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  RT BOOK REVIEWS RAVES ABOUT NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLING AUTHOR CONNIE MASON:

  THE PRICE OF PLEASURE

  “She delivers what longtime romance readers want: remarkable characters and a story that sweeps them away.”

  A KNIGHT’S HONOR

  “This is classic Mason. Her fans will put this on the top of their to-read lists.”

  GYPSY LOVER

  “Mason’s romances are always a feast for readers seeking a passionate, exciting story peopled with larger-than-life heroes who take your breath away.”

  THE PIRATE PRINCE

  “A legend of the genre, Mason delivers a tried-and-true romance with a classic plot and highly engaging characters.”

  THE ROGUE AND THE HELLION

  “Ms. Mason has written another winner to delight her fans who want sexual tension that leads to hot explosion, memorable characters and a fast-paced story.”

  THE LAIRD OF STONEHAVEN

  “[Ms. Mason] crafts with excellence and creativity . . . [and] the added attraction of mystery and magic.”

  LIONHEART

  “. . . Upholds the author’s reputation for creating memorable stories and remarkable characters.”

  THE BLACK KNIGHT

  “Ms. Mason has written a rich medieval romance filled with tournaments, chivalry, lust and love.”

  THE OUTLAWS: SAM

  “Ms. Mason always provides the reader with a hot romance, filled with plot twists and wonderful characters. She’s a marvelous storyteller.”

  GUNSLINGER

  “Ms. Mason has created memorable characters and a plot that made this reader rush to turn the pages . . . Gunslinger is an enduring story.”

  BEYOND THE HORIZON

  “Connie Mason at her best! She draws readers into this fast-paced, tender and emotional historical romance that proves love really does conquer all!”

  A BURNING KISS

  “You asked me to kiss you once and I refused.” His voice took on a harshness that matched his expression. “Is it a kiss you want? I am a man with a man’s needs. I will not refuse this time, Raven of Chirk.”

  She took an involuntary step backward, stunned by the ferocity of his words. “Nay, ’tis not . . .”

  Her protest died in her throat as he reached for her, roughly dragging her against him. A torrent of heat shot through her and she leaned into him, bracing her hands against the broad expanse of his chest.

  “Drake, I did not mean . . .”

  “I know exactly what you want from me.”

  His lips burned against hers, hot, firm, yet not hard as she had supposed they would be. His kiss was hungry, relentless.

  Suddenly she wanted his arms to hold her, surround her, never let her go, but Drake pushed her away and gave her a mocking smile.

  “Is that what you wanted, Lady Raven? Did you wish to compare my kisses with those of your betrothed?”

  Other books by Connie Mason:

  A BREATH OF SCANDAL

  A KNIGHT’S HONOR

  A LOVE TO CHERISH

  A PROMISE OF THUNDER

  A TASTE OF PARADISE

  A TASTE OF SIN

  A TOUCH SO WICKED

  BEYOND THE HORIZON

  BOLD LAND, BOLD LOVE

  BRAVE LAND, BRAVE LOVE

  CARESS AND CONQUER

  FLAME

  GUNSLINGER

  GYPSY LOVER

  HIGHLAND WARRIOR

  ICE AND RAPTURE

  LION’S BRIDE

  LIONHEART

  LORD OF DEVIL ISLE

  LOVE ME WITH FURY

  MY LADY VIXEN

  PIRATE

  PROMISE ME FOREVER

  PROMISED SPLENDOR

  PURE TEMPTATION

  SEDUCED BY A ROGUE

  SHADOW WALKER

  SHEIK

  SIERRA

  SURRENDER TO THE FURY

  TAKEN BY YOU

  TEARS LIKE RAIN

  TEMPT THE DEVIL

  TENDER FURY

  THE BLACK KNIGHT

  THE DRAGON LORD

  THE LAIRD OF STONEHAVEN

  THE LAST ROGUE

  THE OUTLAWS: JESS

  THE OUTLAWS: RAFE

  THE OUTLAWS: SAM

  THE PIRATE PRINCE

  THE PRINCE OF PLEASURE

  THE ROGUE AND THE HELLION

  TO LOVE A STRANGER

  TO TAME A RENEGADE

  TO TEMPT A ROGUE

  TREASURES OF THE HEART

  VIKING WARRIOR

  VIKING!

  WILD LAND, WILD LOVE

  WIND RIDER

  CONNIE

  MASON

  The Black

  Knight

  To Joe, Matt, James, Alex, Arron, Nick, and Mason. May

  my seven grandsons grow up to be knights in shining armor.

  DORCHESTER PUBLISHING

  January 2011

  Published by

  Dorchester Publishing Co., Inc.

  200 Madison Avenue

  New York, NY 10016

  Copyright © 1999 by Connie Mason

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, without the written permission of the publisher, except where permitted by law. The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  ISBN 13: 978-1-4285-1171-2

  E-ISBN: 978-1-4285-0970-2

  The “DP” logo is the property of Dorchester Publishing Co., Inc.

  Printed in the United States of America.

  Visit us online at www.dorchesterpub.com.

  The Black

  Knight

  Prologue

  A lad aspires to knighthood.

  Wales, 1336

  The tall, imposing knight gazed at the strapping ten-year-old lad through cold gray eyes that held little compassion. “Do you know who I am, boy?”

  The boy squinted up at the strange knight but did not flinch beneath that flinty, humorless gaze. “Nay, sir.”

  “Did your mother tell you naught about your father?”

  “She said that he is English and did not want her. He married her and then abandoned her. I hate him!” the lad said with fierce vehemence. “Though I have never set eyes upon him, I shall always hate him.”

  “Hmmm,” the tall knight said, stroking his beardless jaw. “Keep that hatred, boy. Nurture it. You will need it to draw upon in the years to come. The world has little use for bastards.”

  The boy drew himself up proudly, thrust out his square chin in a show of belligerence and declared, “I am no bastard, sir! Granny Nola said my father and mother were married by a priest in the village church, and she does not lie.”

  “You will have a hard time proving that, boy,” the knight said harshly. “ ’Tis best to lose those fanciful notions if you are to survive.”

  “Why do you care?” the lad challenged. “Who are you?”

  “I understand your mother named you Drake,” the knight said, ignoring the lad’s questions. “She chose well. It means dragon. ’Tis a good name. You will do well to remember the meaning and live up to the promise.”

  Drake glanced over his shoulder at the shack he shared with Granny Nola and saw her standing in the doorway, anxiously wringing her hands. Sh
e looked frightened. Did the English knight mean them harm?

  The knight continued to stare at Drake, as if trying to decide something of great import.

  “What are you staring at?” Drake demanded boldly. “Who are you and what do you want with me and Granny?”

  “I am Basil of Eyre, your father.”

  “Nay!” Drake denied, backing away. “Go away! I do not need you! I hate you!”

  Basil clamped a hand on Drake’s rigid shoulder. “There is a lot of anger in you, lad, but that is not a bad thing. You are going to have to fight every step of the way if you are to get along in life. Do you understand what I am saying?”

  Drake shook his head.

  “You will learn,” Basil said. “How did your mother die?”

  “Why do you care?”

  Basil cuffed him on the head. “Do not speak thus to me. How did Leta die?”

  “Fever took her. We were all ill, but only Mama died. She was the weakest.”

  Basil’s face softened for a brief moment. “A pity,” he muttered. Then his expression returned to its harsh lines. “Do you know why I am here?”

  “Nay, and I do not care. Leave me and Granny alone. We do not need you.”

  “Methinks Lord Nyle will soon teach you manners. I was visiting Nyle of Chirk when I met your mother, you know. I was but a lad of eighteen and loved to hunt. Nyle’s land marches along the border and we crossed into Wales to hunt boar. I came upon Leta picking berries in the woods. But that is neither here nor there,” he said dismissively. “You are to pack your belongings and come with me.”

  Drake’s chin wobbled despite his bravado. “And leave Granny? Nay, I will go nowhere with you. I do not care who you are.”

  “You will leave,” Basil insisted.

  “How did you find out about Mama? Who told you she died?”

  “Years ago I asked Nyle of Chirk to keep me informed of your welfare. His spies reported to him regularly. They informed him of your mother’s death, and Nyle sent word to me.”

  Drake’s silver eyes, so like his father’s, shimmered with unrelenting hatred. “Why? You never wanted us.”

  “ ’Tis complicated,” Basil explained. “My father had already betrothed me to Elise of Leister and would not allow me to break the betrothal. I have a wife, and a son a few months younger than you. ’Tis all you need to know. Go now and pack your belongings.”

  “Where are you taking me?”

  “To Castle Chirk. Waldo, my son and heir, is fostered with Nyle of Chirk. In a few years he will become a knight, and you will be trained to become his squire.”

  Drake gave his head a vigorous shake. “Nay, I want to be a knight!”

  “Bastards do not become knights.”

  “I will be a knight,” Drake declared with the kind of determination rare in a ten-year-old boy.

  “Retain that tenacity, boy; you are going to need it.”

  One

  Love gives a knight courage.

  Castle Chirk, 1343

  Raven of Chirk cornered him in an alcove off the great hall. She had asked him to meet her after vespers to discuss something of great import. Seventeen-year-old Drake No Name, as he was cruelly dubbed by his half brother, Waldo, was ill prepared for Raven’s startling request.

  “Kiss me, Drake.”

  Drake gave Raven a teasing smile and easily held Nyle’s irrepressible twelve-year-old daughter at bay.

  “You know I cannot. You are betrothed to Aric of Flint,” Drake reminded her. “Boldness does not become you, Raven.”

  “I will not wed Aric!” Raven declared with all the vehemence she could muster. “I want to marry you. Do you not like me even a little, Drake?”

  “Aye, Raven, but you know ’tis your sister I love. Daria is everything to me.”

  “Daria is promised to Waldo,” Raven declared.

  Drake lowered his voice. “Can you keep a secret?” Raven nodded, her green eyes wide with curiosity.

  “Daria and I are going to run away together,” he confided.

  “Nay! You cannot,” Raven cried, aghast. “Daria is but toying with you. She would never marry a man with neither land nor wealth to his name. She is but fourteen, and fickle. She does not love you as I do.”

  An angry glow darkened Drake’s silver eyes. “You are but twelve, and wildly imaginative if you hope to marry me.”

  She stamped her foot. “I am not imaginative! Daria is not the one for you.”

  “What right do you have to tell me who is the one for me?”

  “Father would never allow it. You are naught but a squire in training. Waldo will earn his spurs soon and is heir to an earldom.”

  “You need not remind me that I am a bastard,” Drake said angrily. “Waldo has reminded me of my low birth and position every day since I arrived at Chirk. We may have the same father, but that is all we have in common. At least Daria doesn’t see me in that light.”

  “I urge you to think carefully before you do anything rash,” Raven advised. “Daria is in love with love. She might consider running off with you, but to her it will be naught but a great adventure. Trust me when I say she will be relieved when Father finds her and brings her home. You will be the one he punishes.”

  At seventeen, Drake was his own man, had been since he had arrived at Castle Chirk. He had few friends among the other lads in training to become squires. And those slated for knighthood had no time for Drake No Name. He was taunted mercilessly by Waldo, Duff of Chirk, Lord Nyle’s son, and their friends, and had learned at an early age to defend himself against bullies.

  At the age of fifteen Drake had fallen hopelessly in love with Daria of Chirk, and had every reason to believe she returned his affections.

  “You are wrong about Daria, Raven,” Drake replied with asperity. “She loves me. Waldo can find another heiress to wed.”

  Raven sighed unhappily. Drake was the one wrong about Daria. She might let Drake steal kisses, and even encourage him to believe she would elope with him, but she would never, ever marry against her father’s wishes. Raven, on the other hand, would defy the devil himself to earn Drake’s love. Raven knew her sister well. Drake was a handsome lad. Daria enjoyed Drake’s attention but she would never marry him. She was slated to become a countess one day and would do naught to damage the betrothal between herself and Waldo. Why could Drake not see that?

  Just then Waldo and Duff poked their heads into the alcove where Raven and Drake were conversing.

  “What are you two doing in here?” Duff asked suspiciously. “Are you trying to seduce my sister, Drake No Name?”

  “Sir Bastard is always aiming for something he cannot have,” Waldo said with a sneer.

  Unlike Drake, who closely resembled his father, Waldo looked nothing like Basil. He was large for his sixteen years, with the kind of bulk that would turn to fat in later years. He was blond where Drake was dark, and his eyes were pale blue instead of mesmerizing silver. He was not unhandsome, but there was something inside him that was ugly. Drake had borne the brunt of Waldo’s hatred from the day they first met seven years before.

  “I was the one who asked Drake to meet me here,” Raven freely admitted. “We were merely talking. Drake is my friend.”

  “Next time, talk where you are in plain view,” Duff advised. “If Father even suspected that Drake was trying to seduce his daughter, he would banish Drake from Castle Chirk, or worse.”

  “I told you—”

  Drake pushed Raven aside. “I do not seduce children, nor do I need you to defend me, Raven. I am perfectly capable of fighting my own battles.”

  Waldo stepped forward, his florid face more flushed than usual. It was obvious he had imbibed too freely of the ale served at the evening meal.

  Waldo shoved his face forward until he was nose-to-nose with Drake. “Heed me well, Sir Bastard,” he said, assaulting Drake with the offensive stench of sour ale. “You are naught but a squire in training. Speaking disrespectfully to your betters will earn Lord Nyle’s wra
th. You are a bastard; never forget it.”

  Drake’s expression turned stony, giving mute testimony to the bitterness buried deep within him. “You will not let me forget,” he bit out. “Heed me well, Waldo of Eyre—someday Drake No Name will have a name and prove his worth.”

  “As a squire?” Duff challenged.

  “As a knight,” Drake said with conviction.

  “I believe him,” Raven said in Drake’s defense.

  “Go to bed, sister,” Duff ordered. “You are an impertinent wench and it does not become you. What would Aric of Flint say if he knew you were flirting behind his back?”

  Duff, only son of Nyle of Chirk, was a square youth with a sturdy body and small mind. He was a follower, not a leader. Despite being three years older than Waldo, Duff followed Waldo’s lead like a puppet on a string. When he saw how much Waldo despised his half brother, he was quick to treat Drake in the same despicable manner as Waldo.

  Nyle of Chirk was gone most of the time, fighting King Edward’s wars, and when he was home he did nothing to stop Waldo and Duff from verbally and physically abusing Drake. In fact, he never even noticed. It was Nyle’s two lovely daughters who favored Drake with their attention.

  At seventeen, Drake was a well-proportioned young man, blessed with a handsome face, a muscular though somewhat lanky build, and mesmerizing silver eyes. He had left puberty behind early and had caught the eye of every likely maiden who crossed his path. But Drake cared only for Daria, the woman he planned to wed. Raven was comely enough, though she lacked Daria’s ethereal beauty, but she was far too bold and outspoken for Drake’s tastes. In Drake’s opinion, Daria would be wasted on Waldo.

  Raven sent Duff a quelling glance. “I do not care what Father says; I will not marry Aric.” Then she flounced off, her long chestnut hair bouncing against her rump, despite the veil and circlet meant to keep it restrained.