Knight's Prize

Book 3: The Warrior Maids of Rivenloch

by Glynnis Campbell

Genres: Historical Romance; Medieval Romance; Scottish & Highlander; Enemies to Lovers; fake relationship; Scottish historical romance; women warriors; Highland brides; Asian character; martial arts; secret identity; strong heroines

Synopsis

"Adventure-packed, passion-filled romance...delivers just what readers want."–Romantic Times Book Review

From USA Today bestselling author Glynnis Campbell...A lovely lady with a secret proves a welcome but dangerous distraction for a mercenary bent on hunting down the mysterious outlaw known as the Shadow.

Miriel of Rivenloch may not have the killer instincts of her older sisters, but she's keeping a dangerous secret. She knows more than she's letting on about the mysterious Shadow, the forest outlaw who robs from the rich and gives to the poor. And when devil-may-care mercenary Sir Rand la Nuit, hot on the trail of The Shadow, claims to be in love with Miriel, she knows he's hiding something, too. It's a battle of wits as they race to uncover each other's secrets before their make-believe romance takes on a life of its own.

KNIGHT'S PRIZE
Book 3 of The Warrior Maids of Rivenloch
Damsels in shining armor...riding to the rescue! Deirdre, Helena, and Miriel, three kick-arse Scots wenches known as The Warrior Maids of Rivenloch, aren't about to become any man's chattel, until they meet heroes who are strong enough to tame their wild ways and worthy enough to win their wayward hearts.

Length: 86,000 words = 368 pages
Rating: R-rated for passionate passages

In This Series

The Warrior Maids of Rivenloch
9th Century – THE SHIPWRECK (a novella)
9th Century – A YULETIDE KISS (a short story)
1136 – LADY DANGER
1136 – CAPTIVE HEART
1136 – KNIGHT'S PRIZE

Key Themes: Scottish historical romance, adventure stories, strong women, Highland brides, knight in shining armor, medieval castles, sisters, sword fighting, Asian martial arts, Chinese characters, Highland romance, women warriors, secret identity, Robin Hood, stories with humor

More Historical Romances by Glynnis Campbell

The Warrior Maids of Rivenloch
THE SHIPWRECK (a novella)
A YULETIDE KISS (a short story)
LADY DANGER
CAPTIVE HEART
KNIGHT'S PRIZE

The Knights of de Ware
THE HANDFASTING (a novella)
MY CHAMPION
MY WARRIOR
MY HERO

Medieval Outlaws
THE REIVER (a novella)
DANGER'S KISS
PASSION'S EXILE
DESIRE'S RANSOM

Scottish Lasses
THE OUTCAST (a novella)
MacFARLAND'S LASS
MacADAM'S LASS
MacKENZIE'S LASS

California Legends
NATIVE GOLD
NATIVE WOLF
NATIVE HAWK

Release date: August 1, 2012

Publisher: Glynnis Campbell

Print pages: 368

Sample

Rand stood in the middle of Rivenloch’s enormous practice field with his arms crossed self-consciously over his chest.  He’d drawn the glances of many a wench in his two dozen years, but none to match the scrutiny to which he was now subjected.

So this was Helena, Muriel’s sister.  She was a comely lass, with her emerald eyes, wild tresses, and generous breasts.  If not for the armor and the menacing sword buckled about her hips, not to mention the Cameliard bridegroom she had waiting somewhere, she might have been dangerously tempting.

At the moment, however, all he could think about was the fact she was circling him like a stable master shopping for a horse, narrowing her eyes at his chest and staring at his legs, alternately nodding in satisfaction and clucking her tongue in disfavor.  He half expected her to pry open his mouth and take a good look at his teeth.

“So you’ve come to court Miriel?” she asked, stopping in front of him and crossing her arms in challenge.

Miriel.  Not Muriel.  Or Miriam.  Or Mirabel.  Damn it, he had to remember the lass’s name.  “Aye, with your permission.”

Since their father, Lord Gellir, was feeble of mind, Miriel’s suitors were apparently required to seek the approval of her two older sisters.

“Do you think you can protect her?” she asked.

“Protect her?”

“Can you fight?”

He stifled a smile.  He’d been a mercenary for six years.  Of course he could fight.  “If need be.”

Then in one fluid movement, she drew her sword and faced him.  “Prove it.”

His arms fell out of their fold.  Surely she wasn’t serious.  He furrowed his brow.  Maybe it was a trick.

“Let’s see what you’ve got,” she urged.

He glanced toward the spectators.  Sir Rauve and his companion were there, a couple of other knights, a wee lad sucking his thumb, and a trio of maidservants.  None of them looked surprised by Helena’s challenge.

“My lady, I don’t think—“

“Come on, fight me.”  She poked his chest with the point of her sword.

He retreated a step.  Bloody hell!  She was serious.

“With all due respect, my lady, I cannot—“

“Cannot what?  Protect Miriel?  Then you may not court her.”

“Of course I can protect her, but—“

“Then prove it.”  Reaching across with her left hand, she tugged his sword from its sheath.  “Show me.”  She handed him the weapon, hilt first.

He took the sword, but refused to wield it.  “My lady, ‘tis not a matter of—“

Her sword slashed toward him so swiftly that it was all he could do to block the blow with his own blade.  Reeling in astonishment, he almost missed deflecting her second strike as well.  He stepped back, but she followed, her weapon swinging with such unexpected speed that he could scarcely keep it from biting him.

This couldn’t be happening, he marveled.  He couldn’t be sparring with a lady.  It was unseemly.  And undignified.  And unchivalrous.

Naturally he could have beat her soundly.  He was far more powerful than she and surely far more experienced, no matter how quickly she moved.  But he dared not unleash the full measure of his strength.

“My lady, I beg you, stop!”

She jabbed him in the shoulder.  “What?  No ballocks?” she taunted.

“God’s breath!  I won’t fight with a woman.”

“And what if that woman means to kill you?”

Her eyes glinted like green fire, and he wondered if she did mean to kill him.  Perhaps that was what Sir Rauve meant when he predicted Rand wouldn’t last an hour.

Still, when he’d earned his spurs, he’d sworn to do no harm to a lady.  He might be a half-Scots bastard and a lowly mercenary, but he proudly upheld the vows of knighthood.

So, praying he was making the right choice, he cast his sword to the ground in surrender.

“Helena!” came a scream from outside the lists.

He glanced away from Helena’s eyes, which had taken on a wicked gleam, and looked toward the source of the outburst.  A lovely little lass was rushing across the sward, her unwieldy blue skirts gathered in her fists, her unbound hair streaming out behind her like a dark pennon.  Her face was beautiful, as delicate and pale as an apple blossom, but her pretty features were twisted with worry.

“Don’t kill him!” she cried, skidding to a stop beside the others at the wattle fence.

Helena called back over her shoulder.  “I wasn’t going to kill him.”  One corner of her lip curved up.  “I was only going to maim him.”

Miriel wasn’t about to let Helena slice one hair from Rand’s head.  “Nay!”  She hoisted up her skirts and began scrambling over the wattle fence.

“My lady.”  Sir Rauve seized her shoulder, trying to stop her.  “’Tis best you stay out of it.”

His patronizing tone tested Miriel’s good nature.  Nonetheless, she managed to smile sweetly at his restraining fist as she bit out, “Unhand me, you great oaf.”

His black eyes widened in surprise, and he let her go at once.

As she rushed across the field, it was all Miriel could do to keep her temper in check.  Curse it all!  She’d had enough of being treated like a helpless babe.  It had been she who’d saved Rivenloch from the English, after all.  It had been her secret passageway.  Her weapons.  And her genius.  Even if no one knew it.  She wasn’t an infant to be coddled and swaddled in a smothering mantle.  Especially not by a sister only a few years older than she.

Helena was going to ruin everything.

As Miriel drew near, Helena sighed, her gaze softening in condescension.  “Silly lass, I was only going to teach him a lesson.”

Maybe it was the years of being silent when Miriel wanted to scream.  Or pretending she was helpless when she could easily overcome men twice her size.  Or standing in the long shadow of her illustrious sisters.  Whatever the reason, against all Sung Li’s training in self-control, counter to everything she knew about the importance of serenity, contrary to her usual complacent behavior, when Miriel felt the blood simmer in her veins, she acted on pure impulse.

With a great heave of rage, she shoved Helena away.

Surprise made Helena stagger backward, but her warrior instincts were strong.  Out of habit, she swept the point of her sword to Miriel’s throat, eliciting a huge gasp from the onlookers at the fence, who’d never seen anyone brandish a weapon at meek Miriel.

Equally stunning was the speed with which a second blade knocked Helena’s aside.

It was Rand’s dagger that did the deed, and both Miriel and Helena swiveled their heads toward him in awe.

The exchange happened so fast, Miriel hardly knew what to say.  And poor Rand, his brow creased with confusion and distaste and amazement, stood suffering in indecision, his fingers clenching reflexively around the dagger handle.

Helena’s wonder quickly turned to disgust.  She silently fumed, her pride doubtless stinging from the fact that Rand had gained the upper hand.  Her humiliation was made complete when Sir Rauve called out from the fence, “Do you require assistance, my lady?”

“Nay!” she snapped.  Then she muttered to Miriel, “Now see what you’ve done?  Why did you come between us?”

Miriel’s jaw dropped.  That Helena would so readily lay the blame at Miriel’s feet only made her more determined to defy her sister once and for all.  “Because, you overbearing, meddlesome wench,” she snarled, “this is not your affair.  ‘Tis mine.”

The shock on Helena’s face was priceless.

Before she could lose her nerve, Miriel turned to Rand, who looked as bewildered as a fox cornered by a pair of mad hens.  Tossing her hair over her shoulder, she reached forward, snagged him by the tabard, and hauled him toward her.  Then she planted a kiss hard on his mouth.