Son of a Reiver

Book 7: Brotherhood of the Border

by Cecelia Mecca

Genres: Medieval Romance; Scottish & Highlander

Synopsis

He was the greatest tourney knight in the realm. She was another man’s betrothed.

Sir Holt
Many claim Sir Holt Waryn is the greatest living tournament knight. He will have a chance to prove it, after finally receiving an invitation to the Round Table Tournament at Shirston Hill. For five years he’s trained, competed, and honed his skills. Sir Holt may not be inheriting the earldom of Kenshire––like his eldest brother––but he is determined to define his own legacy.

Lady Cassandra
She was raised to fulfill one duty: to marry. Lady Cassandra makes the journey to Shirston Hill for her official betrothal which will bring her family the coin they desperately need. The fact that the earl is nearly the same age as her father, or that he cares little for Cassandra beyond the possibility of giving him sons, is of no consequence.

Neither Sir Holt nor Lady Cassandra could have accounted for their immediate connection, an attraction so strong it seems unnatural to them both. He cannot risk being cast out as a competitor. She has no choice but to carry out her duty and marry the earl, the host of the tournament.

Except. . . Sir Holt typically gets what he wants. And he wants Lady Cassandra.

 

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Release date: March 23, 2023

Publisher: Altiora Press

Print pages: 196

Sample

SON OF A REIVER- BOOK 7

Mercia, England
“This had better be important.”
Oliver’s eyes widened.
Holt’s squire had not bargained for what he saw as he barged into Holt’s bedchamber. To Holt’s recollection, Oliver had
never done such a thing before. Otherwise, Holt might have had much more to say as the woman in his bed hastily pulled up the
coverlet.
At least they’d just finished. Perhaps he should be commending the squire on his timing instead.
“Pardon, my lord.”
Holt sighed, realizing it was indeed important for Oliver to interrupt him. He climbed out of bed, his squire not even
blinking as Holt strode across the chamber to where he and the woman, Ella perhaps, had relieved themselves of their clothing.
Oliver had been with him nearly five years, since the boy sidled up to him at a tourney, and refused to leave him, finally
admitting he had no home or parents. He said Holt had been his idol—not an unusual claim for a tourney knight in training. After
five years with him, Oliver had seen quite a bit, including more of Holt’s bed partners than Ella alone.
Partially dressing, he guided his squire to a corner of the room. The clear blue eyes of the redheaded boy––so different
from Holt’s own dark looks––stared up at him in awe. Holt shook his head. The lad dearly needed to shed this hero worship once
and for all. Holt would do well to be reminded he was a mere mortal. At least, that’s what his brothers often told him.
“A missive has arrived from Shirston Hill.”
That got his attention.

Oliver handed it to him.
“How did it find its way to me?” he pondered, breaking the seal.
He and Oliver had only stayed at Whithorn Manor after their most recent tournament because Holt knew the invitations for
Round Table would be offered soon. Rather than returning north, he’d taken advantage of the baron’s kind offer of hospitality a
bit longer.
Most especially, Lady Ella’s fine hospitality.
God, he loved widows.
Tearing open the missive, he scanned its contents. Then, withholding his reaction, a skill he’d learned from his stoic
brother Hayden, he handed it to Oliver. The young man could read now; Holt had ensured it was so. He’d become a fine squire
and was well on his way to knighthood.
Oliver’s eyes widened.
“Mmmm.”
Holt’s bed companion was looking for attention. Before Oliver had come, he’d been inclined to give it to her. But now?
There was naught he wanted to do but begin the journey to Shirston Hill. They would arrive well before the fortnight of activities
culminating in the tilt. But it would afford him extra training time.
“You’ve been invited.” Oliver had finally found his tongue.
“Aye, lad. Prepare the horses. We leave immediately.”
“You’re leaving?” the widow asked.
Oliver, with a quick glance at Lady Ella, bowed his head, and fairly ran from the chamber. Poor boy. Though he’d kissed
girls before, he was yet a virgin. If he continued to train hard, Holt told him repeatedly, that would not be the case for long.
“I am,” he said, tossing aside the idea of one final fare-thee-well. She was pretty enough. Very pretty, in fact. And
extremely willing. But no woman, not even one with breasts as ample as Lady Ella, mattered more than winning this tilt.
Holt may have won many, many tourneys these past years, but this was the first Round Table for which he’d been both
eligible and invited. Only the best in the world would be there to compete; others would come only as spectators, and to garner
political favor with the king, who was also sure to be in attendance.
“Adieu,” Holt said as Lady Ella sat up and grabbed his hand.
“Will you stay? For just a bit longer?”
He hated to make a woman sad, and Lady Ella surely seemed to have changed her manner since Oliver had appeared. But
there was no help for it.
“I can not,” he said. “But thank you for these past very enjoyable days.”
“Take me with you,” she blurted.
A demand he’d heard so often his response rolled from his lips.
“I’d do so easily,” he said. “But alas, I am a tourney knight. Never in one place for long. A life not suitable for a lady such
as yourself.”
Before Lady Ella could raise an argument, Holt leaned down to kiss her forehead, and strode from the chamber.
He never looked back. For there was naught of importance behind him; all that he ever wanted was in front of him.
And now, ’twas time to claim it. ...