A KNIGHT OF DECEIT
(KNIGHTS OF PASSION SERIES 2)
EVIE NORTH
Scotland 1209 AD
Maven held her breath. Was that someone at the door of her bedchamber? She forced herself to lie still and listen. Had Sir Walter come at last? Nothing. She released her breath—it made a white puff in the chill air. It was very late and still he hadn’t come. The covers felt rough against her naked skin and she suddenly wished she had left her shift on.
This assignation was not of her choosing. She was simply obeying the orders of her mistress, Princess Margaret, and although this wasn’t the first time Margaret had used her in such a way, it was the first time she had pretended to be the princess. She was a spy—men said far more than they should in the arms of a responsive woman—and although Maven would have preferred to choose her own lovers she was powerless to refuse. Rumour said—and Maven’s mother, the widow of an impoverished laird, swore—that she was Princess Margaret’s bastard half-sister. King William had never acknowledged her but Maven had lived her entire twenty years in the royal residences, and witnessed what her life could have been like if only she’d been born legitimately. Instead she was a lady-in-waiting to the princesses and bound to obey their every whim.
Now their lives were in upheaval. Scottish King William had made a treaty with English King John. John had brought his army north but the treaty between them meant that the two countries would not fight. William would pay John to go away, and he would also give up his two eldest daughters as hostages. Princess Margaret was trapped between her father’s order for her to go south to England and marry a nobleman there, or to disobey him and stay. If she stayed she would need a strong man to support her. Someone like Sir Walter.
T he image of Sir Walter crept into Maven’s mind. Short and stocky, his face pock-marked, his pale eyes watchful. He was not someone she knew well, although she had sat in the room as he spoke to her mistress and watched his calculating smile.
Sir Walter knew what he wanted, but then so did Margaret. In that regard they were well suited. Neither of them cared about love, the sort of love Maven longed for. They wanted power and wealth and were prepared to ride roughshod over others to get it.
Maven sighed. Why could she not be waiting here for the man of her choice? Already she knew that man would be Sir Walter’s squire, Barlow MacRae. Just like Maven, Barlow had been born on the wrong side of the blanket, the son of Sir Walter’s father by a serving wench. Tall and handsome, his gaze often strayed to Maven. She did not acknowledge him—Margaret would never allow that because Maven was not to indulge in liaisons that were not of her mistress’s making. And yet often she felt his dark eyes upon her like a dangerous caress and sometimes, when Margaret wasn’t watching, she smiled at him.
“You are the same height as me, the same size,” Princess Margaret had said earlier, observing her coldly. “I am younger, but you could pass as me. In the dark.”
Because Maven had never had to play the part of Margaret before she was anxious. “What if Sir Walter recognises me?”
“You must be clever and make certain that he does not,” Margaret said sharply. “If I decide I need someone to rescue me from my father’s treaty with the English then that someone will be he.” She smiled to herself, her pretty face growing sly. “He is ambitious. He thinks if he beds me then my father will relent and marry me to him rather than send me south to the English King. You know I can’t take him into my bed—a royal princess must be chaste—but nor do I want to lose his interest, in case I need his help. That is why you must take my place and keep him dangling.”
S o she was sacrificing Maven. Using her as a counter in this game of deception. For a time Maven had found her liaison’s exciting and she had almost
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