My Rival, My Love, page 1
My Rival, My Love
Ruth Kaufman
Text copyright by the Author.
This work was made possible by special permission through the de Wolfe Pack Connected World publishing program and WolfeBane Publishing, a dba of Dragonblade Publishing. All characters, scenes, events, plots and related elements appearing in the original World of de Wolfe Pack connected series by Kathryn Le Veque Novels, Inc. remains the exclusive copyrighted and/or trademarked property of Kathryn Le Veque Novels, Inc., or the affiliates or licensors.
All characters created by the author of this novel remain the copyrighted property of the author.
De Wolfe Pack: The Series
By Aileen Fish
The Duke She Left Behind
By Alexa Aston
Rise of de Wolfe
By Amanda Mariel
Love’s Legacy
One Wanton Wager
By Anna Markland
Hungry Like de Wolfe
By Ashe Barker
Wolfeheart
By Autumn Sand
Reflections of Love
Reflections of Time
By Barbara Devlin
Lone Wolfe: Heirs of Titus De Wolfe Book 1
The Big Bad De Wolfe: Heirs of Titus De Wolfe Book 2
Tall, Dark & De Wolfe: Heirs of Titus De Wolfe Book 3
By Cathy MacRae
The Saint
The Penitent
The Cursed
By Celeste Barclay
A Spy at the Highland Court
By Christy English
Dragon Fire
By Danelle Harmon
Heart of the Sea Wolfe
By Emmanuelle de Maupassant
Master of the Moor
By Emily E K Murdoch
Whirlwind with a Wolfe
By Hildie McQueen
The Duke’s Fiery Bride
By Jennifer Siddoway
De Wolfe in Disguise
By Kathryn Le Veque
River’s End
By Lana Williams
Trusting the Wolfe
Ruby’s Gamble
By Laura Landon
A Voice on the Wind
By Leigh Lee
Of Dreams and Desire
By Mairi Norris
Brabanter’s Rose
By Marlee Meyers
The Fall of the Black Wolf
By Mary Lancaster
Vienna Wolfe
The Wicked Wolfe
By Meara Platt
Nobody’s Angel
Kiss an Angel
Bhrodi’s Angel
By Mia Pride
The Lone Wolf’s Lass
The Last Wolfe Lass
By Michele Lang
An Honest Woman
By Rosamund Winchester
The Defender and the Dove
By Ruth Kaufman
My Enemy, My Love
My Rebel, My Love
My Rival, My Love
By Sarah Hegger
Bad Wolfe on the Rise
By Scarlett Cole
Together Again
By Sherry Ewing
To Love a Scottish Laird
To Love an English Knight
By Tammy Andresen
To Want a Rogue
By Victoria Vane
Breton Wolfe Book 1
Ivar the Red Book 2
The Bastard of Brittany Book 3
By Violetta Rand
Never Cry de Wolfe
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
De Wolfe Pack: The Series
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Epilogue
Author’s Note
About the Author
Other books by Ruth Kaufman
To readers of medieval romances. Thank you!
Prologue
October, 1216
East Anglia, England
“Watch out!” The caravan leader yelled a reminder to the men forming the plodding column of packhorses and wagons hauling King John’s crowns, jewels, gemstone-studded chalices and staffs, and other priceless items across the Wash from King’s Lynn to Lincoln.
Only those nearby heard him, for the travelers stretched farther than the eye could see. His warning echoed down the line as some repeated it and then faded into the breeze. Everyone focused on the clay path through marshland rife with streams. Deadly quicksand awaited on both sides.
He had to lead the men and treasures to safety, or the king would have his head. If they’d asked, he’d have advised against this treacherous shortcut.
Suddenly the waters rose and splashed his feet, then covered them.
“Jesu.” Eyes wide and heart pounding, he yelled, “Hurry!”
The tide was coming in from the North Sea. Much too fast.
He made the sign of the cross and tugged harder on his horse’s reins. Panic and dread slammed him as he splashed along the path.
“We’re doomed!” someone cried.
The water reached his knees.
Men shouted as they slapped the flanks of their beasts. Horses neighed in protest. A few men ran only to get stuck in quicksand.
“Help me!” a friend screamed, arms outstretched. The mire sucked him down.
What to do? He couldn’t breathe. No time to save himself much less another.
Shouts turned to screams as water swamped the caravan and quicksand swallowed man and beast.
After a final glance at the cloudy sky, he knew no more.
Chapter One
July, 1460
York, England
“A key…from my mother?” With shaking fingers, Cecily Fayrefax took the proffered item from her wizened grandmother, who sat beside her on the humble hall’s cushioned window bench.
Stunned, Cecily held the black iron key toward the mullioned glass. Delicate scrolls filled the diamond-shaped top. The large end featured a cutout in the shape of a cross. “What does this open? And why didn’t you give this to me when Mother died? Why have you kept this secret for ten years?”
“There’s also a letter.” Gran reached into the pocket of her dark blue, linen gown and retrieved a wrinkled parchment. Cecily’s heart skipped a beat as she recognized her mother’s red wax seal displaying a chalice beneath an oak tree.
“A letter. How could you, who raised me, conceal such important information?” Cecily’s voice trailed off as disappointment sluiced through her. She closed her fingers around the key, sharp edges pricking her palm. “Give it to me.”
The pain of long nights lying awake missing her mother rushed back. For months she’d slept with the Book of Hours her mother had read daily, one of her few keepsakes from the woman she’d so loved.
“I trusted you,” Cecily said.
“’Twasn’t my idea to keep this from you. Your mother bade me promise to wait until your twenty-fifth natal day,” Gran explained with a shake of her head. “She said then you’d be mature and wise enough to deal with the contents. The key and letter would’ve gone to your cousin Joanna to hold had I not lived to give it to you.”
Why would her mother place the burden of such a secret on Gran or her cousin, with whom she’d been close as a child but had barely seen these past few years? “I’ve been widowed and lost a son. Surely I’m already ‘mature enough’ for whatever this is.”
The sudden loss of Adam and their infant boy three years ago had broken her so badly that for weeks she’d barely left her bed. Lying there remembering times gone by had seemed preferable to living without her family. Without a purpose.
“What could be so important or valuable that my mother kept it locked?”
“I don’t know.” At Cecily’s skeptical frown, Gran added, “I swear on His name. I asked for details when she gave these to me, but she wouldn’t say. Exasperating when one’s own daughter keeps secrets.”
“So, you can imagine how unpleasant it is when one’s mother does.” Curiosity burned as Cecily put the key in her lap so she could open the letter. Though she tried to preserve the seal, it broke in half with a crisp snap.
Tears welled at the sight of her mother’s writing. Despite annoyance at her grandmother, Cecily was thankful for the gift of reading her mother’s words and having something else she’d touched. Something Mother had written with her in mind.
“Tell me. What does it say?” Gran asked.
“You don’t know? Truly?” How could she believe her or anyone, now? Had Gran encouraged or welcomed the secrecy so she could keep Cecily close? Doubts rankled.
“No. I was most curious at first, then, to be honest, forgot about it. I kept my word to your mother. I don’t know anything more than I’ve told you.”
Not ready to share the words, she stood and walked to the fireplace. The letter began, “To my beloved daughter, I hope you are well and happy.”
Her jaw dropped as she read what her mother wanted her to do.
Just as he had every morning for the past five years, Simon Clarke glared at the wood box in the center of his hall’s oak table. Carved faces—some glaring, some smiling, and one wisely all-knowing that dominated the top—mocked him. As did the gaping keyholes to the left and right of the iron clasps on the front.
Despite numerous creative attempts, Simon hadn’t succeeded where others had failed. Yet. Now a locksmith from Germany, reputed to be the best in his country and who charged the highest fee he’d yet to pay, was on his way to try.
If it was the last thing he did, Simon would find out what was inside that damn rectangle. Even if he had to destroy it against the advice of his family.
After finishing his freshly baked bread, hard cheese, and ale, he set thoughts of the box aside. Time to go to his workshop.
His short, lean steward entered. “Master Clarke, you have a visitor. A beauteous woman who insists on speaking with you immediately.”
If anything could take his mind off the box, it was a beautiful stranger. Never before had a woman visited him unannounced. But if he didn’t get to work soon, he might fall behind on the intricate brooch due to one of his best customers.
“Very well, Everard. Send her in.”
The steward led in a petite woman near his sisters’ ages, wearing a plain gown of light blue wool. She favored the same type of headdress that they did, a hennin. The cylinder covered in fabric topped by a sheer, flowing veil hid her hair but exposed her delicate ears. Long-lashed, amber eyes studied him warily. She pursed her lips as if stressed.
Who was she, and what urgent business had brought her to his home rather than his shop?
Chapter Two
Cecily’s pulse sped as she entered the hall, which was at least twice as large and high as Gran’s. Swords hung on the stone walls flanking the huge fireplace. The tall cupboard was dark wood, and matching chairs lined both sides of the table. Clearly a man’s domain, except for numerous gold, silver, and jeweled candlesticks, cups, and spoons on display atop a long, narrow chest below the windows on the far side of the room.
At the head of the table sat a handsome man of perhaps ten and twenty with black hair almost to his shoulders and dark green eyes as mysterious as the forests she’d played in as a girl. When he stood, his imposing height and breadth added to her nerves.
Perhaps she shouldn’t have come alone. And she should’ve considered what to reveal and how before rushing over. But excitement at finding out what her mother’s key opened, and the fact that the likely owner of the container lived near her, overcame good sense.
Could she trust this man? It still rankled that Gran, to whom she felt closer than anyone, could harbor such a secret. And that her mother would keep one. Who knew what burdened this man’s conscience or what he knew or didn’t?
“My name is Cecily Fayrefax. I seek Master Clarke.”
“I am Simon Clarke, as was my father before me. What is so urgent that it brings you here unannounced?” His resonant voice and elegant bearing conveyed confidence, enhanced by the thick, elaborate gold link necklace with a large, bright blue cabochon gem pendant he wore over a dark blue tabard, belted at the waist.
Determination led her on. She wouldn’t allow him to intimidate her. “Thank you for agreeing to talk with me, Master Clarke.”
The man quirked an eyebrow as if waiting for more.
What could she discover about him before sharing too much? What was at stake? She hadn’t been this unnerved in years. “Though my mother died ten years ago, only today was I given a letter she’d written the week before her death. In it, she bade me go to this location.”
“Why? And why was the letter withheld so long?”
Cecily’s heart jolted as she joined him at the table. A box too large for her to carry sat in the center. What if Mother’s key opened it? Could the mystery be solved this easily?
Many carved faces with unsettling expressions made her shiver. Only one soothed, as if it held answers to every question ever asked. Her fingers itched to grab the key from her satchel, but she didn’t want to play her hand too soon.
The box had not one, but two locks. Her shoulders drooped. Did her key open both? If not, did he have a second? Indecision briefly stole her speech and ability to move.
“Mistress Cecily?”
“My grandmother said my mother told her to wait so I’d be mature enough.”
“Mature enough for what?” His deep voice was measured, but the rapid tap of his booted foot exposed his impatience.
“I assume to be able to handle whatever secrets I’d uncover.” At the moment, she agreed that Mother had been right to wait to share such news. At five and twenty, Cecily should be wise enough to handle this unusual situation. But she felt more a naïve girl than an experienced woman. Too many moons had passed without the need to make difficult choices.
Maybe Master Simon would share information first if she asked the right questions. “What an unusual box. Is there something inside it?”
“It’s been in my family for generations.”
A vague reply. Did he know or wasn’t he telling? Another quirk of his eyebrow made her wonder what he was thinking. His eyes gleamed with curiosity mixed with intelligence, making her want to learn more about him despite this awkward meeting.
“Such amazing detail and true-to-life carvings. I can feel that one’s anger.” She indicated a frowning face with curly hair.
“Yes. This one is my least favorite.” He turned the box to display the opposite side. A bearded face with eyes wide stuck out its long tongue. She shuddered. “Unfortunately, I don’t know who carved these or how my ancestors first acquired it. And no one has figured out how to open it. We’ve tried everything anyone can think of without possibly damaging the carvings or anything that might be inside.”
“How vexing for generations to fail at what seems a straightforward task.”
“Exactly.” Master Clarke pushed it away. “So, you have no clue why your mother directed you to this place?”
This reminded her of a dance she and Adam had once attended where the steps to one of the songs required them to move close to and then away from each other. Stop thinking about Adam. She’d mourned long enough.
They’d get nowhere if she didn’t tell him. “My grandmother gave me something in addition to the letter,” she said. “A key.”
He drew in a harsh breath and reached out his hand. “A key! Give it to me.”
Startled by his intensity, she backed toward the door.
He followed.
This was not a pleasant dance.
“What else did your mother say?” he demanded. “I must read the letter. Now. Did you bring it?”
“I—I—” Stupidly, she had. And the key. Her throat tightened, preventing her from answering.
His expression had gone from intriguing to intimidating in an instant, with a gaze as intense and as sure of victory as a lord might have when leading his men-at-arms into battle.
Her heart thumped harder still. Following Gran’s orders was easier than making her own decisions.
“The key. Hand it over. Now.” Master Clarke held out his hand. “I have to open this.”
Fortunately, she had the wherewithal to keep from clasping her hand over her pocket, alerting him to the location of the key. As if that gesture would’ve sufficed to keep it safe. What if he forced her to surrender it and the letter?
Why hadn’t she left them at Gran’s? Or instead of following her mother’s instructions immediately, written and asked him to meet her in a public place instead of his own home where he had control? She’d always been too trusting.
Master Clarke raised his palms and took a step away. “My pardon. Eagerness and finally learning of the existence of a key got the better of me. I’ve always had the box, while you’ve just learned about all of this.”
Cecily let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. That made sense. The news had sent her mind reeling. What would facing such a mystery be like?
“Thank you.” She moved to the fire. Despite the warm day, her hands were chilled. “I’m not sure how to proceed. I admit my enthusiasm led me here before I fully considered or investigated the ramifications. I don’t know how my mother obtained the key, how long she had it, or if there’s another reason she kept it a secret.”
