A Knight Most Wicked
Harlequin Historicals
March 2008
Take a trip back in time to 14th century Bohemia
A perilous seduction…
Baseborn Tristan Carlisle had fought his way to a knighthood. On the threshold of gaining land and power, he would not be distracted from his ultimate goal.
Until, deep in the Bohemian forest, he encountered a woman with unforgettable green eyes. He never expected to see her again-- but then the gypsy arrived at court as a lady in waiting. Convinced that she was an ambitious imposter, Tristan set out to seduce the truth from Arabella— assuming he could resist the power of her charms…
Reviews
"Rock starts with an unusual setting (Bohemia) and makes it work. Her character-building skills give us a hero and heroine who are deeply emotional and engaging."
— Romantic Times: 4 stars
"Master storyteller Joanne Rock sets a whole new stage for readers…"
— Fallen Angels Reviews: 5 stars
"Lies, deceit and secrets… Joanne Rock has penned an exciting tale."
— CataRomance: 5 stars
"A tale deftly woven with historical details, emotional turmoil, political intrigue, and fantastic love scenes."
— Romance Junkies
"Packed full of intrigue… Ms. Rock spices things up with unfettered passion, kidnap attempts, traitors and keeps you guessing until the very end."
— Writers Unlimited
Read the Excerpt
"We'll stop here," Tristan Carlisle called as he reined in his horse and flung himself from the black destrier so his company might rest for the night.
He cursed his trip even as he savored this last stop before he reached Prague and the squawking retinue of women awaiting him— the largest retinue ever to accompany a princess for her marriage nuptials. A bloody dubious honor for a warrior knight.
"Escort," he muttered, disgusted by the very sound of the word. Fifteen years in service to kings of England, and this was the mission his hard work had earned him?
England's war with France raged while he was sent on a courtier's mission. Did they think his sword arm grew weak? He could conquer half of Richard's hasty-witted front line with his dagger since most of the young king's men were naught but beslubbering babes who'd seen little combat.
Richard had made excuses about the importance of his bride's protection and a recent threat to the Bohemian court, but the quest—and the king's concern— sounded a bit hollow to Tristan.
The black horse snorted as it sated its thirst, echoing Tristan's disdain.
"I couldn't agree more, friend. No warrior in his right mind should accept a courtier's job, and yet here we are. Roaming our tired arses across this fair land with naught but a bastard's lot in life by way of royal appreciation." Snort, indeed.
"Tris?" His friend Simon Percival called to him from a few feet away, his presence on the journey— a knight almost as ancient as Tristan at thirty summers— was one of the few circumstances that made the endless journey bearable. "Should we stop here for the night, or do you want to ride further? We can arrive in Prague tomorrow if we pick up speed."
"I am in no hurry. Tell the men to unload and I'll search the area." Clear his resentful head so he might focus on his duty.
Securing the perimeter of the camp, Tristan worked with slow caution as twilight approached. The solitude of the land suited his mood, the dark woods giving way to rolling hills providing plenty of cover for foreign knights on strange terrain.
As the sounds of his men faded all together in the last purple light of day, he heard a distinct cry from deeper in the forest.
He paused, reasonably sure the noise came from an animal, but waiting to be certain. Although he seemed to be in the middle of remote country, perhaps a road wound nearby and some hapless traveler had met with highwaymen. When the cry came again, Tristan still questioned whether it was animal or human, but it sounded too tortured to ignore.
Sliding from his horse, he stalked toward the sounds. The noise became continuous at this point, so he hastened his step until he reached a clearing in the woods with a perfect circle of aged oaks in the middle. The sound emanated from within that ring, but in the falling twilight he could not make out a form. Certainly there were no animals fighting here, nor was there any coach or highwayman to be seen.
Moving forward, he gained ground until he touched one of the old oaks.
The cries stopped.
A figure stirred within the ring of trees.
Squinting to make out the form in the shadows, Tristan recognized the shape of a young woman… or was it?
Half reclining on the ground, the woman wore garments that belonged to neither a peasant nor lady. She wore a long dress with a full skirt— he could see it floating all about her legs on the ground- but not long enough to hide her bare feet. She was covered from head to toe with small twigs and pine needles.
And her hair…
It called to mind a fey witch or fairy in a child's tale. Thick waves cloaked her upper body in the same way her long dress covered the lower half. The dark tresses reached her waist and looked unaccustomed to the rigors of a comb.
Surely he dreamed.
No woman would be in the middle of the wilderness like this. Yet, she appeared to belong in the woods— wild and uncivilized— with hair in a swirling riot about her face and eyes as green as the dark forest itself. An unearthly beauty about her made him wonder if he'd been bewitched.
Her strange appearance in the middle of the ancient circle of trees where no superstitious mortal would dare tread supported that conclusion— green cat's eyes, dusty from head to foot, hair that veiled its wearer in a dark shroud. And before her abrupt silence, she had wailed with pagan fury to the unyielding oaks.
Tristan stepped toward the figure as if to satisfy himself she was only an apparition. Softly he approached her, spellbound by the strangeness of the vision.
For a moment, the woman did not move as he came toward her. She seemed transfixed, peering into Tristan's eyes and searching his face. Tristan was so close that he caught a vague scent of her, could see the heavy rise and fall of her breasts, discern the damp trail of tears down dirt-smudged cheeks. Still not convinced she could possibly be real, Tristan lifted his hand to touch her when the green-eyed wench sprang to her feet and ran in one swift, soundless movement…