Excerpt of Lord of a Thousand Nights by Madeline Hunter

Chapter 1

The Scottish Border

1357

“Be sure he drinks the wine before he gets your clothes
off.”

The instruction was merely the last in a litany of
warnings that Reyna had heard as she sightlessly felt her
way along the cavernous tunnel.

She squeezed the thick hand of the motherly woman who
accompanied her. “I will be sure to do it as planned,
Alice. They appear a coarse lot, and this siege must be
boring. He should be glad for the diversion.”

“There’s only one diversion most men are interested in,
child. That is the danger, isn’t it?”

“Do not worry so.”

The total darkness in the tunnel terrified Reyna, so she
moved quickly, one hand securely in Alice’s and the other
on the wall.

Sounds resonated through the stone beneath her palm.
Sappers dug their own tunnel not far from this one. Over
the months, she had come to this hidden exit, torch in
hand, and listened, judging their progress. She hadn’t
worried at first, because surely help must come before
they completed their work. It wasn’t a large army that
surrounded the tower house, and a small force from either
Harclow or Clivedale could easily lift the siege. But no
relief had arrived, and now the sappers were within days
of reaching the surrounding wall. Even more worrisome had
been the second excavation progressing on the southern
side of the fortress.

They reached a sharp jog to the right. A sliver of light
flooded through the narrow entrance carved behind an
obscuring rock formation. Thick brush further hid the
entrance from view, and only someone carefully examining
the entire terrain hadany chance of finding it. This army
had not done so thus far, and Reyna smiled at the irony of
all of that digging when the postern entrance stood just
feet away.

“You will know by morning if I have succeeded, Alice.
Watch from the tower and alert Sir Thomas and Reginald.”
Reyna took the basket that Alice carried, and tried to
sound brave and calm. “I will go to my mother first, and
then to Edinburgh. I will let you know when I am safe
there, and you can join me.”

Alice hugged her. “It is a brave but rash plan that you
have, child. Sir Robert would not have approved if he were
alive.”

“If Robert were alive, I would not have to do it.”

The older woman nodded in resignation. “God go with you,
then.”

Reyna pushed through the entrance and stood within the
obscuring brush. Fifty yards away lay the camps that
ringed the tower house. It was not a big army, but large
enough to ensure that no one left and no provisions
arrived. There had been no assaults, no wall scaling, no
war machines hurling fire and stones. Nor had there been
any negotiations. Just two months of relentless siege.

Men moved around the camp, their motions lazy in the
summer heat. They didn’t wear many clothes, and their
bodies had browned in the sun. A few had adopted the
cooler kilts of the Scots. But these men were not Scots.

English, she thought with disgust, and the notion gave her
renewed resolve. The English had been the monsters of her
childhood and the enemies of her youth. Their Scottish
king may have accepted defeat by King Edward of England
ten years ago, but no Scot, especially those on the
borders of Cumbria and Northumberland, readily submitted
to the authority that the English claimed.

She knew all about English soldiers, and what would happen
if their sappers succeeded in breaching the walls.
Descriptions of English atrocities had been repeated for
generations. She forced herself to picture people she knew
being butchered and tortured, and she sought strength in
those horrible images. It was not in her nature to do what
she planned now, but she saw no alternative. Hopefully God
would aid her, and then forgive her.

She darted out of the brush and walked at an angle until
she would appear to have arrived off one of the northern
paths.

The men examined her, assessing the meaning of her unbound
hair and silk gown. She marched on, circling around to the
western camp and the large tent in its center. When it
came in sight, she slowed. Once she entered, there would
be no turning back.

A lewd whistle caught her attention. Two knights grinned
at each other and began walking toward her, making obscene
sounds with their mouths, taunting her. Her skin prickled,
and she ran the last few yards to the large tent with
green-and-white pennants.

A squire sat by the entrance cleaning weapons. He looked
up, startled, as she bore down on him, swept past, and
plunged through the flap. She prayed that the man she
sought was within, and that these others would not follow.
Then again, for all she knew, he might simply shrug and
let them carry her away.

The white canvas created a diffused, soft light, and it
took her a moment to adjust her eyes. She looked around at
the simple cot and table and chest that the tent
contained. Polished armor glowed on the ground a few steps
from her. Not a sound filled the space.

And then a shadow moved. A man rose from the stool where
he had been sitting with his back propped against the
tent’s central supporting pole.

“What are you doing here?” he asked sharply.

She just stared.

She had watched this man from the top reaches of the tower
house. He was taller than most, but when everyone is just
a speck that doesn’t count for much. However, she was
shorter than most, and the marked difference in their
sizes suddenly made her acutely aware of her vulnerability.

What she hadn’t seen from the tower was just how handsome
he was. Thick lashes softened and framed dark, brooding
eyes that looked like liquid smudges in this light. Sharp
bones defined his cheeks and jaw. A wide, straight,
slightly full mouth compelled her attention. Dark hair
hung to his shoulders, bound by a sweat cloth twisted and
tied around his forehead.

He wore only a pair of loose peasant chausses, cut off
above the knees. Those legs were well formed, all slender
muscles and tight lines. The same athletic leanness shaped
his broad shoulders and sculpted chest. With his primitive
garment, he reminded her of the ancient warriors she had
read about in Robert’s books. He was the enemy, but her
breath caught all the same.

Magnificent. Stunning.

Too bad she had to kill him.

He walked toward her. He gave her gown and hair and tinted
cheeks a cool appraisal while he pulled the sweat band
from his forehead and ran a strong hand through his hair.
She hoped that he couldn’t see her blush, because the
woman she was today would never be disconcerted by a man’s
examination, no matter how handsome he might be.

His expression lightened, and he raised one speculative
eyebrow. He had figured out the only part he needed to
know.

He smiled.

Dear lord, what a smile. Close-lipped, straight, the edges
barely lifting at the corners. Utterly charming, subtly
suggestive, vaguely sardonic. It formed alluring little
creases on either side of his mouth. It transformed the
handsome face and fathomless eyes from distant and
brooding to sensual and friendly.

But she saw something else as he looked down at her. She
saw it in the casual stance of his body and the glint in
his eyes and even in the smile itself. Conceit. Arrogance.
Pride. Insufferable self-confidence. She read his
awareness of the effect his face and body had on her. On
all women.

She had met such men before. Her father’s household had
been full of them. Perhaps she wouldn’t mind killing him
so much after all.

“What are you doing here?” he repeated.

She gathered her wits. “I was called by the town of
Bewton. The town sent to Glasgow to hire me. The
townspeople wanted to be sure that their gift would please
you, Sir Morvan.”

“Gift? Are you saying that the town bought a whore — ”

“I am Melissa, a courtesan,” she said peevishly. “I assure
you I am no whore. That is why I am here. The town did not
trust their bawds with such a duty.”

“And what is the purpose of this gift?”

“They hope that, if you are well pleased, you will spare
the town and restrain your army.”

“And you have come to persuade me of this?” He stepped
around her, examining her like an animal for purchase. She
half expected him to yawn and announce that she wouldn’t
do at all. “The knight who gives such an order to his men
would have to be very pleased indeed. What is the good of
conquering if there are no spoils?”

“The town will pay tribute. There will be spoils enough.
It is the barbaric looting and rape that they wish to
avoid.”

He reached out and stroked her hair, lifting a section,
letting his gaze and fingers run along its considerable
length. “What did you say your name is?”

“Melissa. You may not have heard of me, but I was trained
by the famous Dionysia.”

“You don’t look like a courtesan to me, Melissa. I had
always assumed that they were voluptuous women. You appear
too puny and scrawny for it. Lovely hair, though. An
unusual color. Very pale, like spun moonlight.” He still
held the end of the long strand of hair, and it hung
between them like a strip of silk.

“What you call puny and scrawny, great lords consider
diminutive and delicate, Sir Morvan. Besides, a
courtesan’s skills make such details insignificant.
However, it is clear that you are base in your
preferences. I will return and tell the town elders that
they miscalculated.”

“Nay. It was a brilliant strategy. There is just one
problem with it, and it is not your size.” He still
fingered her hair. “I am not Sir Morvan.”

“But this is the largest tent, in the center of the camp.
I was told that this army belongs to Morvan Fitzwaryn.”

“It does at that, but I command here. Morvan is occupied
elsewhere. The main army is at Harclow.”

No wonder help had not come. Everyone in the tower had
assumed that Morvan Fitzwaryn had first besieged this
outlying fief in order to have a foothold before he tried
to take the more formidable Harclow, but the man had
attacked both strongholds at once. And Clivedale, too? How
big was this army?

She rapidly recalculated. If this man commanded here, the
plan should work as well with him as with his lord.

“If you are not Morvan Fitzwaryn, who are you?”

“Ian of Guilford.”

“And you truly command here?”

“Aye. The fate of this tower and the nearby town are in my
hands. If the town sent you to negotiate, you have the
wrong name, but the right man. Their gift was intended for
me.”

He regarded her in a frank way that thoroughly unsettled
her. His gaze contained the consequences of failure that
she had carefully avoided thinking about.

Her courage disappeared in a blink. “It is unfortunate,
then, that you do not find me to your taste. I will leave
now.”

“I insist that you stay. You will lose your pay otherwise,
and you traveled a long distance. It was churlish of me to
criticize such a gift. Besides, if you were trained by the
famous Dionysia, I doubt that there will be
disappointment.”

He stepped yet closer, and his dominating size and
masculinity assaulted her. She groped for excuses to
leave. “These men appear to be mercenaries. Will they obey
you on this? No doubt they are to be paid with spoils.”

“They are mercenaries, but they are my mercenaries, and
will obey me. Morvan Fitzwaryn pays with silver, not the
promise of looting. They probably hoped for some, but it
was not part of their bargain.”

“What if something happens to you?”

“I did not realize that the townspeople had sent a lawyer
as well as a courtesan. Do your favors first require a
contract with all eventualities covered?”

His words and look reminded her of who she was supposed to
be, and why she was here. She thought of the danger to the
innocents in the tower house if the fortress fell, and of
the horrible death awaiting her if it did not. Her plan
was the only way to solve both those problems.

“Let us get undressed, Melissa, so that you can show me
this great art of yours.” He coolly regarded the
cot. “Hardly fitting for a courtesan. Would you prefer
some furs on the ground? More room, then.” He strode to
the other side of the tent and scattered several large
furs. “Aye, that will be better.”

He began unlacing the tie on his chausses. “On your hands
and knees the first time, I think.”

She watched with horror this too rapid development of
events. “Sir Ian, you do not understand. As I told you, I
am not a whore. I am a courtesan. We do things
differently.”

“Really? And here I had made it a point to try it every
way there was. I look forward to learning something new.”

Aye, killing him was not going to be hard at all. “That is
not what I meant. Courtesans do not just couple like
beasts. We create a whole mood and experience. There is
much preparation and relaxation first.”

His hands left his garment. “You will have to instruct me,
madam. I am just a simple knight. I am accustomed to
whores who do a man’s bidding. I see that with courtesans
it is the other way around.”

“You will get all that you desire, and more. But I have
been trained in many arts besides those. Music,
conversation — Surely after living little better than an
animal in these tents, a courtly evening must appeal to
you. Here, let me show you.” She marched to the furs,
retrieved some nearby bags, and used them to create a
bolster at one end. “Now, rest yourself. There. Isn’t that
better?”

He stretched out on the furs, his head and shoulders
propped against the bags. She knelt beside him and lifted
the cloth from the basket. She laid out the meat pies and
wine cup, and then poured the good Bordeaux wine. She
offered him the cup.

He sipped and looked over at her. “You will not have any?”

“Nay. It makes me less skilled. We wouldn’t want that,
would we?”

He nibbled at a meat pie and raised his eyebrows
appreciatively. “Whether you surpass the camp whores
remains to be seen, but your food definitely surpasses the
camp cooking.”

She beamed foolishly, and almost launched into an
explanation of the herbs she had used before she caught
herself. “Shall I play the flute for you while you eat?”