The Emerald Knight Read online

  The Emerald Knight

  Journeying to King Arthur’s castle, wanting to be allowed to join the Round Table, Sir Randour meets Wynfarad, a young sorcerer. Attracted to each other, they soon join forces.

  Randour wishes to learn the identity of the father he never knew and also learn just what are the powers of the magic amulet embedded in his chest.

  Arthur, however, has a different challenge for the duo. To become one of Arthur’s knights, Randour must first dispatch the monstrous fire-breathing beast Gwylldahr, which has been killing people, and setting houses and livestock afire. Yet so many before Randour have failed.

  When he and Wynfarad encounter the beast, and Gwylldahr turns on Wynfarad, Randour knows he must not fail if he wants to save his beloved’s life. By the book’s happy ending, Randour has learned the answers to his two questions, and the couple is looking forward to a happy future together in Camelot.

  Genre: Alternative (M/M or F/F), Fantasy

  Length: 21,303 words

  THE EMERALD KNIGHT

  Diana Sheridan

  EROTIC ROMANCE

  MANLOVE

  Siren Publishing, Inc.

  www.SirenPublishing.com

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  A SIREN PUBLISHING BOOK

  IMPRINT: Erotic Romance ManLove

  THE EMERALD KNIGHT

  Copyright © 2012 by Diana Sheridan

  E-book ISBN: 978-1-61926-881-4

  First E-book Publication: July 2012

  Cover design by Harris Channing

  All cover art and logo copyright © 2012 by Siren Publishing, Inc.

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission.

  All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.

  PUBLISHER

  Siren Publishing, Inc.

  www.SirenPublishing.com

  Letter to Readers

  Dear Readers,

  If you have purchased this copy of The Emerald Knight by Diana Sheridan from BookStrand.com or its official distributors, thank you. Also, thank you for not sharing your copy of this book.

  Regarding E-book Piracy

  This book is copyrighted intellectual property. No other individual or group has resale rights, auction rights, membership rights, sharing rights, or any kind of rights to sell or to give away a copy of this book.

  The author and the publisher work very hard to bring our paying readers high-quality reading entertainment.

  This is Diana Sheridan’s livelihood. It’s fair and simple. Please respect Ms. Sheridan’s right to earn a living from her work.

  Amanda Hilton, Publisher

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  DEDICATION

  For my good friend Cassandra Pierce,

  a very hot writer

  THE EMERALD KNIGHT

  DIANA SHERIDAN

  Copyright © 2012

  Chapter 1

  “How much farther is it to the castle?”

  The middle-aged woman bending over to scatter food for the chickens in her yard stood up. Turning around to face the man who had asked the question, she hazarded a guess. “You must not be from around here.”

  Her questioner turned to face her better. As he did, his knee bumped the helmet of his armor, which was hanging from his saddle. Smiling, he softly said, “No. I’m not. My name is Randour. Sir Randour. I’m hoping to meet with King Arthur.”

  “You have business at the castle?”

  Randour thought her question impertinent but answered her all the same. “I’m hoping to join the Knights of the Round Table.”

  “You already are a knight, though?”

  Quite a busybody, he thought, but he merely answered, “Yes. I was knighted by King Harald of Westover three years ago. But I yearn for grander adventures. Westover is a backwater by comparison to Camelot. There is peace in the land here, but even so, there is much more going on here than in Westover.”

  She cast an appraising eye at him and apparently liked what she saw as well as what he’d told her, for her tone softened, and so did her visage. “Well, you’ve not too much farther to journey. If your steed is as sprightly as he looks, you ought to arrive well before the sun sinks low. Perhaps even not too terribly long after the midday meal.”

  The mention of food reminded Randour that he’d not had much to eat since setting out on his journey. He’d brought cheese, bread, and apples with him, but while that may have been enough to sustain him, it was in no way enough to truly satisfy the appetite of a twenty-four-year-old fellow with an active life.

  “Thank you, ma’am, and may your day be a good one,” the young knight said to the woman. As he spurred his chestnut stallion, Bolt, back into motion, he reached into his saddlebag and felt around for a piece of cheese. Encountering a rather large chunk with his fingertips, he drew it from the bag and began to gnaw on it as he rode, holding the reins with one hand and the cheese with his other.

  “Fare thee well,” the woman called after him as she, her house, and her chickens fast receded into the background. Randour spurred his mount again so he would pick up his pace. He was eager to get to Camelot castle.

  When the sun was at its zenith, Randour reached a stream and pulled Bolt to a halt. Here he would have a drink, for there was only a little wine left in the flask that hung from his saddle. Besides, he craved the cool water, as he found it much more thirst-quenching than wine. As well, he would let Bolt drink, for the horse must be thirsty, too. Dismounting, Randour led the stallion to the stream and let him drink. He also gave Bolt an apple from his meager provisions. Then Randour lay down on the bank of the stream to stretch out for just a few minutes.

  The sun was warm, the air was sweet, and the birdsong from the nearby trees was a soothing lullaby for a road-weary knight. Randour was half asleep when Bolt’s whinnying roused him from his stupor. Sitting partway up, he saw another horse and rider crossing the stream a little way upstream from where he lay. The fellow on the horse wore no coat of mail, no colors, just an ordinary tunic and breeches. Something about him caught Randour’s eye, though, and the young knight determined to catch up to the wayfarer.

  Scrambling to his feet, he mounted Bolt and spurred the stallion into action. Bolt, as rested as his master from the reprieve on the bank of the stream, crossed the water with alacrity and made to catch up with the other traveler. It wasn’t long before Randour ha
d pulled up abreast of the fellow on the dappled gray mare and could get a better look at him.

  He was fair to look at, with sparkling brown eyes and curly auburn hair, and he appeared to be around Randour’s age. Although shorter than Randour, the young man still carried himself with self-assurance as he sat astride his mare. When he turned to look at Randour questioningly, those brown eyes danced with what appeared to be enjoyment of life. “Good morrow, fellow traveler,” he greeted the young knight. “By any chance are you returning to Camelot Castle?”

  “Journeying there but not returning. It will be my initial visit to the good king’s palace.”

  “You are not from our land, then?”

  “I am from Westover, a land far too quiet for my liking. I mean to see if there is any chance King Arthur will let me join his Round Table. Even though he has brought peace to the land, and there is no enemy to conquer, I am sure it will be far livelier an existence than what I had in the service of King Harald. Far nobler, too,” he added. “And you? You are headed to Camelot Castle?”

  “I am, though I seek not the king’s ear but rather that of his magician. I am a sorcerer myself, but not yet as skilled as I would like to be. My mentor has taught me everything he knows, but it is not enough to quench my thirst for knowledge of the art of sorcery. I am hoping that I can either apprentice myself to Merlin or, failing that, at least receive some lessons from him.”

  “Shall we journey together, then? I am Randour, by the way. Sir Randour.”

  “You sound proud of your title, and justifiably so. I am called Wynfarad. Yes, a bit of company on this journey would be most agreeable. It is lonely when you have only your horse to talk to.”

  They rode along companionably, their two horses abreast. At first Randour simply mulled a thought in his mind, but at length he spoke up. “If you are a sorcerer, you may be able to help me with a question I have. I had hoped to ask Merlin after I reached the castle, and perhaps I yet may, but in the meanwhile, perhaps you have the answer.”

  “What is your question, pray tell? I am not the most accomplished sorcerer ever to exist, but let me hear what is troubling you.”

  “I have this amulet. It is made of emerald and oddly shaped. I have reason to believe it has magical powers, but I do not know what they are. I would very much like to find out.”

  “Why do you think it has magical powers?”

  “It was given me by my father, and he was a sorcerer. Besides, the amulet behaves oddly.”

  “Your father is a sorcerer? Who is he?”

  “I would very much like to find that out, too. Alas, my mother did not know him well. They had a night of passion, and then he was gone. But she knew herself to be fertile and told him it was likely she had conceived. He gave her the amulet on a leather thong and told her to put it around the neck of any child born of their union.”

  “Can your mother not give you any further details about the man who sired you?”

  “Alas, she is no longer of this earth. The fever took her some years ago, when I was but fourteen. It was then that I went to the castle of King Harald, asking to be taken on as a page, so that I could work my way up to knighthood.”

  “Apparently you succeeded well in that.”

  “King Harald and Sir Rodney, under whose tutelage the king placed me, were both much pleased with me, and I worked my way up from page to squire to knight. But through it all I have had two burning desires—to learn who my father is, and to learn what magical properties the amulet possesses. Now I have a third desire to add to that—the desire to join the Knights of the Round Table.”

  “May I see this mysterious emerald amulet? Can you pull it out from under your armor?”

  “No. That is the curious thing about it. You see, when my mother placed it around my neck, it hung from a leather thong in the usual manner. But gradually over the years, it settled into the skin over my heart. It is now well and truly embedded there, where it flashes with light and softly thuds in time to the beating of my heart.

  “Now, I am an ordinary mortal, no sorcerer like you or Merlin or my father, but I am sure I could do many magical things with the amulet if only I knew what its powers were and how to use them. I have consulted sorcerer after sorcerer to no avail. None has been able to tell me what the emerald amulet can do, nor why it has embedded itself into my flesh. Several have theorized that something in the amulet wants to be close to my heart, but even that was only a guess. I am fervently hoping that Merlin, the greatest sorcerer of all time, may be able to shed some light on this mystery for me.”

  “But if your father was a sorcerer, might you not have inherited at least some of his extraordinary powers and talents?”

  “It does seem otherwise. I have been drawn to seek out sorcerers all my life. Partly this is due to my wish to find the man who sired me, but also it is due to my desire to find what the amulet might be capable of. I reasoned that if I am born half of ordinary woman and half of a man of magic, I ought to have been gifted with at least some of my father’s talents, yet I seem to have none naturally. I figure that if I am so gifted in any way, my talents must be somehow wrapped up with the amulet, but I have yet to find the person who can sort it all out for me. My mother, before she died, told me, ‘If the amulet has powers, they will find you, and when they do, you will know what you are capable of.’ She was only using logic, however, not any kind of divination or foretelling. My mother had no special powers of her own. “But I have been doing all the talking, Wynfarad. Now it is your turn. Tell me more about yourself.”

  “I am enjoying hearing your story. In fact, I am just enjoying being with you. I find you very good company. It is a true pleasure simply listening to you. You are enchanting.”

  Was this merely the admiration of a young man overly impressed with the glories of knighthood and the possibilities of wizardry, he wondered, or was Wynfarad taken with him on a more deeply personal level? Randour turned and surveyed his new young companion. He was certainly fair of face and engaging of disposition. He had an endearing earnestness. There was much to be said for him.

  Wynfarad began speaking, but now Randour’s mind wandered. Instead of focusing on Wynfarad’s words, he found himself wondering if the young man’s body was as becoming as his face. He focused a warm smile on his new companion and said, “Go on. Tell me more,” though in truth he had barely heard any of what Wynfarad had been telling him.

  “May I be candid?” Wynfarad said abruptly. “I do not know if you are of a disposition to lie with another man, but I find you quite attractive…” The young sorcerer paused, as if waiting to see if his words had offended Randour.

  “Splendid!” Randour exulted, a grin splitting his face. “I was thinking much the same about you. You are fair of face, strong of body, companionable, animated, and open, not to mention those lively eyes that bespeak a glittering personality. These are much the qualities that I fancy in a companion who can be more than just a friend.”

  “We are approaching a woods over there, off to our left up ahead. What do you say we disappear into them? We do not know what opportunity, if any, we will have once we arrive at Camelot Castle. Our paths may be separated, and even if they are not, we may not have the privacy we desire.” Without waiting for an answer, Wynfarad pulled his mare’s reins so as to guide her toward the woods. Randour followed eagerly, his randy cock already thrumming within his armor at the thought of coupling with this most attractive companion.

  Wynfarad, riding ahead of Randour, pulled his mare up when he reached the edge of a particularly well-forested spot in the woods. Dismounting, he tied her reins to a tree as Randour pulled up behind him and eagerly followed suit. With their horses secured, they made their way through the underbrush until they found a suitable spot where they could lie down and couple without fear of rolling into a thornbush or of lying on hard stones. In this little clearing, Wynfarad came to a stop and turned to kiss Randour, his lips warm and inviting on Randour’s and his tongue darting suggestively be
tween Randour’s parted teeth. As his tongue insinuated itself into the young knight’s mouth, Randour began eagerly fumbling with his armor, hurrying to divest himself of impediments even while their lips were still joined together.

  Wynfarad had the easier task of undressing, clad as he was in tunic and leggings. They broke the kiss to get down in earnest to the task of making ready to make love. When Randour removed the tunic he wore beneath his armor, and Wynfarad saw the emerald amulet for the first time, his eyes widened, but this was no time for examining oddities. There were more pressing matters at hand.

  Soon Wynfarad’s hand was stroking Randour’s dick, which was already drooling strings of syrupy pre-cum. Randour responded fully as Wynfarad’s hand insistently manipulated Randour’s palpitating cock, raising it to full erection. Then Wynfarad removed his hand and lowered his lips to Randour’s quivering rod. Suddenly weak-kneed, Randour felt the warmth of Wynfarad’s gripping lips encompassing his cock.

  His hips bucked automatically at the feel of Wynfarad’s warm, demanding lips compressing his surging flesh and then starting to glide up and down it. Randour immediately jabbed sharply forward, trying to drive his dick far down the sorcerer’s throat. It almost felt like Wynfarad was working magic now, so incendiary was his touch on Randour’s throbbing column of flesh.

  Sapped of strength, Randour allowed his body to sag, and he sank to the grass beneath their feet, landing sharply on his butt. Wynfarad followed him down and immediately reattached his lips to Randour’s mighty cock. Randour spread his legs, and Wynfarad knelt between them, his upper body hovering over Randour’s groin as he bent to his delightful task.