How to Seduce a Queen: A Medieval Romance Novel Read online

  He gave his friend a pointed stare. “’Tis no jest. The old maggot’s reach is vast.”

  “Careful. We swear loyalty to that old maggot.” Eaton raised a wary eyebrow.

  “Humph. I’m only worthy for unseemly endeavors. A whore, if you will.” Nicholas fumed. “I should’ve been knighted over five seasons ago, certainly after fighting in Wales. But nay, there’s always one more unchivalrous deed held over my head.”

  “Let it be. This should be an easy enough quest. Since when has a lass not opened her legs for you?” His friend leaned forward with pursed lips, as if about to give him a kiss.

  “Horse’s arse. If Edward or Alexander gets wind of this plot … we’ll all end up thus.” Nicholas sliced a finger across his throat, then shoved Eaton off the bench. Sometimes the man’s lightheartedness was too much to bear.

  Hugging the wood in order to stand, he lifted his head and said, “I begin to see the light. Your seed, even though bastard, is de Bruce seed.”

  Nicholas favored him with a small snicker and raised his mug. “Aye. Now you ken. He’ll blame me for the deed, yet keep my offspring. Claim he has a true heir to the throne of Man.”

  “Why didn’t Alexander just kill her off with the rest of her kin?” He wobbled.

  “I’ve no idea, but we’ll soon find out. God’s blood, sit. You’re making me dizzy.”

  Using Nicholas’s shoulder for support, Eaton stepped onto the bench to get atop the table. He stomped his foot until all paid him heed. “Men. Gather your attention here. To Nicholas de Bruce. May his prowess with Lady Fay of Man reap him great rewards and a knighthood.”

  The many men in the room grinned, clapped, and banged on anything nearby. “Fook her. Fook her.”

  The noise eventually subsided. Truly, it was bad enough to do the unchivalrous act. Did it need to be announced to the whole of Scotland? Nicholas rose with arms raised and palms lowered. “Enough. Enough. Bring longbow and sword tomorrow. We’ll meet as the sun rises in the east courtyard.”

  A deep groan echoed throughout the room from the mercenaries. Good. Mayhap that would put an end to the falderal.

  Tottering, Eaton put an arm around Nicholas and whispered in his ear, “An island princess marries a Bruce bastard? God himself shakes with amusement.”

  “You haven’t heard the whole of it. Once she’s back in England, belly wide with my child, I’m to divorce her and denounce her for …” His ears burned. Annoyed at his unmanly embarrassment, he pushed Eaton off the tabletop.

  “God’s blood. Spit it out.” His friend waited, arms across his chest.

  There would be no off-putting the man. Even drunk, he would stick to a subject like pine pitch. The words stuck as he whispered, “Having sex … with … other maidens.”

  Brows furrowed, Eaton’s mouth dropped open. “She’ll be stoned. I’ll have no part in that, even if ’tis true.”

  “You said so yourself. What we want has no worth.”

  Afraid that Eaton might try to squirm out of the plot, he tried to distract him. “Did I tell you I met her briefly in Scarborough?”

  “Nay. You did not.” Eyebrows wiggled and eyelashes fluttered like a maiden.

  For the love of all things holy, Eaton was beyond endurance tonight. To make things worse, the minstrels started up again with a love ballad. A vision of Fay’s bright green eyes, fair skin, and red hair floated in the liquid of his mug.

  “I sent her away.” He groaned, remembering the hurt look in her eyes as she lay upon his pallet, eager and shy. He had fallen for her almost instantly, but the walls in his chambers had eyes and ears. Should he have spoken a word of his affection, the danger for her would’ve increased tenfold.

  Eaton attempted to read his mind. “You mean she wouldn’t bed you?”

  “I didn’t try.” It had taken all his strength not to lay with her. She was lovely and royal, truly above his station. And God help him, even though knowing her only briefly, he loved her enough to save her. Castle Scarborough was full of rats, hiding in secret passages and making plans to kidnap her. There was no way he could’ve protected her. Not with everything else going on at the time.

  “Ha! If you didn’t even attempt to place your sword in her sheath, then she was uglier than sin.”

  Nicholas’s cock swelled and he shifted in his seat. She was beauty personified, but there was no point in discussing it further.

  Suddenly his friend’s eyes widened, he guffawed, and spurted out ale. “God’s Blood! You’re smitten.”

  “Bloody boar.” Scowling, Nicholas wiped the liquid off his tunic and remembered why he swore off drinking with Eaton.

  Outside, a fight started over the pretty tavern wench and shouting ensued. Eaton shook his head and said, “Women are naught but trouble. Best you remember that.”

  Would that he could. The queen, he sensed, would be his undoing.

  “Anon. We should go. ’Tis late.” He stood and the room spun wildly. Another reason not to drink with Eaton.

  He called to the innkeeper. “Stephen? Stephen, you old fart. Get yer arse over here.”

  A maid exited the kitchen and made a big show of putting a silver coin into the top of her kirtle. On her heels, the innkeeper followed, adjusting his belt, with face flushed.

  “What needs have you, good sir?”

  “It appears my needs are not as well-serviced as yours.” The room’s laughter died down, allowing Nicholas to continue. “Annandale is paying for our drinking tonight and all nights. Wait until we are long gone, however, to present him your ledger.”

  The innkeeper nodded enthusiastically. “That can be arranged. When are you off?”

  “A fortnight, mayhap two.” Nicholas chuckled, imagining the look on his grandsire’s face when he got the grand bill. It almost made up for the role he was about to play.

  Stephen’s eyes glittered with greed. “If you need someone to see to your provisions, my brother-in-law is available. Don’t trust that miserable sod Annandale or your meat will have maggots.”

  Nicholas raised his glass. “Again, I’m in your debt.” He turned to his men. “Get off your benches, you lazy sods. A purse in the morning to the man who bests all. The worst shall lick our boots.”

  The men sang yet another dreadful tune as they staggered through the narrow streets, up the steep hill, and to the barracks. Several were carried between the arms of others. A few of the married men disappeared under thatched roofs in the village.

  A vision of Lady Fay, naked, danced in Nicholas’s mind. What would bedding her be like? Would she be fierce or take his commands? Would her breasts with hardened nipples fill the cups of his hands? Would her folds be wet? Would she clamp him tight?

  God’s blood.

  He needed a dark corner to fist away the ache.

  Eaton was right. He was smitten.

  Chapter 4

  The rising sun over the practice field intensified Nicholas’s already pounding headache. A good wind blew across the ocean, smelling of salt and containing the chill of early fall morn. That was mayhap the only thing keeping last night’s over-indulgence from rising up with a vengeance.

  Another of his men’s arrow missed a bale of hay and Nicholas stomped his bare feet over the damp grass. He wouldn’t take this band of jesters to rob a cradle, let alone an island fortress. With his heel, he kicked at the weak stance of Sir Gaspar DeAngelo, who toppled.

  After helping the man to stand, Nicholas displayed proper form. He bent front leg at a right angle and dug his toes into the damp earth. Normally, he would’ve shouted out instructions for all to hear, but given the drink’s after-effects, he opted for a quieter voice.

  “Stand up and try again. Next time take off your shoes. If you’re going to shoot straight, your base must be strong as a tree’s trunk.”

  One by one, he worked with each of the knights assigned to his quest until he was satisfied. At the high hour of no shadows, he moved one of the targets twice the distance, aimed, and missed.
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  Of course, Eaton witnessed the error and drew near. “You’ll be the one licking boots tonight, if you don’t focus. Have you given any thought as to how we’ll gain entrance?”

  “To the woman or the keep?” Grabbing an arrow from his quiver, Nicholas let a second arrow fly and smirked when the point landed in the heart of the straw man.

  His friend groaned. “Well done. I have a notion. Tell me. This queen lass? Was she pious?”

  “I suppose, why?” At the thought of her, Nicholas’s next arrow went wide of the mark.

  Eaton snickered. “Wet your tongue. My boots are muddy.”

  “Shut it. I’ve a page counting your missed shots and I’m far in the lead. So, tell me. What’s your idea?” He lowered his long bow and relaxed his stance. Sweat dripped down his sides. What they were about to attempt defied all reason.

  “Disguise yourself as a priest.” His friend raised his eyebrows, as usual, too damn merry.

  Nicholas shoved him aside, picked up his bow, and pulled back with two fingers. “Idiot. I already told you, I met her. She’ll know my face.”

  “Were you bearded or shaven at the time?”

  “God’s blood. How would I remember?” He closed his eyes and let the arrow fly. Dead center. “Let me think. Clean shaven, no doubt.”

  “That could be changed.”

  Nicholas scratched at his stubble, and considered the audacity. ’Tis not enough.”

  “Eye patch?”

  “Dolt.”

  “Long cowl that hides your features?

  “And how in blazes can I woo the woman with cloak and eye patch?” He strung the last arrow in his quiver, aimed, and shot.

  His friend squinted into the sun and matched it. After a moment of blessed silence, he said, “Mayhap you can convince her that you’re another of your father’s many bastards?”

  Nicholas grinned and chuckled. “Priest and half-brother? Eye patch and cowl? ’Tis almost believable.”

  Eaton grinned wickedly. “We’ll all need tonsured heads. And darken your red locks to black.”

  He pictured himself trying to bed her as a priest, and groaned. “How will I woo a wench with a bald head and married to Christ?”

  “It will work.”

  “’Tis chancy.” He shook his head.

  “Do you want the girl or not?”

  “What I want is to stay alive.” Nicholas eyed his men practicing on the green and wondered how they would all return in one piece.

  Eaton guffawed. “Listen. As wandering monks, you and I will enter the keep on gentle … donkeys.”

  “Like Mary and Joseph?”

  “Precisely. In a quest of … solitude, looking for caves to … pray in.”

  “Are you daft?”

  “Hmm … The Order of the Holy Isles. A group of knights-turned-priests sworn to find the Holy Grail in complete silence until they fulfill their quest and treat the poor.”

  “That is absurd.” He chuckled.

  Eaton made a huge sign of the cross in the air, and sunk to his knees. “In silence, to atone for their sins.”

  Nicholas snorted, not believing he was beginning to consider what Eaton offered. “And what about me? I woo her in complete silence?”

  “Nay. You shall be excused. You hate your half-brother and have made it your life-long quest to see that his evil ways are undone.”

  “I have no evil ways and my half-brother is nine, the seventh Earl of Annandale.” Nicholas leaned against a tree and watched the arrows of the knights fly off mark. “But, by God, it might work.”

  Chapter 5

  The Isle of Man

  Far below, the ocean crashed against the rocky shore. The north walls of the keep of Man melded into the black cliff which fell to the ocean. Above, a sliver of moon disappeared, giving way to orange light of early morn. The sky went on for miles and free clouds traveled to places unknown. The sails of a pirate ship disappeared in the offing, no doubt to the Danes or far beyond that. Mayhap someday, thought the former queen of Man, I will do the same.

  Lady Fay tugged her bow off her shoulder and traversed the top of the wall to the opposite side of the castle. She’d tucked her long tunic into her belt, exposing her calves, but allowing her to walk with ease. Wild hair whipped about her face and into her eyes. In the distance, sixteen robed, tonsured men crossed her long fields where woolly sheep grazed. A Saxon rowboat rested nearby on her pebbly shore.

  “Do you think this could be the king’s latest suitor?” She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear.

  Sean shook his mailed head. “Unlikely. They’re unarmed and dressed in rags.”

  “They need to go.” Her arrow flew in a perfect arc and landed within inches of the man in the lead.

  He jumped back, but instead of running, he stretched his hands up to the sky and shouted. “Father forgive them for they know not what they do.”

  A larger man dropped off his cloak and faced her in just braies, hose, and boots. He put a hand over his eyes to block the sun and gazed up. “We are unarmed, peaceful monks. Prithee, allow us to enter.”

  “What would you have me do?” Frowning, Sean put down his bow and clenched his sword’s hilt.

  “Shush. Listen up. The leader speaks again.” The parapet wall chilled her belly as she squeezed between the stones and leaned way over. It’d been some time since any had dared approach the keep, and her curiosity was piqued.

  The one clad in braies, cupped his hands about his mouth, and cried from the field far below, “My brethren and I are here to warn the Lady Fay.”

  She took a deep breath and shouted back, “You can warn me from where you speak and be on your way.”

  “For I was hungry and you gave me no food, I was thirsty and you gave me no drink.” The half-naked man continued to walk forward. Even at this distance, he did not have the shoulders of a priest, more of a warrior.

  Sean, always more pious, made a sign of the cross. “He quotes scriptures. ’Twould be best you let them in.”

  She rolled her eyes, not convinced, and bellowed one last time, “Verra well. Just you, monk. Tell the rest to stand fast or die.”

  The leader grabbed his robe and held it high. “Can I put this back on?”

  “Nay.” With an internal grin at her boldness, she turned and said, “Let’s meet this alleged holy man at the front gate.”

  Together, they climbed down the parapet ladder and ran the flights of stone around the wall’s edge. At the lowest level, gears groaned, and strong oak clunked upon the rocks. She paused to let her skirt free from her belt and grabbed her bow.

  They met the half-naked man in the middle of the drawbridge. Underneath, the foamy ocean churned.

  When she recognized the only man she’d ever cared for, her heart skipped a beat and her womanly folds dampened and throbbed. Then, irked by her body’s traitorous response, she pulled a knife from her kirtle’s belt. How dare he? Had the bastard son of Bruce gone daft?

  She drew her bow taut. “Blood of all the saints. What are you doing here? And in monk’s cloth?”

  He gently smiled, looked to the heavens, and palms moved slowly up toward the sky. “I’m sorry, my child. Have we met?”

  “You know full well that we have. In Scarborough.” Where I all but threw myself onto your pallet. Where you sent me away without a word of explanation. After which, I cried for days.

  He brought his palms together, interlaced his fingers, and bowed his tonsured head. “Oh nay, dear, dear, lady. You must be speaking of my half-brother, Nicholas. I assure you, I am not he. See here. My hair is dark, his is red. I practice faith. He, debauchery.”

  Her face heated. Was it possible that this man was not Sir Nicholas de Bruce? He did seem rather different. Older. Less like a cock in a hen house. And bearded. Bald except for a ring of dark hair. It was so hard to be certain. After all, she’d only known him a few days. How could she have fallen so completely for him? It defied all reason.

  She grunted and lowered he
r weapon. If what he said was true, and he was a holy man, she dared not risk more wrath from the pope.

  His eyebrows raised and familiar hazel eyes bored into hers as they had across the table last summer. “I hope you left before my half-brother defiled your good name.”

  Her blood boiled. That was much more like the Nicholas of Scarborough she remembered. “So priest, what is it that you want? Speak now and be gone quickly.”

  The man reached for her hand, but Sean, thankfully, stepped between them. Otherwise she might’ve pulled on it, and sent him off-balance, into the moat.

  “I was just going to apologize to the lady. I’m here to make amends. I also came with a warning. King Edward is done with Wales and looks toward the Isle of Man. He sends my half-brother to wed you.”

  “And King Alexander sends a Scottish suitor. As do the Danes. No doubt the devil himself expects me to wed. Let them all come to blows outside my walls. I will marry none.” What ridiculousness.

  The Nicholas look-alike shrugged. “We could converse better inside the keep, away from the roar of the ocean. Mayhap in a chapel?”

  She eyed his thick warrior arms, obviously well accustomed to carrying a sword. His upper body was lined with firm muscles and angry scars. His stance was too proud for a priest and it seemed he had no damned issue with her studying his mighty chest.

  “First, explain why you look, so … so, not monk-like.” She waited and shot him her best royal glare.

  His voice gentled, as if speaking to a wee babe. “We are former knights. We pursue redemption for our many sins. We search the Holy Isles, for, uh, life-giving water that flows and gives out uh, God’s milk of forgiveness … and for the Holy Grail. Aye. The grail. We ask to stay at your keep until we finish our quest.”

  Oh, for the love of Christ and all of his angels. She rolled her eyes, grunted, and pointed down the road where sheep grazed on either side. “There are inns in the village.”

  “We have no coin. Like Christ himself, we travel with nothing but the robes that cover us.” He had the audacity to look pious.

  An evil notion took hold and her heart did an inner jig. Was it possible her life’s fortunes had finally changed direction? Sixteen solid men working in her keep could make short work of her long list. What did it matter if they were trying to trick her? She would get revenge by way of their servitude.