Author Niki Burnham

When beautiful Princess Isabella of San Rimini needed an expert to catalogue the artifacts stored in the royal palace, all roads led directly to dark, mysterious Nick Black—a contemporary example of potent masculinity if ever there was one. Yet thanks to a medieval curse, Nick Black had been around for a long time...a very long time.

In fact, once he'd been known as Domenico of Bollazio, an ambitious knight who would never know peace—or mortality—until he learned to put someone else's welfare before his own. In taking this assignment, Nick hoped to find an ancient trick to break his curse. Little did he know that close contact her lovely highness, Isabella, might help him to find mortality—and love—the old-fashioned way!

The Knight's Kiss
Silhouette Romance
May 2003
ISBN: 0373196636

Nicole wasn't sure how her editor would react when she proposed the storyline for The Knight's Kiss. There are no paranormal elements in the first two stories about the diTalora family of San Rimini. In fact, both are very contemporary. The Prince's Tutor featured glittering casinos, and Going to the Castle touched on life in a modern refugee camp. However, Nicole's long been a fan of anything and everything to do with the medieval period. She's even read stories about the Crusades just for fun. Since her fictional diTalora family held the throne of San Rimini during the middle ages, she got to thinking about what life would have been like then for San Riminians. Would they have participated in the Crusades? What about their proximity to Venice, and the powerful doges who ruled that city-state? Would there have been trials for suspected witches, as there were throughout Europe at that time? How would people from different levels of society live day to day?

Nicole made sure her editor had a cup of coffee in hand and they were comfortably seated in a great NYC restaurant with breakfast on the table before she broached the topic of her book. When Nicole said, "Well, I'd like the hero in Isabella's book to be a medieval knight. Someone from San Rimini's past who knew Isabella's ancestors", she expected her editor to laugh aloud and say, "That's a little out there. Any other ideas?" Instead, Nicole's editor put down her coffee cup and said, "Go on!" Thankfully, she was as thrilled with the end product as with the initial idea, and Nicole had a great time writing the book.

Winner of the 2004 RITA Award for Best Short Contemporary Romance.

Winner of the eHarlequin "Golden Noodle" award, meaning it was selected by site visitors as the Best Silhouette Romance of 2003.

"...an entertaining and inventive read."
   —RomanticTimes Bookclub Magazine

"It's the constant twist on the fairy tale that made me laugh and enjoy this story so much...my only disappointment was when it ended. The Knight's Kiss is Ms. Burnham's third book in the San Rimini royalty series, and I think it's her best. I've already reread it. Five roses—highest rating!"
   —A Romance Review

"...a wonderful story, full of witty dialogue and sparkling characters. It takes such a talented author to be able to make the story come alive and pull the reader so deeply into the story that they truly feel as if they are there observing it first hand...Ms. Burnham has a true talent to be able to accomplish this so well in only her second book...an amazingly talented new author who is not to be missed."
   —Romance and Friends

Prologue

San Rimini, November 1190

Two men he could defeat. Perhaps three, given the element of surprise.

But from his hiding place behind a tangle of low bushes, deep in the richly forested hill country of San Rimini's western borderlands, Domenico of Bollazio counted five men in the glade. Turkish spies, he realized with alarm, noting they wore San Riminian garb yet spoke with heavy accents and carried Turkish short swords. They stood in a circle, kicking angrily at a whisper-thin youth of no more than fifteen years.

A fool's mission, Domenico warned himself, reluctantly drawing his fingers away from the leather-padded grip of his own sheathed sword. Better to ignore his instinct to help the lad and return to his horse. Complete his real mission.

Still, he couldn't help but watch as the youth on the ground cried out in Italian, begging for mercy. The infidels paid him no heed. They'd come for blood and no doubt they'd have it. "Where is it?" one of the armed men demanded. His accent made him difficult to understand, but there was no mistaking the threat in his tone. "Make it easier on yourself and tell us now where you have hidden it." He kicked the young man in the ribs for emphasis.

Domenico closed his eyes at the sickening sound of bones breaking. Cursing himself for stopping, for allowing himself to care, he eased back from the edge of the glade, careful not to rustle the thick coat of autumn leaves beneath him.

"I know nothing of this...this message!" the young man's frightened cry carried to Domenico's ears despite the knight's determination to shut out the sound.

"Deny it if you wish. Our spies know the king's messenger was to pass here this morn on his way to Messina."

Domenico stilled, his heart turning to ice in his chest. Still crouched low, he crept back to the glade, his attention once again riveted on scene unfolding before him.

"Do not let him leave," one of the infidels ordered the rest, keeping to Italian so the youth would understand his words. "If he continues to foolishly insist on his innocence, do with him as you please, then search the area. It's likely in the woods nearby."

Out of habit, Domenico's hand rubbed the pommel of his sword. In his gut, however, he knew any rescue attempt would be futile. The young man rolled on the ground and attempted to gain his feet, but stopped when the tallest of the Turks drove a dagger into his leg.

Anger rose in Domenico's chest, but he had no time to contemplate the innocent youth's injury or his death, which would likely come soon. Afterward, the spies would discover what Domenico had—that the youth's pack pony carried only a half day's provisions. He hadn't the means to convey a message hundreds of miles over difficult terrain.

But if Domenico didn't make his own escape now, the men would certainly find him, and perhaps even the message they sought, now safely tucked against his chest, sewn into the lining of his quilted gambeson.

King Bernardo had warned Domenico of the importance of the message, and that there were those who'd give their life to see its contents. Less than two hours after he'd left the San Riminian king's presence, the knight realized the truth of those parting words. He'd be lucky to reach Lionheart and his army, now camped with France's Philip Augustus on the island of Sicily, alive. Within minutes, Domenico located his horse, hidden amongst the trees a half-mile from the glade. He led the animal back to the road, but before he could mount, a noise in the nearby bushes startled him. He spun around just in time to see a panicked woman with fiery red hair crash through the brush.

"Please, my knight," the woman begged, grabbing his arm, "have you seen a young man about? Fourteen years of age, with blond hair?"

The youth. Domenico glanced over his shoulder, making certain the woman's voice hadn't alerted the soldiers to his presence. When he was certain they were alone, he turned his attention back to her. Judging from her age and the desperate look on her face he suspected she might be the poor lad's mother. Still, that wasn't what set his nerve endings abuzz in warning. There was a familiarity to the woman, though Domenico knew he'd never laid eyes on her in his life.

Keeping his voice low, he asked, "What is your name, Madam? How do you come to be near the border? Do you not realize how dangerous—"

"They call me Rufina. Please, I know you have seen my Ignacio. Your eyes tell me so." Rufina the Witch?

No wonder she seemed familiar. He'd heard of the redhaired conjurer who lived in this area, a woman who'd been fortunate enough to flee the city before being tried for her crimes against the church.

Though he didn't believe in witchcraft himself, Domenico sensed brushing her aside would be a mistake. "I have seen him. Over yon, in the glade. But he is in trouble—"

Not bothering to ask what kind of trouble, the woman turned in the direction Domenico pointed. Before she could take two steps, he grabbed one of her bony elbows. "A group of infidels have captured him. If you enter the glade, they will likely kill you. Wait until they are gone and you will be able to treat the young man's wounds."

Rufina was known to be practiced in the healing arts, though the pious accused her of calling on the Devil for assistance. With her skills, the youth might have a fighting chance at life. If he wasn't dead already.

Rufina didn't appear to find the advice helpful, however. She stared at Domenico, her eyes filled with a hate and blame as complete as that of any warrior he'd faced in battle. "My son is bodily injured, yet you did nothing? How dare you wear that sword and call yourself a knight of San Rimini!"

She raised her hand to strike him, but Domenico moved faster, corralling her thin wrist mid-swing. "I could not. I am on a mission from the king, and to assist your son would have jeopardized it." He swore to himself and dropped her wrist. He shouldn't have even told her that much. "Please understand, Madam. Go now, do what's best to help him—"

"Mission for the king," she spat, showing no fear. "Yet despite possessing a knight's sword, you wear no crest of nobility. Is the king's mission so pressing you cannot stop to help someone in need? A young man raised in a humble home, as you were? Or is it your ambition—ambition to gain your own lands and title by currying the king's favor—that prevents you from taking even the slightest risk to help another?"

Domenico started in surprise. In only a few seconds, this woman, this witch, summed up his life better than he could himself. And he didn't care for her conclusions. His horse shuffled beside him, reminding him of his purpose. "I must go now. You would be well advised to—"

"Oh, I shall save him, never you fear. And your guilty conscience. But know this," she shoved her hand deep into her woolen tunic, "until you can forget your ambition and sacrifice your own desires for the sake of another, you will know neither the true happiness of this world nor the peace of death. You value your life so much you refuse to risk it? Then life you shall have!" She withdrew her hand from her tunic in a flash of motion. Domenico sidestepped, expecting her to brandish a dagger of the type unsavory women often wore for protection, but instead her palm held only a green powder, which she flung in his face. Annoying prickles of fire stung his cheeks as he brushed it away. Probably concocted of poison ivy or some such plant.

Voices rose in anger in the distance, distracting him from the conjurer's efforts to frighten him. This foolish woman would get him killed.

"Secrete yourself, madam!" he hissed, then swung his leg up and over his horse. Turning toward Venice, and the long road to Sicily beyond, Domenico made a fervent wish never to cross paths with Rufina again.

Chapter One

Boston, Today

With any luck, the beauty perched on the brass and leather chair in his lobby just might lead him to Rufina.

Nick Black studied the image on the closed circuit television behind his desk, watching as San Rimini's Princess Isabella diTalora discreetly checked her Rolex. She kept her back straight and a smile on her face, but he suspected modern royalty didn't appreciate being kept waiting.

Nick grinned to himself. Her forebear, King Bernardo, wouldn't have exhibited even this much patience.

The sound of an ambulance echoed up to him, thirty-five floors above Boston's financial district, then faded.

He tossed back two aspirin and chased them with a cool glass of water, then turned to face Anne Jones, his secretary of nearly fifteen years. "I'd prefer not to meet with her personally." "She's a princess, not some random art collector, sir. She will expect an explanation."

Anne knew him well enough not to add, besides, you did agree to the appointment.

And true, he had, in a foolish moment. But if his right hand man, Roger Farris, could ferret out what the princess was after, all the better. The fewer people Nick dealt with in life—particularly high-profile people like the pampered Princess Isabella—the less his name would be spoken or his picture taken. And that lengthened the amount of time he could stay in any one place, or use any one pseudonym, before people became suspicious of the fact he never seemed to age.

Damned modern technology would get him caught if he wasn't careful, and that would spark an entirely different type of witch hunt than the one he currently pursued.