Knight of Deceit (Knights of Passion Series 2) (2 page)

It wasn
’t until midday that they stopped to rest. Maven watched nervously as a page came to murmur a message to Princess Margaret. She nodded and her sharp gaze found Maven, who hurried quickly to her side.

“He will
meet you shortly. You must make your way into the edge of the woods and wait for him. There, where the fallen oak lies.”

Maven was tempted to say no, but she also felt a shiver of anticipation at the thought of the sexual pleasure to come.
If the magician’s ring worked of course. If not then they were all in trouble.

“Do not fail me,” Margaret hissed as she turned away.

Maven reached into her pocket, and as she did so she caught the eye of Barlow. The squire was holding his master’s horse but his dark gaze was fixed upon Maven. For a moment she felt as if her entire body was on fire.
If only,
she thought wistfully. It seemed to her as if Barlow was thinking the same thing. But it was no use wishing, and a moment later she turned away, knowing she was bound by her mistress’s orders whether she liked it or not.

The oak was a little way from the
resting groups, and being a mere lady in waiting no one questioned Maven’s departure. Princess Margaret made certain to vanish inside the litter, hiding away for a time, so that if any confidant of Sir Walter’s looked she would seem to absent.

Once
at the edge of the woods, Maven slipped the ring over her finger. She expected to feel different but there was nothing to tell her whether the spell had worked or not, and she waited nervously for her assignation.

“Ah, princess.”

The voice made her jump and she took a steadying breath before turning. Sir Walter was standing behind her. Just for a moment his face appeared to ripple and distort in the dappled light. Startled, she blinked, and it cleared again. He took her hand and, with a smile that was decidedly lustful, led her further into the trees.

“
Sir,” she protested, although actually she was just as keen as he to find a suitable trysting place.

“We have no time to waste if we are to seal our bargain,” he said, and a moment later drew her into his arms. They were now so far from the princesses’ train that they could not hear
the horses and men. There was only the birdsong in the canopy, and the soft rustle of a wild animal in the undergrowth. His mouth closed on hers and Maven moaned softly, her body demanding his touch. She could not remember ever feeling like this before. It was difficult to recall her orders, but she knew that Margaret had insisted she was to let him go only so far and then no further.

Maven wondered how she was going to manage that
. Right now her body was clamouring for his touch, for the completion he could give her.

His hand
closed on her breast and she felt his thigh against her skirts, pushing between hers. She could not resist reaching down and pressing her hand to his breeches, feeling the hard length of his cock. Sir Walter was more than ready.

He was tugging up her skirts, caressing her bare thighs, and then his hand was where she wanted it
. Fondling her slick folds until she was unbearably swollen and aching for him to fill her. His mouth drew on hers, taking her soft moans, increasing her passion with the stroke of his tongue.

Her hand s
ought the fastenings of his breeches. He didn’t demur—perhaps he believed Margaret to be more experienced than she was. Maven’s mistress was a flirt and sometimes played a role beyond her years and experience, but Maven knew her to be far too canny to give up her maidenhead without a priest’s blessing.

His cock was in her hand and she enjoyed the hard length of it. He moved against her
with a groan. Maven couldn’t remember her orders anymore and even if she did she no longer cared what they were. When he began lifting her onto a fern covered bank she did not demur, and when he nudged her legs apart she raised her hips eagerly. His cock was at her slick entrance and he eased himself inside her, slowly at first, as if expecting resistance. But of course there was none. Maven wasn’t a maid and there was little point in pretending she was. A man like this would know she was play-acting.

Margaret would be angry with her. The thought popped into her head, breaking through her haze of desire, and Maven attempted
to stop herself. But it was too late. Far too late. Her body was making its own demands. The gathering storm of her climax meant she no longer cared about her orders or Margaret or the trouble she could bring down upon them all. Her heart was set on having this man deep inside her.

She
arched against him, clinging to him, aware of the thrust of his body inside hers. She kissed his neck, finding the hollow there, remembering how she had often secretly gazed upon that place when Barlow was nearby. He lifted his head with a groan and she felt the beginnings of the end, rippling through her, causing her muscles to contract and her heart to beat harder.

A moment later he cried out and spilled into her, and she gasped and held him as she
was catapulted into ecstasy.

*

Maven gazed up at the green canopy above her, listening to the birds. The man still joined to her was stroking her hair, his face against hers, and it seemed for a moment as if their breaths were perfectly synchronised. This was more than a fumble. This was something so special she struggled to find the words.

Was it the ring?
she asked herself.
Has Master Keevil put some spell upon me apart from the one he stated?

“Will
we meet again?” she murmured aloud.

He
lifted his head and it was Sir Walter’s pock-marked face above her, his pale eyes, and yet at the same time it was not. Once again his face wavered and for a moment, just a moment, it was Barlow gazing down upon her.

Startled
, she tried to rise but he had already become Sir Walter again. Her heart was deceiving her, she thought, by turning the knight into the squire. He sat up and straightened his clothing, and with shaking hands she pulled down her own skirts.

W
hat have I done?
Margaret would be furious with her. She was supposed to lead Sir Walter along with promises and temptation, not give in at the first opportunity!

“Tonight,” he said
gruffly, standing before her. “I will arrange it.”

“I thought we were too well guarded,” she
replied, and couldn’t keep the misery from her voice. “Soon we will be in England and gone.”

“You do not need to go,” he reminded her
, and suddenly there was an urgency in his voice, in the hand he clasped about hers as he helped her to her feet. “If you agree to come with me, I will take you away into the north. By the time they . . . your father discovers we have fled it will be too late.”

Maven felt her heart lift like a bird flying.
Yes!
she thought. A moment later reality, like an arrow, brought her crashing down. It was impossible. Sir Walter thought she was Margaret and if Margaret did decide to go with him then Maven would still be sent south with Isobel. Her fate would remain the same.

“I must
return,” she said. “Stay here until I am safe back at the camp. We must not be seen together.”

He
let her go and although she did not turn as she hurried through the trees, Maven felt his gaze upon her back. Once she was safely out of sight she removed the ring and slipped it back into her pocket. Soon she heard the sounds of the princesses’ train and hurried quickly to the litter. As she’d expected Margaret was seated inside.

“You took your time,” she said sharply. Her eyes were narrowed, suspicious, but Maven shrugged as if there was nothing amiss.

“He was overly eager,” she said. “I had trouble dissuading him from running off there and then.”

Margaret considered this and then she s
miled, as if Sir Walter’s eagerness had been for her. “Did he say he would meet with you again?”

“Tonight, my lady.”

“’Tis risky.”

“He said he would bribe your guards.”

“Well.” Again Margaret appeared flattered. “Tonight shall be the final time, Maven. You will tell him you have decided to go south after all and take your chances with the English royal court.”

Maven felt her heart sink. Her body was still singing from her encounter in the woods and the last thing she wanted to do was end her trysts. She bowed her head
so Margaret couldn’t read her eyes. “Very well, my lady.”

Margaret didn’t seem to notice her less than enthusiastic response. She was already considering her
own future and Maven was sure it did not contain any thought of her maid in waiting and half sister. Maven was just a warm body to use when she needed a spy but there were plenty more warm bodies, and she told herself that if she was gone then Margaret would soon forget her.

As the train prepared once more to take to the road south, she
reminded herself that she’d known the ending to this story all along. And yet there was something hot and bright, burning inside her. A wilfulness she had never felt before. A determination to take her own chance at happiness, no matter how foolish and dangerous it might seem.

Maven was considering escape
. For a moment her heart pounded in her chest and her breath caught in her throat. Could she really run away? Not with Sir Walter, that was impossible, but what if she were to use him? Travel a little way north before striking out on her own. Sir Walter would be angry, of course, but she would wait until he was asleep and then . . .

Maven shook her head. She was a young woman with little money and little power and she doubted she would get very far.
Sir Walter would send his men to bring her back and punish her, and alone and friendless Maven would have no choice but to comply.

It isn’t fair,
she thought to herself, tears stinging her eyes, but when had it ever been? If only she could find a way of turning the situation to her advantage. Of escaping Margaret and Walter and finding happiness with Barlow.

*

It was evening and they were accommodated in a house in a town, given over to them by the local provost—or more likely appropriated by King John’s man, an officious gentleman called Sir Leonard. Maven had been waiting nervously for the message from Sir Walter, and when the door opened she looked up expectantly.

Her heart gave a flutter. It was Barlow. His face was set in sober lines, his eyes downcast, as he presented the folded paper to
the princess. Then as he stood waiting to be dismissed, he shot a single glance across the room at Maven. It was enough. His dark eyes burned for her. Margaret, who had barely noticed him, waved a hand to send him on his way.

“Sir Walter will be here at midnight,” Margaret announced, crumpling the note in her hand and tossing it into the fire.

Maven had turned to watch from the second story window. She wasn’t disappointed. Barlow stepped from the door into the street and looked up; they stared at each other he reached into his pocket and held something up, something that glinted in the fading light.

A ring!
Gold and heavy, and probably with mysterious markings. Similar to the one Master Keevil had given Margaret.

Maven gasped, understanding that it
had not been Sir Walter in her bed. In her arms. No wonder she had felt so conflicted when she was with him. Barlow had taken his master’s place, just as she had taken Margaret’s. They were both mere pawns. Master Keevil’s amusement was because he knew what was afoot. And now their tryst tonight would be their very last, forever. Unless they did something—something so dangerous and so daring she could hardly think of it without shuddering.

“
Maven?” Margaret’s voice was harsh.

Maven
spun around, facing back into the room. “I’m sorry, my lady. I-I was distracted.”

Impatiently Margaret waved her hand.
“You must make Sir Walter understand this is your final meeting. At the same time you must not cause him any insult—who knows if I may still need him. I-I haven’t quite made up my mind, so you must walk a fine line, Maven. But I am sure you are clever enough to find a way.”

Maven tried
not to smile. “Yes, my lady,” she said softly and all the time she was thinking:
Barlow, I am meeting Barlow.

However
Margaret wasn’t finished. “You are clever, Maven. I have always thought so. And you have been loyal to me. When we reach England I will see that you are rewarded.”

Surprised, Maven met the princess’s blue eyes, so like her own. “Serving you is its own reward, my lady.” The lie tripped off her tongue.

“But there must be something you wish for,” Margaret said a little impatiently.

Barlow and a life away from you,
Maven thought instantly. “Perhaps you will grant me the wish of no longer asking me to lie with men I do not love,” she said daringly, and held her breath as she waited for a response.

Margaret smiled.
“Love? What is love to you, Maven? Is there a man with whom you are smitten?”

“And if there is, my lady? Would you grant me leave to stay in Scotland, to be with him?”