Aye, but it's true. I think you caught Stryder off guard. Give him time to 
think clearly and I'm sure he'll make good his promises."
Kenna nodded, even though part of her still wanted to cry at the shattering of 
her dreams.
Everything had started out so simply in the beginning. After her brother's 
death, she had gone to France to abide by her brother's dying wish—to return 
Stryder's heraldic emblem to the earl and to thank the man for saving her 
brother's life and returning him home.
Once in France, she had been enthralled by the fighting prowess of the man in 
the list, by the strength of his sword as he'd trained.
And when Stryder had removed his helm and she had seen his impeccably chiseled 
features, she had been enchanted. No man born could ever be more beautiful than 
he.
Stryder had been hurried as he'd left the field, barely taking time to do more 
than speak a quick word to her before he'd rushed off.
Her tongue had been so tied that she hadn't been able to explain to him her 
purpose for being there or to call him back.
Her hands had shaken so badly that she hadn't even realized she'd dropped 
Stryder's emblem until another knight had retrieved it from the ground and 
returned it to her cold hands.
"Forgive his haste, my lady," the knight had said. "Stryder is oft harried in 
his attempts to leave the list and make it back to his tent before he is 
swarmed."
She'd looked up into the face of another handsome man. His long, dark auburn 
hair had reminded her much of the men who graced her Highlands. His deep blue 
eyes had been warm and friendly.
"I only wished to return this to him," she'd said, wondering why she wasn't 
tongue-tied with this man. She'd always been awkward around the opposite sex. 
But for some reason this stranger, regardless of his handsomeness, had made her 
feel comfortable.
The knight had looked down at her hand and frowned at the sword-and-shield 
badge. "Where did you get this?"
"It belonged to my brother. He returned from Outremer with it."
His warm hand had covered hers, and she had shivered at the calluses on his 
rough fingers, at the sound of his deep, silken voice. "Your brother's name, my 
lady?"
"Edward MacRyan."
A distant light had come into his blue eyes, as if he'd been recalling the past. 
He'd offered her a small, gentle smile. "You're Kenna."
A sensation of heat had gone down her spine at the way he'd said her name.
"You know me?"
"Aye, my lady, your brother spoke of you often."
"You were with them in Outremer?"
His smile had faded as he'd nodded. His eyes had betrayed the same pain that her 
brother's had held whenever he'd remembered the years he'd spent imprisoned by 
the Saracens.
It was then she'd known who this man was. Edward had spoken of Stryder's right 
hand. The one man who had stayed in the shadows while Stryder had gained fame 
and renown. He was one of the men who had never allowed others to know his name, 
but who had comforted and protected them just the same.
"You are the Wraith."
He'd looked instantly uncomfortable at her words. "How do you know that name?"
"My brother never spoke to anyone other than me about your Brotherhood," she'd 
hastened to assure him. "We never kept secrets, he and I. And I've never spoken 
of his tales to another living soul. I promise you. He only wanted me to know of 
you before he died so that I could uphold his foresworn oath."
The stranger had winced at her news as if someone had struck him. It had made 
her feel even more tender toward him that he, too, shared her grief at the loss 
of so noble a man.
"Edward is dead? How?"
"Of illness. He took a pox last spring."
"I'm sorry for your loss, my lady. Edward was a good man." He'd closed his hand 
over the badge and started away from her. "I shall return this to Stryder and 
tell him the news."
"Wait."
He'd paused and looked back at her.
"I don't know your name."
All emotion had vanished from his face, and he'd become the man of legend right 
before her eyes. "I am the Wraith, my lady. I have no real name. Not in this."
"Can you at least get me close enough to Lord Stryder to thank him for 
protecting my brother while you were imprisoned?"
He looked away at that. "Stryder doesn't like personal thank yous."
"May I at least write him then?"
The Wraith had nodded. "Aye. I shall see he receives it."
He had left her so quickly that she hadn't even had the chance to thank the 
mysterious knight.
But then that was why they'd called him the Wraith. Her brother had told her 
many stories of the Brotherhood of the Sword—the men who had banded together to 
escape the Saracen prison where all of them had been held.
Lord Stryder had been called the Widow-maker due to his strength of arm and 
willingness to kill whoever threatened those who fell under his protection.
The Wraith had been the one to gather information for them and run interference 
with the guards. He'd been punished countless times so that their captors would 
be distracted while the others tunneled their escape.
Even now, after spending a year of her life writing letters to Stryder, Kenna 
didn't know the name of that mysterious knight. She'd asked Stryder for it only 
once, and his response had been very curt and odd.
He is naught of consequence, my lady. Only a hollow, haunted ghost who is best 
left to the memories of the past. Let us not speak of him.
She had never questioned it further. Her thoughts had quickly been taken over by 
the fantasy of the fearless knight who wrote to her. Of the man who told her so 
much of his heart that she had been powerless against the love that overwhelmed 
her.
Perhaps Caledonia was right.
Stryder had shared so much with her that maybe her appearance had shocked him. 
Maybe he was embarrassed now by his candor and just needed a brief time to 
adjust to her physical presence.
Aye, that was it.
He just needed a little time to come to terms with the confidences they had 
shared.



Chapter 2
« ^ »
"Simon, you've been like a brother to me all these years. 'Tis a damn shame that 
I have to kill you now." Stryder's angry tone was low, lethal. Even so, it 
reverberated through the empty hall where Simon sat, eating a light repast to 
tide him over until the evening meal.
Simon choked on his bread at the unexpected words and the heartfelt sincerity of 
Stryder's voice.
Stryder's eyes were cold and unfeeling, devoid of the friendship that Simon was 
used to seeing from him.
"That's it," Stryder said, his gaze narrowed by rage. "You go ahead and choke. 
I'm not even going to bother saving you from it, but before you die of 
asphyxiation, could you at least tell me who it is I'm supposed to wed?"
Simon choked even more.
Stryder was going to kill him for this.
As Simon reached for his mead to help clear his throat, Stryder continued his 
angry rant.
"Apparently, Simon, I have been writing to my future wife. And just for clarity, 
let me repeat that. I have been writing to my future wife."
His glare intensified until it would rival the devil for heat. "Don't you think 
that it is rather difficult for me to do such a thing since I write to no one, 
hmm? But then, since I don't write, who is it who answers all my personal 
letters? Oh, aye, I know… 'Tis you, Simon. You."
Simon took a deep drink of mead as his mind raced. He'd known this was coming, 
but he had hoped for a little more time to think up some way to extract all of 
them from this madness. "You told me to answer your letters as I saw fit. Not to 
bother you with their content."
"Answering my letters does not require a betrothal. Tell me of this woman. Is 
she at least wealthy?"
"She's very nice."
"Simon!"
Stryder gave him a glare so sinister that Simon could almost believe the tales 
that claimed Stryder had sold his soul to Lucifer.
Had Simon been any man other than himself, he might even have flinched, but 
Simon flinched from no man's anger, and most especially not from Stryder's.
They had known each other too long and had been through too much for Simon to 
fear him.
But when it came to annoying him, that was another matter entirely.
"What say you?" Stryder asked, his voice even angrier. "Is this a jest? Who is 
this woman who claims I have proposed to her?"
Simon met Stryder's stare levelly and wondered how he'd gotten himself into 
this.
Unfortunately, he knew.
It, like all ills of the earth, had come from a woman.
And not just any woman was she.
Like Eve with Adam, she had lured him into disaster against his will and his 
common sense. When he should have run, he'd stayed, and now he would pay a steep 
price for it.
His downfall had but one name.
Kenna.
Kenna with light brown hair and eyes that were golden brown and bright. She was 
a small slip of a woman, rather plain in looks, but she held an inner beauty 
that had enchanted him from the moment Simon had read her first letter.
Unfortunately, said letter hadn't been intended for him.
She'd written it to Stryder, the earl of Blackmoor, self-styled barbarian cur, 
known to possess the wrath of Armageddon. When Stryder entered a room, renowned 
warriors broke into a sweat lest they incur his notice.
Stryder who was every woman's fantasy.
Stryder who was the bane of Simon's existence. At least at this moment, because 
the woman Simon loved was in love with Stryder, whose heart would never be 
captured by a single maid.
At least not for any longer than a night or two.
Damn Stryder anyway for putting him in this position. But then if not for 
Stryder and his prowess, Simon would never have met Kenna.
He would do anything for his lady.
"You said if I could find you a level-headed woman, you would marry her."
Stryder sputtered at that and looked at him as if he'd grown three heads. "Are 
you mad?"
Aye, he was. Mad for a woman who had spilled her heart out to him as the one she 
thought was destined to be her husband.
"If you meet with her, you will see. She would make a good wife to you."
Stryder cursed. "Simon, what were you thinking? You proposed on my behalf? How 
could you do such a thing?"
Simon cringed at that. He'd been writing to Kenna for so long and signing the 
letters as Ever Your Knight, S, that he had forgotten the one small fact that in 
her mind the S stood for Stryder, not Simon.
He hadn't realized the mistake until her next letter had come to him. Instead of 
her writing, My Dearest Warrior, she had penned, My Dearest Stryder.
The words had struck his heart like a blow as they'd reminded him all too 
clearly of what he had done. Who she thought him to be.
He was such a fool.
"It just happened."
Stryder narrowed his eyes. "Nay, Simon. Foul weather just happens. Disaster just 
happens." He glared meaningfully. "Death just happens. But people do not get 
betrothed without design. You will get me out of this, or so help me I will have 
your head and your bullocks."
Simon just looked at him. "Now there's an empty threat if I ever heard one. Calm 
yourself, Stryder. Meet with her. She's not like other women. You will see." 
Simon stepped forward and lowered his voice. "Besides, she knows of us."
"Everyone knows of us, Si, we happen to be rather famous—or infamous, as the 
case may be."
"Nay," Simon said, giving him an arched look. "She knows of us." He spoke in an 
even lower tone, enunciating each word slowly. "Her brother was Edward MacRyan. 
Do you remember him?"
Stryder's eyes turned dull as the repressed memory of their captivity in the 
Holy Land came back to him. "He's the one I saved from the crocodiles."
"Aye. She is the sister he spoke of on so many occasions, and even after his 
death, she is still abiding by his oath to our cause. It was his praise of you 
that caused her to write to you that first time while we were in Normandy. It 
was her brother's fondest wish that the two of you should meet."
"Why?"
"Because the two of you are the people he loved most in this life. She wanted to 
thank you for saving his life and seeing him home again."
"That didn't require a betrothal."
Simon drew a deep breath as he struggled against his untoward emotions, which 
demanded he beat Stryder and take Kenna regardless of the consequences.
Nay, it didn't require a betrothal.
He'd become so comfortable with Kenna that he'd let his common sense slip and 
his careful guard down. He had confided things to her that he had told no one. 
Over the course of the last year, he had laid bare his thoughts and his heart to 
her.
And she had returned the courtesy.
Simon sighed. "Have no fear, as soon as she comes here, I shall set things 
aright."
"Then you'd best be about it, since I saw her right before I came seeking you."
Simon's heart pounded at the words as happiness flooded him. "Kenna is here?"
Stryder nodded.
His food forgotten, Simon started for the door. "Where is she?"
"She was with Sin MacAllister last I saw."
Simon faltered at the name of his childhood friend. "Sin brought her here?"
"I would assume so."
Simon clenched his teeth at that. Things had just become twice as complicated. 
Not that it mattered.
Kenna was here.
She was the most important thing to him, and now he would be able to see her 
again. To touch her. Hear the sound of her voice…
After all these nights of struggling to remember her precious face and beautiful 
smile, he could see her again. Feel the warmth of her physical touch. Smell the 
light lavender scent of her skin.
It would be heaven.
He left Stryder in the hall and went to find the woman whose amusing insights 
and anecdotes had stolen his heart.
It didn't take long to ascertain her whereabouts. He found the king's steward 
and learned that she'd come to the castle the night before, after Simon had 
retired to his tent.
Lord Drexton had given her, Sin and Caledonia rooms in the castle.
Simon made for the area posthaste. He ran up the stone spiral steps, desperately 
seeking the woman he loved. Ignoring the maid who gasped and hurried from his 
path, he sprinted down the hallway to the last door.
The room that held her…
He knocked on the door without hesitation.
"Enter."
Simon closed his eyes and savored the lilting brogue that single word betrayed. 
She was here! By all the saints in heaven, she had come at his request.
As he reached for the handle, his courage faltered.
Kenna didn't know him at all.
All this time she'd made the assumption she was writing to Stryder. Even though 
he'd meant to tell her the truth about who he was, he'd never had the heart.
At first it had all seemed harmless enough. Just a few notes back and forth on 
nothing of any import. Until last Christmastide. In a moment of weakness, he had 
shared his mother's death with her.
She'd responded with such precious words of comfort that he hadn't had the 
courage after that to let her know his real identity.
If she ever learned the truth…
She will think I betrayed her.
Fear sliced through him at that thought. He would never do such a thing, and yet 
she would believe it. Most likely, she'd never forgive him for it.
She would hate him eternally.
Nay, he couldn't bear that. What was he to do?
He heard her approaching the door.
His heart hammering, Simon did something he'd never done before.
He fled.
Rushing away from the room, he found a shadowy alcove where he could hide 
himself. He'd barely crammed himself into it before the door swung open.
Her silken voice assailed his body with pleasure. "Hello? Is anyone out here?"
From the shadows, he saw her. She was far more beautiful than he remembered. Her 
cheeks were flush, her eyes bright. She wore a deep scarlet kirtle that made her 
pale skin glisten.
He hardened instantly at the sight of her. How he yearned to go to her, take her 
in his arms and taste her full, moist lips. To sample the full bounty of her 
soft curves and pale skin.
He wanted her in a way he'd never wanted anything.
It took all his will not to leave the shadows and touch her. To yield to the 
burning ache in his loins that demanded he claim her for his own.
But he didn't dare.
He had no right to this woman who had spilled her heart out to him while 
thinking he was someone else.
By all rights, he—who knew everything about her—should know nothing at all.
Damn him for his foolish stupidity.
She looked around the corridor, then stepped back into the room and shut the 
door.
Simon still didn't move.
He was torn between the desire to go to that door, kick it open and take what he 
wanted and the need to run for cover lest Kenna learn of his trickery.
But was it trickery when he hadn't meant it that way? He'd never really lied to 
her. He'd only failed to correct her misinterpretation.
Every word he'd written to her had been the truth. Every feeling real and 
honest.
"Simon?"
He started at the familiar voice that came from the opposite end of the hallway.
Stepping out of the shadows, he saw the MacNeely lairdess. She was even more 
beautiful now than when he'd left Scotland. Her long, red hair was braided down 
the side of her face, and she wore a deep blue kirtle that accentuated the 
perfection of her body.
"Callie," he greeted.
A warm smile curved her lips as she pulled him into a sisterly hug of affection. 
"Whatever are you doing here, and hiding in the shadows, no less?"
Simon stepped back. "Like the others, I have come for the show of arms."
She nodded. "Is your brother, Draven, with you?"
"Nay. He didn't want to travel without Emily and the boys, and he felt it was 
too far for the youngest to journey."
Caledonia took his arm in hers and led him toward the room where Kenna was.
His heart pounded more with every step that took him closer to his doom.
Perspiration broke out on his forehead.
Unaware of his panic, Callie continued. "Then I shall just have to stop at 
Ravenswood on my way home and make sure to see them and Dermot. And speaking of 
my errant brother, have you seen him recently?"
Simon shook his head. "Not since I released Dermot's custody over to Draven, but 
Emily has written to say he is well."
"Good."
Simon swallowed as she reached for the door handle.
Run!
The command was so strong that he wasn't sure what kept him from heeding it.
But before his common sense could return, Caledonia opened the door.
Simon's gaze met Kenna's instantly. She sat in a chair on the other side of the 
room, just before the open window with a small psalter in her hands. Sunlight 
streamed in through the window, where it lightened strands of her hair to form 
an angelic halo around her face.
She was beautiful.
Desire hit him fiercely. It was all he could do to breathe. His body was 
instantly hot and cold.
He found himself unable to move. Unable to break eye contact with the one woman 
who had haunted him for the last year.
The one woman he would give up his life for.
Kenna couldn't move as she saw the man beside her cousin. His dark auburn hair 
was a bit longer than was the English fashion, but he wore a small, stylish 
goatee that had been perfectly manicured.
He was taller than most men, with a lean, muscular build that bespoke power and 
strength. Deadly grace. His blue eyes were riveting in their striking color.
Truly, he was a most handsome man.
And it took her a full minute before she realized who he was.
The Wraith.
They'd seen each other only once, but she had never forgotten the handsomeness 
of his features. The way his blue eyes were able to sear her with his passionate 
heat.
He looked at her now like some hungry predator who had just found its next meal. 
The intensity of that stare made her hot and nervous. And oddly enough, it 
brought a strange thrill to her.
There was an aura of dangerous power surrounding him. One of possessiveness.
She couldn't fathom why, but the sensation didn't lessen.
"Kenna, have you met Simon? He is the friend of Sin's who came with him to 
Scotland after we married. His elder brother is the one Dermot was sent to live 
with."
Kenna was completely stunned by the news.
"You're Simon?" she said, her face breaking out into a smile. It was all she 
could do not to laugh at some of the stories she had heard from Callie and Sin 
about this knight.
It was hard to fathom that the dangerous predator before her could be the kind, 
good-natured man of whom they had spoken.
He was far too intense for that. Far too intense ever to follow the orders of 
someone else.
She had imagined Simon of Ravenswood as a small, gentle man, not as someone who 
towered over her cousin with such a steely and dangerous demeanor.
He inclined his head toward her. "It's good to see you again, my lady."
Caledonia looked back and forth between them. "You know each other?"
"We met in France when I went to see Lord Stryder." Kenna rose to her feet and 
placed her psalter in her seat.
As she neared Simon, she tilted her head to look up at him. What was it about 
this man that made her knees weak? Made her burn to reach out and touch him? To 
brush the stray lock of hair back from his forehead and to kiss the bared skin?
His gaze was guarded, cool.
"You refused to tell me your name then." she said. "Why?"
Kenna was fascinated by the way his muscles rolled under his supertunic as he 
shrugged his shoulders. "You were more interested in Stryder than you were in 
me."
She had the impression that those words seemed to wound him somehow.
"Have you heard the good news, Simon?" Callie said. "Kenna is to marry Stryder."
There was a very subtle tensing to his features. One that looked like pain. 
"Congratulations, my lady. I hope he makes you happy."
Callie frowned at that. "Are you all right, Simon? You seem rather reserved."
He cleared his throat and offered her a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. 
"Forgive me, Callie. I didn't rest well last night."
"Do you still travel with Stryder?" Kenna asked him. "Or are you knight to 
another lord?"
A fierce heat came into his eyes at that. Flickering. Burning. Her question had 
offended him, she could sense it.
"I am always my own knight, my lady. I travel with my friends and brothers until 
I feel the urge to leave and go my own way."
"Brothers?" Callie repeated. "I thought Draven was the only one you had."
"Nay. I am bastard born. I fear my father was rather free with himself, and I 
have a large family to burden whenever the mood strikes me."
Kenna laughed at that. "You sound like Stryder. He once said the very same thing 
to me."
There was no mistaking the panic that flashed across his features. "I had best 
be going. 'Twas nice seeing you both again."
He was out the door before Kenna could even open her mouth to return the 
sentiment.
"Well, that was certainly odd." Callie said as she rested her hands on her hips 
at his hasty departure. "I don't think I've ever seen Simon so stiff and 
guarded. He's normally much friendlier. I can't imagine what has gotten into 
him."
Kenna barely heard the words. There was something strange here. Something very 
strange.
Stryder acted as if he didn't know her, and Simon quoted almost verbatim an 
anecdote that Stryder had once written to her…
Stryder…
Simon…
A bad feeling settled over her.
Nay, surely not.
Her chest tight with apprehension, she grabbed her letters and excused herself 
from Callie, then went below to find one of the two men who had her perplexed.
It was Stryder she sought first. She found him alone in the stable, readying his 
horse for a ride.
"My lord?"
He paused and turned to face her. She had the distinct feeling that he was 
biting his tongue to keep from cursing.
Once again she was struck by the handsomeness of his features, by the way his 
black hair curled so becomingly around his face and shoulders.
Stryder of Blackmoor was a man to make any woman weak in the knees. Yet he 
didn't make her warm the way Simon had.
"My lady." he greeted her cooly. Dispassionately.
And it was then she knew the truth.
This wasn't the same man who had written to her. That man had spilled out his 
heart and soul to her. He had been open and funny. Warm and enchanting.
The man before her was too guarded and closed to her. She had been tricked, she 
knew it.
Now she wanted proof before she let loose her wrath on them.
So she handed Stryder her letters. "Are you the man who wrote these to me?"
He turned them over and looked at the Blackmoor seal. "They bear my mark."
"Aye, they do indeed."
He frowned as he handed them back to her. "Then they are from me."
"But you didn't write them."
He moved away.
"Please," she begged, taking his arm to stop him. "I must know."
"Why?"
"Because these are tender words," she said, holding the letters up to him. 
"Poetic words. Who would dare write me such while signing your name to them? Was 
this some cruel game you played?"
His eyes darkened, as if her accusation greatly offended him. "Nay, lady. I 
would never play with another in such a manner. I may have committed many crimes 
in my life, but mockery has never been one of them."
She pulled the top letter off and removed the red ribbon. "Read this and tell me 
what you see."
A tic started in his jaw. "I can't read that."
"Why not?"
"Because I can't read. I never learned."
All the breath left her lungs at that. Stunned, she could do nothing but stare.
She'd wanted the truth and now she had it. Stryder was illiterate.
"Then who wrote this to me?"
"I did."



Chapter 3
« ^ »
Kenna turned to find Simon standing just behind her. His blue eyes were dark and 
stormy.
"You wrote to me as Stryder?" she asked.
He glanced to Stryder, then locked gazes with her. "Aye."
Pain and disbelief washed over her. Oh, she was such a fool! How could she have 
ever thought that a man as handsome, wealthy and well-famed as Stryder would 
ever settle for a plain woman such as she?
And yet Simon had made her believe. He had fed her mind full of fallacies and 
lies.
How could he?
"I see."
Her throat tight, she returned the ribbon to the letter, then handed the stack 
over to Simon.
"I hope the two of you have a good laugh over this. I'm sorry I disturbed you."
He captured her arm as she started past him. "Kenna, please. I…"
She waited for him to finish.
Instead, he just stared at her with his jaw flexed, his eyes snapping, as if he 
were debating with himself.
"You what?" she asked.
His gaze softened. "I never meant to hurt you."
"Then what did you mean by sending me those letters, knowing I thought they came 
from Stryder?"
Stryder promptly excused himself and headed for the stable's opening.
Alone now, Kenna stared up at Simon, whose eyes held a deep, inner torment. "I 
would never hurt you," he murmured.
She sensed his heartfelt sincerity, not that it mattered. What he had done had 
been wrong. Inexcusable.
And for what?
For sport?
For cruelty?
"But you did hurt me, Simon. You have embarrassed me and made me feel—"
He stopped her words with a hot, demanding kiss.
Kenna was shocked by his actions.
No man had ever dared such before. None. Her father would have had the heart of 
any man who dared handle her in such a fashion, and yet she found Simon's bold 
possession scintillating and wonderfully exciting.
Closing her eyes, she inhaled the warm, rich scent of him and moaned at his 
taste, at the sensation of his hot, firm lips on hers, of his tongue gently 
searching her mouth.
She'd lain awake for hours at night imagining what it would be like to kiss the 
author of her letters.
Only then she had imagined Stryder.
But it was Simon who had written them. Simon who had touched her heart and made 
her feel beautiful and needed.
She pulled back and looked up at him.
"I won't apologize for writing to you," he whispered. "I'm only sorry that you 
were embarrassed."
Her fury snapped at that. "Why didn't you tell me you weren't Stryder?"
"Would you have written to me if I had?"
"Of course," she said emphatically.
She saw the raw doubt in his eyes, and it made her ache in sympathy. How could 
he doubt her, especially after what he had done?
"Truly?" he asked. "Tell me, wasn't half the appeal of me the fact that you 
thought I was an earl and not some landless knight? I'm not a fool, Kenna. I 
learned long ago that whenever I'm with Stryder, Sin or Draven, women look past 
me to them. Because I hold no titles or land, I'm practically invisible. My only 
purpose has been to help women land titled husbands while I am seen as nothing 
more than a friend to them."
He stared at her, his gaze probing as if he could see the answer he needed in 
her eyes. "Had you known it was plain and simple Simon you were writing to, 
would you have continued to do so, or would you have written me a letter telling 
me what good friends we are and then set your gaze to another?"
Kenna opened her mouth, then paused.
She didn't want to think herself so shallow. She'd never been the kind of person 
to discount another because of their birth status.
Was there any truth to his claim?
Her gaze fell to the thin gold chain around his neck. She trailed her attention 
down to a small circle of gold that lay nestled between the laces of his tunic.
Before she could stop herself, she reached up and pulled it out. A simple, 
unadorned gold piece, it was warm from the heat of his body.
She opened it to find her lock of hair inside, just as he'd promised. "You kept 
it?"
"I told you I did. I know you don't believe me, but I swear that I never lied to 
you. I only omitted telling you what the S stood for because I didn't want to 
lose you. For once, I wanted something for myself."
Her hands shook as she closed the locket that held her hair. A thousand emotions 
flooded her. She was still angry over his falseness, but not even that could 
blot what she felt for him.
He had kept her close to his heart, just as he'd written. And as she thought of 
that, she remembered all the tender sentiments they had shared. All the secrets 
and disappointments of their pasts. Their hopes for the future.
The smiles and laughter his letters had brought to her…
"I'm not some great and noble champion, Kenna. I'm only a man who has nothing to 
offer a lady like you. For a time, your letters let me be more than what I am. 
Forgive me for the pain I've caused you."
He pulled back and turned away.
Tears welled in her eyes.
She knew this man. Knew him on a level that transcended friendship and lovers. 
It transcended understanding and reason.
It most certainly transcended a tiny omission of fact.
"I dwell in misery…"
He paused at her words and finished the sentence. "…my heart seeks the light 
that only your letters provide." He gave a half laugh. "Rather insipid, isn't 
it? Christopher of Blackmoor always said I should keep to my sword and not pick 
up his quill. He says I do far more damage with ink than I could ever do on a 
battlefield."
She smiled past the tears that choked her. "Nay, your words are beautiful. I 
treasured each one."
And she had. Every moment of every day she had watched for a messenger to come 
bearing another tie to her knight. She'd rushed from her duties to take the 
letters so that she could read them in solitude.
They had meant the world to her.
Just as he did.
Simon took a deep breath. "If you wish, I will help you to marry Stryder, my 
lady. I know ways to get past his defenses."
"You would do that for me?"
The sincerity on his handsome face made her shiver. "I would do anything you 
asked of me, Kenna."
A tear fell down her cheek at that. This was the man with whom she'd fallen in 
love.
Not Stryder and his reputation. Not some invincible champion.
She'd fallen in love with a man. One who had made her feel beautiful even though 
she didn't possess the great beauty of her cousin Caledonia. One who had made 
her laugh and filled her heart with warm, tender joy.
She took Simon's hand in hers and held it to her heart. "And if it's not Stryder 
I love?"
Simon couldn't breathe as her question rang in his ears.
Was she saying…
"Tell me what I can do, my lady, to make this right, and I will do it."
"I would make true my heart's fondest wish. A kiss from your tender lips and a 
pledge from my heart to yours."
He swallowed as she repeated the words he'd written in his last letter to her.
"Do you love me, Simon?"
"Aye."
Then she did the most unexpected thing of all. She released his hand, stepped 
into his embrace, and kissed him.
The feathery touch of her lips on his shook him profoundly. How could she want 
him?
It was unfathomable.
This woman whose warm humor had come to him like a gentle caress, giving him 
comfort on a level he'd never known existed. It still amazed him just how much 
he'd come to depend on her letters. How much he depended on her.
"I have nothing to offer you, Kenna."
"I only want your heart, Simon. I ask nothing else from you."
He smiled at her, unable to believe the reality of this moment. It was so much 
more than he'd ever dared to dream. "That I gladly give you, my lady." He lifted 
her hand to his lips and kissed it.
He wanted to keep her with him forever, but he knew the truth.
Her family would never allow him to marry her. Not even his friendship with Sin 
MacAllister or Stryder, or his blood relations to Draven would be enough to 
convince them.
She was an heiress of great wealth with ties to the Scottish throne. Her 
guardian would set his sights on a richer, more prestigious husband than a 
disinherited bastard.
It was only a matter of time before they were separated.
But even though fate decreed otherwise, he wanted to spend time with her. Wanted 
to pretend that there were no rules or expectations of others to govern their 
lives.
"Would you spend the day with me?" he asked.
"Where?"
He shrugged. "I'm not familiar with this area. Care to explore the countryside?"
Smiling, she nodded. "I would love to."
Simon left her only long enough to saddle his horse, then he led it over to her.
Kenna was puzzled as Simon approached her with only one mount.
Did he intend to leave her behind?
Before she could comment, he picked her up and set her on his horse. The feel of 
his arms and hands on her body made her heart pound. She'd never known anything 
better than the sensation of his touch against her flesh.
"Where are we to ride?"
"Wherever strikes our fancy." He gave her a hot, searing look, then mounted his 
horse behind her.
The saddle tilted dangerously until he was settled behind her. His entire body 
was pressed against hers. It was intimate and intense. Electrifying.
Kenna trembled at his actions, especially when his arms came around her to take 
the reins. No man had ever done such with her. Men had always kept a respectful 
distance.
But not Simon.
He dared what no other would.
And she found herself wondering what other things he would dare with her before 
this day ended. She should be afraid to ride off with him alone, but she wasn't.
She wanted this man. Wanted to be his and his alone.
He was her champion.
Simon set his heels to the horse and whisked her out of the castle's bailey, 
through the barbican and out into the meadow that surrounded the castle.
They flew across the fields. The power of the horse was evocative, but not 
nearly as much as the strength of the man who held her. His heart pounded 
against her shoulder blade. Every step of the horse threw her back against him 
in a scintillating rhythm.
She could feel his hot breath on her neck, the steel of his arms coiled around 
her.
She'd never known anything like this.
Time seemed to stop as they rode far away from the world. Far away from any 
other living person.
Simon took her deep into the forest, where there was no one but the two of them.
He stopped by the shore of a shimmering lake that gently lapped at the mossy 
bank. He helped her down. Simon quickly rubbed his horse down before leaving the 
beast to graze and drink.
She waited patiently and admired the way his muscles flexed and bunched while he 
worked. It was the first time she'd ever noticed the way a man's body moved 
while he exerted himself. She was fascinated by the color that darkened his 
cheeks, by the look of his large hands being so gentle with his animal.
Simon was powerful. Strong, and yet tender in his caring. She smiled at the 
knowledge.
Once finished, he rejoined her. Taking her by the hand, he led her to where a 
small circle of rocks formed a strange table-and-chair design.
"What are we doing here?" she asked as she walked around the small outcropping 
of rocks.
"Nothing. I merely want to sit so that I can look at you and not have to worry 
about anyone else disturbing us."
Kenna frowned at his words. "Why would you wish to do that?"
"Because I have dreamed of your face every night for a year now. When next I 
leave, I want to make sure that I won't forget even the tiniest detail of you."
He sat down, then pulled her to sit beside him on the mossy grass.
Kenna didn't speak as she watched him. He leaned back against a rock, his gaze 
never wavering from hers.
The intensity of that icy blue stare unnerved her. She wasn't sure what she 
should say to him.
How strange. She'd always had plenty to say to him in letters. But then their 
letters had been safe.
There was nothing safe about the man beside her.
He was dangerous. She could sense it. This was a man who had stood 
single-handedly against his enemies. One who had put his life at risk for 
others, countless times.
"Edward used to tell me stories of how you would help—"
"Shh," he said, placing his fingertip over her lips. "I've no wish to remember 
my past. My time in Outremer was a nightmare best left forgotten."
She nodded. The horrors of their existence had haunted her brother until the day 
he'd died. Once Edward returned home, he'd refused ever to be in darkness. They 
had paid servants to stay awake all night long, keeping the fire and candles in 
his room burning until the dawn. Edward himself had purchased dozens of cats to 
make sure no rodents would ever be found in their hall.
For the first year of his return, Edward had been like a madman. Terrified and 
nervous. Screaming out for no apparent reason, sitting for hours curled up into 
a ball as he held on to himself and rocked endlessly.
All of them had feared for Edward's sanity until one night, when a stranger had 
shown up. To this day, she didn't know the man's name. He'd stayed with Edward 
for several months until her brother could again function as a man and not a 
scared animal waiting to be kicked.
When the man had left, he'd handed Edward the badge she had returned to Stryder 
in Normandy—the mark of the Brotherhood of the Sword, a group of men whose ties 
to each other went far deeper than blood. Theirs was a brotherhood of sorrow and 
grief. One of unimaginable torment and pain.
Now there was Simon. He who had been in the thick of it and yet seemed to have 
somehow survived it whole and undamaged.
She marveled at his strength.
"What will you do after the tournament?" she asked.
"Stryder wishes to return to Normandy for a while."
Her stomach tightened at the thought of him so far away again. "You will go with 
him?"
"I haven't decided. What of you?"
She sighed as she thought it over. "I shall return home. The Angel sent word 
that there is another Scot who needs a resting place for a time before he 
returns to his family. I shall be there to make him welcome."
Simon nodded.
The Angel was the only woman who had been in their company during their days in 
Outremer. Only Simon and the other four members of the Quinfortis had known The 
Angel was a woman. The five of them had protected her carefully from their 
enemies.
He was grateful to Kenna for continuing to uphold her brother's oath to help 
save and protect those who had suffered the horrors of a Saracen prison.
Kenna was a good woman, one he would spend the rest of his life aching for.
How he wished things were different.
Simon sat quietly, watching the wind play in the tendrils of her brown hair, 
watching her long, graceful fingers toy with the trim of her dress.
He was captivated by those hands. Hands he wanted to feel on his skin. Fingers 
he wanted to taste and tease…
For the first time in his life, he felt awkward with a woman. He was so unsure 
of himself. So afraid of saying the wrong thing and making her demand that he 
leave her.
He watched as she picked up a blade of grass and used her hands to make a light 
whistle from it.
"What are you doing, my lady?"
She smiled, then blew against it again. "I'm calling the fey folk."
"Why?"
"So that they can give you back the silver tongue that wooed me so effectively. 
You are stiff with me now and I've no wish for you to be stiff."
He cleared his throat at her choice of words. She had no idea just how stiff he 
was.
She tossed the blade of grass aside. "Whatever can I do to make you relax?"
Lay with me and let me nibble every inch of you…
Simon cleared his throat at the lecherous thought.
"Well?" she prompted.
He started to lie to her, but couldn't. He'd never really lied to her before. 
They'd always had an open honesty between them where their feelings were 
concerned, and he had no desire to change that. "I dare not say it."
"Why not?"
His breathing ragged, he held her golden brown gaze with his. "Because what I 
want of you, my lady, is wholly indecent and improper, and should I speak these 
thoughts I fear you will run away from me."
A light frown puckered her brow. "And how are these thoughts indecent?"
Simon braced himself for her rejection as he spoke the honest truth to her. "I 
want to taste you, Kenna, and not just your lips. I want to know every inch of 
your body. There has not been a single night over the last year that I haven't 
lain awake aching for your touch. Aching for your body."
Kenna shivered at his brazen words. Virgin she might be, but she well understood 
what it was he asked of her. Most importantly, she understood the consequences 
of desire met and unmet.
Her mother had once told her how precious a woman's maidenhead was.
Once gone, it could never be recovered.
Men of the world over claimed it was a husband's right alone to take that from a 
woman, but her mother had been of a different mind.
Guard it well for the man you love with the whole of your heart. God willing, he 
shall be the one who marries you. But in the end, all women should know love the 
first time they take a man into their body. It is the most precious gift a woman 
can give to a man to let him know he is her first.
Kenna knew all too well the realities of her position. She was the king's 
cousin, which made her a direct link to the throne of Scotland. Love would have 
no place in her marriage. Politics and practicality were all that mattered. It 
was why Stryder would have been a good match.
But Simon…
Her cousin would never approve such a marriage. She knew that. And yet she 
wanted no other man.
She wanted her poetic knight. If she were forced to endure a marriage of 
alliance, then she wanted her one day of love. Her one moment spent with a man 
who made her feel like a woman.
For this one instant in her life, she didn't want to be the dutiful lady. She 
wanted something for herself.
That something was the man before her.
"Make love to me, Simon."
Simon's heart stopped at her whispered words. He couldn't quite believe his 
hearing, and yet there was no denying the sincerity on her face.
"Have you any idea what you're saying?"
She nodded.
Simon swallowed. He should get up and leave. He had no right to what she offered 
him and well he knew it. Women descended from kings didn't bother with 
knight-errants who had no prospects for anything better in life.
He was appalled at himself for not getting up immediately and returning her to 
the castle.
Yet he couldn't leave. His body refused to obey him, and his heart…
His heart needed her.
And when she leaned forward to kiss him, all of his sense left him. He couldn't 
think of leaving now. Not when all he wanted to do was stay.
He cupped her face in his hands, reveling at the softness of her skin.
Deepening his kiss, he laid her back on the warm grass and let the softness of 
her skin sweep him away from the realities of their situation.
He closed his eyes and allowed her to invade every sense he possessed. Her mouth 
was sweeter than honey, her touch sublime. He growled, needing more of her 
touch, desperate to lie with her, naked flesh to naked flesh.
Before this afternoon ended, they would both be well sated.
Kenna trembled at the foreign sensation of Simon on top of her. His weight felt 
so good to her, his lips even more so.
She felt his hand drop down to the laces of her kirtle while his hot, demanding 
kiss stole her breath.
Her senses reeled from the cascade of emotions and sensations that swept through 
her. The world around her careened. Her body seemed to be on fire, and it flamed 
even higher with every touch of his hand on her skin.
His fingers played with her laces until he spread her chemise open, baring her 
neck and the top swell of her breasts to his hot gaze.
Kenna watched in fascinated awe as he clipped his head down to tease her skin 
with his hot mouth. Desire coiled through her, pooling itself into a deep-seated 
throb at the center of her body.
Simon could barely draw his breath as he tasted her warm, sweet skin. Her 
lavender scent permeated his head, making him burn with aching need.
He couldn't remember ever being harder for a woman, ever wanting to taste one 
more.
She was his Aphrodite. Starving for more of her, he parted her kirtle even more 
until he could free her right breast.
A light flush covered her skin.
"Don't be embarrassed, my lady," he whispered, then he used his beard to lightly 
tease her taut nipple before he drew it deep into his mouth.
She moaned in response.
Arching her back, she laced her hands through his hair, pulling him close to her 
body, murmuring with pleasure while he licked and teased her taut areola.
He parted her gown even more until both her breasts were bare to his hungry 
gaze. Simon took his time sampling her, moving from one breast to the other 
while she ran her hands over him.
What he wouldn't give to make her his. To be able to claim her as her rightful 
husband.
He ached with the knowledge that one day she would lay like this with another 
man. Be forced to allow some other to touch her.
The thought wrung a bitter curse from him.
She stiffened. "Did I anger you?"
"Nay, love." he said, licking his way back to her lips. "You could never anger 
me."
"Then why—"
He kissed her to silence, unwilling to spoil the moment with what had ruined his 
mood.
But only for an instant. The taste of her warm, welcoming mouth was all he 
needed.
Kenna sighed in contentment as Simon gently teased her lips. Who knew kissing 
could be so pleasurable?
It whet her appetite for more, made her long to see him bare. With a courage 
that astounded her, she tugged at his surcoat and tunic.
He laughed at her eagerness before he pulled back long enough to divest himself 
of his garments.
Kenna swallowed at the sight of his bare, tawny skin gleaming in the sunlight. 
He was superb. Every part of him. Biting her lip, she reached out with her hand 
to trace the taut muscles of his shoulder down to his powerful biceps, then over 
to his pectorals.
He hissed at her touch and held himself still for her exploration. And explore 
him she did. She ran her questing hands down his chest to his hard, steely 
abdomen, where every muscle was well defined. Down to the small trail of hairs 
that ran from his navel to the waistband of his breeches.
Kenna hesitated to go any further. She desperately wished to see all of him, and 
yet she was a bit scared. She'd never seen a man naked before.
What would he look like?
"Don't stop there." he said, tugging at the laces at his waist.
Her throat dry, Kenna yielded to the curious part of herself and took courage in 
the hot, yearning look on his face as she gently sank her hand down into his 
breeches.
She found him instantly. He was swollen and wet and hard. Her hand trembling, 
she wrapped her fingers around his shaft. He groaned.
He held himself above her with one arm and used his other hand to cover hers. 
Kenna shivered as he showed her how to stroke him.
"You like this?" she asked, moving her hand down to the base of his shaft.
"Aye. I do."
Wanting to please him more, she cupped him in her palm while he teased the flesh 
of her neck with his mouth. Chills covered her from his hot breath.
She found it hard to believe that she was doing this with him, that they were 
about to share the most intimate of all experiences together— and yet why 
shouldn't they?
This was something she didn't want to share with anyone else. Only Simon had 
ever made her feel womanly. Desirable.
Oh, how she loved his hands on her. The feel of him in her own hands. He was so 
soft and hard as he rocked himself against her.
Simon pulled back and removed his boots and breeches.
Kenna licked her lips at the sight of his bare, masculine form. He was all 
sinuous power. All golden skin and muscles. If she could, she'd spend the rest 
of her life staring at that lush, wonderful body.
Her desire for him tripled, leaving her breathless and weak.
He reached for her, then removed the rest of her clothes. Kenna shivered, 
feeling terribly vulnerable.
She knew she wasn't a beautiful woman. Knew she had never driven men wild with 
desire.
But she wanted to do that now with Simon.
"Am I disappointing to you?"
Simon was aghast at her question. "How could you ask that?" He'd never wanted 
any woman more than he wanted her.
She smiled at him. "I didn't want you to regret this."
"I could never regret you."
He gathered her into his arms and held her close. The feel of her body against 
his was enough to drive him to madness. He kissed his way slowly down her skin. 
From her neck to her breasts, then lower and lower.
There was no part of her he didn't want to sample. No part of her he didn't want 
to touch.
Kenna's eyes widened as she felt his hand probe her between her legs. Her entire 
body burned as he slid his fingers in and around, teasing her with pleasure.
He pulled his hand away, then covered her fully with his body. Recapturing her 
lips with his, he parted her legs wide and slid himself deep inside her.
She hissed as pain spread through her.
"Shh," Simon breathed in her ear. "It'll pass in a moment, I promise."
She bit her lip and waited as he remained perfectly still. The fullness of him 
felt so strange. She'd tried to imagine what it would feel like to have a man 
inside her, but nothing had prepared her for the reality of it.
It was so intimate to have him there while he looked down at her.
He smiled tenderly. "You are beautiful, Kenna. A treasure truly."
She reached up and laid her hand against his cheek as she stared into those 
searing blue eyes. "I love you, Simon."
He dipped his head down and kissed her, then slowly started to move against her.
Kenna moaned at the sensation of his body thrusting against hers. She let her 
love for him wash over her. Her need.
He returned to her mouth, his breath stealing hers as they kissed and stroked 
each other with their hands and bodies.
Simon could barely breathe as he lost himself to the softness of her. He had 
seldom known comfort in his life. Seldom known tenderness.
His life had been spent with those who'd had little to no regard for him. He'd 
always had to prove himself. But not with her. She loved him for what he was. 
Not for his sword arm, not for his ability to think quickly.
She loved him for his heart.
With her he didn't have to pretend to be anything he wasn't. He could be soft 
with her. Gentle.
It was so unfair that he couldn't keep her.
She ran her hands over his back, her touch searing him to his soul. She was all 
he'd ever wanted in a woman.
And everything he couldn't have.
But she was his for this moment.
Delighting in that fact, he lost himself to her.
Kenna moaned as all her pain faded away, to the pleasure of Simon inside her. 
The hard strength of him filled her to overflowing. She'd never known anything 
more sublime than him sliding in and out of her, over and over, until she was 
breathless and weak.
"Oh Simon," she breathed in wonderment.
Her body clenched and unclenched with his movements. Her ecstasy mounted until 
she was sure she would die from it. And then, just as she was certain she could 
stand no more, her body burst around her.
Kenna held him close as she cried out from it.
Simon growled as he felt her climax. Unable to bear the pleasure of her body 
clutching his, he joined her in orgasm.
He nuzzled her neck with his lips as wave after wave of pleasure racked him. The 
scent of her filled his head, making him dizzy.
He didn't move for several minutes but stayed there in her arms, letting her 
softness soothe him.
Afraid he was hurting her with his weight, he pulled back. "Thank you, my lady."
Kenna smiled up at him. This was so strange. The feel of him still inside her 
while he spoke to her.
He was so handsome, his face flushed, his hair damp from exertion.
Reaching up, she brushed his damp bangs back from his forehead, then traced the 
line of his jaw.
How she wished they could stay like this. But it was impossible.
She saw the reluctance in his eyes before he withdrew from her. He picked her up 
from the ground and carried her toward the water.
"What are you doing?"
"I plan to bathe you, my lady. Every part of you."
She bit her lip at his words as a rush of excitement went through her.
He carried her to the lake and set her down to stand waist deep in the water, 
then he made good on his promise. He ran his hands over her heated skin, bathing 
her with a tenderness that seemed at odds for a knight of his caliber.
He dipped his head under the water.
Kenna watched the water play over the muscles of his back as he broke the 
surface, then caught her up to him. It was a wicked sensation to have his wet 
body pressed up against hers.
"I am so glad you came with me today."
She smiled up at him as she touched the locket that held her hair. "As am I."
After they bathed, they lay naked on the grass, waiting for their bodies to dry 
in the sun.
Simon looked so good spread out under her. She particularly liked the way dark, 
auburn hair dusted his legs and chest. The way his shaft looked nestled in the 
dense hairs below his waist.
Truly, the man had no equal.
Kenna lay on her stomach, mostly for modesty's sake. She was draped over Simon's 
chest as he played with her hair and told her stories of his travels with 
Stryder.
"He does not snore," she said with a laugh at his latest declaration of 
Stryder's faults. If she didn't know better, she would swear he was only 
recounting the man's shortcomings out of jealousy.
"Like a bear. I swear it. There are times he's so loud that he wakes himself up 
with it. He'll grab his dagger and brandish it about, demanding to know who 
awakened him."
She laughed again. "He would kill you if he ever heard you repeat that."
Simon's smile made her heart light. "He's heard it oft enough. I make no 
pretense of niceties to him."
" 'Tis a wonder he tolerates you," she said as she ran her hand over Simon's 
chest. She'd been tracing circles over his skin the whole time they lay there.
For some reason, she couldn't get enough of touching his bare skin.
"Tolerates me? 'Tis a wonder I tolerate him. Truly the man is a beast."
"He can't be too bad if he sees the good in you."
Simon leaned up to capture her lips in a light kiss.
Kenna sighed in satisfaction. What a wonderful day this had turned out to be… 
and an emotional one.
This morning, she'd assumed she'd spend the day with Stryder. Never would she 
have guessed the day would end like this.
That the man of her dreams was Simon of Ravenswood.
Simon pulled back and sighed wistfully as her stomach rumbled. "I fear I should 
return you before you're missed and Sin sends a search party to find you."
"I wish we didn't have to. Can we not run away together?"
His fingers played across her cheek. "I wish we could. But I have my own oath to 
the Brotherhood to uphold. I am the only one Stryder trusts at his back. He has 
enemies who would do anything to see him dead."
"I know. But I wish…"
She couldn't finish the thought. Not that she needed to. Simon knew her wishes 
the same as she did.
Simon tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. "And there is the matter of 
your cousin, who would never rest if he thought I had taken you away from your 
home. Malcolm would never leave us in peace."
Again he was right.
"Promise me that you won't just leave me, Simon. Swear to me that you'll always 
write to me."
"I promise."
Heartbroken, she moved away from him and got up. Neither of them spoke as they 
dressed and mounted the horse.
Kenna couldn't stand the thought of what was to come. It tore through her like a 
vicious blade, carving out her soul.
How she wished she had been born another. Some lesser-known lady whose position 
would have been equivalent to Simon's. Then perhaps there would have been a 
future for them.
All too soon they returned to the castle.
Simon rode them into the stable, and the first thing she saw there made her 
entire body run cold.
"Are you all right?" Simon asked as he slid down from his saddle.
Kenna couldn't answer. Her gaze was fastened onto the roan stallion in the 
nearest stall. It was a horse she knew well.
It belonged to her younger cousin Malcolm— the king of Scotland.
She shivered at the thought of why her cousin would be here.
But she didn't have to wonder for very long. No sooner had they entered the 
castle than she was besieged by the entire gathering of English and Scottish 
nobles.
A hush fell upon the crowd.
Swallowing, Kenna forced herself forward.
Malcolm was seated on the raised dais in the Great Hall, next to King Henry II 
of England.
Her spine straight, she forced herself to walk forward so that she stood before 
her cousin. Simon stayed by her side, his presence giving her comfort as she 
curtsied.
Malcolm looked uncomfortable. "Cousin Kenna, we have been searching for you all 
afternoon. Wherever have you been?"
She forced herself not to look at Simon lest she betray either one of them.
"Forgive me, Majesty," Simon's deep voice rumbled. "I fear I detained her."
Malcolm's look was harsh. "And you are?"
"Simon of Ravenswood," King Henry answered. "He is brother to the earl of 
Ravenswood."
"And a personal friend of mine."
Kenna passed a grateful look to Sin MacAllister, who spoke up from the small 
crowd that was gathered to her left. Sin was a friend and advisor to King Henry 
and had become a trusted ally to Malcolm as well. Both kings looked to the man 
favorably.
Malcolm relaxed. "Then he is trustworthy?"
"I would trust him with my life," Sin answered without hesitation.
"Good," Malcolm said. "I would hate for anything to come between my cousin and 
her marriage."
Dread consumed her.
"Marriage?" Kenna repeated.
It was then she saw Stryder of Blackmoor as he made his way through the dense 
crowd. The look on his face was one of hell wrath.
He passed a murderous glare to Simon, then offered her a forced smile.
"Dearest," Stryder said in a voice that was far from warm. "It appears that on 
the morrow we shall wed."



Chapter 4
« ^ »
"Pardon?" Kenna asked, unable to fathom what Stryder had just said.
With any luck, she'd gone deaf this afternoon and had misheard him.
Unfortunately, she wasn't so fortunate.
Malcolm smiled. "We are very proud of you, cousin. An English champion will make 
a fine alliance for our family. You have chosen very wisely for your husband."
Kenna struggled desperately to maintain composure. She dared a quick glance at 
Simon, who stood as still as a statue. There wasn't a single clue as to his 
mood, except for the angry tic in his jaw and the pain in his eyes.
"Majesty," she said, amazed at how level her voice sounded, given the fact that 
what she wanted to do was run screaming from the room. "Might I have a word with 
you in private?"
Malcolm hesitated.
"Now, please?" She pressed.
To her relief, he agreed. They were shown to a small antechamber just off the 
Great Hall, where they could speak without being overheard.
But to her further chagrin, King Henry came with them.
When Stryder tried to join their company, she put her foot down and banished him 
from the room.
If only she could do the same with Henry.
Not that it mattered. She refused to marry Stryder. Such a thing wouldn't be 
fair to either one of them now that she knew the truth.
"What is wrong?" Malcolm asked as soon as the three of them were sequestered.
Kenna took a deep breath and blurted out her desire. "I've no wish to marry 
Stryder of Blackmoor."
The two kings exchanged shocked looks.
"Caledonia assured us that you loved the earl," Malcolm said. "That you have 
spoken of nothing but him for months now."
She bristled uncomfortably. "I was wrong."
She cringed a bit more as the words came out sounding more like a question than 
a statement of fact.
"Wrong?" Henry repeated. "Lady, are you daft?"
Malcolm arched a regal brow at the harshness of the older king. "Our cousin is 
quite sound. Perhaps there is a flaw with your champion."
Henry scoffed. "Our champion is undefeated. Test his steel yourself and you 
shall see that none can touch him in prowess. We assure you, the flaw is not 
with Stryder."
"Please, Majesties," she said before they started a war over this. "I beg you 
not to fight. There is nothing wrong with Lord Stryder or myself, it's just—"
"You love someone else." It was Henry who spoke.
Kenna looked away.
"Is this true?" Malcolm demanded.
She nodded.
Her cousin sighed as he considered that. "And who is this man?"
She choked on the answer, too afraid that by speaking his name she might do him 
harm.
But then she didn't have to say it. Henry did. "Simon of Ravenswood. It is why 
the two of you were together."
Silence rang in the room for what seemed an eternity.
Kenna had no idea what to say. She was terrified of doing anything that might 
cause Simon to get into trouble for her actions.
"Kenna?" Malcolm's voice was deep and calm.
She met Malcolm's gaze levelly.
"What say you about this man?"
"I do love Simon, Majesty."
Malcolm's gaze turned steely. Speculative. "And again We ask you, who is this 
Simon of Ravenswood? Is he someone of rank or privilege?"
Henry shook his head. "He is a knight-errant who travels with our English 
champions. He has neither title nor any prospect for such."
Malcolm's gaze turned dull as he nodded in thanks for Henry's honesty.
When he looked back at Kenna, her heart shrank at the sadness and regret she saw 
on his face.
He would offer her no hope.
"Kenna, you know the wealth that comes with your hand. You are the last of your 
father's children. Would you have us marry you to a landless knight?"
"If you're asking me for the answer in my heart, Majesty, then the answer is 
aye. If you ask my head, then I know the truth. Please don't torture me with it. 
As always, I will do as you command."
Her cousin's gaze softened a degree. "We have come here to see you wed an 
English champion." He looked over to Henry. "You were to hold a show of arms 
tomorrow, were you not?"
"Aye."
"Then the winner shall take my cousin's hand."
Kenna was shocked by Malcolm's unexpected words. "What say you?"
The familiar determined fire returned to Malcolm's eyes. "Your Simon has but one 
chance to win you, Kenna. Pray tonight that he is as deft with his sword as he 
was with winning your heart."
Overjoyed by his words, Kenna threw herself into his arms and hugged him 
tightly. It was a breach of etiquette, but she knew her cousin wouldn't mind.
"Thank you!" She kissed his cheek.
Malcolm patted her on the back, then released her.
With a curtsy to both kings, Kenna took her leave and rushed to find Simon, who 
stood in a corner with Sin and Stryder.
None of them looked particularly happy.
Still overjoyed by her excitement, she had to force herself not to embrace 
Simon.
"All is not lost!" she announced to the dour group.
"How so?" Simon asked.
"Malcolm has granted us a reprieve," she replied. "If on the morrow you win the 
show of arms, he will allow us to marry."
Simon arched a disbelieving brow. "If I win?"
"Aye."
Her enthusiasm waned at the stunned look on Simon's face.
Stryder and Sin burst out laughing.
"What is so funny?" she demanded.
"You've never seen Stryder fight, have you?" Sin asked.
Kenna frowned at that. "Aye, I have."
"Then did you not notice the fact that no one bests me?" Stryder asked. "Least 
of all, Simon."
"Excuse me," Simon growled. "I happen to be second only to you, Sin and Draven."
"That would make you fourth then, wouldn't it?" Sin asked.
Simon cast him a feral glare. "I should have let the MacNeelys poison you."
"It doesn't matter who is best," Kenna said. "Simon will win tomorrow."
Stryder scoffed. "I doubt that most seriously."
Kenna lifted her chin as she eyed the handsome earl earnestly. "I do not. For if 
you win, my lord, and I am forced to wed you, then I can assure you, you will 
regret that victory for the rest of your life."
Stryder stiffened at her words. "Don't threaten me, my lady. I don't take kindly 
to it. And I will not lose to Simon or any other man. I have never in my life 
been defeated, and that is the title I will fight to the death to protect. No me 
will ever best me."
Before she could contradict him, Stryder spun about angrily and left them.
"How dare he!" Kenna started after him, but Simon stopped her.
"Pay him no mind, love. Stryder has good reason for his words."
"He might at that, but I will not let him win on the morrow." She met Sin's 
black gaze. "Can you not help Simon to train?"
Sin shook his head. "We have only one night."
"Aye, but surely—"
"It won't happen, Kenna," Simon said. "I will fight with every ounce of my 
strength for you, make no mistake about that. But I am not the fighter Stryder 
is. I have no delusions about that fact."
Perhaps, but she knew in her heart that it would work out. It had to.
"I think you will be surprised by what you can do."
Kenna and Simon spoke little for the rest of the night. After supper, Caledonia 
took Kenna upstairs to her room while Simon went to find Stryder, who hadn't 
shown himself to eat.
He found his old friend sitting up on the parapet with a flagon of ale nestled 
in his arms, much like a babe.
Simon let out a disgusted breath at the sight. "What is it with you and Sin that 
the two of you like to do this?"
Stryder didn't answer as he finished off his ale. "Why are you here, Simon?"
"I wanted to talk to you about tomorrow."
Stryder didn't turn to look at him. Instead, he continued to stare out at the 
inner bailey far below. "I'm not going to throw the match."
"I know." Simon would never ask such a thing from a man who had spent his entire 
life running from his past. Running from the little boy he had once been. It 
wasn't in Stryder to lose, and he would never ask his friend for such a 
sacrifice. "I don't want you to throw it."
"Then why are you here?"
"I wanted to make sure we are still friends."
"Friends…" Stryder laughed, and it was then Simon realized the man was drunk.
Extremely drunk, judging by the way Stryder wobbled as he tossed the flagon 
aside and reached for the second one that was set down by his foot.
Stryder righted himself and returned to staring out at the yard. "You get me 
betrothed to a woman I don't know and now I am told I have to fight to marry her 
on the morrow even though I want no wife, especially not one who is in love with 
someone else. If we weren't friends, you'd be dead now, Simon."
"I didn't mean for this to happen."
Stryder looked up at that, his eyes haunted. "Just as I never meant to get you 
and Edward captured."
Pain swept through Simon at the reminder. Stryder had barely earned his spurs 
when they lad followed Simon's father down to Outremer. Still a squire, Simon 
had thought it a grand adventure, until they'd met up with the small band of 
Crusaders.
Simon's father had scoffed at the fools, but Stryder had been young and intent 
on proving himself.
Stryder had wanted to follow after the Crusaders so that he could win glory and 
fame.
Simon had chosen friendship and gone with Stryder, never knowing what would come 
of his decision. Three years of their lives had been sacrificed to that fateful 
day. Three years of living in filth and squalor. Of fighting rats and serpents 
for every scrap of food.
Simon's flesh still bore the scars of that time, but unlike Stryder, he had 
chosen to bury the internal scars. To try his best to forget every degradation 
and horror they had experienced.
"I never blamed you."
"And I've never understood why you didn't."
"We are brothers, Stryder." Just as he was brother to Sin and Draven. He'd had 
to align himself to all of them to survive. Their shared tragedies had bonded 
them.
Stryder took a deep breath. "Do you love her?"
"Aye."
"Then how can you stand here so casually when you know that on the morrow she 
will belong to me?"
"Because she never really belonged to me." The truth stung him deep, but both he 
and Stryder knew it. "I am truly the Wraith." He laughed bitterly at the irony 
of that. "She didn't see me until it was too late to do anything about it." His 
heart aching, he forced himself to add, "I know you will honor her."
"And if she dies because of the curse of my family?"
Simon rolled his eyes at the lunacy of that question. "You're not cursed, 
Stryder."
"Aye, but I am. Why else would I be forced to marry my best friend's love?" 
Stryder rubbed lis hand over his head. "Why are you here with me anyway? You 
should be with her this night. God knows the two of you may never have another 
one."
Simon frowned at his words. "You're being remarkably understanding about all 
this."
"I'm being remarkably drunk, Simon. I plan to drink so much that this night will 
be nothing but an unremembered blur. Come the morrow, you and I shall have to 
fight." Stryder looked up at him. "I don't want to fight you, Simon, you are one 
of the few people I consider family, and family is something I have very little 
of.  Now go. I want to be alone in my misery."
Simon nodded. He well understood that sentiment, though tonight, for the first 
time, he had no wish to be alone.
He wanted Kenna.
And yet he dare not seek her out.
If he did, he would spend this night with her, and he couldn't do that to 
Stryder.
He appreciated Kenna's confidence in his abilities, but he knew the limits of 
his prowess. He could never defeat Stryder.
Damn the Fates for it.
Clenching his teeth, he left Stryder to his ale and went to seek whatever 
comfort he could in his tent.
It was a calm, quiet night. Most of the knights were still in the hall, boasting 
of how well they intended to do on the morrow.
A sennight ago, Simon would have been headed back to his tent to write to Kenna, 
to tell her all about his day and to speculate on what the morrow might bring.
But he couldn't even take comfort in that anymore. Their days of writing letters 
to one another were over. It would be unseemly of him to continue to correspond 
with the countess of Blackmoor while he rode with her husband.
The pain of the thought was almost enough to send him to his knees.
Heartsick, Simon entered his tent and moved to disrobe. He had stripped down to 
his tunic and hose when he heard a light noise behind the curtain that separated 
his dressing area from the bed.
Suspicious of an intruder, he reached for his sword.
With it held at the ready, he pulled back the curtain, then froze.
There in his bed was the one woman he would sell his soul to possess.
Kenna.
Her thick, wavy hair was down around her face. She wore a gauzy white chemise 
that was so sheer he could easily see the bright pink tips of her breasts.
He'd never seen a more beautiful sight than her waiting for him.
"You shouldn't be here," he said, lowering his sword.
"This is the one place where I do belong. I don't want to be without you, 
Simon."
He was humbled by her words. By the fact that she would risk so much to be with 
him tonight when he needed her so desperately.
He should send her on her way. It would be the noble thing to do.
But having lived his life for others, he found himself selfish tonight.
For once, he wanted something for himself.
He wanted her.
He dropped his sword and made his way toward the bed where she lay waiting. How 
he wished he could have her with him like this always.
Kenna held her breath, half expecting Simon to send her away. He had a look 
about him that warned her he was divided in his intentions.
But there was no division in hers. She was concentrated on him and him alone.
She shivered as he drew near her and pulled back the covers.
"I know not what brought you here tonight, my lady. I am only glad that you 
came."
Kenna smiled at him. "I would always come for you, my knight. No matter where 
you go."
He pulled his tunic off and gathered her into his arms. Kenna sighed at the 
sensation of his skin under her hands. He was so steely and warm. She loved the 
way his muscles rippled beneath her hands. The way he stared at her as if she 
were some tasty morsel he longed to devour.
His locket fell down to nestle between her breasts. Fire tore through her as she 
welcomed him.
"Don't leave me, Simon," she whispered. "Please win for me tomorrow."
"I shall do all within my power to win you."
He separated her legs with his knee. Kenna moaned at the feel of his hard body 
lying against hers. She felt him from her lips to her toes.
He kissed her then, hot and passionately. She ran her hands over his back as he 
bulged against her. Her body throbbed, wanting him inside her again.
He opened her chemise and slid his hand down to her breast, which tightened and 
ached for him.
With a growl, he left her lips and dipped his head to take her swollen nipple 
into his mouth. She hissed at the feel of him there while she held his head to 
her.
She couldn't imagine anything more pleasurable than Simon touching her.
He took his time tasting her, teasing her, before he began a slow trail down her 
body.
Kenna had no idea what he intended. He lifted the hem of her chemise, baring her 
lower half to his hungry gaze.
She shivered at the sight of him staring at her most private place. He nudged 
her legs farther apart, then ran his finger down her wet cleft.
Just as she thought the pleasure couldn't get any better, he dipped his head 
down and took her into his mouth.
Kenna cried out in ecstatic surprise. She'd never imagined a man doing this to 
her. He was relentless in his tasting of her.
And when she came for him, it tore her asunder. She expected him to enter her 
then.
He didn't.
Instead, he pulled back and lowered the chemise to cover her. He moved to lay 
down by her side and pulled her so that he cradled her head against his bare 
chest.
"You didn't take your pleasure."
"Aye, love, I did. Your pleasure was mine tonight."
"I don't understand."
"I can't take you again, Kenna, knowing that on the morrow like as not you'll 
belong to someone else. I can't send you to Stryder carrying my child. It 
wouldn't be fair to any of us."
"And if I'm already carrying your child?"
"I can't undo that. I can only ensure that I don't cuckold him from this moment 
on."
Kenna swallowed the tears she longed to weep. This was so unfair. She was 
getting the very thing she'd wanted—marriage to Stryder. Only it wasn't what she 
needed.
She needed Simon.
She lay quietly, listening to Simon's heart beating beneath her cheek.
She sighed. "Do you remember what you wrote to me last Christmastide when you 
were in Flanders?"
"That I hate duck?"
She laughed. "Aye, you said that too. But I was thinking more of your telling me 
how you wished you could have a family celebration like the duke of Burgundy. 
You wrote of how his children had been around him as well as his brothers and 
sister. Do you remember it now?"
"Aye. Men ever seek to obtain what they know they can never have."
"The day might come—"
"Nay," he said, interrupting her. "Even if I were to become landed, there is no 
other I would have, Kenna. You are the only woman I would ever quest for."
"You would change your mind, Simon, if you were given lands."
"Nothing would change. I've known many women in my life, of all stations, and I 
know my heart. In all my journeys there has never been another woman who made me 
feel what you do. You are my friend and confidante. I have trusted you in ways I 
have never trusted anyone else. It's not in me to be so open with people, and 
yet I have told you every thought and dream I have ever possessed."
She was warmed by his words.
He balled her hair up in his hand and lifted it to his face. Closing his eyes, 
he inhaled the scent.
She was awed by the action. "I can't lose you, Simon."
His jaw flexed. "We do what we must."
"But—"
"Nay, Kenna. No matter what we want, the dawn will come and tomorrow will see us 
parted."
"But if we—"
"There are no buts. I will not see you running from the family that loves you 
and making them sick with worry. Stryder is a good man. He will see you cared 
for."
"Will he see me loved?"
His crystal blue eyes were dull, tortured. "Nay. He will never allow himself to 
love a woman."
"And I will never love him. Tell me where either Stryder or I will find 
happiness in that?"
"You will find it. Somehow."
Kenna growled at him. How she wanted to throttle the stubborn beast. What was it 
with men that they were ever blind?
He kissed her on the brow and held her face in his hand. "Sleep, Kenna. I need 
my rest if I am to fight."
She nodded, even though what she wanted was to argue more. She'd learned long 
ago that once a man set his mind to anything there was no changing it.
But as she lay nestled in his arms, she prayed for a miracle. One that would see 
her wed to the champion of her heart and not to the champion of England.



Chapter 5
« ^ »
The dawn found Simon waking up to feel Kenna pressed to his side. Her warm, 
silken body called out to his, while her precious, sweet scent clung to him, 
permeating his head.
He lay quietly just listening to her breathe, feeling her skin against his.
Odd how a few months ago he'd wanted nothing more than to spend the rest of his 
life helping the Brotherhood. He'd been content with his lot of second born, 
landless knight. Nothing had owned him and he had owned nothing.
His life had seemed good. Even desirable.
Kenna had changed that.
Now he wanted only to be with her. For the first time in his life, he desired to 
be a husband, a father.
He wanted to be everything to her. To see her grow round with his child and to 
hold his own son or daughter in his arms.
He wanted to grow old with her.
Ultimately, he wouldn't even be allowed to take part in her life at all. After 
this day, he would be forced to hand her over to Stryder and walk away.
It would be the hardest thing he'd ever had to do.
His heart heavy, he forced himself to leave her side and dress. There was much 
to be done in preparation for the day's events.
Once he was ready to leave, he returned to the bed and stole a quiet kiss from 
Kenna.
She didn't move.
Tracing her lips with his finger, he smiled sadly. "Sleep well, my love. I hope 
you have peace in your dreams." For he would never have any peace in his heart. 
Not so long as they were forced to live separate lives.
And with that, he left her and made his way to the list, where knights were 
already beginning to gather.
Stryder was in the list with his squire, Raven. The boy was adjusting Stryder's 
cuirass to allow Stryder a wider range of motion during the coming matches.
"How fare you?" Simon asked.
Stryder's eyes were rimmed and red. He snarled in greeting. "Don't speak so 
loudly."
Simon shook his head. "Given your current state, mayhap I stand a chance after 
all."
But even he knew better. He'd seen Stryder recover from far worse things than 
this and still fight like a lion amongst mice.
Stryder grunted in response.
Simon spent the morning training and resting for what would come that afternoon. 
But it was hard to focus on that while his thoughts continually drifted back to 
the woman he'd left in his tent.
"God," he whispered, looking up at the clear blue sky above his head, "grant me 
either the strength to win this or to be man enough to walk away and leave them 
in peace."
* * *
Kenna woke to the silence of an empty tent. There were no traces of Simon. 
Nothing other than the warm, manly scent of him on her skin.
Until her gaze fell to the pillow beside her, where he'd left a note.
Sitting up, she clutched the sheet to her while her hair trailed down her back. 
She broke the seal to find the flowing, masculine script that had come to mean 
the world to her.
Courage, my love. I need you to possess the same fire that led you from Scotland 
to Normandy that first day when we met. Whatever the day brings, know that I 
will always love you. You carry with you, my heart, my soul, my very being. Be 
strong for me, Kenna.
Ever your knight, S
Postscriptum S doesn't stand for Stryder.
She laughed at that, even though her eyes were filled with tears.
Blinking them away, she quickly dressed and made her way to the castle before 
she was discovered missing.
But she didn't stay there long before she headed back toward the list, where the 
men were training.
As usual, none of them paid her any attention. It wasn't until a man knew her 
titles and status that their heads turned.
Except for Simon.
He cared for her person, not her birthright.
She found him by his horse, checking its shoes and rigging.
He straightened as soon as her shadow fell over him. His eyes widened in 
surprise.
"Kenna. I wasn't expecting to see you."
"I know." She handed him the small package in her hands. "But I wanted to bring 
you this."
He opened it to find the red ribbon she always wore in her hair. The one her 
father had given her as a present just days before he'd died.
Today was the first day in years she'd been completely without it.
"Since you lost the last one, I want you to wear my favor, my lord."
He smiled at her. "Always."
He kissed her lips lightly, then held his arm out so that she could tie her 
token around his mail-covered biceps. Her heart was weak and pain-filled at the 
thought of losing him today.
Silently, she wished him God's strength and mercy.
As soon as she was finished, she took a small step back. "Good luck, my lord."
He opened his mouth to speak, but the heralds called the knights forward to 
prepare for the march that would lead them to the show.
Simon kissed her hand, then turned and mounted his horse. He stared down at her 
from his saddle.
The gentle breeze tugged at his dark auburn locks, and his eyes burned with 
fiery passion and promise.
Never had she seen a more breathtaking man.
"God's strength be with you." she said.
Simon nodded, then turned his horse away and joined the others.
Kenna couldn't move as she watched him head off. It was like something from a 
forgotten nightmare.
"Kenna?"
She turned to find Caledonia behind her.
"Don't fret, little cousin," Callie said, taking her arm. "Simon won't let 
another man win you."
"I pray you are right."
Callie pulled her off, toward the area that had been set up for spectators. 
Malcolm and Henry were already seated in the highest part, where a striped 
awning kept the sun from them.
Callie led her to a seat behind the two kings, where Sin, who was dressed all in 
black, was waiting.
"Are you not participating?" Kenna asked Sin.
He shook his head. "I never play at war and I've no desire to embarrass Stryder 
by taking this victory from him."
Kenna considered his boastful statement. "If you are sure you can win this, then 
I beg you to take the field."
"Why?"
"Should you win, I wouldn't have to marry Stryder."
Malcolm laughed at that. "We wouldn't let you out of this so easily, Kenna."
Aggravated by the fact her cousin was in earnest, Kenna sat quietly and waited 
for the event to start.
The day wore on slowly as knight after knight clashed and defeated each other.
Simon fought as if his life depended on the outcome; indeed it did.
Should he lose this day, she would kill him herself.
It was nearing dusk when it came down to the final match.
Stryder and Simon.
Kenna held her breath in expectation as the two knights faced each other.
Simon was exhausted. His entire body ached from the day's games. The last man he 
wanted to face was Stryder. Having sparred for years with the man in practice, 
he knew just how skilled a knight Stryder was.
He knew Stryder's weaknesses, just as Stryder knew his.
Not once in all these years had they faced each other in earnest.
That was about to change.
They were at war now, Stryder to protect his honor and reputation, Simon to win 
his lady.
Simon clenched the reins of his horse and eyed Stryder. He wouldn't lose this 
day. There was no way he was going to cede this victory to Stryder. Whatever it 
took, he would win this.
The earl of Blackmoor was about to taste his first defeat.
The herald lowered the flag.
Simon spurred his horse forward.
He came at Stryder full tilt, with his lance held at the ready. The thrumming of 
hooves droned in his ear alongside his rapid heartbeat. Sweat trickled down the 
back of his neck.
Stryder drew nearer.
Simon tensed, ready for the blows.
One…
Two…
He made contact with Stryder at the same time Stryder's lance slammed into the 
center of his chest. Simon growled fiercely at the pain of it.
The force of the blow knocked the wind from his body, but Simon held his saddle.
By all the angels in heaven, he would not be unhorsed. Not today and not by 
Stryder.
Struggling for breath, Simon tossed his broken lance to his squire and received 
a new one. He turned his horse about and walked it back toward the list.
Stryder inclined his head to him in a respectful salute. Simon returned the 
gesture as they waited for the signal to begin anew.
He glanced toward the stands where Kenna sat. He couldn't see anything more than 
the color of her gown, but he swore he could feel her eyes on him. Hear her 
voice urging him to victory.
He would not disappoint her.
The flag flew out.
For you, my love, for you…
"Ya!" Simon urged his horse forward.
But no sooner had he started forward than Simon felt it. A slight loosening of 
his saddle. It was small at first, but with the pounding hoof beats, it became 
more pronounced.
Simon cursed as he realized he had no time to veer away from Stryder and the 
oncoming blow.
Grinding his teeth, he met Stryder's blow full force, but his weakened saddle 
wouldn't hold, and the force of Stryder's lance knocked him back.
The saddle girdle broke, sending him toward the ground.
In that moment, Simon felt the weight of his defeat.
Damn it all!
He slammed into the ground so hard that his teeth rattled, his bones jarred.
For a full minute, he couldn't breathe at all as the crowd roared with 
excitement over Stryder's victory.
Simon lay still, his broken heart hammering. His saddle lay off to the side, a 
testament of his ill luck.
Nay! How could he lose to a twisted piece of fate?
He wanted to scream out at the injustice of it.
"Simon?"
He barely recognized Stryder's voice from the ringing in his ears.
"Simon, are you all right?"
He snarled as he felt Stryder trying to help him up. "Leave me be." He jerked 
his helm from his head and glared at his friend.
Simon ached to decry what had happened, but he wouldn't be so childish. Nor 
would he undignify himself. Such things happened.
He was defeated.
Stryder's eyes burned with guilt. "I'm sorry, Simon."
In his heart, he knew Stryder meant that. But it changed naught.
Kenna was lost to him now. Forever.
"Damn you, Stryder. Damn you to hell."
Stryder's eyes flared in anger. A muscle worked in his jaw.
Simon expected him to strike out.
He didn't.
Instead, Stryder turned about and headed back toward his horse.
Angry and hurt physically, mentally and spiritually, Simon released the laces of 
his coif and started to retrieve his helm from the ground where he'd tossed it. 
But as he reached for it, something caught his eye.
If he didn't know better, he'd swear it was the fading sun reflecting off a 
crossbow hidden on the parapets.
He'd fought enough wars and battles to well understand such tactics. And as he 
glanced to Stryder, he had a horrible realization.
The bow was aimed for Stryder.
If he dies, Kenna is yours.
The thought went through his mind before he could stop it. Not that it mattered.
He could never be happy with Kenna knowing he'd let his friend die.
Reacting on pure instinct, Simon raced for Stryder.
Stryder cursed as he caught sight of Simon charging him. "Simon, I swear—"
The words broke off as Simon fell forward into his arms. The man's weight made 
him stagger back.
At first he thought Simon was attacking him until he realized people around him 
were screaming.
Simon was bleeding.
Stryder gaped as he saw three crossbow bolts protruding from Simon's back.
"Nay!" he roared, placing Simon gently sideways on the ground. "Simon?"
Simon shook from the pain of his wounds. His brow was covered in sweat.
Suddenly Kenna was there, her face pale and her cheeks wet with tears.
"Simon?" she sobbed, cradling his head in her lap.
Simon swallowed, then coughed up blood. He held onto Kenna's hand, unwilling to 
let it go. He struggled to breathe against the pain that shredded him.
Stryder bellowed for a physician.
But it was too late. Simon knew that. He'd known there would be no saving him 
when he'd seen the assassin on the battlements.
"Don't you dare die, Simon," Kenna said, shaking him. "Don't you dare…"
He didn't bother to argue with her. Such things were never in the hands of men.
Instead, he kissed her hand and inhaled her warm, feminine scent.
"Damn it, Simon," Stryder snarled. "You weren't supposed to do this again. You 
swore to me you would never hazard yourself for my life."
Simon took Stryder's hand and placed it over Kenna's. "Take care of her for me, 
Stryder."
He swallowed back the pain and then let the darkness swallow him.



Chapter 6
« ^ »
Kenna paced outside the room where Simon was being tended. The hallway was gray 
and stark—a perfect mirror of her mood. Stryder, Sin and Caledonia, along with 
Malcolm and Henry, waited with her.
She had wanted to stay inside the room with Simon while Henry's royal physicians 
tended him, but Malcolm had refused to allow it.
"It was a remarkable thing he did." Malcolm said as if musing aloud.
"He's a rather remarkable man, Majesty," Sin said. "He never fails to protect 
those he loves, and he's loyal to a fault."
Kenna listened while both Sin and Stryder spoke of Simon's bravery to the kings. 
Sin told of how Simon, at great peril to himself, went to Scotland to make sure 
Sin didn't face his enemies alone.
Stryder told of Simon's bravery in the Holy Land and again of his loyalty to his 
brother Draven. How Simon had gotten Draven's wife, Emily, to safety while 
they'd been under attack by unknown assailants.
Not that Kenna needed to hear proof of his courage or deeds. She knew all too 
well just how noble and decent Simon was. It was why she loved him.
The door opened.
Kenna looked up hopefully and rushed forward.
The eldest of the three physicians came out, wiping his hands against a pale 
blue cloth.
"How does he?" Kenna asked.
"Not well, my lady. We have cauterized the wounds, but they are deep. We're not 
sure if they pierced a major organ or not. If he lives to morning, then he may 
yet rise and recover. Otherwise…"
Her stomach wrenched. "May I see him?"
He nodded.
Kenna didn't wait for the others. She rushed into the room, to see Simon 
unconscious on the bed while the other two physicians packed their instruments 
and supplies.
Simon lay on his stomach with a sheet pulled up over him. His face was pale and 
ghostly, and his body was covered with sweat.
Her heart aching, she sat down beside him and brushed his wet hair back from his 
forehead.
"Simon," she whispered. "Please come back to me."
* * *
For four days Kenna waited in fear and uncertainty for Simon to wake, but he 
never moved.
On the fifth day, Malcolm grew impatient. "Scotland needs a king on her throne, 
Kenna. We canna wait any longer for him to wake."
Kenna wanted to scream out her denial.
But she was honor bound to do as her cousin requested, because his requests 
weren't requests.
They were kingly demands.
Simon's brother, Draven, who had come to be with Simon, stood on the opposite 
side of the crimson bed. His handsome face was dour as he looked from the king 
to her. "I'll watch over him for you, Kenna. Believe me."
"Come, Kenna," Malcolm said. "Let us have this wedding done with so We can go 
home."
Her heart heavy, she nodded.
* * *
Simon came awake to a vicious pounding in his head. He heard whispering nearby, 
then the sound of a door closing.
He was hot all of a sudden. The covers over him seemed stifling, unbearable.
He tried to kick them away, only to find them too heavy and his limbs too weak. 
Why did he feel this way?
He was weaker than a newborn whelp, and his body ached as if he'd been slit 
open.
It wasn't until he focused on the sight of his brother that he remembered what 
had happened.
"Stryder?" Simon asked, hoping his friend hadn't been shot too.
Draven moved to his side and held him down against the bed. "Shh, lie back."
Simon did, even though he was anxious to learn what had happened after he'd 
passed out. He met his brother's gaze and noted that a few strands of gray were 
starting to mark Draven's ebony hair.
"Where's Stryder?" he asked.
"He left almost a sennight ago."
The words made Simon's head pound even more. "Gone?" he whispered.
Draven nodded.
Simon closed his eyes as despair washed over him. That would mean Kenna was 
gone, as well.
At least Stryder lives…
Aye, his friend was alive, thanks to him, and married to the woman he loved. 
Again, thanks to him.
At that moment, he hated himself.
"Don't you wish to know how long you've been abed?"
Simon shook his head. He couldn't care less.
The only thing that mattered to him was the fact that Kenna wasn't here with him 
now.
"Would you like me to tell you about Kenna's wedding?"
Simon snarled at him. "Do so and I swear, brother or not, injuries or not, I 
shall run you through."
Draven arched both brows at Simon's rancor. "Fine then, sorry I tried."
Draven moved away from the bed, then returned with a cup.
Simon refused to take it.
"You need to drink something. You've been—"
"I don't need that."
What he needed was to see Stryder's wife.
Stryder's wife.
The words cut through him.
Simon rolled over to face the wall and let the pain of her loss seep through 
him.
Why couldn't he have just died? Surely no man could live with the pain in his 
heart that he felt.
Behind him, he heard Draven set the goblet down on the table beside the bed, 
then cross the floor.
The door opened, but Simon didn't bother to look. No doubt Draven was leaving 
him.
Good. He wanted to be alone.
"He's awake," he heard Draven say to someone in the hallway outside. "But a word 
of advice, my lady. Your husband is in a foul mood."
Simon frowned at the words.
He rolled over to see…
Nay, it couldn't be.
He blinked as he saw Kenna drawing near the bed.
Draven glared at him. "Be nice to her, brother."
Simon still couldn't breathe. He couldn't take his eyes off the vision that was 
Kenna.
Her pale face was bright and happy. Her brown eyes fair glowed. She wore a deep 
crimson gown that matched the hair ribbon she'd given him.
"You're awake," she breathed, her voice unsteady with her happiness.
She threw herself over him, holding his head in her hands as she squeezed him. 
"Thank the Lord and all his saints for their mercy!"
Simon was dumbfounded. He looked at Draven for an explanation, but his brother 
merely stood aside with his hands crossed over his chest, watching the two of 
them.
"What are you doing here?" he asked Kenna.
"Where else would I be?" she said, pulling back to stare at him.
"With your husband."
She laughed at that. "I am with my husband."
He was even more confused than before. "Draven said Stryder had left."
"Aye. He did."
"Then why are you still here?"
Draven was the one who laughed this time. "Take mercy on the poor man, Kenna, 
and tell him about your wedding. He didn't want to hear the details from me."
This was so odd…
"What details?" Simon asked.
Kenna sat back and took his hand into hers.
"Malcolm had you and I married by proxy."
Simon blinked. Then blinked again.
Did she say what he heard?
"Beg pardon?"
Kenna's eyes turned warm, inviting. "After you were brought up here, we waited 
almost a week, but Malcolm had to go home. He had to be here to sign the papers 
in order for our marriage to be binding, and since you were nowhere near to 
waking, he allowed Stryder to stand in as proxy for you."
The king's reversal didn't make sense. "But why? I don't understand what made 
him change his mind. I lost the show of arms."
"Aye, but not fairly. Even Stryder pointed out that he won only because your 
saddle failed you. Not that it mattered in the end. Malcolm changed his mind 
because he thought a man so loyal to his friends, one who would sacrifice his 
own happiness to see Stryder safe, was worthy of marrying me. More so, in fact, 
since Malcolm figured you would never try to overthrow him."
"But I'm not titled."
Draven snorted. "You are now, Lord Simon of Anwyk. King Henry has a small barony 
for you to swear fealty over. Seems he rather likes the thought of having a 
baron who is married to a Scottish princess."
Simon looked back and forth between them, still not sure if he hadn't addled his 
brain in the fall. "Are you jesting?"
Draven shook his head.
"Nay, love," Kenna said with a bright smile. Then she turned serious. "Of 
course, you could always divorce me…"
"Nay," he said emphatically. "Never."
She smiled again. "I somehow didn't think you would mind."



Epilogue
« ^ 
Simon paused outside the small donjon in Anwyk to watch his wife direct the 
servants who were helping her plant rosebushes in her private courtyard.
To his chagrin, a light blue veil covered her brown tresses. How he loved to 
brush his hands through those long, wavy locks at night. Bury his face deep in 
the fragrance of it every time they made love.
She grew more beautiful, more dear to him every day.
She looked up and saw him watching her.
The smile on her face made his heart pound.
"Greetings, my lord." she said, "Care to help us?"
"Nay," he said, closing the distance between them so that he could pull her into 
his arms. "I rather like watching you." Then he leaned and whispered in her ear, 
"Especially when you bend over."
She squealed playfully at that. "You are in a mood this day."
"My lady, I am in that mood every time I look at you."
She laughed at him, then gave him a smart, chaste kiss. "Be off with you, knave. 
I have work to be about."
Simon turned his head so that he could watch the youngest member of the work 
crew. The youth had been nothing more than a boy when he'd been imprisoned.
Stryder had sent him to them so that they could watch over and help him adjust 
to his newfound freedom. Under Kenna's care and kindness, the boy had come a 
long way in only a few weeks.
"You do great work, my lady," he said seriously. At least until the imp in him 
took over again.
He lifted Kenna up in his arms.
She shrieked in protest. "What are you doing?"
"It seems to me you still have a promise to fulfill."
"And what promise is that?"
"That you'd give me a child by next summer."
He kissed her then and carried her away from the others. Carried her to the 
castle that belonged to a man who had once had no prospects at all.
Well, he had them now, and he intended to make sure that he spent his life 
letting Kenna know just how grateful he was to her.
Simon sprinted to their upstairs room. He closed the door and frowned as he saw 
a letter on his bed.
Setting his wife down, he went to it.
Kenna came to stand behind him as he saw his own baronial seal. "What is this?" 
he asked. They hadn't written to each other since before their marriage.
She shrugged. "Read it and see."
He broke the seal and opened it.
My dearest champion,Since all good news seems to come in written form, I thought 
I should tell you this. I have kept my promise.
Ever your lady,
K
Postscriptum The K is for Kenna just in case you might mistake me for another.
Simon's hand shook as he understood her meaning.
She carried his child.
He wanted to shout out in jubilation. He turned to face her. "Are you sure?"
She nodded.
Laughing aloud, he grabbed her up in his arms and whirled her around.
"Thank you!" he said, then he lowered her down his body to capture her lips.
Every dream he'd ever possessed had come true, and he owed it all to one woman…
His Kenna.
* * *
Multi-published, romance author, SHERRILYN KENYON knows men. She lives outside 
of Nashville, Tennessee, with her husband and three sons. Raised in the middle 
of eight boys, and currently outnumbered by the Y chromosome in her home, she 
realizes the most valuable asset a woman has for coping with men is a sense of 
humor—not to mention a large trash bag and a pair of tongs.
Writing as KlNLEY MACGREGOR and Sherrilyn Kenyon, she is the best-selling author 
of several series including, The Dark-Hunters, Brotherhood of the Sword and The 
MacAllisters.