One Knight Only Read online

  Julia Latham

  One Knight Only

  To Ginny Aubertine, fellow Packeteer and forever

  friend, thank you so much for showing me your

  wisdom, and guiding me with a shining example

  of a woman changing her life for the better.

  I so admire you!

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  The last time maidservant Anne Kendall pretended to be a…

  Chapter 2

  Philip stood above the bathing tub, staring down at Anne…

  Chapter 3

  Anne barely slept. Well before dawn, she was awake and…

  Chapter 4

  Anne told herself that it was ridiculous to be bothered…

  Chapter 5

  Philip and the rest of the guests in the great…

  Chapter 6

  When Anne awoke the next morning, she lay still amidst…

  Chapter 7

  As the morning progressed and they journeyed ever southward, Anne’s…

  Chapter 8

  Philip forgot what it was like to be alone, so…

  Chapter 9

  For the rest of the evening, Philip felt like England’s…

  Chapter 10

  Philip could see how the baroness had meant supper to…

  Chapter 11

  Philip accepted her glare, because he knew she was defending…

  Chapter 12

  That afternoon, Lord Egmanton invited Anne to accompany him on…

  Chapter 13

  When she returned to her bedchamber, Anne was grateful for…

  Chapter 14

  Six years had passed since the last time Philip had…

  Chapter 15

  When the words left Philip’s mouth, it was as if…

  Chapter 16

  The inn at Stamford did not have a private dining…

  Chapter 17

  Anne lay still, barely breathing, baring herself in more ways…

  Chapter 18

  Philip felt the hot cradle of Anne’s body as if…

  Chapter 19

  Philip stared at Anne. They had shared one blissful night,…

  Chapter 20

  The pounding in his brain was so unbearable that Philip…

  Chapter 21

  Philip’s heart only slowed down when he led Anne into…

  Chapter 22

  At sunrise, Anne and the two men rode through London,…

  Chapter 23

  It was several miles of rowing for the boatman to…

  Chapter 24

  Anne knew that she looked different by the way Philip’s…

  Chapter 25

  Philip rode swiftly through the London streets, now barren of…

  Epilogue

  Winter was upon them, and Anne stood looking out the…

  Author’s Note

  About the Author

  Other Romances

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  Chapter 1

  Yorkshire, 1486

  T he last time maidservant Anne Kendall pretended to be a noblewoman, she’d been locked in a tower bedchamber, and only had to keep up the masquerade for one person. Now she was able to ride her horse through the colorful pavilions of the tournament on the grassy park on the plains near York, her head held high, wearing the finest garments, projecting the confidence of a wealthy, powerful woman. She was impersonating Lady Rosamond Wolsingham, daughter of a duke, widow of an earl, and a woman who knew too many secrets, the kind that desperate men might kill for.

  Anne could never forget the risk of danger involved.

  But she had her small retinue of soldiers near her at all times, as well as Lady Rosamond’s maidservant to help with her masquerade. They surrounded her as she moved through the crowd of knights and squires, their ladies and their servants, heading toward the walls of the town and the inn that awaited them.

  Anne had already honed her impersonation by spending a week under the tutelage of Lady Rosamond, then visiting the first castle on the lady’s husband-hunting list. Thank goodness Lady Rosamond had something in mind for Anne’s journey to London. How else to keep all eyes focused on Anne, instead of the secret journey that Lady Rosamond was taking?

  But this tournament had not been anticipated. There might be people here who knew the countess, who would realize that Anne was not she. So Anne bowed to the wishes of her soldiers and wore a veil attached to her headdress to obscure her face. She had not meant to take any chances by watching the tournament, but as they rode past a field surrounded by a cheering crowd, she could see two armored combatants swinging swords at each other. The fight looked intense enough for a battlefield, and one knight even lost his helm during a blow. But the reeling man only shook back his brown hair that glinted red in the setting sun, laughed, and continued to attack his opponent bareheaded. He was a reckless, brilliant fighter with little care for his own safety.

  Anne felt a chill of recognition. Sir Philip Clifford. Here was one man who could identify her, might even unthinkingly call out her name. She turned her head away and tapped her mount’s flanks to hurry into town. But inside her, something hot and smoldering reawakened, and she cursed her weakness where Philip was concerned. She could not afford to be distracted—especially not by memories of him and the anger it evoked inside her.

  The tavern on the ground floor of the inn was overflowing with cheering, laughing, drinking men and women, and Philip Clifford was determined to enjoy every minute of it. Today he had bested every knight in sword fighting, and he was using part of his winning purse to keep the celebration going. He knew a deep satisfaction in keeping his name in the public eye. If he continued his winning streak, he would most certainly come to the attention of King Henry. He intended to be the king’s man, perhaps his champion, to live at court and make a good marriage. The king had only come to power the previous year when he defeated King Richard in battle. Would not such a man need to discover men he could trust? Philip could be such a man.

  Pleasing a monarch had not always been his goal, Philip thought, sipping his tankard of ale and tugging on the skirt of a blond serving maid as she pranced by. She laughed over her shoulder at him and winked. He used to hold himself to a strict morality, focused on being as worthy as the knights in the League of the Blade, the shadowy group of men who took action when they saw a wrong being committed. He’d grown up listening to his mother’s stories of the great League and its worthy deeds.

  But he’d given up that quest. After everything he’d accomplished in the service of his friend John Russell, newly married and now the earl of Alderley, Philip still hadn’t earned an invitation to join the league, although John had. It had been time for Philip to move on. He’d taken to the roads of England, looking for any chance to show his talent, to earn prize money and the notice of the king.

  Sometimes that road was lonely. He’d been a man always part of a company, first a soldier, then a knight. But now he owed his allegiance to no man. More than once a pretty maid had eased his nights. But even that had begun to seem lonely. He wanted his life to have meaning. So when the maidservant brushed by him again, her hand lingering on his shoulder, he smiled, but did not offer an invitation.

  Several women brushed past him, even a merchant’s wife, and he made a game of reaching for them, only to send them away laughing. When it happened again, he swept his arm around the woman’s waist and hauled her across his lap. There was a roar of approval from the crowd, and Philip leaned over to smile at his captive, but to his surprise, she was wearing a veil that obscured the lower half of her face. Upswept black hair was tucked back beneath a small headdress, and below that, he could see wide, fathomless black eyes.

  Inside him, everything
stilled in recognition and desire. Anne Kendall. He had not seen her in many weeks, but his body remembered. When he’d first met her, he’d believed her to be Lady Elizabeth Hutton, and she’d been dressed as finely as she was now, with long silk skirts. Her garments slid like water across his legs, his thighs pillowing her, his arm holding her as if she were a lover. She was delicate and strong all at once, as a woman should be who’d fooled a viscount for days and kept him from marrying her lady. ’Twas a shame she was only a maidservant.

  Before he could even frame a question, she put a finger to his lips, and then gave him a bold smile. “Well, Sir Knight, are you making a play for my bed?”

  He arched a brow in surprise, but couldn’t respond because a man pulled her off his lap and held a dagger to Philip’s throat.

  Still wearing a smile, Philip raised his empty hands high. “I have no quarrel with you, friend.”

  “Keep your hands to yourself,” the man growled. He was of middling years, but with the stocky frame of a man well used to battle. “My lady is not for one such as you.”

  “Perhaps she wants such a choice,” Philip answered, hearing the approval in the laughter of the rest of the room.

  He looked at Anne, but she only smiled boldly and shook her head as two well-armed men led her out of the public room. The first man stood above Philip, glared menacingly about the room as if threatening them all, then sheathed his dagger and left.

  Philip’s fellow revelers gaped at him.

  Then he cocked an eyebrow. “Doesn’t know what’s she’s missing, eh?”

  He forced himself to participate in the laughter.

  Sir Peter, one of his opponents in the tournament, called out, “She’s knows something of it. That one’s a widow, Lady Rosamond, I hear tell.”

  Philip kept the smile on his face, although his stare focused on the knight. “Who was her husband?”

  “The earl of Wolsingham. Tragic accident, it was, and her husband so young. But no one can contain a woman like her. She’s rich on her own merit. I hear on this journey she’s looking for a new husband.”

  Philip glanced at the door Anne had disappeared through. What had she gotten herself into?

  Anne was hustled into her small bedchamber and found Margaret, Lady Rosamond’s servant, laying out Anne’s nightclothes across the bed. The maid, tiny and freckled, with sandy brown hair, looked up wide-eyed. Seeing all three soldiers escorting Anne inside, Margaret gasped and gathered the garments behind her back.

  Anne began to grin, but it faded when she saw the frown on the face of Sir Walter, the captain of her small guard. There was little open space in the chamber, filled as it was with a bed, a coffer with extra bedding, and a small hearth, but he took up the rest with the dominating force of his character. He was a grizzled man out of his youth, but before his elder years. His hair was short and gray, and he always seemed to have graying stubble on his face, regardless of whether he’d recently shaved or not. But he had the broad shoulders of a warrior, and she wondered at the life he led.

  When he wasn’t serving his duty to the League of the Blade. Surely he was used to being in command.

  She didn’t know the last names of her knight escorts. The League believed in anonymity.

  “You must be more careful in so public a place,” Sir Walter said sternly.

  The other two knights, Sir David and Sir Joseph, sat down on stools on either side of the door, crossed their arms over their chests, and tried to look equally as stern.

  “Sir Walter,” Anne said calmly, “what would you have had me do? I played my part. I know we were supposed to avoid York, but the heavy rains forced us to halt.”

  “But the tournament—”

  “Aye, the tournament could not be planned for. I am suitably veiled, and we’re leaving in the morning.”

  She thought briefly of mentioning Philip, and then decided against it. Perhaps he hadn’t recognized her after all. Or was he embarrassed by how he’d treated her not two months ago? She could only hope for that.

  Young pages brought up the bathing tub and hot water she’d ordered, filing past the frowning knights uncertainly. Anne gave them each a smile and a coin, and asked them not to return until morning.

  As the knights left to retire to their chambers on either side of hers, Sir David, blond and so tall he had to duck beneath doorways, said, “Lady Rosamond, you do remember how best to protect yourself?”

  Anne looked about and spotted just what she needed. “I promise to push that coffer against the door.”

  “Very good.”

  Sir David rarely smiled: all the knights took their duties very seriously. It was difficult to get to know her traveling companions when social niceties had to be pried out of them. The League must train them all to focus on their tasks, to never be personable—no last names, no jokes, and no companionship. Without familiarity, no one could get hurt. That made sense to her.

  That brought thoughts of Philip, somewhere here in the same inn. The last time they were together, she had been feeling far too lonely to make wise decisions.

  Margaret helped Anne unlace her gown. “Do ye need anythin’ else, milady, before I retire to me chamber?”

  Margaret was a cool, remote young woman, ever dutiful because she knew that this masquerade would help her mistress, Lady Rosamond. Though at first she’d hesitated calling Anne “my lady,” she had gradually become used to the need of it. But Anne understood that Margaret thought she was a poor substitute for her mistress.

  In exchange for her services, Margaret had requested her own chamber. After all, Anne and she were both of the serving class, and equals. The Bladesmen had reluctantly acquiesced in their need of her.

  “Margaret, you may find your bed,” Anne said. “Thank you for your help this day.”

  When the girl had gone, Anne pushed the heavy coffer against the door, angry with herself for feeling torn. She would not think of Philip. He was a connection to her past, to a time when she’d first realized she’d liked being needed, when she’d helped save Elizabeth from an unwanted marriage. She was needed now, urgently so. She had a mission and a focus, and it was a good feeling.

  She had once thought Philip needed her, and with him she had shared her feelings of newly blossoming passion, ignoring her better sense. She’d been in a weakened state, she silently reminded herself; her parents’ rejection had left her feeling angry and adrift. She had to stop dwelling on it.

  The bathing tub was a rarity, deep enough for a woman to sink into, and the pages had been generous with the amount of water. She soaped herself leisurely, then settled back to enjoy the comfort and warmth while it lasted. She closed her eyes and let her thoughts drift away.

  The shutters covering the window suddenly rattled. Frowning, she opened her eyes in time to see one of the shutters slowly open. A foot appeared on the windowsill.

  With a gasp she sat up, clutching the linen cloth to her bosom. This had happened to her once before, she thought, feeling a flood of anger. Another foot appeared, then a hand gripping the sill, then a face peering in from above. Although the light of the candle did not easily reach the far wall, she already knew who it was. Her traitorous heart began to beat madly.

  Philip Clifford.

  He dropped into a sitting position and ducked his head inside. Grinning, he said, “Might I come in? I just missed having the contents of a chamber pot dumped on my head.”

  “You could have just knocked on the door!” she hissed, sinking down as far as she could in the water. The cloth and the water obscured her, but she felt dangerously exposed.

  “I didn’t knock the last time,” he countered.

  “The last time I was a prisoner, and desperate for company—and I was not bathing!”

  He dropped to the floor, but came no farther, for which she was grateful.

  “Well, that’s why I came—not because of the bathing part, although that is an interesting bonus.”

  He glanced lower than her face, and she wondered w
hat he could see.

  “Aren’t you a prisoner again—Lady Rosamond?”

  His voice deepened with suspicion—with worry? She didn’t know him well enough to know the difference.

  But she knew what his kiss tasted like, how his hands could work magic on her body.

  She took a deep breath to steady herself against the memories. “I am here quite willingly.”

  “You were willing the last time, too, but you were still a prisoner.”

  “The soldiers are my guards, not my captors. Thank you for your concern, Sir Philip, but you should leave now.”

  Instead of leaving, he walked forward into the candlelight. His features sharpened. He was not a man of softness. He was composed of angles: prominent, lean cheekbones, square jaw, and heavy forehead above his brows. His body, though muscular, was thinner than some of his bulkier opponents, and therefore deceptive. She imagined many men thought the advantage of their substantial weight alone could defeat him. But he was powerful and strong, and she felt an embarrassing warmth remembering how he’d swept her onto his lap in front of the entire tavern—

  —And how he’d stalked her for days at Castle Alderley when she was at last free of captivity, playing a powerful game she’d felt reckless enough to enjoy.

  Now he was studying her, from her face to her wet knees, which were the only things that showed above the soapy water. His eyes were a vivid green, like a grassy field under a sunny sky. Why was she feeling so intimidated by him? She knew where she stood with him—she’d been a pleasant diversion, although she’d thought he’d wanted something more permanent from her.

  And now she was naked. He wouldn’t take advantage—would he? She remembered his restlessness, his disquiet. Elizabeth Hutton, the lady she’d grown up serving and who had married Philip’s good friend, had told Anne that Philip had not been invited to join the League of the Blade, as Lord Alderley had. Though on the outside, Philip had seemed the same amusing man, she’d sensed that something had shifted on the inside, as if the refusal had changed him in some subtle way.