

# The Bride and the Brute

A Medieval Romance Novella

By Laurel O'Donnell

Smashwords Edition

Copyright © 2011 by Laurel O'Donnell

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All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems – except in the case of brief quotations in critical articles or reviews – without permission in writing from its author, Laurel O'Donnell.

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Apart from well-known historical figures, any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

This eBook also contains Bonus Previews of other books by Laurel O'Donnell.

Table of Contents

The Bride and the Brute

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Thank You from the Author

Laurel O'Donnell Book List

Reviews

Cover Gallery

About the Author

The Angel and the Prince Bonus Preview

Champion of the Heart Bonus Preview

The Lady and the Falconer Bonus Preview

Midnight Shadow Bonus Preview

A Knight of Honor Bonus Preview

# Chapter One

England, 1392

The stone statues in the chapel towered high above Jayce Cullen's head, their cold, chiseled arms outstretched in welcome, their sculptured eyes empty of emotion as they stared at her. But even though the ghostly white men and women were hewn from lifeless rock, Jayce felt more warmth emanating from them than from her future husband. She cast a quick, sideways glance at Lord Reese Harrington. He was tall, taller than her father by six inches. His broad shoulders were four of her hand's breadth wide, tapering to a slim waist. His thighs were hidden by his black tunic, and his legs were concealed by black hose. Standing near the white statues, his black clothing made him appear like some dark angel. He was dressed more as if he were in mourning than celebrating marriage to his wife.

Wife. The term rocked her body with anxiety. Lord Reese Harrington's wife. Jayce studied his strong profile, the downward turn of his brooding lips, the slight flaring of his nostrils, his narrowed blue eyes. It should have warmed Jayce's heart that he had chosen her. But it did not. Something was wrong. He had shown her no more than polite disdain when they had met moments before. As a matter of fact, he had only inclined his head slightly at her in a mockery of a greeting before whirling and preceding her through the chapel doors. Not quite the greeting Jayce had hoped for. What was it she had hoped for? Did she want him to kiss her hand? To smile, perhaps?

Yes! She had wanted to know the man she was marrying was more than the wealthy, powerful, womanizing lord she had heard about. She wanted reassurance that once he came to her bed, there would be no others. She wanted reassurance that her life with him would be a happy one. She dropped her gaze to her clasped hands. That had not happened.

Wealthy. Powerful. Womanizing. That wasn't all she had heard about Lord Reese. The final piece of gossip that had reached her ears was the most troubling. She had heard he swore off marriage, vowing never to be troubled with a wife. She wondered what had changed his mind. When her father had joyously come to her with Lord Reese's acceptance of his marriage proposal and told her he was giving his blessing to the union, well, she couldn't say much. And now, standing before the eyes of God, she could say even less.

Why had he chosen her?

"Get on with it!" Reese rumbled at the chaplain, his voice thundering through the chapel like an angry curse.

Startled, it was all Jayce could do not to jump and flee down the aisle. She turned and cast her father a wary gaze. He sat in the first pew, the only man other than the chaplain and Reese in the chapel. She saw her father's clenched jaw relax, then he gave her his most reassuring smile.

"Yes, yes," the chaplain stuttered. He dabbed the top of his head with a cloth he held clutched in a trembling hand. "Well, then, I pronounce you man and wife."

Jayce started to turn a cheerful smile on Reese, but he seized her wrist, storming down the aisle. She had to run to keep up with him. He flung the doors of the chapel open with an angry shove and moved into the inner ward.

Jayce barely had time to notice the peasants halting their work to glance at them. A man just outside the blacksmith's shop stopped his hammering to raise his eyes, his tool frozen in mid-strike. He shook his head and continued with his work. An alewife glanced out the window of the brewery, ignoring the amber liquid that had just splashed all over her arm. A small child scampered out of Reese's path, her large brown eyes wide with fear. For a fleeting instant, Jayce wondered why anyone was working at all; wasn't it a holiday when the lord married? But embarrassment welled up inside her, forcing the thought aside.

Reese pulled her into the great hall and up a set of spiraling stairs. "Where are we going?" she managed to choke out.

Reese didn't reply. He kicked open a door, and it banged loudly as it slapped against the wall. He all but hurled her into the dark room. The little bit of sunshine shining into the room through its only window illuminated only a corner of it. Jayce gasped at the sight of a four-poster bed with an enormous mattress filling its wide frame. Rich, blood-red velvet curtains hung from the top, draping down the sides, cloaking the bed's heart in deeply shadowed mystery. It was a magnificent bed, the biggest she had ever seen.

She whirled to Reese to find him undoing the belt around his waist. Horrified, she looked around nervously, searching the room's dark shadows as if they could somehow hide her. She knew it was his right to take her, but she had hoped they could get to know each other. She had hoped he would give her time. Now, she knew he would give her nothing.

"Lord Reese..." she ventured, her voice sounding strangely hoarse in her own throat. "Perhaps we could---" Her voice died completely, strangled into silence, as he lifted his eyes to her.

The belt dropped from his fingers to fall to the floor.

Jayce's heart hammered her chest; she couldn't get enough air. A flash of light caught her eye and her gaze locked on his right hand. She saw what she hadn't seen before. A small dagger glimmered in the shaft of sunlight. Reese approached her and she backed away quickly. What was he doing? Was he going to kill her? She held her hands out before her as if to ward him off, but she knew the thought of fighting him was absurd. If he wanted her dead, who was there to offer any kind of resistance? She was no match against his strength.

The backs of her knees slammed into the bed frame, and she fell over onto the mattress. She quickly propped herself on her elbows, waiting for him to come forward and take what was now rightfully his. For a moment, she saw nothing but a wall of dark shadows before her. Her mouth was dry; her hands were moist and slick. Then, he emerged from the darkness like a ghost, stepping into the sunlight, the black shadows sliding from his shoulders as if he were shedding a dark cloak. For a moment, she thought she saw satisfaction in his blue eyes, but then grim resolve filled his face. He stretched his left arm out over her, his hand in a fist. Jayce cringed back, pushing herself into the mattress. Was he going to strike her?

He held the dagger out over her.

Or was he really going to kill her? A scream welled up in her throat.

Reese pushed the sleeve of his tunic up over his elbow, baring his strong forearm. Then, he pressed the tip of the blade to his skin, slicing a small line down his arm.

Jayce half rose, crying out, "Don't!" But the blood trickled over his arm and dripped down onto the sheets beside her face. She lifted her astonished gaze from the dark red blood to meet his steely blue eyes. For a long moment, they locked gazes, hers filled with questions, his resolve.

He set the dagger down on a table beside the bed.

Jayce rose off the bed, grabbing a towel from the same table, and turned, reaching out to his arm. Reese snatched the towel free from her grip as if her touch would be unbearable. He hurled the towel into the dark shadows of the far corner.

Shocked and confused, Jayce watched Reese roll his sleeve down to cover his cut. He stepped past her to the bed and ripped the sheets from the mattress. He was angry with her for something. But what had she done? They hadn't exchanged two words! Without a second look at her, he marched to the door, yanking it open.

Her father stood in the open doorway, turning surprised eyes to Reese. Reese shoved the stained sheets into her father's arms.

Jayce felt the heat suffuse her cheeks and for a moment had to look away. Her father was making sure the marriage had been consummated. She should say something. She should tell her father the truth. She lifted her eyes in time to see the look of surprise fade from her father's blue eyes to be replaced by suspicion. His jaw tightened, and he snapped his eyes to lock with his daughter's. "Jayce?" her father queried.

She should tell him Reese chose to shed his own blood instead of her virgin's blood. She should tell her father the truth. But then she felt Reese's hot stare on her. The impact of his gaze sent shivers down the length of her body. He was her husband. Her loyalty was to him now. "Yes, Father," she lied.

Her father's fist seemed to relax in the sheet, and he whirled, taking it with him. "It is done," he proclaimed, and marched down the hall.

Jayce watched him go, sadness creeping into her spirit, putting a cloud of melancholy over what should have been the most joyous day of her life. Her father had left her in a strange castle. He had abandoned her to a man she didn't know. And he hadn't even said good-bye.

Jayce tried to lift her chin as she turned her back on her father, but her head felt heavy and it was a struggle just to get her chin away from her neck. She knew she had to be strong to face her future. She wasn't a child anymore. She had been raised to be lady of a castle, to marry a man of her father's choosing. She was prepared for this.

As she turned from her previous life to face her new life, she locked eyes with a set of angry blue ones. What she wasn't prepared for was her husband.

He seized her wrist, hauling her back into the bedroom, and slammed the door shut.

# Chapter Two

Reese faced Jayce's startled expression with a heart of stone. It wasn't that she was ugly. He had seen far, far less pleasant faces to gaze upon. It wasn't her tiny body. Her shape was indeed quite curvy and could very well make the stoutest of men desire to protect and shelter her.

It was that she was a liar. He shook her slender wrist. His anger was fierce, his emotion lashing the air around them like a storm wind. "Why did you lie to your father?" he demanded. He squeezed her wrist tightly as he gazed into her innocent blue eyes. Innocent. He scowled at the thought. She was anything but. No innocent could lie that easily, could make her false expressions so believable.

He could see confusion and apprehension in those large sapphire eyes. But no fear. Reese scowled. No fear? he thought. Men greater than she have trembled before my wrath.

She parted her lips and they moved. It was a moment before he realized she was speaking. "You are my husband," she said simply.

Husband. The word sent tremors of horror and anger up his spine. He tossed her arm aside and whirled, moving for the door.

"Wait!" Her voice sounded desperate.

He halted, straightening his shoulders.

"I-- Have I done something to displease you?" she asked.

Reese whirled on her, his fists clenched tight, his eyes wide in absolute disbelief. "Displease me?" he echoed, hotly. "Yes! You married me!" With that, he stormed from the room, leaving her completely alone.

He didn't care if she fled the castle. He didn't care if he never saw her again. This entire marriage was a farce. He didn't care for the woman. He didn't love her. And he had vowed long ago he would not marry unless he loved the girl.

His father had married his mother for her lands; not an uncommon union, but one empty of affection or devotion... or love. His father had married for fields of wheat, rolling hills, and cattle pastures. There had been no love between his parents. And Reese had seen the terrible consequences of that.

All his life he heard pieces of the servants' gossip, whisperings of his mother's infidelity. He hadn't believed it. Didn't want to believe it. Any of it.

But when he was eight years old he witnessed something that forever left a scar on his heart.

He had been walking through the castle's halls when he saw his mother in a dark alcove, laughing quietly. He heard the whispering of a man's low voice coming from the darkness and assumed it was his father. He started to run toward them, to tell them about the grand adventure he had exploring the guards' barracks, but then stopped abruptly as he saw his mother step from the alcove. She adjusted her dress, her hand resting casually on the chest of a man, a man who was not his father.

Reese's jaw and fists clenched at the bitter memory. The pain had long since receded, but the anger was still fresh in his mind. After that, stories circulated throughout the castle of her liaison with a baron. Rumor had it there had been a wandering gypsy amongst her numerous lovers as well.

He had been too ashamed to mention any of this to his father. But his father eventually discovered his mother's treachery. Reese had been eleven years old when he had awoken to shouts and screams. He had raced from his room to find his mother, half-dressed, standing in the middle of the hallway. His father faced another man, a man clad only in leggings, their laces untied. Reese shook his head, remembering the disgust in his father's eyes as he turned to look at his wife. Then, his father turned his back on her and challenged the man to a duel. Reese remembered feeling a surge of pride for his father as he confronted the bastard who had bedded his wife under his very nose.

But his pride was very short-lived. His father died the next day on the field of honor. An honorless man.

Their mother had tried to raise Reese and his sister, Nicole, but she was not very good at it. Reese wanted nothing to do with her anyway, and he and Nicole ended up looking after each other. Their mother died in childbirth eight months after their father's death, leaving them a brother to raise as well as themselves.

At the age of twelve, Reese had become lord of the castle.

He had planned to take his time and find a woman he could love, a woman who could love him, a woman he was destined to marry. Not this.

As he stormed down the hallway, servants paused in their tasks to glance in his direction and shake their heads. Reese greeted their sympathetic looks with a guttural growl. He paused only long enough to snarl at one of the servants, "Have James sent to me."

He entered his den, slamming the door shut on prying eyes. He prowled the room for a moment, thinking of his sister. He slapped his palms on the ledge of the window, looking out over the darkening skies toward Lord Cullen's lands. So help Cullen if Nicole was not returned safely. He would storm Cullen's castle himself and find his sister.

Reese shook his head in disgust. Forced into marriage.

A loveless marriage. The thought made him sick. But he would not risk the life of his sister. Not for all the threats on the earth. Cullen had repeatedly petitioned him to marry his daughter, Jayce. After three refusals, Reese had put the matter out of his mind. A mistake he realized only too late.

Nicole vanished from the castle grounds a few days after his final refusal.

A missive arrived shortly after Nicole's disappearance, announcing that Lord Cullen would have Reese marry his daughter, or the health of Nicole would be at stake.

Why would a father do that to his daughter? Reese didn't know, and he didn't care. The deed was done. Nicole was his primary worry.

Suddenly, a knock sounded at the door. Reese granted entrance, and a slim, elderly man entered the room. His haughty demeanor gave him the aura of nobility instead of the head castle servant he was. He wore a stylish sleeveless doublet of grayish purple and a white shirt beneath that. His leggings were black, and his leather shoes curled at the toes.

"James," Reese ordered the man, "have Rogue saddled. I'm riding out to the borders to see if I can see my sister coming."

"I suppose you'll sleep out there, too?" James wondered in a disdainful, sarcastic voice.

Reese would take that arrogance only from James. The man had been with him since he was a child. He respected James. And liked him immensely. "If I knew the road they were taking."

"If you don't mind my saying, sir," James said.

"That never stopped you before, why should it now?"

James's eyebrow rose slightly. "Your wife awaits you in your chambers."

Reese's eyes narrowed. "I don't have a wife."

James bowed contemptuously. "As you wish, m'lord," he answered stiffly, and departed the room.

As soon as Nicole is home safely, I will right this entire fiasco, Reese vowed silently. He picked up the note he had begun earlier and scanned the words, nodding in satisfaction.

# Chapter Three

Jayce changed into a simple gown of blue velvet and sat on the bed for a long time, wondering if Lord Reese would return. She tried to put her rebellious hair into a horned headdress, but without help she couldn't get the dark strands beneath the metal. So, she settled for a braid wrapped about her head. She wondered if she was supposed to wait for Reese in the room.

So much for a happy marriage, she thought. He hated her. It was apparent her husband didn't wish to have anything to do with her. But why had he chosen her then? Why had he picked her to marry? She glanced around the room. It was dark; if it weren't for the candle burning on a table, she would not be able to see a thing. She picked the candle up and moved through the unfamiliar chambers.

Servants had arrived earlier to tidy up the room, making the bed, changing the water in the basin.

Jayce stared at the immaculate bed piled with warm furs and blankets. Thick red velvet curtains hung from the ceiling over it. She touched one of the curtains reverently, as if it would reveal the many secrets of her new husband if she coaxed it gently enough.

Lightning shot through the sky, making her jump. She dropped the candle and it hit the floor, rolling across its wooden surface. Ever since she was a child, storms had terrified her. Jayce's mother had died amidst a horrendous thunderstorm. She remembered kneeling at her mother's bedside, holding her cold, clammy hand while deafening claps of thunder attacked her ears and white-hot flashes of lightning assaulted her eyes. She remembered crying out for her mother and for the first time in her life not hearing her answer.

The large crack of thunder boomed in her ears, echoing in the room. Jayce glanced around the blackness, her eyes wide, her hands clutching at her elbows. Her father had stayed with her through storms such as these, but now he was gone.

Wind swirled in from the open window, billowing the red curtains around her like fingers stretching, reaching to grab her. She stepped away from the curtain and smacked her head on one of the bedposts.

The searching wind found the candlelight and extinguished it, plummeting the room into a terrifying darkness. For a moment, Jayce couldn't move, could barely get her breath. The blackness clawed at her heart, threatening to drag her down into its bottomless abyss.

The wind continued to whip through the room. The curtains of velvet, now gloved fingers of doom, encircled Jayce's flailing arms, her ankles. She fought her invisible foe, the feeling of entrapment embroiling her senses. She jerked free of its hold, pulling so hard she banged into the table, knocking it over. Glass shattered and she stepped away, blindly, until her back hit the cold stone wall.

Two bolts of lightning ripped jagged holes in the sky, bringing with them twin blasts of thunder.

Fear gripped her heart in a taloned fist, and Jayce slowly sank to the floor. She encircled her knees, rocking slightly back and forth. She whispered soothing words to herself, words her father had murmured to her.

She was terrified. Confused. She buried her face in the dress at her knees.

Abandoned.

# Chapter Four

When Reese returned from the border patrols, he was soaked through to his skin and his mood was darker than when he had left. He had found no sign of Nicole, no indication that her return was imminent.

He returned to his chambers, candelabra in his hand. Outside, a distant grumble of thunder faded quickly into silence. The damn storm was finally abating after raging for hours.

As he moved into the room, his foot skidded on a candle lying in the middle of the floor, throwing Reese backward. He almost fell, but caught his balance with a flail of his arm. He cursed. He'd have to speak to his servants about being so sloppy. He moved to the bed, but before he could partake of its luxurious comfort, his booted foot sloshed in a pool of water. His gaze slid to the window. A soft breeze rippled the now soggy curtains of his bed. He moved to the window and pulled the shutters closed, cursing the servants again. Then, he turned to the bed, this time managing to set his bottom on it. He sighed and reached out to place the candelabra on the table...

... and nearly dropped it when its base did not encounter the nightstand that should have been there.

"God's blood!" he murmured. "What now?" He rose to his feet and took a step toward the empty space where the table had once stood. His foot crunched on something, and he paused, realizing it was broken glass beneath his boot sole. His foggy, tired mind instantly came alive. His hand moved for the hilt of his sword.

The image of the woman he had left alone in his bedchamber rose in his mind. Jayce. Even if she was only a Harrington in name, she was still a Harrington. Had someone dared to attack her? It would be an unforgivable insult if something had happened to her.

The bed was unslept in, the covers unmoved. He shifted his gaze to the closed window, then the broken glass. Had there been a struggle? His eyes frantically searched the darkness. Had she left the room? Forcibly?

"Jayce?" he called.

Silence answered him.

He took a step deeper into the darkness and the candlelight washed over the hem of a blue dress tucked away in a far corner of his room. Reese lurched forward, his fist clenched tight around the base of the candelabra, until the candlelight encircled Jayce in its glow. She sat slumped at the bottom of the wall, her head slouched-over on her shoulder, her arms limp at her sides.

Rage engulfed him. Has someone dared to harm her? he wondered incredulously as he knelt at her side. Without taking his eyes from her, he set the candelabra down on the floor. A stray strand of brown hair fell over her cheek, its darkness contrasting sharply against her pale skin.

Then, something tickled the inside of his stomach. Something he had never felt before and refused to acknowledge. He reached out and touched her hand. It was like ice. He engulfed her small fingers with his large hand, trying to warm them. Her fingers twitched, then curved around his, and he knew she was alive.

He scooped her into his arms, and she stirred, tossing her head, calling, "Father?" Reese gently placed her in his bed, noticing how the large bed made her appear tinier than she was. He pulled away from her, but her arms reached out, encircling his neck. Reese froze, unsure of what to do. He could pry her arms from his neck. He could settle next to this stranger and hold her. Or he could search her body for wounds.

"The storm," she whimpered.

Reese felt her body tremble. A flash of lightning lit the night sky as if summoned by her words. He leaned close to her to duck beneath her arms. When his cheek brushed hers, he was startled to find the moisture there.

Guilt twisted his gut. Had he caused her this anguish? He ripped free of her hold, telling himself it didn't matter. She was not his concern.

Her head fell back against the pillows, her cold hands leaving a path of ice along his cheek and neck. Instinctively, his hands skimmed her body, searching for wounds. But it wasn't wounds he found. It was a shapely, strong figure. His hands fluttered over her slender neck, down her curvy sides, across her flat stomach and down her slender legs. Searching for blood, he told himself. In the dark, he could not see if she was hurt. His fingers moved back up over her legs. They were so smooth and sleek. He wondered what they looked like.

Reese had to jerk himself from her, pulling his hands away from her body as if she had suddenly burst into flames. His own body responded instantly to touching her. Disgusted at his primeval response, he told himself it was nothing but the wanting of a woman. He could sate his desires on a willing servant wench later. Reese pulled the cover up over her body, concealing it beneath the fur, hiding it from his hungry gaze.

Jayce groaned and tossed her head, and he shifted his eyes to her face. He could see the moisture on her cheeks as her tears glistened in the candlelight. He stepped closer and pressed a palm against her skin, fearing she was feverish. Her skin was cool against his hand. At his touch, she seemed to quiet and settle into the bed. Reese couldn't help cupping her gentle chin and stroking her cheek with his thumb.

Her eyes fluttered and opened slightly, revealing a teasing glimpse of her deep blue orbs. In the candlelight, he was amazed at how startlingly blue they were, deeper than the richest sapphire he had ever seen. He thought he heard her sigh before she closed them again. The flickering light from the candelabra gave her cheeks a healthy glow, the vibrancy of life. Where before her skin had been so cold and pale, it seemed his touch had roused the vigor inside her. He was startled at the transformation, startled and somewhat delighted. A spark lit in his chest, warming his entire being.

I must be so tired I am hallucinating, he thought. No woman could possibly be that beautiful. In the light of day, her beauty, her vibrancy, will fade, and she will be just like the rest of the women. A small, weak thing that needs protection. My protection.

Exhaustion finally claimed him, and he stumbled back into a chair near the wall. He fell asleep quickly, a twisted resolve settling over his dark features.

# Chapter Five

A warmth touched her cheeks, and Jayce instinctively turned her face toward it. But when a painfully bright light lit her closed lids, she groaned and turned away, drawing the blanket over her head.

A clucking noise greeted her movement. "You can't lounge around in bed all day, m'lady," a male voice said.

At first she thought it was her father, but she knew this couldn't be. Her father would let her sleep. Then, she remembered where she was.

And who she was.

Instantly, Jayce jerked the sheets from her head and sat up, prepared to meet her husband's disapproving gaze. Instead, her eyes came to rest on a thin man bent over near the fallen table, carefully collecting the broken glass.

She flung the blankets from her and swung her legs out of the bed. What would Reese think of her if she slept all day? She was lady of the castle now, and needed to rise with the sun. She sighed slightly. She was used to staying up late and sleeping late. She would have to remedy that.

She froze as her feet touched the floor. How had she gotten into bed? She remembered the storm and trembled slightly. She also recalled a gentle touch, someone tucking her into bed.

The man cleared his throat and she turned to him. "My name is James, m'lady," he introduced. "I was instructed to aid you."

"By Lord Reese?"

"No," James answered standing before her. "By Lady Nicole."

*****

"I can't believe you left her there. Alone!"

Reese watched Nicole pace the room. Her blond hair shimmered hotly in the sun's rays with each angry turn. Her brows angled down over sparkling blue eyes; her tiny fists clenched with rage. His sister had finally been returned safely, as Cullen had promised, and Reese felt relief despite her fury at his treatment of the girl he had wed.

"No one to help her. No one to tend her needs!" Nicole whirled, pinning Reese with an angry glare. "Do you want her to think her husband is a brute?!"

Reese's eyes narrowed slightly. "I don't care what she thinks of me."

Nicole waved a small, impatient hand at him, as if she were waving away an annoying gnat. "You are a brute. How can you treat her like that?"

"How can you ask me that?" Reese roared, straightening to his intimidating height. "You were the one kidnapped! You were the reason I was forced to wed the girl! If it wasn't for you---!"

"Don't start with me, Reese Harrington," Nicole retorted in a motherly tone, marching up to him. She was a full head shorter than he was, but managed to match him glare for glare. "I'm sure it pricked your manly pride when I was spirited away from beneath your nose."

Reese ground his teeth. "And now I have another helpless female to watch and to protect!"

"Not just another female, Reese. Your wife!" Nicole jabbed her finger into Reese's chest.

"I didn't ask her to be my wife! I don't want her to be my wife! For all I know she---"

The sound of someone clearing his throat loudly made them turn to the arched entranceway to the room. James stood slightly behind Jayce, his disinterested gaze focused somewhere in the middle of the room.

Nicole dropped her mouth slightly, her cheeks flaming.

Reese stood with his fists clenched, staring at Jayce's large blue eyes. He saw the hurt flash in those eyes for a moment and thought that surely she was going to burst into tears, forcing him to comfort her.

But for a long moment, Jayce didn't move, meeting his gaze with a pained resolve. Then, with all the dignity of a queen, she slowly turned and left the room.

Reese and Nicole stood silently in the room, staring after the woman. Reese knew he should go after her, and took a step to do just that, then stopped suddenly. What would he do when he caught up to her? Tell her his words were the truth?

Nicole whirled on her brother, her blue eyes full of disgust and anger. "I pity her for being married to you," she said, and raced out the door after Jayce.

Reese cursed silently and ran a hand through his thick locks. He lifted his gaze to find James standing in the doorway, staring at him. "What are you looking at?" Reese snapped.

James's eyebrow rose slightly before Reese hurried past him, out of the room.

# Chapter Six

Nicole knocked at the door. When there was no answer after several more knocks, she swept into the room. Jayce sat at the window, staring out over the pastures. She barely looked up, and Nicole noticed the way her shoulders sagged. Her heart ached for the woman. "I'm Reese's sister, Nicole," she said. "I am terribly sorry about the way my brother has been treating you." Unnerved by Jayce's silence, Nicole walked to stand beside her, peering out the window, following her gaze. A black horse, as black as the darkest night, ran wildly within a fenced-off area, snorting like some possessed demon. Nicole returned her gaze to Jayce. "I do so hope you like your life here," Nicole said earnestly. "I'd like to be friends."

Jayce turned to her, and Nicole was pleased to see she was a beautiful woman. Her eyes were startlingly blue and reminded Nicole of the richest sapphires she had ever seen. She knew they would help sway her brother to take her as his rightful wife. He had a fondness for blue eyes.

"Is it true my father kidnapped you?" Jayce wondered.

Surprised, it was all Nicole could do to keep her mouth from falling open. "Well, yes," she finally answered, looking away from her probing gaze. "But he treated me civilly," she added quickly.

Jayce turned to stare out the window. Nicole raised her eyes in time to notice a troubled furrow on Jayce's once-smooth brow. "Do you know why he did it?" Jayce asked.

"His demand was for Reese to marry you," Nicole answered.

Jayce dropped her gaze to her lap. "It makes no sense," she murmured.

"What doesn't?" Nicole wondered.

Jayce turned confused eyes to Nicole. "Why he lied to me. Father told me Reese wanted to marry me."

Nicole patted her shoulder, comfortingly. "It doesn't matter. What's done is done."

"How can I blame Reese for despising me?"

"He doesn't despise you," Nicole said. When Jayce turned disbelieving eyes to her, she smiled glumly and shrugged. "He just doesn't know you."

"And if he has his way, he never will."

Suddenly, two female servants entered the room. They began racing about, collecting the sparse items belonging to Jayce. A feeling of dread began to prickle the back of Nicole's neck.

Jayce slowly rose from her seat at the window, confusion etched in her furrowed brow.

"What's going on?" Nicole demanded of the servants. "What are you doing?"

One of the women stopped before her. "Lord Reese has instructed us to gather the lady's belongings."

Jayce cast Nicole a look of dread.

Reese was tossing his new wife out, returning her to her father. Nicole grabbed Jayce's hand, squeezing it tightly, reassuringly. "Reese is not that cold. There must be some misunderstanding."

"There is no misunderstanding," a voice thundered from the doorway.

Both women turned to find Reese standing there. He filled the doorway, his dark, hulking body blocking out the torchlight from the hallway behind him.

Jayce stepped forward, turning Reese's cold, hard gaze from his sister to focus on her. "You have every right to turn me out," she murmured. Then she raised her chin and added, "I would expect that from a coward."

His teeth clenched, and he pushed himself from the wall, approaching her like a raging storm cloud. "I have been called many things, lady, but never coward."

Jayce stood her ground. "Then, perhaps it's time someone told you the truth. If you were brave, you would have faced me to say you were throwing me out instead of having servants tell me."

A muscle in his cheek twitched and his eyes burned with outrage. Nicole could feel the anger emanating from his body like the heat from a hearth. She watched Jayce match his rage and was proud of her new friend.

"You are not the only one who has been duped," Jayce proclaimed, her voice gaining strength. "I could have had my choice of husbands who would have been willing, nay, even eager to claim me as wife. And yet, I am saddled with a boorish, unchivalrous lout capable of no feelings for anyone but himself. Well, Reese Harrington, I wouldn't want you as my husband if you were the last man in all of England!" With that, Jayce pushed past him, out into the hall.

Nicole cast a surprised glance at Reese, which transformed into a victorious grin. She whirled and raced into the hallway after her brother's new wife. "Jayce!"

Jayce didn't stop at Nicole's cry. She stormed down the hallway, her fists clenched.

Nicole caught up to her and seized her wrist, bringing her to a halt. "Jayce!" She smiled. "You were wonderful! I couldn't have done better---" Her words died on her lips as her gentle eyes focused on Jayce's face. Only then did Nicole realize Jayce's cheeks were wet with tears, and her trembling wasn't from anger, but from misery. "Oh, my dear," she murmured, pulling Jayce into an embrace.

# Chapter Seven

The great hall was silent that night. Where there was once raucous laughter and loud music, there was now only muted conversation and the plucking of a few harp strings. Many of the peasants and servants cast Reese tentative looks as he sat in his chair on the raised platform that filled the west end of the room.

Reese met the stares with a harsh glare. He refused to feel guilty about returning Jayce to her father. He did not love her.

Still, he had to admire her courage and conviction. No woman had ever stood up to him, spoken to him in such a manner. He was angry, and he knew he should have been insulted. But he wasn't. Instead, he found himself admiring Jayce. Most other women would have slunk away sobbing to their fathers without saying two words to him. But not Jayce. Her eyes had sparked like the hottest part of a flame.

She was right. And that thought angered him the most. He had only thought of himself; not once had he considered how she felt. He hadn't even attempted to speak to her. And because of these damnable guilty feelings, he had allowed Nicole to invite Jayce to dine in the great hall before she left in the morning. Jayce sat on the opposite side of Nicole, only two seats away from him. He could feel her presence there; tingles tickled the nape of his neck.

A movement at the far end of the great hall caught Reese's attention, and he swiveled his head to see Dylan McNaught approaching with the usual spring to his step. Dylan was an eager, innocent, naive young man who had been recently knighted. Reese had hired him instantly, seeing in him the excitement and youth he had missed. Dylan had worked for Reese for a year now and they had become friends. His blond hair and large, boyish, brown eyes promised that in time he would break many women's hearts. He marched up the center aisle, heading directly for the head table.

Reese watched as he greeted Nicole with a bright smile. "It's good to see you safe, m'lady," Dylan said with a slight bow.

Nicole returned the smile. "Thank you, Dylan," she answered.

Reese started to rise, but froze as Dylan turned his eyes to Jayce.

"You must be Lady Jayce," he said, reaching across the table to take her hand. He bent and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. "I am honored to have you as my lady."

"Dylan," Reese called, trying to correct him.

But Dylan's eyes alighted on Jayce's face, and dread pierced Reese's stomach. He opened his mouth to stop Dylan's words, but knew he wouldn't be quick enough.

"I vow with all my heart to protect you and serve you as I do Lord Reese," Dylan promised Jayce, a smile crossing his lips.

Reese groaned and sank back into his chair, shaking his head. Dylan's grandiose sense of honor was going to cause him untold trouble. Dylan was not a man to break his vow easily. But this was one vow that would have to be broken.

Dylan turned to him. "Lord Reese!" He moved to stand before him. "The border lands are secure. I've—"

"Dylan," Reese said, lowering his voice, "we can discuss business after the meal."

"Of course," Dylan replied, rounding the table.

In the face of Dylan's youthful vibrancy, Reese suddenly felt old and tired.

*****

It was late when Reese finally meandered up to his room. He paused before the door to his chambers. Jayce was in there. He couldn't bring himself to kick her out of his room, too. He returned to the great hall, moving toward the hearth. It was quiet; all the servants had finished their tasks and were preparing for bed. He stopped in the middle of the room, finally noticing the room's sole occupant.

Jayce stood before the hearth, her hands folded before her, staring into the fire. Reese walked toward her. He stopped two strides behind her as a waft of roses met his nostrils. He knew he should leave, but then he suddenly found himself speaking. "I'm sorry about all of this," he said quietly.

He watched as she drew herself up. "So am I," she finally answered in a curt voice.

The firelight shimmered in her luxurious brown hair. "You're a lovely woman. I'm sure your father will have no trouble finding you another husband," Reese said, trying to be reassuring.

She turned to him then, and her blue eyes sparkled like liquid crystal. "Apparently not lovely enough," she answered, and moved by him.

Reese cringed slightly at her words. She was lovelier than he had imagined. He reached out and clasped her arm, halting her movement. A shock scorched through him at the touch. "You could have been Helen of Troy. It wouldn't matter. I will not be forced into marriage." He held her arm a moment longer before releasing her.

Jayce didn't say a word. Reese only heard the soft padding of her slippered feet as she walked out the door, and out of his life.

# Chapter Eight

Reese could not sleep that night, and the next day came all too soon. As the sun climbed into the morning sky, he stood at the window, looking down into the courtyard. He blinked away the sun's glare and watched as Dylan helped Jayce mount her horse. The young knight and another of Reese's most trusted men would escort her back to her father. Dylan swung himself up onto his horse, reining the prancing animal in to cast an angry glare up toward Reese.

Reese watched Jayce's dark hair wave in the breeze as if bidding him a farewell.

Dylan was not talking to him.

Something inside Reese tugged at his heart. He would never know what it felt like to touch her hair.

Nicole was not speaking to him now, either.

He would never know what kind of passion her spirit hid.

Reese clenched his fingers into a fist. If only things had been different between them. He might have courted Jayce. But with the anger and resentment burning in his heart, the poor girl had no chance. This is the best way, he told himself. The only way. I will find the woman I am fated to marry. I will find the woman I am destined to love.

The three horses started forward, moving beneath the portcullis. Reese watched them go until Jayce was just a speck on the horizon. He sighed slightly as if a weight had been removed from his shoulders. Then why did he feel as if he had just lost something precious?

"M'lord."

Reese turned to see James standing in the doorway. He held out a piece of rolled parchment, sealed with a stamp of wax.

"This just arrived," James told him.

Reese snatched the missive from James's hand, inspecting the seal. It was the seal of a physician. Reese ripped it open, his eyes scanning the words. A scowl crept over his face. He clenched his jaw, dragging his gaze from the parchment to lock eyes with James.

"Stop her," Reese ordered. "Don't let her leave."

"I'm afraid she's already gone, sir," James replied.

"Then saddle my horse. I'm going after her."

# Chapter Nine

Jayce stared down at the pommel she gripped so tightly it made her knuckles turn white. She should have been worrying about how she was going to explain to her father that she had lied to him, that she was still a virgin, that her marriage had not been consummated. Instead, all she could think about was the feeling of betrayal stabbing her heart. Why had Reese turned her out without giving her a chance to prove herself? He had almost been repentant at the hearth the previous night, almost civil. Almost a man she could call husband. She had begun to hope that maybe he wouldn't return her to her father, that they could try for a life together. But this was not to be.

There was no reason she should feel hurt at his cold dismissal. Reese had not chosen her. He had been tricked, forced into marrying her. Yet, even knowing this, the pain of his rejection would not fade.

She knew she should forget him. She would never see him again. But he haunted her thoughts like a vengeful apparition.

Suddenly, her horse began to slow. She turned her gaze to the two guards before her. They were straining in their saddles, their stares focused on something behind her. She turned her head to see a horse riding toward her down the road, a small cloud of dust trailing behind the animal.

As the rider approached, Jayce saw his dark hair rippling behind him like a banner, announcing his arrival. He was bent low over the pommel, driving the animal hard to overtake them.

She knew instinctively who it was. Unwillingly, her heart beat faster, pounding in her chest with hope.

Reese reined in his horse beside Dylan, announcing with an explosive pant, "She's returning to the castle."

Jayce saw the satisfied grin curling Dylan's lips, but when she turned gladdened eyes to Reese, he would not meet her gaze. Slowly, her happiness faded and apprehension rose inside her. "Why?" she demanded, finally drawing his gaze. "Have you decided to call me wife?"

"No," he replied, and offered no further explanation.

Jayce's scowl deepened. "Then why the sudden change of mind?" she inquired, refusing to budge her animal until he gave her a reason.

Reese's eyes narrowed slightly before he turned his face toward the breeze.

Anger flared in Jayce. He was toying with her, playing some sort of game. "Are you convinced I'm not a part of my father's plot to gain a husband?"

The soft ripples of air weaved their way through his dark hair like fingers. His stubborn jaw was set.

"Or have you suddenly developed an unselfish streak?" she asked spitefully.

He slowly turned his ice-blue eyes to her. "Your father is dead," he answered. "Wanted or not, you are my responsibility."

Dead? For a moment she thought he was lying to her. Then, Reese held out a piece of crumpled parchment to her. With numb fingers she took the paper, her dazed eyes drawn to the scroll. It was a missive from her father's doctor. Her fingers trembled as she read its contents. Her father had been sick for months, and had finally succumbed to death.

Jayce read the note three times. Why hadn't she known?

Her father had kept his distance from her during the past months, but she had no idea he was harboring a deadly illness. Distantly, she heard Reese instructing the guards to head back to Castle Harrington.

Father is dead.

A numbness slowly crept through her body. Father is dead, her groggy mind repeated. How can this be? She heard her name called and numbly turned her head toward the voice. Reese was staring at her, but she could read nothing in his expression.

"Are you all right?" Reese was asking.

Jayce felt herself trembling and fought to keep her composure. Alone. The word exploded in her mind. "Yes," she whispered, and didn't know if she succeeded in controlling her weak voice.

She watched Reese turn his back on her. The shaking in her body grew until she could barely hold the reins.

Father is dead, her mind repeated. She found she still held the parchment in her hands. The words blurred together, and Jayce swiped at her eyes. I can't let Reese see my weakness, she told herself firmly. And even as she said this to herself, a lump rose in her throat.

An overwhelming urge to get away filled her. But where could she go? Who would take her in? She lifted her gaze to search the landscape, as if someone would materialize there and offer her refuge. Instead, her gaze was drawn to Reese, who wavered before her tearing eyes. He sat stoically in his saddle, staring at her.

I can't let him see my pain, she thought. I don't want to see his scorn. She spurred the horse forward, past him, desperately blinking back her tears. If she could just ride in front of him, she was sure she could keep a straight back. She was sure that when the tears came she could keep her shoulders from shaking.

The horse walked forward, jarring loose a tear. It slid over her cheek and down her chin. With any luck, he had missed it. Jayce's horse moved past his, and she knew she had made it.

But then Reese's hand shot forward to capture the reins of her horse, halting her animal's progress. Jayce didn't turn her gaze to him; she didn't move, willing her tears to stop, willing him to release her.

"Jayce," he said, and his voice was full of compassion.

It was agony. She bowed her head, squeezing her eyes closed on the tears now flowing freely over her cheeks. She couldn't turn to him. She couldn't be fooled by his gentle tone when she knew so well he wanted nothing to do with her.

Then, his arm was beneath her shoulders, drawing her from her horse, pulling her onto his lap. She resisted at first, fighting the comfort his arms offered. Reese pulled her tight against his chest, her weak struggles no match for his strong arms.

"It's all right," he whispered, his words spoken into the hair at the top of her head.

Jayce buried her face in his strong chest, sobbing. His arms around her were warm and soothing. She sobbed most of the way back to his castle, and when there was nothing left but exhaustion, she succumbed to a deep sleep.

# Chapter Ten

Her head pounded and Jayce eased her eyes open from the dark comfort of sleep. Her gaze swept her surroundings and she recognized where she was immediately. Reese's room. Slowly, she sat up. She was in his bed, tucked beneath luxuriously warm blankets.

She was alone. She swung her feet from the bed and had no sooner set them on the cold floor when the door opened and Nicole entered the room, a basin of water in her hands.

Nicole's eyes alighted on Jayce, and a smile lit her face. "Welcome back," she greeted.

Jayce winced and rubbed her head.

Nicole sat on the bed beside Jayce. "I'm sorry about your father," she said earnestly. "Truly I am."

Jayce shook her head, scowling. "He didn't seem sick," she mused. "I don't know what happened."

Nicole patted her hand. "He probably didn't want you to become alarmed." Nicole rose and paced to the basin resting on a table. "So he hid whatever illness he had." She dipped a rag into the water, returned to the bed, and wiped off Jayce's face.

"Please," Jayce said, gently removing the rag from her hands. She stared down at it for a long moment. "Did Reese bring me back here?"

"Yes," Nicole answered. "He carried you into the castle and tucked you in by himself."

Jayce turned surprised eyes to Nicole. "Really?"

Nicole nodded her head, her beautiful blond hair bouncing.

"Where is he now?" Jayce asked.

"In the great hall, breaking his fast."

Jayce remembered Reese's gentle touch and his comforting warmth. She could almost feel his arms around her, holding her tight. "Do you think Reese would mind if I joined him?" Jayce wondered.

Nicole appeared troubled for a moment, then said, "No. I don't think he'd mind at all."

***

Jayce entered the great hall with Nicole beside her. Reese was sitting in the middle of the raised table, engaged in animated conversation. Her heart faltered, as did her steps, when he turned his gaze to her. His penetrating blue eyes seared her to the spot. She barely noticed the man with whom he had been speaking lift his dark eyes to her.

Reese stood and moved down the center aisle as she approached. He was coming to meet her. Had something changed inside him? Was he truly going to see her differently? A grin tugged at Jayce's lips; anticipation burned through her veins.

But Jayce noticed with dismay that his large steps and agitated gait were not those of a happy man. With each step that brought him nearer, Jayce felt an uneasiness spreading through her. Her hopes fell as he stopped just before her. His jaw was clenched, his blue eyes hard with anger. His gaze swept past her to Nicole. "Is this your idea?" he demanded.

"Your wife wished to dine with you," Nicole answered.

Jayce placed a gentle hand on Nicole's arm and stepped forward to face Reese. "It was my idea. I thought..." Her voice faded as Reese's blue eyes snapped back to meet her gaze. They were cold and dark, emotionless. She felt tears of disappointment sting her eyes. Surely she had not imagined his arms around her last night, his tender words in her ear.

"I will have your meal brought to you in my room," he told her. "Now return there at once." With that, Reese whirled, presenting her with his back, and moved toward the head table.

Jayce stared slack-jawed at his retreating back. The peasants near her murmured at his curt dismissal of her. The disappointment and crushed feelings were suddenly buried beneath a whirlwind of fierce anger. What right did he have to treat her like... like a common slave?

Jayce's fists clenched tight, and she marched forward after his retreating form. She would not obey him like some humble lapdog!

He stopped just before the head table and Jayce almost ran into his back. She stepped around him, forcing a false smile to her lips. But she couldn't quite unclench her teeth as she said, "Thank you for inviting me to dine at your table, m'lord." She added a mock curtsy for insult and took a seat beside the dark man who sat beside Reese.

She felt Reese's eyes at her back like daggers, but didn't turn. Finally, Reese too, took his seat.

A healthy serving of venison was placed on a trencher before her.

The young man seated to Jayce's left eyed her with curiosity. Jayce beamed him a smile, then took in his wild dark hair and beard, his savage brown eyes. His perusal of her unnerved Jayce, and she pulled away from him.

"Is this the wife you've kept hidden from me?" the dark man asked.

Reese grunted, taking a large bite of venison.

"No," she answered, still stinging from Reese's curt dismissal. "I am not a wife. No husband would treat his wife the way Lord Reese treats me."

The dark man scowled. "But were you not married in the chapel? Was it not your virginal blood that stained the sheets?"

Jayce opened her mouth to reply, to deny it all. She cast a quick glance at Reese, looking at his arm, thinking of the cut that lay beneath his tunic. Who would believe Reese had cut himself to avoid bedding her? She dropped her gaze to her clasped hands.

"Tell us, why did you force yourself on Reese?" he challenged. "How dare you so disgrace the Harrington family name?"

Jayce felt embarrassment rise into her cheeks. "I had no part in Nicole's kidnapping."

"Are we to believe that?" he wondered.

"Morse, don't bully her," Nicole reprimanded, taking a seat beside Jayce.

Morse threw back his head and chortles of glee issued from his mouth. "The victimized Lady Nicole is the only one to come to your rescue!" He laughed again.

Jayce didn't dare cast a glance at Reese. She knew his glowering visage and stern disapproval would shatter her already shaky resolve.

"Why throw yourself at a man? Desperate? Hungry for sex?"

"I didn't know," Jayce repeated, bowing her head, taking the comments one by one, outwardly showing no sign of distress, but inwardly dying with each lash of his tongue. Was this what Reese thought of her? Could she blame him if he did?

Reese wasn't going to defend her. No one was. It was what they all believed. It was what Reese believed.

"And now, why stay? Unloved. Unwanted."

"Morse," Reese growled a warning.

But Jayce barely heard him. Her hands were shaking, and she clenched them so tight that her fingers turned purple.

Alone. Abandoned.

"Take back every single rude remark, sir. You have offended the lady."

Jayce looked up to find Sir Dylan standing before the table, his hand at his sword. Relief, gratitude, and something akin to pride swept through her.

Morse leaned back in his chair, his dark eyes summing Dylan up in a sweeping glance. "But everything I've said is true."

Dylan's jaw clenched. "She is lady of this castle and Lord Reese's rightful wife."

"Then why doesn't he defend her?"

Dylan cast Reese an angry glance, then turned his hot, youthful eyes onto the dark man. "Take back your words."

One side of Morse's mouth curved into a grin. "I don't think so," he said.

Anxiety tightened Jayce's stomach.

"Then, I challenge you to a joust for Lady Jayce's honor," Dylan said.

Reese had come half out of his chair, but froze when the fighting words came from Dylan's mouth.

The great hall reverberated with the challenge as the announcement was repeated throughout the room.

Suddenly, Morse erupted in laughter, a rich rolling guffaw trilling from his throat like a trumpet. As abruptly as it started, it ended. He leaned forward, his hands splayed over the table. "It would be my pleasure," he said.

Jayce knew this man they called Morse would defeat young Dylan. He had a brutal dark look in his eyes that unnerved her. Dylan's hot-headedness would be his downfall. She wanted to tell Dylan he didn't have to defend her, but she didn't want to embarrass the young knight.

Reese was the one who should be challenging the man.

Jayce swung her gaze to Reese. He stood, staring at Dylan with hard, unflinching eyes. But he didn't say a word. Finally, he whirled and left the great hall.

Morse's laughter echoed through the room, following Reese's footsteps.

Jayce glanced at Nicole, who didn't move. The color had drained from her face as she stared at Dylan. Then, Jayce stood and raced after Reese. She turned a corner in the hallway. "Reese!" she called.

He halted, his back as straight as a board. He didn't turn to her, and Jayce clenched her fists, refusing to budge from her spot.

"You can't let Dylan fight him," she announced to his back.

Reese turned slowly, his blue eyes flashing with anger.

"You're lord of this castle," she snapped. "It's your duty to protect those beneath you. Dylan---"

"Is young and foolish. You've won him over with your charm, and now it will cost him his honor and his dignity."

"Then stop him," Jayce ordered. "Order him not to fight."

"I can't," Reese replied, moving toward her. "He would be humiliated and disgraced. You're the one that has to do it. Tell him your honor is not worth fighting for."

Jayce would do it in an instant, if she weren't so afraid of hurting the young knight's pride. But was his pride worth his life? Many knights had been wounded in such challenges and some even killed.

Dylan was impetuous and brash, and she admired him very much for coming to her defense, but she also knew she could not watch him face Morse.

"She will do no such thing," a voice announced from behind her.

Jayce whirled to see Dylan storming from the great hall, his eyes blazing with anger. He marched past her toward Reese. He had to look up to stare Reese in the eye, but Dylan did so unflinchingly.

"Lady Jayce's honor is worth all the gold in the land. It is worth all the stars in the sky. And it is most certainly worth my honor and my life," Dylan told him.

Jayce's pride rose to soaring heights, but was deflated by her conscience. She opened her mouth to speak, but Dylan continued.

"But I have no intention of dying. I will defeat Lord Morse in battle and uphold Lady Jayce's virtue."

And the way he said it, with vibrancy and conviction, almost made Jayce believe it. His confidence was contagious and warmed Jayce's heart. After all, he had been the only one to come to her defense. Not even Reese had challenged Morse. She turned her stare to her husband.

His jaw was clenched tight, his blue eyes narrowed. His gaze slid from Dylan's to meet Jayce's. For a long, heart-stopping moment, there was cold resolve in his eyes. He would say nothing, could not say anything to persuade the devoted knight to call off the joust.

"Sir Dylan," Jayce called, knowing that if she couldn't convince him to stop the joust, no one could. When he turned his brown eyes to her, his gaze softened and a smile brimmed on his lips. "I appreciate all you've done for me."

"I would do so much more," he vowed. "I would walk to the ends of the earth. I would brave---"

Jayce grinned. "I'm flattered. But this joust is..." She sought the right words, the proper way to tell Dylan he had no chance. But when she saw the smile fade from the young knight's lips, she faltered. "... it is simply that I..." Jayce floundered, watching a crestfallen look darken Dylan's face. "It's not you. It's the joust. It is..." She glanced at Reese helplessly, imploringly.

"It's the blood," Reese supplied. "Her fair senses could not tolerate a drop of your blood being shed."

"Yes!" Jayce exclaimed. "I find blood repulsive. Especially when it comes from one of my favored knights."

The smile returned in full force to Dylan's lips. "My lady flatters me now. I promise that not a drop of my blood shall I spill to the earth to upset you." Dylan reached for Jayce's hand and pressed a kiss to her knuckles.

Jayce glanced at Reese over Dylan's head to find his scowl deepening. Jayce swallowed, and desperately blurted, "No, Sir Dylan. I want you to call off the joust."

Dylan froze over her knuckles for a long moment.

Jayce's insides trembled. If a direct order did not work, she knew there would be no way to stop the joust. He straightened stiffly to face her. "My honor is not worth your life," Jayce said, and saw the disappointment cloud his eyes.

"I'm sorry, m'lady," Dylan finally replied. "I will not call off the joust." He cast an accusing glance at Reese. "Since there is no one man enough to defend you, then I will face Lord Morse, even if I do not have your favor." He turned and walked rigidly away.

Jayce lifted her hand to stop him, opened her mouth to call to him, to explain that he had her favor, her gratitude, but Reese grabbed her outstretched hand, halting her.

"Give him time to think," he said. "He may yet call off the joust."

Jayce savagely pulled her hand free of his hold and turned furious eyes to him. "This was your idea! Now I have insulted the only man who was brave enough to come to my defense, brave enough to defend my honor. Even braver than my own husband."

Reese drew himself up to his full height, his eyes flashing like lightning. "I am not your husband."

"Because we did not consummate the marriage? You made a vow before God!"

"I was protecting my sister."

"And now Dylan is protecting me," Jayce retorted, tears stinging her eyes. "And he might die because you're too cowardly to defend me."

Reese grabbed her shoulders, his fingers curved like claws, his lips drawn back in a feral snarl. "I'm not a coward."

"Then why won't you face Morse? Why won't you protect me?"

"I will not fight my brother."

# Chapter Eleven

Reese watched the dance of emotions play across Jayce's face. The shock, then understanding, and finally acceptance. But with the acceptance came something else... hurt and resignation. He watched those deep blue eyes shimmer like the sea before she turned her head away. "I don't know what else to do," she whispered in an agonized voice that called to Reese's heart for help, for guidance, for protection.

Reese dropped his hands stiffly to his sides, releasing her shoulders. "This is your problem," he proclaimed, suddenly angry she had somehow drawn him into this situation, furious she had made him feel guilty when he was nothing of the sort. He turned his back on her and marched down the hallway. He didn't know how to help her. He didn't know how to stop the joust, even if it could be stopped, without humiliating Dylan and infuriating his brother.

He cursed silently as he kicked open the door to his temporary room. He swept into his chamber and began pacing from one end of the room to the other, his mutterings sounding like the grumblings of a caged lion. He didn't have the solution! He didn't have all the answers.

Why did Morse have to return now? His brother had been gone for three years, traveling through England, working as a mercenary. Reese had been angry enough when he had left, positive he would never see Morse again. After all, what did the boy know of warfare?

Before Morse left, Reese had tried everything to draw him into the close circle he and Nicole had formed, but somehow it had never worked. He had even offered Morse a parcel of Harrington land to rule as his own. But somehow that offer had insulted Morse greatly. He left Castle Harrington only days later. Morse had even refused Reese's generous gift of coin to help him start off.

There had not been a more inopportune time for Morse's return than now, before he had settled this situation with Jayce.

Reese raked his hands through his hair and whirled to face the setting sun, his thoughts turning to Jayce. She didn't want Dylan to fight any more than he did. Then why couldn't she have listened to me? Reese wondered. Why couldn't she have stayed in her room?

"Women," he growled.

Whatever the case, Reese knew he could not interfere in the battle. He had no desire to face his brother in a joust.

There came a demanding knock at the door. "Reese."

Reese lifted his head to find Morse entering. His brother had been but a boy when he left the castle three years ago. But now he was a man. A surge of pride filled Reese. His brother would make a fine lord. Then, his eyes met the dark orbs of his brother, so different from his and Nicole's blue ones. They were narrowed in fierce fury, his jaw clenched with anger.

They stared at each other for a long moment. The unease spread through Reese as if the three years had never happened, as if all the old discomfort had suddenly awaked from a deep slumber, still as ugly and awkward as ever. He cursed silently, wishing they could get along as well as he and Nicole did. "Where were we?" Reese finally said. "I think you were just about to tell me of your travels. I trust they were exciting."

"Apparently not as exciting as what's happened to you," came the rejoinder. Morse drew himself up to his full height, but still was not as tall as Reese. Morse had to look up at his brother. "How can you permit her in your castle?"

"Her?"

"She has humiliated and insulted our family, kidnapping Nicole, forcing you into marriage," Morse condemned. "You should have had her beheaded the first chance you got as retribution for our family's honor."

"Beheaded?" Reese almost smiled. "That's a little harsh, isn't it?"

"You make light of the situation while the tart drags our name through the mud. She has insulted us. I, for one, will not tolerate it."

Reese's jaw clenched. He felt an odd surge of resentment course through him. "She is no tart," he retorted. "And as for dragging our name through the mud..." He locked eyes with his brother meaningfully. "It has survived far worse."

Morse gritted his teeth, the insult not lost on him. "People are saying you are weak to have allowed Cullen to force you into marriage."

Reese straightened. "I would have done anything to save Nicole."

"You should have stormed the castle."

"And by the time I found where they were keeping her, Cullen would have slit her throat. Nothing was worth that."

Morse glared at him. "So, you wed and bedded the wench?"

Reese shook his head. "The marriage was not consummated."

"But the sheets---"

"The only blood shed that day was mine," Reese admitted. "I've started a letter of annulment. I will not be forced into marriage. But I will not behead a defenseless woman, either."

Morse frowned.

"I'm not a fool." Reese turned his back to Morse to gaze out the window. "So, you see, there is no reason for this joust to proceed."

"Dylan challenged me."

"Dylan is as impetuous as you," Reese said. "Still, he will not call off the joust. I would appreciate it if you did."

"Is that an order, m'lord?"

Reese heard the bitterness in his tone, the resentment. "No," Reese sighed. "It is a request."

"Then I will regretfully have to decline."

Reese turned to Morse. "Dylan is no match for you. You'll kill him."

Morse smiled. "He never should have challenged me. Besides, I fight for the honor of the Harringtons."

Reese felt anguish wash over him. He couldn't help but feel this was his fault. And there was nothing he could do to stop it.

# Chapter Twelve

Jayce stood beside Nicole the following day at noon, trembling. It wasn't the slight wind that made her cold. Even though the sun hid behind clouds, it was a very warm day. Yet, she still felt a chill. The wooden platform she and Nicole stood upon creaked each time they shifted their weight.

Jayce's gaze scanned the field and the fenced area surrounding the arena for Reese, but he had not come. He doesn't care, she thought. She bowed her head in disappointment.

Nicole squeezed her hand. "Don't worry," she promised. "It will turn out fine."

"He's your brother, too," Jayce murmured. "Don't you care about Morse?"

"Of course I do," Nicole answered sadly. "You don't think anyone will get hurt, do you?"

Jayce turned her gaze to the field, a feeling of dread settling about her shoulders. "I hope not," Jayce murmured.

Two horses suddenly appeared from the opposite side of the field of honor. One broke away from the other and galloped to the platform the two women were standing on.

The chain-mailed knight who rode the steed flipped up the visor on his helmet. Dylan stared at Jayce with sad but determined eyes. She stepped toward him, clenching a veil of light blue in her fists. He dropped his lance to the platform so she could tie her favor on.

Jayce's gaze fell to the lance. She unfurled the material from her hands and reached out to tie it around the lance, but suddenly stopped as she heard the pounding of another horse's hooves. She looked up to see another mounted knight coming toward her. The clouds parted, and the sun shone down upon the approaching knight. The bright rays reflected off his armor up into her eyes, and Jayce held up her hand to block them. The shining armor still blinded her, and she had to look away from it, blinking. Finally, she heard the hoof beats halt.

Jayce heard Nicole sigh.

She lifted her gaze to see that the knight had stopped before them. The elevated platform put her on an equal level with the knight. He stared down at her from the slit in the helmet's visor. The cold blue eyes gazing at her sent a mixed form of relief and dread searing through her body.

Finally, the knight lifted his gauntleted hand and pushed the visor from his face. Reese.

A smile lit Jayce's face, and she lifted her favor toward Reese, waiting for him to lower his lance.

Reese's gaze settled on Dylan. "Your services are no longer required. I will fight for the lady's honor." Dylan opened his mouth to protest, but Reese quickly silenced his unspoken objection. "It is my right," he told the young knight.

Dylan hesitated for a moment, then bowed respectfully and steered his horse off the field.

A thrill of joy swept through Jayce and she straightened her spine proudly. Until Reese turned his gaze on her. There was a frostiness to his look, a frigid anger that chilled her pride and melted her confidence.

With a sharp jerk on the reins, Reese turned his horse from Jayce to meet his opponent.

It wasn't until Nicole reached out and pushed her hands down that Jayce realized he had coldly dismissed her favor. Jayce stared down at the sheer blue material in her hands for a long moment. Then she lifted her gaze to the combatants.

A silence spread through the crowd of onlookers as Morse faced Reese across the field. "M'lord!" Morse called. "My fight is not with you."

"Lady Jayce is under my protection," Reese answered in a low timbre that reverberated through the field. "As such she is my responsibility. Since you will not take back your unsavory remarks, I have no choice but to fight for her honor."

A lump rose in Jayce's throat. 'My responsibility.' 'I have no choice.' He didn't want to fight for her, anyone could hear that in his speech. "Why even bother?" she mumbled.

"Hush," Nicole whispered harshly.

Reese leveled the long jousting pole at Morse's mount.

"As you wish, my brother," Morse replied, and pulled his visor down over his eyes. He took his lance from his squire and spurred his horse on.

The two horses thundered down the field toward each other, their riders' lances pointing skyward, large clumps of dirt spraying out behind them in their wake. The two combatants lowered their weapons, aiming for each other, pushing their steeds on with sharp kicks to their flanks.

Jayce leaned forward, her fingers gripping the palisade with such force it made her knuckles ache.

There was a loud crash and Reese jerked back as Morse's lance struck his shoulder.

Jayce gasped and pressed her fingers to her lips. Reese wavered on his horse as it continued to gallop to the other side of the field. Her heart froze in her chest.

Reese clutched the reins of the horse, righting himself. Jayce wasn't aware she had stopped breathing until she had to draw a large breath. Reese's steed circled, and the squire handed Reese another lance.

Again, the two horses raced toward each other, jousting poles leveled.

Jayce held her breath again as the horses closed on each other. Reese jerked away and just missed being hit in the same shoulder. He turned his lance at the last moment and struck Morse's stomach. The blow glanced off Morse's armor as the horses galloped past the viewing platform, but Morse stayed tall in the saddle.

Reese rode straight to his squire, grabbed the offered lance and whirled, spurring his steed on toward Morse. Morse matched his older brother's speed, driving his horse on. Reese leveled his lance, again aiming for Morse's midsection.

Jayce's heart pounded as the Harrington brothers collided in a large cloud of dust and a thunderous roar.

Reese tumbled backward over his horse and fell heavily to the ground.

For a brief moment, the entire field was silent.

Jayce ducked beneath the rail to race to Reese's aid, but something caught her wrist and held her back. She fought against it, tugging at her arm to free it. A frantic second later she realized it was Nicole.

"Morse fell, too," she told Jayce breathlessly.

Jayce scanned the field to find Morse laboriously climbing to his feet. Jayce straightened, leaning toward Reese, silently begging him to get to his feet. The crowd's returning roar rang in her ears. Finally, Reese pushed himself to a sitting position. He swayed for a moment before reaching up to pull his helmet from his head and toss it aside.

"Sword!" Morse shouted to his squire.

Jayce saw Reese clutch his side. His face contorted in a grimace of pain.

A boy ran up with a large sword, its handle outstretched to Morse.

Panic welled inside Jayce. No, her mind screamed. He's hurt. She heard Nicole gasp. Jayce ducked beneath the railing and jumped from the platform to race onto the field, her heart thundering in her chest.

"Jayce!" Nicole cried.

Jayce knelt before Reese, scanning his face, her hands splayed before her in helplessness. Agony dulled Reese's deep blue eyes; his jaw was clenched hard. As he stared at her, Jayce thought she saw a wavering of resolve in his eyes.

She thought for a moment he was beseeching her. But for what she didn't know. She glanced over her shoulder and saw Morse approaching, sword in his hand.

She stood to meet him, "Let him be," she commanded. "Everything you said was true. He cares nothing for me. I forced myself on him. I knew all about the plan to kidnap Nicole." As she spoke, tears rose in her eyes. "Let him be," she repeated, desperation creeping into her voice.

Morse's gaze shifted from Reese to pin Jayce where she stood.

"My honor means nothing," she proclaimed. "Just don't hurt him."

"You," Morse growled. He lifted the blade above his head. "I would gladly take your life instead of my brother's."

Jayce winced, stepping back, lifting her hands to block the blow.

Suddenly, another sword shot forward to intercept Morse's death blow. Jayce turned to find Reese on his feet, sword clutched in his hand. His blue eyes twinkled at her for a moment before he shifted his gaze to Morse. His hand encircled Jayce's arm and gently set her aside.

Morse moved forward with a lightning reaction, arcing his blade high over his head. Reese caught the blow easily, grabbing Morse's arm. They locked blades, and the sunlight reflected off the crossed weapons and into Jayce's eyes.

"Reese," Morse said, through the crossed swords, "if she means anything to you, admit it and I'll lower my weapon."

Reese tensed, his shoulders stiffening. He stared hard at Morse before shoving away from his brother. He cast a quick glance at Nicole on the platform. But never once did he look at Jayce.

"I'm fighting for the respect owed my family, Reese. I'm fighting for our honor. It was her father that kidnapped Nicole! It was her family that forced you into marriage. I don't want to fight my brother."

"There is no one left to defend her. She is now my responsibility."

"So, you don't care for her?"

Jayce tried to close off her emotions. She watched Reese's back. And prayed for the right answer.

"No," he proclaimed.

Jayce hadn't realized she had been holding her breath until she released it in a disappointed rush. Humiliation flamed across her cheeks. She wanted to crumple to the ground; she wanted to disappear into the earth so no one could see her. Instead, she stood immobile in the middle of the field of honor, honorless and alone. A crack speared the center of her heart like a fracture in the earth.

"Then why fight me?" Morse demanded. "This is not your fight."

"She is under my protection. She is to be treated as a guest in my castle," he proclaimed.

"Then my fight is with you," Morse replied, and ran at Reese, screaming his rage, his frustration.

Jayce gasped as Reese stepped into the swing, catching his brother's sword with his blade. He grabbed Morse's arm and yanked him to the ground with one pull, stepping on the wrist of his sword arm. Reese pressed the tip of his blade to his brother's neck. "How many times do I have to warn you about rushing someone in anger without thinking? It's amazing you've survived this long."

Morse struggled in frustration.

"Yield," Reese urged, pressing the sword closer to Morse's throat.

Morse's fight left him, and he glared at Reese. "I yield to you," he ground out between clenched teeth.

"Apologize to Lady Jayce," Reese encouraged.

Morse's dark eyes danced with flames of anger and defiance, as he snarled, "I apologize."

Reese withdrew his sword and offered Morse his hand.

Morse clasped his arm, and Reese pulled him to his feet. Reese shook his head. "After all those years of training, I can't believe you forgot what I taught you."

Morse sneered at Reese, then stormed off toward the castle. Reese watched his brother go, then slowly followed in his footsteps.

Jayce saw Reese pause once to glance over his shoulder at her. She felt his eyes on her like the heated sun, felt the confusion in his gaze.

Around the field of honor, the crowd broke up, heading back to work or returning to the castle. She stood like a statue, willing their sympathetic stares to bounce off her. But somehow they didn't seem to bounce; she absorbed them, each slashing her heart until it was left in tatters.

A warm arm draped around her shoulder. "Come on," Nicole whispered.

Jayce shrugged off her arm, shaking her head. "No," she answered, trying to keep the quivering out of her voice. "I think I'll stay out here for a while."

Nicole nodded and moved past her toward the castle, casting Jayce a commiserating look.

*****

Morse stomped into his room, ripping the gauntlets from his hands and throwing them on the bed. He thought this time he could defeat his brother, give Reese a taste of the humiliation that had filled his life. Instead, his brother embarrassed him in front of everyone! He took that little wench's side over his own kin!

Morse shook his head, pulling the dust-filled tunic over his head and tossing it to the floor. Well, Morse vowed silently, gazing at the flickering flame of the torchlight on the wall, I will see to it the girl will never be a Harrington.

# Chapter Thirteen

Jayce wandered through the fields closest to the castle. She avoided the peasants and knights, avoided the sympathetic looks they cast her way. Not a wife. Not a guest. She was caught in a tormented limbo.

As the sun set, Jayce sat beside a wooden fence. She wasn't exactly sure where she was and didn't really care. Could it be any less welcoming than the castle she could see in the distance? Than the husband who would never accept her as a wife? And what of the tender touch he had bestowed on her? Jayce was beginning to believe she had imagined it. After all, how could he be so gentle one moment and proclaim to all within earshot she meant nothing to him the next?

Jayce sighed and leaned back against the fence. What had her father done to her? Why had he forced her on a man who didn't want her? Surely there had been other lords willing to marry her. She and her father had not been as wealthy or as powerful as Lord Harrington, but they were not poor either.

Suddenly, behind her, a horse whinnied and a man's stern voice rang out. Jayce turned her head, peeking through the slats in the fence to see a beautiful black warhorse. The animal snorted and reared slightly. A man, looking very small in stature compared to the magnificent animal, yanked on a rope around the horse's neck.

Slowly, Jayce climbed to her feet. The horse snorted again, its thick black mane tossing as it rebelled against the rope. The man pulled hard on the rope, cursing. He raised his hand and Jayce saw a black coiled whip clutched in his fingers. He drew his hand back and the whip unfurled like a thick black snake striking at its prey.

Jayce jumped as the man brought the whip down hard across the animal's shoulders. She had believed he was going to crack it in the air, not over the poor animal's hide!

"No!" Jayce screamed, and raced for the man. She rounded the fence just as the horse reared, and the man brought the whip down over the animal's back again.

The man drew his hand back to deliver yet another blow. Jayce reached out and grabbed the man's wrist. "No!" she shouted again. "That's not the way to tame an animal!"

The man turned angry eyes on her. "Then you tame him," he commanded, shoving the whip at her.

Jayce stared at the ugly black coil of rope, then pushed it away in disgust.

"Lord Reese is going to have him put down soon anyway. No one can tame this one. Not even Lord Reese," the man told her. "He's as wild as a ragin' river."

"What's his name?" Jayce wondered, staring the horse in the eye. It whinnied and tossed its head.

"Satan," the man answered with a curt nod. "And not a more befitting name could there be." The man turned his back on her and moved away.

Jayce watched the horse as it stared down at her with the blackest eyes she had ever seen, eyes round with fright. "You alone, too, boy?" she asked softly, trying to calm the animal. "They just don't understand, do they? It takes time, that's all. You can't just go in and demand an animal as grand as you behave." She smiled gently and looked down at her hands. "Did Reese tell you that you mean nothing to him, too? Or does he reserve that humiliation for me?"

The horse nickered and pranced a few steps away before turning his back to her.

Jayce sighed slightly. "I won't give up on you so easily," she whispered.

# Chapter Fourteen

Reese sat on the bed in the guest room he planned to occupy until the situation with Jayce was worked out. James bent over at his side, probing a bruise with his fingers. "I told you I'm fine," Reese growled.

"Far be it from me to argue, sir," James mumbled. He straightened and presented Reese with his white tunic.

Reese snatched it from his hands just as a knock came at the door.

James moved to answer the knock, but before he reached the door it swung open, and Nicole swept into the room. "Well done, Reese," Nicole ridiculed.

Reese grunted.

"You've humiliated both your brother and your wife in one afternoon."

"Humiliated?" Reese exploded, pulling the tunic into place. "What has Jayce got to be humiliated about? I gave her a place of honor! She is a guest here."

"She is your wife," Nicole fumed. "She deserves to be recognized as such."

"I don't have a wife." Yet, even as he said it, he saw a vision of beauty. A chivalrous, brave beauty, rushing to save him on the field of honor. Even though I didn't need saving, a stubborn voice inside him reminded. Still, what a brave, unselfish act, branding herself honorless to save him.

"Oh, please. Not that argument again! You treated Jayce deplorably," Nicole said, intruding on his thoughts.

He straightened off of the bed. "I protected her honor," Reese countered. "Even against my own brother."

"She gave up her honor because she saw you were hurt. She lied to protect you."

"Lied?"

"You don't truly think she planned my kidnapping? Don't be a fool. She knew nothing about it."

"She told you this?"

Nicole shook her head sadly. "She doesn't need to. And all you could do was embarrass her."

"I did not embarrass her."

"You said she meant nothing to you."

"She doesn't," Reese grumbled, but could not meet Nicole's eyes. He moved to the window to stare out at the darkening sky. Can Nicole be right? Reese wondered. In attempting to make Jayce welcome as a guest at Castle Harrington, have I made matters worse? "Where is she?"

Nicole raised an eyebrow. "I don't know."

Reese whirled on Nicole. "What do you mean you don't know?"

"I haven't seen her since the joust."

Reese marched past his sister and moved toward the door. He threw it open with such force it slammed against the stone wall with a thunderous boom. He strode through the hallways like an ominous storm cloud. Two servants pressed themselves tightly against the wall to give him plenty of room to pass. One of the castle hounds quickly slunk into a side hallway at his approach.

How dare she twist his generosity into something he should feel guilty about? What did she expect of him? Or was it Nicole making him feel this way? When he found Jayce, he would make it very clear to her that he would never be forced into marriage with a woman he didn't love. He wanted a happy life, a happy and devoted wife, someone to cherish him and their children. He would make it clear to Jayce he would not feel guilty about his position anymore. And he would make it very clear that she should not look at him with those deep, innocent blue eyes any longer.

After a quick, fruitless search of the great hall, he headed toward the master bedroom. Jayce must have returned there after the joust. He threw open the door and entered. "I would speak with you---" His voice died like a wavering candle extinguished by a whiplash breeze. The torchlight from the wall flickered over the undisturbed bed. The room was empty.

The shutters framing the window banged in the breeze, drawing his attention. He moved to the window to gaze out on his lands. Darkness had claimed his domain. An uneasiness snaked its way through his body. She was out there. In unfamiliar lands. Unprotected.

Reese dashed from the room and raced out into the courtyard, his usual calm gait turning to a run as he sped toward the stables. He reached the building just as the stable master was locking the animals up for the night. With a curt command from Reese, the old man quickly reopened the doors. Reese brushed by him without a word and dashed into the stables. He guided his horse from its stall and pulled himself up onto his back, wasting no time in trying to saddle the animal. He had often ridden bareback when he was a child, enjoying the freedom it gave him. But there was no enjoyment now, only a slowly building panic.

His stomach twisted as he imagined Jayce lying on the road somewhere, hurt and bleeding. He quickly pushed the thought aside, telling himself this was his village, and no one would dare to harm her. Still, Morse's hurtful words rose in his mind, and he knew it was not only physical things that could wound her. Guilt rose in Reese's heart, and he knew if anyone had hurt her, it had been him.

He spurred the horse on. As he raced toward the village, riding past the enclosure that housed Satan, Reese wondered where to start his search. But then the eerie silence caught his attention. Satan's incessant snorts and whinnies of disapproval were nowhere to be heard.

Reese reined in his horse, his gaze scanning the moon-kissed pasture. Where is that infernal beast? he wondered.

Then, he saw an apparition bathed in the glow of the moon, a ghostly vision floating above the fence surrounding the grazing land. The night's breeze ruffled her dress and danced through the silken strands of her hair.

Reese squinted and blinked. The spirit abruptly vanished, and in its place he saw Jayce standing precariously on the fence. She held something in her hand that flapped in the breeze. It took a moment for Reese to realize it was a blanket. Then, he heard her calling to the beast.

Reese spurred his steed toward her as she sat on the top plank of the fence, beginning to ease herself over the side of the wooden barricade. Outrage and disbelief flashed through Reese. She was going into Satan's pen. Didn't she know how dangerous and unpredictable the warhorse was?

Before she could climb fully into the pen, Reese reached around her tiny waist and hauled her from the fence onto his own steed. "Are you out of your mind?" he demanded. His reprimand died in his throat as she turned those brilliant eyes on him. Those dangerous eyes. Eyes that captured the pale light of the moon and radiated its energy back tenfold. Eyes that were capable of capturing much more than just the moon's glow.

"What are you doing here?" she asked.

Her bottom pressing against his thighs caught him off guard, and for a brief moment he imagined what she would look like lying beneath him in the throes of ecstasy.

He silently shook himself and frowned, trying to regain control of the situation. "I might ask the same of you."

"Where am I supposed to be?" she wondered.

The innocence of her question, the pure, untainted honesty of it, touched his heart. Where indeed? he queried. "Well, certainly not near this beast," Reese retorted, glancing at Satan. The horse snorted once, indignantly, its dark eyes absorbing the moonlight but giving nothing back but blackness. "What in heaven's name were you thinking climbing over the gate into his pen? Don't you know he could have trampled you?"

"It's chilly," she replied. "I was going to put this blanket on him." She held up a worn cover.

Reese's gaze shifted from the blanket clutched in her delicate hands to her eyes. "He has never worn a blanket at night. He won't let anyone close enough to put one on."

"You can hardly blame him after the whipping the groom gave him."

"He wouldn't need a whipping if he were not so uncontrollable."

"You don't tame an animal by whipping it and bullying it into subservience."

She was gazing at the wretched beast with admiration. A slow, soft smile curved Reese's lips as he stared down at the woman in his arms. He still held her close, his arm wrapped around her waist, his hand splayed against her flat stomach. Was he gazing at her with as much admiration as she was bestowing on the horse? Then he shook himself, and resolve sealed off the fracture she had begun to create in the stone wall he had built around his heart.

"He needs to be loved," she added softly.

The words pried the fracture open wider. He knew the woman he held in his arms was unlike any he had known before. Brave and kind and beautiful. And thrust upon him by evil coercion. The thought that she had somehow worked her way into his mind, infiltrated his body like an invader, angered him. "Stay away from him," Reese growled. "He'll cause you nothing but misery."

Jayce turned her eyes to his. Again, he felt that wash of affection overtake him and race through his veins, filling his very blood with the spirit of her being. Her eyes were large and trusting, her nose pert and turned up just a bit, her cheekbones high and well-defined. But it was her lips that attracted his attention. They were red and full and parted. Wisps of her hair curled forward, framing her face. A lovelier portrait of a woman could never be painted. Reese found himself lowering his head to hers, moving his own lips closer to hers, as if caught in some kind of magical bliss.

Satan pawed the ground, snorting, white puffs of steam erupting from his nostrils. The spell broken, Reese jerked back from Jayce, startling his horse, who lurched forward, slamming Jayce against his body.

Was that disappointment that filled her eyes? Or relief?

"I'll take you back to the castle," he said, and spurred the horse on.

But Jayce slipped from his grasp and his fingers brushed her breasts, sending a jolt of desire flaming through his body. She landed smoothly on the ground. "I have to put the blanket on Satan," she insisted.

Her determination made Reese furious. Hadn't he just told her the creature wouldn't let anyone near it? Didn't he just tell her it was dangerous? Reese quickly dismounted and stormed over to her, ripping the blanket from her hands. "You will stay away from that monster," he commanded. He put his hand on the top rail and easily hurdled the fence, cursing silently as he landed just inside the pen.

How had he gotten himself into this position? He gritted his teeth as the warhorse turned surprised eyes to him.

"Come here, you damned beast," he snarled, unfurling the blanket before him.

"No," Jayce urged from behind him. "Speak softly to him. As if he were a friend."

"I would speak softly to no friend of mine," he growled, approaching the horse. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her pulling herself onto the gate. "All right!" Reese called, holding his hand out to stop her. He locked gazes with Satan. "Wretched beast," he grumbled. He cleared his throat. "Ummm. It appears to be a chilly night." Reese scratched at his cheek. He glanced back at Jayce to see her watching him expectantly.

He felt ridiculous.

She urged him on with a gentle wave of her hand.

Reese turned back to the horse. "Why don't you wear this?"

The horse snorted and took a step away from him, pawing the ground.

"This isn't working," Reese growled immediately.

"Yes, it is," Jayce answered in a soft, coaxing voice. "You're doing fine. Try again."

Reese looked at the horse. "We wouldn't want you to catch your death, now would we?" There was thick sarcasm in his voice. "Now just stay put and we'll have this on you in a---" He took a step closer.

The animal whinnied and reared slightly. Reese stubbornly refused to move as the horse pranced closer to him.

"Not this time," he warned. "I won't tolerate your temperament. I know you don't much like me, and I could care even less for you. But it's for Jayce. Just stay still a moment longer and let me put this on you." He took a step closer, mumbling so only he and the horse could hear, "You wretched beast."

The warhorse swung his snout forward and hit Reese hard in the stomach. The air exploded out of his lungs and he fell backward onto his backside. Reese looked up to see the horse's sharp hooves pawing the air above him, kicking wildly just above his head.

# Chapter Fifteen

Satan's hooves slashed the air. But then the beast was gone, and in the animal's place was the apparition Reese had seen on the fence. He lay still for a moment, a stunned grogginess clouding his thoughts. The vision was standing very close to the horse. Then he realized this seraph was Jayce! The thought of her in the demon's pen sent tremors of terror racing through Reese's body. His mind cleared instantly, and he lunged forward, pulling her against his chest, rolling away from the monster. When his momentum stopped, Reese lifted his head to find Satan at the other side of the pen.

"I guess you're all right," Jayce murmured.

His gaze was drawn to her. She was trapped beneath him, and Reese became instantly aware of the press of her breasts against his chest. Desire flared in his veins. He scowled, angry that any woman could arouse his passion so completely and uncontrollably quick. "I told you to stay out of the pen," he growled after catching his breath.

"You were in trouble," she replied. "I---"

"I didn't need your help," he answered. Reese pushed himself from the ground and held a hand out to her.

Jayce sat up. Reese could see the same agony etched over her features as he had seen on the field of honor. She ignored his hand and stood, dusting her palms on her dress.

"Looks like your horse will have to go cold tonight," Reese said.

Jayce headed for the fence. "No he won't," she answered.

Confused, Reese glanced toward Satan. The blanket was draped over his back. Astonished, Reese turned back to Jayce to see her climbing over the fence.

"You dropped the blanket when he shoved you," she said. She eased her feet to the ground and headed toward the castle, leaving Reese standing alone in Satan's pen.

"I don't believe this," Reese muttered, absently rubbing his sore stomach.

*****

Unable to sleep that night because of deep blue eyes hovering in his mind and red parted lips that called to him and spoke his name, Reese went to the study to bury his mind in work, to try to exorcise his demons.

He stood and strode to the window to gaze out at the chilly evening sky. The sun had fled beneath the invading blackness, and the evening was peppered with small glistening stars. Reese felt an anxiousness stir his soul. Tendrils of cold blew in from the open window to wrap icy fingers around his strong form.

Suddenly, the door swung open on softly creaking hinges and he turned to see the woman who haunted his dreams enter the room. Jayce paused in the middle of the open doorway, her hands folded before her, her small frame dwarfed by the wide entranceway. Reese's breath caught in his throat, and his gaze traveled slowly over her; her hair was hidden beneath a sheer blue fabric, her figure curvaceous and regal, her shapely hips accented by a belt of rich velvet fabric that hung to the floor.

Reese stepped closer, thinking he must be imagining such beauty. But the closer he got, the lovelier she looked. Her blue eyes shone like beacons; her full lips were as red as cherries. He might just want to taste those cherries. He stopped immediately, realizing what the little nymph was doing to his senses.

"Oh, I'm sorry," she apologized. "I didn't know anyone was here. I saw the light and I was coming in to douse the candle." With her hands folded demurely, Jayce looked as innocent and pure and righteous as a damned saint.

Reese approached her, but moved around to the back of the table before he came too near her.

She stepped up to the table, her eyes scanning the parchment that lay scattered across it. "What are you doing?"

"There is a problem in the fields. Some of the men have been stricken with a fever and are unable to work."

"Is it serious?" Jayce wondered.

He shook his head. "The ones who have had the fever have recovered fully in about a week. If the fields are not fully seeded in two weeks' time, it will be too late."

"How many men are still ill?"

"Ten." His gaze swept her unwillingly. "But that's my concern." She was quite comely. Her petite figure was curvy, alluring and inviting. Her brown hair was neatly tucked under the coif, but Reese remembered the rebellious curls that had framed her face. And her face! God's blood! Her deep blue eyes reminded him of the ocean, the deepest part of it. The part you had to be careful you didn't drown in. He forced his gaze from her and his jaw clenched. He was angry for being forced to marry a woman he didn't love. He was angry with her for being so damned beautiful. "Had you no suitors?" he inquired suddenly.

"Suitors?"

"Men asking for your hand in marriage," he clarified dryly.

One dainty eyebrow rose. "Many," she replied defiantly.

Of course she did. How could she not have had men lining up to wed and bed her? Then, another thought occurred to him, and he clenched his fists. "Does a babe grow in your belly?"

Jayce straightened indignantly. Heat suffused her cheeks. "No," she retorted stiffly.

"Then why would your father go to such extremes to have me wed you?" he demanded. "It makes no sense."

"I don't know," she admitted, turning to glance at the parchment.

Reese swore he heard agony in her tone. "Jayce," he called. When she lifted those blue eyes to him, he forgot his words. He stood with his mouth open for a moment before shaking himself. "I cannot help but think I would never do this to a daughter of mine. She would be happy in her life, with her husband."

"Are you so sure I am not happy?" Jayce wondered.

Reese studied the simple dignity of her face. The honesty that shone from her eyes touched his heart. He shook his head. "You cannot be. You know nothing of me."

"I know you're an honorable man."

"A rich man," he added in a biting, accusing voice.

Her chin rose a notch. "Yes," she said. "A wealthy man."

"Perhaps that was why your father did this," he said. "To make sure you were well established, well taken care of. My wife will have luxuries you were never used to. Luxuries---"

"Well taken care of," she repeated, as if to herself. "Perhaps. And perhaps he didn't see you as a liar."

Reese stiffened to his full height, towering above her like a stone tower. "I am not a liar."

She reached across the table to touch his arm meaningfully. "You lied to my father."

He stared at her, trying desperately not to be moved by her touch. "You lied, too," he accused.

"I was protecting my husband," she answered. He began to shake his head, but she continued undaunted. "It was my duty to stand by you."

Reese's gaze was drawn by her parted lips. Any words she was about to say died as his gaze devoured her mouth as thoroughly as if he were kissing her. He turned away quickly and found his stare occupied by the ledgers of his farms.

"Perhaps you can use the alewives for the time being," Jayce suggested.

"What?" Reese asked.

Jayce pointed to the ledgers. "The alewives. Take some of them to work in the fields until the men are well. They won't be as skilled as the field workers, but they'll do for the time being."

"Women?" Reese asked dubiously.

"Their backs and arms might be sore because they're unused to the work, but give them a day of rest, and they won't protest as much."

"A day of rest?" Reese echoed with distaste. "Women are not made to do the job of men," he added imperiously.

Jayce shrugged and turned to move out the door, calling over her shoulder, "It will solve your problem."

Reese watched her go, staring at the empty doorway for a moment, then turned back to study his ledgers. "Alewives," he muttered incredulously under his breath.

*****

Early the next morning, Jayce leaned over the gate to Satan's pen, waving a carrot at the proud stallion that haughtily eyed the offered food. She dropped her arm in disappointment and lifted her eyes. Beyond the pen, out in the fields, Jayce noticed six alewives working alongside the men. She smiled in amazement.

She turned back to Satan, again offering him the carrot. The horse snorted, refusing the food. Finally, frustrated by the horse's disregard for her gift, Jayce straightened.

"He's not as easily fooled by your pretense at innocence."

Jayce whirled to find Morse approaching from a nearby barn. She clutched her hands before her, trying to still the unease that raced through her body.

Morse eyed the horse, then the gate. "How fitting to find you at the gate to hell."

Jayce scowled. "What do you want?"

Morse took a step toward her. "I should ask you that question."

Jayce tilted her head slightly in confusion. "I don't know what you mean."

"Tell me why you've come to Castle Harrington," Morse demanded. "Are you here to destroy my family?"

"Destroy...? No!" Jayce answered emphatically. "I came to wed Reese."

"By kidnapping Nicole?" Morse demanded.

"Do you think I would have come if I had known what my father had done? How do you think this makes me look? Do you think I wanted to live like this? A husband who wants nothing to do with me. No chance for a loving family, no chance for children." She looked away from him, blinking back the tears of shame that suddenly rose before her eyes.

"Such a touching act," he cooed richly. "I could almost believe you. Tell me, how long have you practiced that speech?"

Jayce straightened her back, her eyes narrowing. "I don't want your sympathy. What's done is done. And I, for one, intend to make the best of it."

"Make the best of what?" Morse asked. "By Reese's own words you are nothing more than a guest here at Castle Harrington."

"I am Reese's wife in the eyes of God."

Morse laughed sharply, his snicker spitting out from his mouth like a snake's venom. "Nowadays that doesn't count for much. Not with an annulment so easily paid for. And that is one thing we do not lack—coin, as you well know." He turned his back on her, his ugly chortle of contempt lingering in the air as he walked away.

Annulment. The word sent shivers down Jayce's spine. What would she do if Reese decided to annul their marriage? Where would she go?

She felt a warm wetness brush her hand, then she heard a crunch. She looked down to see she still held the carrot tightly in her fist but a large bite had been taken from the end of it. Jayce raised her eyes to see the black warhorse towering above her, munching noisily on the carrot. A grim grin came to her lips as she held the rest of the carrot out to him.

*****

When Jayce returned to her room, she was smiling softly to herself. She patted the pocket that held the few carrots left over from her victorious excursion, pleased with her little victory, then pushed the door open. And froze.

Reese stood in the middle of the room with his back to her. He filled the space with his presence like a sculptured god. His bronzed skin glistened in a ray of sunlight; dust particles shifted around him in the light, showering him in what looked like a splash of magical powder. His black hair just barely caressed his shoulders in a touch that made Jayce feel envious. His shirt was off, and he held a piece of material in his hands.

Jayce didn't realize until a moment later that the cloth was his leggings.

Her eyes dipped past his waist to his buttocks. They were rounded and firm. His long legs were well muscled. Her gaze traveled back up his body. His torso was strong, and she saw his shoulder muscles release as he drew himself up taller.

He slowly turned to face her. "Come in." His voice rumbled through her like a tremor. "And close the door."

# Chapter Sixteen

Jayce obeyed Reese without question, stepping into the room and closing the door behind her. It was only when she heard the soft thump of the door that she realized with a start what she had done. Shut herself in with a naked man. And not any naked man, but her husband.

She swallowed hard and pressed herself back against the wall.

A smile curved his lips before Reese moved to the bed and sat down, pulling on his leggings.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I didn't realize you were here."

"It's my room," he replied.

She swallowed again and could do no more than nod in agreement.

He pulled a white tunic over his head. "Where were you?" he demanded.

Jayce watched with a pang of remorse as his beautiful body disappeared beneath his tunic. "I didn't know you were looking for me," she responded.

"That wasn't my question," he said, picking up a string to thread through the "V" in the neck of his tunic.

Without thinking, Jayce stepped forward, taking the string from his hand. She stood before him, feeding the string through the first loop. "I was out walking. It's a beautiful morning, and I wanted to see it before the village woke. I---" She paused, realizing what she was doing. She lifted her gaze to meet his amused blue eyes. "Sorry." She dropped the string into his hand.

Reese eyed her, and Jayce had to drop her gaze beneath his intense perusal. "You were with Satan again, weren't you?"

"You told me to stay away from him." Nervously, she took a step back.

Reese's hand shot out, ensnaring her wrist. He rose before her like a god casting judgment and finding her lacking. He pulled her close to him.

Jayce's heart raced at his nearness. He was so strong. He smelled like leather and musk. His chest just barely touched the tips of her breasts and it sent swirls of desire and anticipation coursing through her. She stared into his blue eyes and found them smoldering like the blue at the center of a flame. For a breathless moment she waited. She felt his hand skim her waist to her thigh.

"Then what's this?" he asked softly, and patted her pocket.

"My leg," she whispered.

A low rumble sounded from his throat, and his eyes lit up. Jayce had never seen a more wondrous sight. Her heart melted into a pool of contentment.

Reese pulled a carrot out of her pocket and displayed it before her eyes.

For a moment, Jayce frowned in confusion, her foggy mind refusing to relinquish the tenderness in his eyes. Then the cold realization of where the carrot had come from jarred her. She fumbled for a coherent thought. "I---I happen to like carrots," she bridled. She grabbed the carrot from him and took a bite.

"What a strange coincidence. So does Satan."

"He's a wonderful horse, Reese. It would be such a shame to destroy him. He's so smart and spirited and beautiful. I know he can be tamed. You're just going about it all the wrong way. I---"

Reese lifted a finger and touched it to her lips, silencing her. His finger trailed the shape of her lips and moved over her cheek to her jaw. "Satan will live. But only until you tire of him."

Jayce's lips tingled where he had caressed them. She stared into his eyes, wanting more, but unsure of what.

Reese stepped back from her, pulling his hand away. "But I don't want you near him unless I'm with you."

As he moved away, Jayce felt the contentment in her heart drain away. "Reese!" Jayce called, suddenly very desperate for him to remain at her side.

Reese paused at the doorway.

She fumbled with her whirling thoughts for a moment before asking, "If my father hadn't taken Nicole, would you have courted me?"

A sad smile curved the corners of his lips. "I would not have known you then." He turned and was gone.

# Chapter Seventeen

Two days later, Reese found himself once again outside Satan's pen, leaning against the fence, his arms resting on the top rail. He saw the impetuous girl grin as the horrid creature took another carrot from her hand. She reached out and actually patted the beast's nose. Reese snorted. He had owned Satan for six months and couldn't even get near the fiend.

He shook his head in complete disbelief as the horse nuzzled its head against Jayce's hand. "Wretched beast," Reese grumbled, and looked away from the touching scene. Something in it disturbed him. Something that had nothing to do with the horse. He had watched her work with the animal, cooing and talking to it for an hour and a half. One might think he had nothing better to do than to watch her handle Satan. One might think he was slack in his care of his lands when all he could do was stand at the fence and stare at Jayce.

He envied the damn horse. And that thought disturbed him much more than what others might think.

"Try it."

Reese lifted his head to see Jayce holding a carrot out to him, an encouraging grin on her red lips. He almost reached out and took the carrot, enchanted enough to do her bidding. But then the animal snickered, and Reese turned his gaze to it. A snarl curled his lips. "I don't think so."

"You have to try someday," Jayce said.

"I do not bribe animals into becoming tame," he proclaimed, crossing his arms over his chest.

"No, you whip them and beat them into submission. That's no way to gain loyalty."

Reese opened his mouth to object, a scowl crossing his dark brow.

"Let me show you something," Jayce said, overriding his objection.

To his horror, the little imp ducked beneath the rails and moved into the pen. "What do you think you're doing?" Reese demanded. "Leave there at once."

"Don't worry," Jayce assured him. "Satan won't hurt me."

"That remains to be seen," Reese warned. "Get out of there now."

"Most creatures respond better to kindness than to a whipping." She approached Satan with her hand outstretched.

The horse whinnied and raised his hoof, smashing the ground and splaying up a cloud of dirt. A thunderous panic rang in Reese's ears. He gripped the fence so tightly his knuckles turned white. "Jayce, don't."

She moved up to the horse and it towered over her, steam coming from its nostrils, fire from its mouth. Reese boosted himself up onto the fence, ready to bolt over it to save Jayce.

Jayce reached over the horse, stroking its mane. She grabbed a handful of its hair and in one movement, hauled herself onto the animal's back.

Reese's heart lurched into his throat and he leapt the fence, racing toward Jayce only to find her staring down at him from atop the creature. It suddenly became clear as daylight to Reese. They were cohorts. She had been here many times before, talking to the beast, selling her soul to ride the demon.

Reese gritted his teeth. "I told you not to come here without me."

"I never would have gotten to this point with you brooding at the gate and glowering when I tried to do anything. Besides," she said, calmly stroking the horse's mane, "you make Satan nervous."

"I---!" That was the final straw. He approached her with a dark look. But Satan pawed the earth in warning, and Reese came up short, knowing the animal could trample him in a moment. "Get down from there," he called.

Jayce lifted her eyes to him. Those blue orbs shone at him, and Reese realized that the nervousness he felt in the pit of his stomach was for her safety. He would have done anything to get the girl from the devil's back. He would have battled a thousand men to see her safe. But he knew that his grim resolve would not get her from the beast's back. He gritted his teeth again. "Please," he said begrudgingly.

Jayce slid down Satan's side, and Reese grabbed her hand, pulling her away from the horse. "Are you mad?" he demanded. "He could have trampled you! He could have thrown you, and you could have broken your neck!"

Jayce stared at him sympathetically. "You don't have to be afraid of Satan."

"Afraid?" Reese snorted. "I'm not afraid."

She grabbed a blanket off the fence and shoved it into his arms. Reese stared down at it. Then, with determination, he lifted his gaze to Satan. The horse stared at Reese, watching him out of distrustful eyes.

Reese opened the blanket, cautiously approaching.

"Talk to him," Jayce encouraged.

"What do you say to an arrogant, willful---"

"Reese," Jayce warned.

Reese grimaced. "Traitor," he murmured at the horse. "How could you let a woman tame you?" But Reese knew how. He had to but look into Jayce's eyes to be captured by the spell of her beauty. Perhaps he had more in common with the horse than he realized. "Easy," Reese whispered. "I won't hurt you. All I have to do is slip this over your back."

Reese carefully stepped up beside the horse. The animal nickered softly as Reese slowly, painfully slowly, eased the blanket onto his back. "That's a good boy," he soothed. "You're doing fine." He stood for a long moment, unable to move. Finally, he straightened a corner of the blanket and quietly stepped away from the horse.

Reese backed to the gate, refusing to take his eyes from the horse, sure that at any moment he would charge him and try to trample him beneath his hooves. But the horse didn't move. It stood absolutely still, just watching Reese with dark eyes that mirrored the sun in their depths.

Reese joined Jayce at the fence. He shook his head in bemusement, casting one last glance over his shoulder at Satan. When he looked down at Jayce, he found her beaming a smile up at him. It was a smile filled with pride. "Come on," he commanded, and headed back toward the castle.

Jayce quickly took up step beside him. In all the time Reese had owned the damned beast, he hadn't been able to get within five steps of the animal. Satan had knocked him to the ground more than once. But under Jayce's guidance, he had actually put a blanket on the stubborn horse. Reese smiled in disbelief.

"Now you're ready to ride him," Jayce commented.

He looked at Jayce in wonderment, then shook his head. "I don't think so. Putting a blanket on him is one thing. Riding the monster is another."

# Chapter Eighteen

Jayce gazed out into the black night, content for the first time since she had arrived. Perhaps, just perhaps, there was hope yet. Reese didn't hate her as he had when she first arrived. A fond smile touched her lips. And she wasn't quite so afraid of him.

A rumble of thunder jarred her out of her reverie and she stumbled away from the window, staring into the darkness outside the castle. It was mere seconds before lightning lit the sky like a torch.

Jayce grabbed a blanket from the bed and raced from the room toward the great hall. It was late at night, and she knew there would be hardly anyone there. But there would be a fire in the hearth. Perhaps its warmth would ease the chill cocooning her body.

As she descended the stairs, all but running, she drew the blanket tightly around her shoulders. A crash of thunder spurred her on to a frantic pace and she almost tripped, but caught herself on the stone wall of the castle. She ran the rest of the way to the great hall, bursting through the doors.

The room was empty and she padded across the hall toward the inviting flames. She heard the wind pick up outside, howling its fury, and rushed toward the protective warmth of the hearth. She didn't see the man sitting before the flames until she was almost beside him.

Reese looked up as she skidded to a halt. Those blue eyes swept her, and he was out of his chair, seizing her shoulders before she could think coherently.

"What's wrong?" he demanded.

She swallowed hard, trying to find comfort in his eyes. For a long moment, she couldn't speak, couldn't move. She wanted to curl into his embrace.

Thunder boomed around her and the castle seemed to shake. She glanced up at the ceiling, half-expecting the walls to come tumbling down around her.

"Jayce?"

She returned her frightened gaze to Reese, pulling the blanket tightly around her throat.

"You're trembling," he observed.

Jayce opened her mouth to reply, but there was nothing to tell him. No words came out.

Another grumble of thunder filled the night, and she instinctively stepped closer to Reese.

He took her elbow and led her to a chair near his. He set her into it and knelt before her. "Are you all right?"

Jayce nodded tentatively.

Reese reached up and brushed a lock of hair from her cheek.

At the soft caress, Jayce lowered her gaze from the ceiling to his face. He gently disentangled her hands from the blanket and held them in his own. His hands were so much larger than hers; they covered hers completely, engulfing them in a sheltered warmth. She watched his hands enfold her own. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "You must think I'm a horribly weak person."

"No," he whispered, leaning toward her.

Thunder rumbled in the air, and her grip tightened around his. "I've been afraid of storms all my life," she said softly. "The thunder, the wind, the rain. It's so loud..."

Reese leaned forward and brushed a kiss against her lips, quieting her words. When he pulled back, it wasn't far. His blue eyes filled her vision. Their noses touched, and his breath fanned across her mouth. Jayce parted her lips to speak, but nothing came out.

Reese leaned toward her, pressing his lips to hers in a more demanding kiss. He covered her mouth with his, and she was shocked at the desire that flamed to life inside her. Her stomach swirled, as did her entire world.

She felt his hands move up her arms, pulling her closer. She was suddenly so lost in the tumult of emotions raging through her she didn't even hear the loud crack of thunder that filled the castle.

*****

Reese crushed Jayce to him, enticing her to open to his exploration. When she parted her lips tentatively, he took the invitation and thrust his tongue into her mouth, tasting her sweetness. His hands cupped her face, tilting her chin up to meet his desperate kiss. He groaned softly. She was heavenly. She tasted of warm honey and sweet innocence. He kissed her chin and trailed kisses down her neck. He wanted her like he had never wanted anything before.

She was his world, the center of his universe. She was... his wife. The recollection shattered the shell of deception he was immersing himself in. He froze, then pulled away from her.

He saw the confusion in her priceless eyes, saw the hurt. He looked away from her and stood. "Jayce," he said, the word like a groan of denial. "I'm sorry... but I can't take you as my wife."

He chanced a look at her. She was nestled in the chair, wrapped in a warm blanket, her lips swollen from his heated kiss.

Jayce rose stiffly. He could see the pain he was causing her in her trembling lower lip. If she were any other woman, he knew she would burst into tears and flee from him. But not his Jayce. She stood righteously before him, her chin angled in a brilliant show of determination.

"Why are you doing this to me?" she whispered harshly. "If you despise me so, then---"

"I don't despise you," he interrupted, and was shocked at the tenderness in his voice. He stepped toward her, meaning to comfort her.

But she took a step away from him, banging into the chair, sending it toppling to the floor. "But you can't love me. And if you can't, then what future is there for us?"

Love? Reese wondered. Future? What future did they have together? Hadn't he asked himself that question time and again? A loveless marriage. His father's agonized visage rose before his mind's eye. It was not a life he would submit himself to. His wife would be devoted to him completely, so in love with him that she would not think of looking at another man. Jayce already commanded Dylan's devotion. Who else would fall victim to her charm?

Reese turned away from her.

Thunder growled through the castle like a stalking lion. A log in the fire crackled and popped. The wind screeched outside the fortress.

Reese heard her footsteps and whirled, finding her fleeing toward the kitchens, the blanket still wrapped about her shoulders. Her long dark hair whipped out behind her like the flag of a retreating enemy.

Reese knew he should go after her. She was frightened of the storm, with no one to turn to. His heart began to hammer in his chest. Alone. He knew what it was like to be alone. Truly alone. He had lain in his bed after his mother had died, heir to Castle Harrington, frightened, overwhelmed. And very much alone.

Thunder scolded him from the heavens.

Reese shot out of the chair and found himself running toward the kitchens.

# Chapter Nineteen

Jayce wasn't really sure where she was going. She fled through the castle, searching for a safe spot where she could sit out the storm. But her vision kept blurring and the rumble of thunder was growing louder, confusing her senses. As a flash of lightning lit the hallway, Jayce ducked into a room, covering her ears against the crash of thunder. She pressed her back to the wooden door, waiting and praying, pulling the blanket tighter around her.

"Sweetheart," her father had said. "Your mother... she can't be with you anymore."

A fierce crash resounded around the castle, and Jayce swore she felt the stone structure tremble.

"Father," she whispered, "how could you leave me here? Why would you give me to a man who wants nothing to do with me? A man who can't love me?"

The warmth of a single candle fluttered briefly, drawing her gaze. Jayce stepped toward the heat, hoping that somehow it would erase the sudden chill engulfing her body.

"Perhaps your father didn't want you, either," a voice mocked from the doorway.

Jayce turned unsteadily, recognizing the voice. She swiped at the tears on her cheeks and faced Morse as bravely as her trembling limbs would allow.

Morse leaned against the door frame, eyeing her with an icy disdain. "Perhaps I was wrong as to how seductive you can be," he snarled, taking a step toward her. "I thought that my brother's heart was dead. I thought that he was made of stronger stuff. But when I saw the two of you locked in that sinful kiss, I knew he had succumbed to your wiles." He circled her like a panther eyeing a frightened rabbit.

Jayce stepped forward to leave the room, but Morse moved to block her path and she pulled back.

"I think it's time to end this farce, my lady," he said bitterly.

Jayce watched him warily.

"Reese can't love you," he told her, "and he never will."

"It doesn't matter whether he loves me or not," Jayce insisted, knowing it was a lie. She realized with a jolt she had begun to care for Reese. To look at him as a friend. As more than just her husband. "I am his wife," she said out loud, with more conviction than she had ever felt.

Morse chuckled at her. "For the time being anyway."

Her confidence slipped a notch and she watched him warily.

Morse walked around her to the desk. She didn't turn to watch him, but heard the shuffling of papers. Dread slithered up her spine.

Suddenly, he shoved a piece of parchment at her from behind. Jayce jumped, stifling a scream. She pulled the blanket around her neck, trying to seal off the chill creeping through her body, even as she reached for the parchment. She scanned the quickly stenciled letter... and froze. Her heart refused to beat. Her breath refused to come.

"You see, Reese never intended to honor your marriage," Morse hissed in her ear. "He doesn't love you. He never will."

The castle rocked with a crash of thunder as Jayce's heart shattered.

The parchment she held was a letter to the king, requesting an annulment of their marriage.

She crumpled the parchment in her fist, lifting tear-filled eyes to Morse. Her entire body was shaking, but it had nothing to do with fear. She tossed the balled-up parchment at him and the paper bounced off Morse's chest, then rolled across the floor to rest back at her feet.

Morse grinned a terrible grin.

Jayce fled from the room, afraid that her pounding heart would burst from her chest if she didn't move, if she didn't do something. Anything. She just knew she had to get away from Morse, from Reese, from the castle.

Morse's horrible laughter followed her down the hallway.

# Chapter Twenty

Reese raced through the castle, his search growing desperate. He pushed open the door to his study, his frantic hunt encompassing every room. He came to a halt as he entered the room, his eyes narrowing on his brother like pinpoints of light. Morse sat behind the large wooden table, his feet crossed on top of a pile of parchment. He had a strange grin on his face that sent a sinking feeling down into the pit of Reese's stomach. Reese's fists clenched; every muscle in his body tensed.

Morse tossed a balled-up piece of parchment up and down in the air, catching it deftly with one hand. "All our problems have been solved, brother," he said casually, laughing.

Reese launched himself at Morse, grabbing his tunic and pulling him to his feet. The sheets of parchment on the table scattered in every direction. "Where is she?" he demanded.

"Reese---" Morse began, the laughter gone from his face. "I---"

Reese shook him hard. "If you've hurt her, I'll kill you, you bastard."

Morse's eyes rounded in shocked disbelief. "You said you didn't care about her!" he exclaimed. "You said she meant nothing to you!"

Reese shoved his snarling visage at his brother. "Where is she?"

Morse gaped at him for a long moment, unable to speak. Finally, he said, "She left."

"Where, damn you?" Reese growled.

"I don't know," Morse answered quickly.

"What did you do to her?" Reese demanded. "Did you hurt her?"

"No, I---"

Reese shook him again. "What did you do?"

Morse's hand rose, palm up, displaying the crumpled ball of parchment.

Reese's eyes shifted to the paper. In the wadded-up mess that the parchment had become, Reese made out some of the words... imploring... kindly... annulment.

Complete and utter dread swept through him. God's blood! He lifted enraged eyes to his brother. Morse had shown Jayce the letter! An unbelievable rage consumed him, blinding him with its lashing ferocity. With a furious howl, Reese tossed Morse aside and raced out of the room.

The storm outside had continued to lash the lands, only intensifying Reese's sense of urgency. He ran to the main doors of the castle and threw them open. He stood stiffly as the rain pelted his face and the wind whipped his hair about his shoulders. His fingers curled into his palms. She was out there. Terrified. Alone. He had driven her away with his cold denials, his firm resolve against a loveless marriage. He cursed himself for a fool. He could never have thought that a woman forced on him could come to mean as much to him as Jayce did. Reese clenched his teeth and tossed his head back. "Jayce!" he shouted, as lightning ripped the sky.

He moved forward, his tense gait turning into a full-fledged run by the time he reached the outer gatehouse. As he reached the road into the village, he paused to scan the countryside. The rain splashed his face, soaked his tunic. Where can she have gone? he wondered. She could be anywhere. He needed to search the surrounding lands quickly.

Thunder boomed through the air. Then, his gaze settled on the fenced area housing Satan. He raced toward the beast's lair before he had formed the thought to do it.

He reached the fence, wiping the blinding rain from his eyes. But the gate was closed. His eyes searched the yard for the monster. The warhorse stood in the middle of the yard, the rain seeming to have no effect on him. His black mane was saturated, hanging down in thick strands. It was the first time he had ever been glad to see the beast.

Reese climbed the fence, all but throwing himself over the top. He landed on his feet in the pen and approached the horse, determination clenching his fists. He needed a horse, and he needed one fast. The stables were back inside the castle grounds, closed up for the night. It would take too much time to return.

Satan snorted and shook his head as Reese approached, water sloshing from his wet mane.

Every instinct told Reese to make a fist and club the animal in the snout, demanding his obedience. But the memory of Jayce stroking the animal and speaking gently to it came to the forefront of his thoughts. Reese reached out to the horse's mane, expecting the animal to try to bite him. But Satan didn't move. "Good boy," Reese told him. "Jayce is out there, and I have to find her."

Thunder exploded overhead and Satan skittered nervously, rearing back from Reese. "Easy, boy," Reese quickly said, stroking the nervous animal's hide. The horse calmed under his touch and Reese pulled himself up onto the horse's bare back.

Satan moved beneath his direction, toward the closed gate. Reese reached out and slid the rope off the end, kicking the gate door open with his foot. With a tug on his mane, and a gentle nudge with his foot, Reese guided Satan out of the fenced yard and onto the road.

"Now let's go find my wife," he told Satan, and spurred the animal on.

# Chapter Twenty-One

Nicole passed the study and saw Morse sitting at the table, his head buried in his hands. Parchment littered the floor. She paused in the doorway until he lifted distraught eyes to her. Apprehension swept through Nicole, and she entered the room, moving quickly to the table. "What is it, Morse?" she demanded. "What's happened?"

Morse shook his head and turned away from her. "I did what I felt was right."

Nicole scowled. Did he and Reese have another fight? "Morse," she said kindly. "You know Reese loves you."

Morse pushed the chair back and rose. "It has nothing to do with that." He looked at her, and Nicole was shocked at the suffering she saw in his eyes. "I thought he didn't care for her. I didn't know." He dropped his chin to his chest. "I didn't know."

"What did you do?" Nicole gasped, understanding instantly who he was speaking of.

Morse didn't look at her. "I showed her an annulment letter Reese had written."

Nicole's mouth dropped open. "Oh, Morse!" she exploded. "What happened?"

Morse shook his head. "She left."

"Left? Where?" Nicole's stomach dropped. She grabbed his tunic in her fist. "Where did she go?"

Morse shrugged. "I'm not sure. I don't know."

Nicole released him and raced for the door, cursing his interference. If she had only had a little more time!

"Reese went after her." Morse's words halted her.

Slowly, Nicole turned to him. "Are you sure?"

Morse nodded.

Nicole returned to stand before him, nervously worrying her lip with her teeth. She sighed desperately. "This is all my fault," she murmured.

Morse's brows furrowed. "It's not your fault you were kidnapped."

Nicole began to chew on one of her fingernails.

"It's not your fault Reese was forced into marriage," Morse added.

Nicole ripped off the tip of her nail with her teeth, glancing at him. She spit the fingernail on the floor. "This is all his fault," she whispered to herself. "If he wasn't such a brute, there would have been dozens of women lining up to marry him."

Morse studied his sister dubiously. "What are you talking about, Nicole?"

She stopped and faced him. "I wasn't kidnapped," she admitted.

Morse frowned. "What do you mean you weren't kidnapped? Reese received a ransom note. Specific instructions that if he didn't marry Jayce---"

"It was my idea. Cullen and I set up the whole thing."

Morse shot up out of his chair. "What?!"

"We met a year ago at Tournament," Nicole rushed on. "Cullen pointed Jayce out to me as she sat in the stands. She was beautiful and lively. When he told me she was spirited, too, I told him that Jayce was exactly someone Reese needed to keep him in line. That's when Cullen mentioned he was looking for a husband for her. Well, at first I thought that for sure all Cullen needed to do was petition Reese to marry Jayce. But when that failed, Cullen and I came up with the kidnapping plan." Nicole stared at Morse desperately. "I never intended anyone to get hurt."

Morse shook his head. "Oh, Nicole," he gasped. "Reese is going to kill you."

She straightened slightly, indignantly. "Only after he kills you." Nicole closed her eyes in anguish. "What did you have to show her that letter for?"

"I thought I was doing us all a favor. Apparently I was mistaken," he grumbled, lifting his eyes to meet Nicole's. "Gravely mistaken."

# Chapter Twenty-Two

Jayce huddled beneath a tree, her knees drawn up to her chest, her hands wrapped tightly around herself. She shivered as the wind picked up and whipped around her like a cold cape. Her body was saturated from the continuous rain. Her clothing hung heavily against her. Her dark hair was wet and weighty, forming a curtain of damp strands around her face.

She sniffed again. She had wanted her marriage to work. She had done everything in her power to be loyal to Reese. Her body shook again, but it had nothing to do with the cold. She remembered the smile that lit his face, a smile that had melted her heart. She recalled the admiration in his eyes when she had stood before him on the field of honor. But despite all of this, he still did not love her. He still did not want to be her husband.

Her trembling fingertips brushed her lips. His kiss had transported her to a realm of safety; his arms had encompassed her in a shelter of strength. It had been the only time the storm was completely out of her mind.

Thunder ripped the sky and Jayce jumped, crying out. Sobs tore at her body; fear ate what was left of her heart.

Lightning speared the ground nearby, and Jayce bolted to her feet. As she raced blindly through the night, the rain pelted her body like stones being thrown at an outcast criminal. Her dress hung on her, pulling at her shoulders. She tried to lift her skirt so she could run, but her hands were trembling so fiercely she couldn't manage to keep hold of it. The material slipped from her hands and she tripped over the hem, plummeting to the earth amidst the crack of thunder. Her hands skidded along the ground through the slick mud, and she went down on her stomach. Jayce lay with her cheek to the wet earth, sobbing.

Reese, her mind called. But she knew he would not come.

She pushed herself to her feet, struggling to regain her footing. The wind lashed at her, sending strands of her wet hair whipping into her face, her eyes. She raised her hands to block the lashing of her hair and the rain.

Suddenly, a roar filled her ears. The wind grew to Herculean proportions, pushing her around like a puppet. Jayce whirled to see a barrage of twisted, torn branches come flying through the air toward her as if nature herself had decided to attack with a swarm of arrows.

Jayce screamed and covered her face with her arms.

# Chapter Twenty-Three

"No!" Reese cried out as he saw the swarm of twisted, gnarled branches soaring towards Jayce. He sent Satan surging towards her and reached Jayce just in time to yank her out of the path of the deadly debris. The sharp-edged sticks shattered against nearby tree trunks, splintering into hundreds of pieces.

Reese leapt from Satan and scooped Jayce into his arms, sheltering her from the roaring winds and battering branches. He held her tightly, clenching his eyes shut. With every beat of his heart, he prayed she was all right. He was afraid to look down into her face, afraid the little whirlwind of life would be gone.

He held her against his heart. How blind had he been? How foolish that he couldn't see how much she meant to him? That he couldn't realize what a perfect wife she would make? That he couldn't understand how much he loved her? A growl of anguish tore loose from his throat.

"Oh, Jayce," he whispered. "Forgive me. Please forgive me." He kissed her cheek and her eyes. "I've been so stupid. So blind. I love you," he moaned. "I love you." He pressed a kiss to the side of her throat, to her chin, to her cheek.

Then he felt her move. Her hand slid over his back, around his shoulder.

Reese pulled away, gazing down into her face. Her skin was wet, and Reese tried to dry it with his tunic sleeve, but he quickly realized how useless that was a second after he ran the rain-soaked fabric across her cheeks.

Jayce's eyelids fluttered and then, like the sun emerging from behind a dark cloud, her eyes opened. She stared at him for a long moment with those deep blue eyes, her gaze moving over his face. Reese's agonized stare drank in her beauty, her glorious lips, her wondrous eyes; he drank like a man who had been stranded in the desert and was suddenly given a flask of cool water to quench his parched throat. He bent and pressed a kiss to her forehead, then to her lips, murmuring, "Jayce. Oh, Jayce." His arms engulfed her, drawing her closer. He coaxed her to open to his kiss and she obeyed. As he tasted the sweet recesses of her mouth, his blood pounded through his veins. His relief and frustration gave way to a fierce and fiery passion that consumed him.

Her kiss swept him like the lashing winds of a storm; her hands swirled around him, pulling at his shoulders. But the fury of these winds was something he never wanted to abate.

Frantically, Reese pushed at her dress, sweeping it aside to reveal her glorious breast. He lowered his lips to the tip, licking and sucking it with an intensity beyond reason, beyond comprehension.

Lightning flashed and sizzled all around them.

Reese's other hand traced the curve of her back, down to her rounded bottom, pulling her tight against him.

Jayce groaned beneath his touches, running her hands through his wet hair, over his strong shoulders.

Rain cascaded around them, splashing through the trees, drenching them.

Reese eased her dress up, higher and higher until he touched her naked thigh and she gasped, touching his hand. The rain made the path slick and smooth, inflaming his already uncontrollable passion.

He blazed a trail of hot kisses down her neck, over the soft ridge of her collarbone. In the next instant his passion rose to tidal-wave heights as he reached down and unlaced his leggings, freeing his manhood. He was burning with a raw want, a desire so desperate, that it boiled his blood, searing his very skin. He barely heard the clap of thunder, didn't see anything but two round pools of blue staring at him with the same desire, the same passion. It was as if they were one.

His hand moved across her womanly curves to the opposite thigh, reveling in the feel of her body. She instinctively arched toward his hand. Reese lowered himself to her, claiming her kiss-swollen, rain-wet lips in a final attempt at control.

She groaned and squirmed beneath him.

He felt her wetness against his manhood and moved forward to feel the heat of her core. He clenched his teeth, fighting a losing battle against the raging want threatening to sweep him away before he had claimed her. Then he thrust forward, driving into her. He felt her stiffen beneath him, felt the pain that pierced her body.

Reese groaned softly in anguish at having caused her further hurt.

Jayce moved her hips in a slow, tentative movement.

Reese couldn't help himself. He moved with her, and, like a summer storm, the tempo built until Jayce matched his thrusts, raising her hips to welcome him. Reese kissed her savagely, hungrily devouring her.

As Reese watched, her face blossomed beneath the rain, and contented joy spread across her features. Thunder boomed in the sky, rocking her body with its might. Reese heard Jayce cry out as the heavens shattered around her.

Lightning lit up the sky, illuminating Jayce's face. Reese had never witnessed a more captivating sight, a more wondrously glorious vision. Then, thunder rocked the ground, and he stiffened, exploding into her.

*****

When Jayce opened her eyes, she found herself lying beneath Reese, sheltered from the pelting rain by his body.

He wore a grin on his face and a dark look in his eyes that promised much, much more.

A shy smile curved Jayce's lips.

He scooped her up into his arms and trapped her tightly against his body. "Are you hurt?" he asked.

She shook her head.

As he bent over her, drops of water fell from his face and trailed down her cheek like tears. "I'm so sorry, Jayce," Reese whispered. "I've been a brute to you. There's no reason for it. I've treated you horribly. I'm sorry."

Jayce stared up at him and he averted his eyes.

"I never intended to have our marriage annulled," Reese told her. "I wrote that letter before you arrived at Castle Harrington. But once I laid eyes on you I knew..."

"Knew what?" Jayce wondered.

Reese swallowed hard and lifted his gaze to lock with hers. "I knew I wasn't going to have our marriage annulled," he admitted.

"But you said---"

"I've been a fool. The biggest fool there is."

"No," Jayce stopped his confession, pressing her fingertips to his lips. "Not a fool. A man trying to live by his honor. It was unforgivable what my father did to you. Had I known---"

"I owe him everything. Had he not kidnapped Nicole, had he not forced me to marry you, I never would have known you. And that would have been the greatest loss of my life." He swept her up into his arms, pressing his lips to hers.

Thunder quaked in the sky, but Jayce was no longer frightened. Now, the memory of thunder would not be linked to her mother's death, but would be wedded to a new beginning.

Reese walked to his horse and gently placed her on Satan.

Jayce gasped. "You rode Satan!"

"I'm just full of surprises," he murmured, still holding her hand tightly in his own. He gazed up at her adoringly. "You are now truly the lady of Castle Harrington," Reese proclaimed softly. "I would like nothing more than the honor of having you as my wife."

The smile that filled her heart and soul and face was unquenchable. "Oh, Reese," she sighed. "You've had my hand and my heart since the day we met."

As Jayce gazed into her husband's contented eyes, she knew that she had tamed her brute.

The End

# Thank You

Thank you for reading The Bride and The Brute! I wanted to give this novella away free to my readers as a way of saying thank you for choosing my books. I hope you enjoyed this story. I'd love to hear what you thought of my novels.

Please drop me an email at my website – www.laurel-odonnell.com

Laurel O'Donnell

# Laurel O'Donnell Book List and Excerpts

You can read a brief excerpt and sample chapters from each of the books listed below by continuing through the ebook or clicking the Excerpt or Sample Chapters links. You will also find a cover gallery for the books below as well.

Medieval Romance Novels:

The Angel and the Prince - Excerpt - Sample Chapters

In this exciting medieval romance, the French lady knight known as the Angel of Death wages a battle of wills and desires against her dreaded enemy --- the English warrior known as the Prince of Darkness. An epic medieval romance.

Champion of the Heart - Excerpt - Sample Chapters

Fox Mercer watches in horror as his father's knighthood, lands and nobility are all torn from him. Banished into disgrace, Fox waits for the moment to strike to avenge his family's honor. And that moment arises when a tournament is announced --- a battle of champions wherein the winner gets to claim a very lovely prize...

A Knight of Honor - Excerpt - Sample Chapters

Taylor Sullivan is a raven-haired hellion fleeing the flames that destroyed her family. She arms herself with a quick sword and a sharp tongue, hiring herself out as a mercenary, willing to do whatever it takes to survive. Slane Donovan is a knight of honor, sworn to uphold his oath and his word. He seeks the woman who wears the Sullivan ring, determined to bring her back to Castle Donovan. A fast paced medieval romance filled with action.

Midnight Shadow - Excerpt - Sample Chapters

Disguised as the legendary hero known as the Midnight Shadow, Lady Bria Delaney swears to rid the land of Lord Terran Knowles' cruel tyranny. She is stunned to encounter him in her father's castle --- one of the many suitors vying for her hand. Captivated by his darkly intent gaze, Bria struggles to suppress her fierce attraction to the very enemy she has secretly promised to destroy. A Robin-Hood style medieval romance with a twist.

The Lady and the Falconer - Excerpt - Sample Chapters

A mysterious falconer infiltrates Castle Fulton during a siege, intent on reclaiming what is rightfully his. When the handsome stranger lays eyes and hands on Lady Solace Farindale, all of his plans of revenge start to crumble around him...

Paranormal Romance Novels:

Immortal Death - Excerpt

Jade Smith's supernaturally fast ability to heal has made her a freak. After years of fearful reactions from others, she stays hidden in the shadows of life. The one thing that keeps her sane is her writing -- and her wonderful Demetrius, an imaginary vampire fighter character she created in her online stories. But when Demetrius suddenly appears in her apartment, her life changes forever...

Urban Fantasy:

Lost Souls: Resurrection - Episode 1 - Excerpt

The first episode in the new urban fantasy series: Lost Souls.

Christian Thompson is killed but refuses to pass into the afterlife because of his need to shelter his daughter from her cruel mother. He soon discovers there are others like him, other spirits trapped between the world of the living and the dead. He joins the Lost Souls in their struggle against a dark evil that threatens them all.

The Angel and the Prince - Excerpt

Ryen moved closer, slowly, her gaze appraising him, his body. He was no disappointment there. The urge to touch him was overwhelming. She stretched her fingers toward him and touched the hair on his naked chest, running her hands along his torso, marveling at the size of his muscles. They were hard, sculptured curves of warm flesh. Magnificent, she thought. The smell of him, the heady musky scent of him, enveloped her.

Her prisoner stirred, his head moving slightly from side to side, as if he were struggling to clear his mind. His head slowly lifted. A thrill of anticipation touched Ryen's spine as his dark eyes, the eyes of midnight, rose like the moon to gleam at her.

"Enjoying yourself?" he asked, his voice low, suggestive.

Through the darkness he wore like a veil, she saw the flash of his white teeth. Ryen pulled her hands away and watched the shadows slide off his features as his face slowly came into the flame's light. A shiver snaked its way up her spine. The candlelight revealed a sensual mouth with a cynical twist to it, a Spartan chin hewn from an ancient line of warriors.

Ryen realized that she had been holding her breath and released it slowly in admiration. She could not believe the sight that greeted her. This is the man who was born without a heart? The man who is in league with the devil? The most feared barbarian in all of England?

Then how can he be so handsome?

The Angel and the Prince Bonus Chapters Preview

Champion of the Heart - Excerpt

"I told you before you could not escape," he whispered hotly.

He held her firmly against the wall, his body pressed against hers.

Jordan knew he spoke the truth, but not the truth as he believed it. It was the truth as she knew it. How could she escape from Fox? And how could her children ever depend on her again if she couldn't fight to get to them? She couldn't hold even a trembling dagger to Fox. Uselessness, frustration, and helplessness all welled up inside her, spinning and churning until Jordan couldn't keep her feelings inside. Warm tears slipped from her eyes and dripped onto her cheeks, and her body trembled with a sob.

Fox placed a finger under her chin and lifted her face to his, studying it for an eternal moment in which Jordan fought hard to bury her feelings. She lifted her chin slightly, waiting for his scorn, waiting for his berating words.

But when the silence stretched on, she lifted her gaze to his. She was unprepared for the tenderness she saw in those blue depths. He lifted a finger to trace the path of one of her tears. Then he pulled his hand away from her, slowly rubbing the tear in his fingers, staring at the glistening drop for a moment.

His blue eyes seemed confused, and a slight scowl marred his brow as he continued to inspect the tear on his fingertip. Then he looked at her again and his gaze swept every inch of her face. A warmth spread throughout her body that suddenly brought her senses to life, sharpening them. The muscles in his strong chest pressed against her breasts. The power in his thighs crushed against her. And something dangerous stirred inside her -- something powerful threatened to engulf her.

Her vision dropped to his lips, lips that were so sensual, so entrancing. Lips that were slowly moving closer and closer.

Jordan didn't fight him; she wanted to feel his kiss. She wanted the intoxicating feeling rushing through her body to grow. His kiss would only make the dangerously delicious sensation run wild inside of her.

And then his lips closed over hers, a startlingly gentle caress, a warm, wet brush of his lips. But with that simple touch, exhilaration filled Jordan's body. It was unlike anything she had ever felt, tender and warm, but filled with a fiery spice all the same.

Then his tongue touched her lips, gently sliding along the length of her mouth, caressing, coaxing. She felt a jolt igniting its way through her entire body from the tips of her hair to the edges of her toes. She gasped against his lips and he dropped his hands to the small of her back, pulling her closer to him as he delved into the recesses of her mouth.

Jordan felt herself being swept away by the emotions raging through her. Her world was spinning on its axis, and she had to cling to Fox as if he were the only thing keeping her from falling. But the tighter she clung, the greater the waters seemed to swirl about her.

"I won't let you go, Jordan," he whispered against her lips. "Not this time."

Champion of the Heart Bonus Chapters Preview

A Knight of Honor - Excerpt

"Stand here," Taylor instructed, pulling him in front of her like a shield.

At least that would protect her, Slane thought.

But suddenly, she threw herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck. Slane would have tumbled backward, had he not braced himself by splaying his hands on the sides of the doorway. He opened his mouth to reprimand her, but she quickly pressed her lips, and her body, against his.

Stunned into immobility, Slane gaped as she slid her lips across his, as she pressed her tiny body to his quickly hardening one. He jerked and tried to pull away, but her embrace held him tightly to her chest.

Slane managed to slide his lips off of hers and exclaim, "What in God's blood are you doing, woman? Have you lost your senses?"

"Unless you want to lose more than your senses, you'll return my affection and make it good," she warned in a whisper, nibbling his ear.

Jolts of pleasure shot through Slane's body. His mind told him to resist her, but his body was already succumbing to her seduction. Then his quickly fogging mind focused enough to realize what she was doing. A desperate disguise: a harlot and her customer.

She slid her mouth across his jaw and pressed her lips against his again, running her hands through his hair, clinging to him as if his lips were the only thing that could save her. Slane wrapped his arms around her tiny waist, wanting to reassure her. He knew it had to look convincing or they were done for.

He ran his tongue lightly across her lips, coaxing her to open to him. He felt her quiver beneath him as she parted her lips. She was either a very talented actress or...

Distantly, Slane heard footsteps march closer in the street, and he pulled her tighter against him. He thrust his tongue deep into her mouth. A soft groan escaped her parted lips. A groan that sent his world tumbling end over end.

The curves of her body fit snugly against the ridges in his; her full breasts pressed heavily against the battle-hewn muscles in his chest. Tingles followed the trail her fingers left along his skin; prickles of heat inflamed his soul. The essence of her seemed to take on solid form, enclosing him in a swirling cloak of passion. He no longer heard the footsteps in the streets, no longer cared if they were caught; he only wanted this moment to go on forever.

Then a man cleared his throat behind Slane. Even as Taylor's kiss warmed his body, the threat of danger pierced the moment like a dagger. He almost reached for his sword.

Taylor's hands moved over his waist and down to his buttocks. He battled with control as she gently squeezed, running her hands over the firm rounded portion.

He pulled back slightly to gaze deeply into the green pools of her eyes. What did she want of him? Did she truly do this for disguise? Or did she dare to challenge him so blatantly? He ran his fingers through the long locks of her glorious hair, loosening it from that accursed braid. He almost growled with the passion she had aroused within him. Then he claimed her lips again with a fierce painful lashing. If she were toying with him, he would teach her what it was like to enrage his lust so powerfully.

She matched his kiss, his intense need with a longing of her own. He felt her tremble beneath the onslaught of his kiss. He wanted her as he had never wanted anything in his life. He wanted to see what her body looked like beneath the leather armor she wore. He wanted to kiss her breasts and her stomach and...

Suddenly, she tore away from him. Slane stared at her for a long moment, trying desperately to regain control of his heated body. She stood before him like a vanquishing hero, her chin raised, her eyes glittering with --

With what? Was that passion in her eyes? Or was it mockery?

Slane felt a chill seep through his clothes to his heated skin as the cold reality of what had just happened set in. What had he been doing? What had he been thinking?

"You made it good," she said. "Damn good. Very convincing. Even to me. But the soldiers are gone."

And indeed, they were gone. Long gone. The streets were empty.

A Knight of Honor Bonus Chapters Preview

Midnight Shadow - Excerpt

Terran seized her shoulders and slammed her up against the blacksmith's shop. "Enough!" he roared. "Enough of your insults. I have endured them from your father and grandfather, even from Dysen. But I will not tolerate them from you."

Bria's mouth dropped open for only a moment before her shock vanished, replaced by fury. She opened her mouth to reply, but Terran slammed his open palms on the wall on either side of her.

"I said enough!"

For a long moment, Bria could do nothing but stare at him. And slowly, a realization came to her. She was alone with him. And he was close --- very close. His hands were on either side of her, effectively trapping her. His lips were but inches from hers. Her eyes scanned his face, his rugged square jaw, his sensual lips, his dark eyes. Lightning lit the sky above, but Bria barely noticed except for the reflection in his eyes. Was that remorse in them? Or was she imagining it?

He leaned closer to her until his face was beside hers, almost cheek to cheek. Bria stiffened. What was he doing? But she didn't protest. His hair brushed and mingled with hers. "I didn't mean to kill him, Bria."

She felt a soft wave of hot breath on her neck, but his words were so soft Bria wasn't sure he'd spoken them at all. She turned her head to try to see him, and he shifted his gaze to look into hers with eyes that seemed a little lost.

In the next moment, he was brushing his lips against hers, seeking, exploring. She was unsure of what to do and found herself frozen, half wanting him to kiss her, half wanting to flee. His touch was gentle, almost soothing. Not at all what she had expected.

He pulled slightly back to look into her eyes, studying them as if waiting for her to deny him.

But she couldn't. She didn't want to.

Midnight Shadow Bonus Chapters Preview

The Lady and the Falconer - Excerpt

"Who are you?" she asked softly.

"Logan," he replied.

Solace's heart pounded, her eyes captivated by the way his lips caressed the word. "Logan," she repeated dully through the haze of fog that had enveloped her. Her gaze shifted to his silver eyes, eyes the color of glinted steel. She could smell the thick scent of leather and something musky and... masculine. Even though their bodies weren't touching, she could feel the strength emanating from him, the power. She wanted him to touch her, wanted to feel his fingers on her skin, his lips on hers. The thought frightened her, and she pulled away with such force that her head smacked the plate armor behind her. Even with Logan's hand on it, it swung backward.

Suddenly, she was swept into his arms, and he turned his back to the suit of mail as it lurched forward, clutching her in his embrace and hunching his shoulders to protect her.

The suit of armor toppled around them, crashing to the floor. Solace hid behind Logan for a long moment after the noise had ceased. Then, realizing what had happened, she lifted her head. His arms were still around her, a fact that was strangely reassuring. But it was in his eyes she found true comfort. There was something tender and caring deep within his orbs, and for a moment Solace thought it was worry as his gaze swept her face, looking for something. So intensely did they search that she believed he could see into her very soul, see the reason why she still clung to him, see the reason for the ease with which her body lay against his.

Embarrassed, she looked away. The scattered pieces of plate mail on the floor caught her attention, and she lowered her eyes to the fallen shield. Blue and gold reflected up at her in the sun's bright light. There was a crest upon the shield, but before she could look at it, Logan's hand was at the nape of her neck, turning her head toward his. His lips descended over hers, desperately, warming hers with his, igniting a fire so hot that it threatened to consume her. She clung to him as if he were her only hope at salvation. She tilted her head to his in an innocent mixture of curiosity and relinquishment. His desperation turned into a slow seduction as he gently coaxed her mouth to open to him with gentle touches of his lips and tongue against her soft skin.

She tentatively parted her lips for him, and he urged them wider, entering her mouth with his tongue, exploring the soft recesses. A groan escaped her lips, and she leaned fully against his strong, hard body.

Logan broke the kiss, pulling back slightly. "You shouldn't be here alone," he repeated.

His body was pressed against hers, and his arms were still securely around her, binding her to him. Solace stared at him through half-opened eyes. She felt she was floating, caught in a foggy dream.

"It's dangerous," he whispered.

The Lady and the Falconer Bonus Chapters Preview

Immortal Death - Excerpt

"Is that how the story ends?" Jade whispered, hesitantly. "Does Rosaline die?"

Demetrius pressed his lips together and looked away from her, nodding.

"I don't want my story to end that way," Jade said, her voice thick. "My Demetrius would be...destroyed. He would..."

Demetrius looked at her and was shocked to find glistening tears ringing her eyes.

"He'd be devastated." Jade looked at him, her eyes tormented with anguish.

He reached out to her, taking her face in his hands. His fingers stroked soothing circles over her temples. "He would not have wanted to go on," he said gently. He didn't like to see her tears. He didn't like her sadness. It made his own anguish worse. He pulled her close to him, holding her. "Don't be sad. It happened a long time ago."

"But he's my Demetrius. If I can't make him happy, who can?"

Her words shocked him, confused him. His gaze dropped to her lips. She was so beautiful. So very mesmerizing. It was so dangerous to be this close to any mortal, yet alone Jade. So dangerous. He couldn't help how he was leaning in toward her. Just one taste. Just one touch of her warm skin. He had been so cold since Rosaline's death.

"Rosaline would have wanted him to be happy," Jade said softly.

Her words halted him a mere inch from her lips. "Happy?" he whispered bitterly. "Without her? It wasn't possible. She was so vibrant and so full of life. When she died, she took his life with her. His heart died when that dagger was plunged through hers." He stopped cold, but did not pull away from her. Her eyes were like a sea of blue, consuming, compassionate. And he needed that retribution. Absolution for not being able to protect Rosaline.

"She couldn't help it," Jade whispered. "She would have stayed with him if she could. She would never have left him. But there was betrayal. And–"

"Betrayal?" Demetrius demanded, his gaze sweeping her face. "What do you mean by betrayal?"

"Didn't you tell me that? Someone close to her..." Her hand brushed across his arm. "I don't know. I feel like it was someone she trusted."

"Trusted?" he echoed, disbelievingly. It had been a Malachite. There was no way Rosaline would have trusted one of those monsters. No way. Maybe Jade didn't know the story as well as he thought she did, as well as she pretended. Her hot breath fanned over his face and the story became less and less important. All that was important was the feel of her in his arms, the need to have her lips against his.

"Sometimes, I feel the story," she whispered. "Not the way I want it to be, but the way that feels right."

Demetrius stared down into her eyes and then moved his gaze languorously to her lips. She was so lovely. So enticing. A longing and need rose in him like he hadn't felt in all the years since Rosaline.

The first touch of their lips was tentative, testing, as if he were giving her a chance to escape. But she didn't pull back. A taste, he reminded himself. Her lips were hot, not just warm. It wasn't enough. He wanted a larger taste. More. Demetrius pressed his lips to hers, fully. With a gentle stroke of his tongue across her mouth, her lips parted. And he couldn't help himself. He was lost. He swept his tongue into her mouth, pulling her against him.

For the first time in centuries, he hardened. It was sweet, sweet ecstasy to feel her against him, to touch her face, her lips. Lord, he'd forgotten how absolutely breathtaking it was. She pressed her tongue to his and he almost exploded. He wanted her. He leaned into her, pushing her back against the bed. She was so small beneath him and he felt a sudden need to protect her. His emotions...yes, emotions, churned. He had been dead for so long he barely recognized the passion. But now, now it was as if he were given a second chance, a bolt of powerful desire shot through him and he crushed her to him.

She tasted of coffee and strawberry ice cream. Demetrius knew this was wrong. She was a mortal! She was not like him. And yet, he could not stop. He didn't want to. He wanted to feel her. All of her. He wanted to touch her. She warmed him, touched him inside, made him feel alive again.

Lost Souls: Resurrection - Episode 1 - Excerpt

Christian paced before the line of trains. For the first time, he realized he was in a train yard, maybe a freight yard. An empty train stood before him. Such rage and anger at what he had become, what Aurora had proclaimed, scorched through him. He grabbed the train car and with an inhuman roar of rage and betrayal and hurt, he tilted it, pushing it over onto its side. It landed with a loud thud and a puff of dust spewed out from all sides.

Christian stood before the toppled train, unmoving. His muscles clenched tight, ready to explode. He wanted to topple a building. He wanted to rip apart a jet. And he knew it still wouldn't be enough to banish the feelings whirling inside of him. God, he loved Aurora. How could she say she didn't love him?

"Wow," Samantha murmured coming up behind him. "A train sure pales in comparison to a doll. That's impressive."

"You have to understand, Christian, that whatever happened, whatever you heard, was not your child," Ben added.

"What the hell are you talking about? It sure looked like her," he said bitterly.

Neither replied and Christian straightened, turning to face them. "Tell me. I want to know. Tell me what you're talking about."

"The Changed need our energy. Only the strongest ones, the ones that have gathered the most energy can achieve the Jump," Ben said patiently.

"The Jump?"

Ben nodded. "They gather this energy and store it. And man, you need a ton. A ton. It takes centuries to build up."

"The Changed that had been following you around, the one that attacked you in the street, was old," Samantha added. "Very old."

"It was probably ready for the Jump."

"What the hell is the Jump?" Christian demanded, not liking the sound of this at all.

"Possession. They take over human bodies."

# Reviews for Laurel O'Donnell books

"This extraordinary tale offers non-stop action, unforgettable characters and a sensuous romance, the likes of which ballads are written. This romance will capture your heart and your imagination."

\- Rendezvous Magazine on The Angel and the Prince

"Captivating from the very first page, readers will have a hard time putting Champion of the Heart down. The characters emotional turmoil coupled with the sensuality and delightful cast of characters adds a special, unique depth... and elevated this to another level."

\- RT Book Reviews on Champion of the Heart

"Immortal Death is a unique and passionate tale of destined love with a suspenseful plot that captures your attention from page one and continues to intrigue until the very end."

– J.E. Hopkins, author of "We Shall Rise" on Immortal Death

"It's quickly become one of my favorite books and I highly recommend it to anyone looking for romance and action."

\- Sony ReaderStore review on A Knight of Honor

"Medieval readers will find The Lady and the Falconer a highly satisfying, well crafted story that fills their craving for a tale of medieval intrigue and passion."

\- Romantic Times Magazine on The Lady and the Falconer

"There's nothing like a wonderfully written romance that includes everything from excitement and intrigue to despair and triumph. Such a novel discourages readers from putting the book down, lest we miss new adventures waiting around the next corner. Laurel O'Donnell has managed to do just that and so much more in the Midnight Shadow."

\- The Romance Reader on Midnight Shadow

"My most beloved rainy day book."

\- Amazon review on The Angel and the Prince

# Cover Gallery

Below you will find the covers for all of the books written by Laurel O'Donnell that are currently available.

The Angel and the Prince

Champion of the Heart

A Knight of Honor

Midnight Shadow

The Lady and the Falconer

Immortal Death

Lost Souls: Resurrection - Episode 1

The Bride and the Brute

## The Angel and the Prince

## Champion of the Heart

## A Knight of Honor

## Midnight Shadow

## The Lady and the Falconer

## Immortal Death

## Lost Souls: Resurrection - Episode 1

## The Bride and the Brute

# More about the Author

Laurel O'Donnell has won numerous awards for her works, including the Holt Medallion for A Knight of Honor, the Happily Ever After contest for The Angel's Assassin, and the Indiana's Golden Opportunity contest for Immortal Death. The Angel and the Prince was nominated by the Romance Writers of America for their prestigious Golden Heart award.

You can read more about Laurel and her books on the various sites listed below. You can find full sample chapters, reviews, video trailers and much more:

Website: www.laurel-odonnell.com

Facebook:  www.facebook.com/pages/Laurel-ODonnell/150078331715261

Twitter: twitter.com/laurelodonnell

Goodreads:  www.goodreads.com/laurel-odonnell

Wattpad: wattpad.com/laurelodonnell

Thanks for reading! Keep going to find some full chapter Bonus Previews!

# The Angel and the Prince Bonus Preview

The Angel and the Prince - Prologue

France, 1410

The choir of voices ascended to the far corners of the cathedral, where sculptured angels listened with somber faces to the Latin words. Shining white marble pillars spiraled down to the steps of the great altar. At the top stair stood King Charles VI. Behind him stood eight small boys dressed in immaculate white robes, each holding a red velvet pillow with golden tassels at each corner. Upon every silky velvet pillow there rested a resplendent sword. Above and behind the boys, golden statues of saints stretched out their cold arms in welcome and forgiveness with unseeing eyes.

The king shifted his regal stance, his gaze locked on the tall wooden doors at the back of the church. He knew eight young men waited anxiously outside, their breath tight in their chests, their palms slick with nervous sweat. Each one would enter as a squire filled with a boy's apprehension, and each one would leave as a knight of the realm filled with a warrior's pride.

One of the banners caught his eye. It was for Ryen De Bouriez, the third son of Baron Jean Claude De Bouriez. King Charles scanned the mass of people before him until they came to rest on two men – the elder De Bouriez brothers. They were tall, even by knightly standards. Lucien was fair; his honeyed hair, blue eyes, and boyish looks were rumored to have cost more than one maiden her virtue. Andre was dark, with chestnut eyes and a heart of gold. Both were skilled warriors, and this pleased the king, for he knew Ryen would make an excellent addition to his troops. He studied the brothers closely. They shifted from foot to foot nervously; even Andre, who was usually so calm, seemed unsettled. The king frowned. Perhaps the two giants were uncomfortable with the civil surroundings and were eager to be out of the church. King Charles sympathized. The De Bouriezes were, after all, known for their prowess in battle, not their sociability.

The king glanced over row upon row of nobles in their elegant satins and velvets. The Countess of Burgundy was there. Not far from her, the flamboyant golden caul headdress of the Duchess of Orleans caught his eye. Slowly, his brow creased into a frown as he finished surveying the attending nobility. Where was Ryen's father?

The choir of voices that had filled the chamber suddenly ended, their last echoes resonating throughout the cathedral until they slipped away into nothingness.

Glancing toward the trumpeters awaiting his signal in the balcony, King Charles nodded. When they put the long golden horns to their lips, the triumphant music began. All eyes turned to the heavy oak doors at the back of the church as they slowly creaked open.

Eight squires advanced down the long carpeted aisle, one behind the other.

Sunlight streamed in from the stained glass windows, reflecting brilliantly off the shining silver-and-gold plate mail of the approaching men. King Charles squinted as a ray of light shone in his eyes. He tried to be a fair man, judging all men equally, but he found himself anxious to see Ryen De Bouriez, around whom so much controversy swirled. The first time his name had reached the king's ears, it was with the capture of Castle Picardy, the feat that had earned him his knighthood. King Charles had heard the same story three times, and with each telling Ryen's achievements had seemed to grow until they were of Herculean proportions. Since then, the name Ryen De Bouriez had arisen time and time again in casual conversation. The man's strategic maneuvers were ingenious.

The initiates climbed the stairs to the great altar and bowed before the king, then stepped aside to form a row before their lord. As the squire preceding De Bouriez bowed, King Charles tried not to seem obvious as he peered over the top of the man's head to get a glimpse of Ryen. Finally, like a curtain being drawn, the squire stepped aside and Ryen De Bouriez was revealed to King Charles. The initiate still wore his helmet. All traces of astonishment disappeared as anger descended over the king. It was disrespectful for anyone to wear a helmet in the house of God. The young man's headgear covered most of his face except for his eyes. King Charles could see the striking blueness of them; they shimmered in the shadows of his helmet like a great cloudless sky. His gaze raked the young man again. He is very small indeed, the king thought. I cannot believe the great Baron De Bouriez squired this runt. Perhaps De Bouriez is absent because he is embarrassed by his son's size.

Under his scrutiny, the king saw Ryen's deep blue eyes fill with pride, and something else. Before he could discern what that strange spark was, Ryen fell to one knee, bowing his head in reverence.

Somewhat pacified, King Charles commanded quietly, "Remove your helmet, Ryen," and turned to retrieve a ceremonial sword cushioned upon a pillow of velvet. As he reverently removed the sword, the king heard rustling and the clang of armor behind him and knew Ryen was removing his helmet.

Suddenly, a collective gasp spread through the crowd like the wind whistling through a field of wheat.

King Charles whirled at the sound. His eyes grew wide and he gaped as the reason for the young man's diminutive stature became quite apparent. The "man" was not a man at all!

He was a she!

Why, she could be no more than fifteen! Amazement rocked him like a blow to his stomach, leaving him breathless and stunned. The girl's soft dark hair cascaded in waves over the metal shoulder plates. Her nose was a delicate sculpture of perfection, her lips full. Her chin was strong, with a slight cleft etched into it. Beauty shimmered beneath her childlike features. She had the innocent face of a cherub...an angel. King Charles stared for a long moment.

The king knew now what that look in her sapphire eyes had been: defiance. It accented her features with determination.

The king turned to glance at her brothers. Andre had suddenly found interest in a piece of imaginary lint on his spotless white velvet tunic, and Lucien was studying the painted angels on the stained glass windows. King Charles's lips thinned and his gaze returned to Ryen.

A girl! How had she been able to keep this secret? he wondered.

King Charles stared in shock. No wonder Baron De Bouriez is not here, he thought. He gripped the sword tightly until his knuckles hurt with the effort. He knew he should not knight her, that she should be punished for her audacity, but her deeds surpassed the defiance that her stubborn raised little chin represented. He wanted her in his army, needed her strategic skills. These were desperate times.

He lifted the sword in a sweeping gesture and saw her body stiffen, as if expecting a blow. He brought the sword down, lightly touching the tip of the blade to each of her shoulders in the customary colee, finishing with, "Rise, Sir Ryen De Bouriez."

The young girl slowly and unsteadily rose to her feet. Her large eyes were wide, ringed with happiness; her rosy lips were parted in disbelief.

King Charles bent close to her and laid his hand on her shoulder. "Ryen, the road before you will be laced with hardship. Be a true knight, and courageous in the face of your enemies. Be brave and upright. And remember that you spring from a bloodline that has always been strong."

"I shall," Ryen said earnestly, her expression solemn.

The king held out the sword to her. Ryen carefully took the gleaming blade in her bare palms and pressed her lips to it before accepting it from King Charles's hands. She studied the sword for a quick moment; a flash of pride lighting up her soft features, then slid it into the scabbard at her waist.

King Charles leaned in close to whisper, "However, if you or your brothers ever pull a trick like this again, I will have your heads." He straightened to his full height and proclaimed, "Now. Be thou a knight."

Ryen bowed, giving King Charles her loyalty and her gratitude. The king repeated the knighting seven more times, after which he stood back and watched as the men – and the woman – turned as one to face the congregation. Ryen led the way down the aisle. As she passed her awestruck brothers, the king watched Ryen shoot them a smug look of triumph. Throwing her shoulders back, holding her chin high, Sir Ryen De Bouriez strolled confidently past the mass of whispering people.

The Angel and the Prince - Chapter One

England, 1414

The cheers from the gathered crowd sounded like a thunderous rain as the horses charged at each other, their hooves kicking up dirt from the grassy field. The two knights, fully armored for this joust, bent low over the heads of their equally well-protected mounts, their brightly striped lances gripped firmly. The white plume on the helmet of the challenger knight appeared defeated and submissive as it flattened under the rush of wind created by his speeding stallion. The champion shifted his shield to the front of his body, where the challenger could see it – a snarling red wolf strikingly painted against a black background. Through the slit in the challenger's visor, the champion saw his opponent's eyes widen in fear. Seconds later, the champion's lance struck the challenger's chest, the wooden tip crunching as it hit the man's breastplate, and lifted him cleanly from his horse, depositing him roughly on the ground.

The crowd sprang to its feet, wild with applause and shouts of joy. The champion slowed his horse and turned, raising the visor of his helmet to reveal dark, impenetrable eyes. These orbs watched patiently as his staggering opponent was helped to his feet by his squire. Bryce Princeton waited for the defeated knight to stumble from the arena before he urged his horse around the field for his victory lap.

The peasants who lined the jousting field's fence shouted his success. "Prince! Prince!"

The rush of power that surged through his veins at every joust, at every triumph, gave Bryce the feeling of invincibility. He savored the taste like a favored wine, relished the shouts. He had never known defeat, either in battle or in Tournament.

As he rode past the nobles' stand, all the women batted their eyelashes at him and some bent over the wooden railing to dangle their favors before him. He gladly accepted them – all of them. But he returned most of their heated, lusty gazes with a cool disdain. These pampered and powdered women brought only an occasional twinge of curiosity to his mind. They were all too much alike to be of any real interest. Some men cast him envious glances, while others seethed quietly. Finally, Bryce came to a halt before King Henry's chair. He dismounted and bowed before his sovereign.

Henry grinned at him and stood. The king was a tall and muscular man, his brown hair trimmed in a bowl cut.

The crowd quieted as Bryce approached the stand. He slid his helmet from his head to reveal a thick mane of long black hair that fell to the middle of his shoulder blades. It gleamed in the sunlight, wet with moisture. His face was bronzed by the sun. There was an inherent power in the set of his jaw, the sensual curve of his lips, his dark eyes.

"You have done well today, as always," King Henry said loudly so all could hear. "You are truly England's champion."

Huzzahs and gleeful shouts erupted into a deafening roar.

Henry bent toward Bryce. "Come, walk with me, Bryce," he commanded.

Bryce led his mount across the field and handed the reins to his waiting squire as a small boy ducked under the wooden fence that surrounded the field and dashed up to him. Bryce smiled and ruffled the child's dark hair as the boy exclaimed, "You were great!" His eyes shone with excitement and admiration. "I knew he wouldn't defeat you."

"You had doubts, Runt?" Bryce wondered, a mock frown drawing his lips into a pout.

"Never!" Runt exploded.

Bryce couldn't help but smile at the pride and boundless love that emanated from those large, inquisitive blue eyes. Then he noticed the dirt that dusted Runt's small hands as the boy reached for his helmet. Bryce quickly surveyed the boy's brown cotton tunic, noticing with mild annoyance that it was spotted with mud. He ran a finger along one of Runt's cheeks, leaving a trail of clean skin through the dirt. "You should bathe," Bryce offered, showing him the smudge that stained his fingertip.

The boy groaned and shuffled his feet. "I hate bathing," he mumbled.

Bryce sympathized with him. As a youth he had hated to bathe. It took up too much of his time and there were more important matters to attend to...such as imitating the knights. "A knight cannot meet the king with dirt on his face," Bryce told him.

Runt nodded grudgingly. "All right."

Bryce's dark eyes searched the dais for his king. He found the platform empty and followed the path of rich blues and satiny golds of the court until he spotted the king heading for the streets that led into the town. As Bryce turned to leave, he heard Runt say, "I hope to be as great a knight as you."

Bryce paused, turning back to the boy. Runt gazed up at him in wonder; his big blue eyes round with admiration. "You will," Bryce promised, before moving toward the dais. A procession of fashionably dressed lords and ladies followed the king, as always, and Bryce was hard pressed to catch up with him with the weight of his plate armor impeding his movement. In his hurry, he almost stepped on a duke's long green cloak. The duchess accompanying the duke turned a shy smile to Bryce, a wisp of her pleated coiffure at the very top of her head flapping with each step. Bryce bowed slightly and rushed by her. At a fast walk, he managed to reach King Henry as he stopped to speak with a man selling apple cider.

"The cider is wonderful in the village. No matter how hard they try, my servants can never duplicate it," King Henry told Bryce, lifting a goblet of it to his lips.

Bryce nodded absently. He glanced at the nobles trailing the king like well-trained falcons, vying for his attention. Bryce did not miss the contemptuous stares many of the nobles cast his way. He despised them and their pretentious ways. If they sought attention, they should act – take a castle, contribute finances to the impending war. Instead, they hoped to win the king's favor with their beautiful clothing and their pretty faces and witty words. It was to Bryce's credit that Henry chose to speak with him and not one of the fanciful dressers. The king was not a fool.

"I have been told it is a secret of the Rosa family," the Earl of March said. He wore a golden houppelande that flowed to the ground and was embroidered with flowers. The edges of his long sleeves were cut in the shape of leaves and trimmed with jewels. He was the most prettily dressed of all the nobles.

"Yes, well..." The king waved a hand, dismissing the matter and the earl, and turned to continue down the dusty street. The sun was hot, the ground parched. The dust rose in little whirlwinds on the road before them.

Bryce walked at King Henry's side, towering above most of the lords; even the king was dwarfed by his size. In plate mail, Bryce Princeton was an enviable vision.

"There are far too many ears in the streets, don't you agree, Bryce?" King Henry wondered.

"Aye," Bryce answered, and followed as the king cut through the village to the countryside.

The Earl of March tried vainly to keep up. He was panting hard when he produced a lace handkerchief and patted his forehead with it. "It is a hot day, isn't it, my liege?" he called.

King Henry cast him a sour glance. "March, go see to the countess. I believe she is having as hard a time keeping up as you."

Bryce's gaze shifted to the countess. She had swooned into a man's arms and was being eased to the ground. Most of the court had lagged behind by now, and it was quite apparent to Bryce that the king wished to speak with him in private. He wondered if the earl was truly so oblivious.

But the earl simply bowed, saying, "As you wish."

King Henry continued into the grasslands of the countryside. Bryce followed, thinking it was becoming much too hot to be wandering through the countryside in sixty-six pounds of plate mail.

"How are things for you, Bryce?" King Henry asked, taking a sip of cider.

Bryce shrugged his large shoulders slightly. "Dark Castle is in capable hands. The peasants are producing enough to support the lands. I believe it will be a good year."

Henry nodded. "Good." He stopped walking and looked out over the fields that stretched before them. The wild grass seemed to sigh as a breeze drifted through the long blades that reached to Bryce's mid-calf. "Then you are prepared to leave England at a moment's notice?"

"Aye," Bryce said anxiously. He had been waiting months for the fleet of English ships to cast off for France. "We leave soon, then?"

Henry gazed hard at Bryce. "There is rumor of a plot against my life. I fear that I may not get to France as soon as I would like."

Bryce frowned, his body stiffening with suppressed anger. "My lord, I offer my services to find out if these rumors are true."

Henry smiled a weary grin. "I have others who will be my ears and eyes."

Bryce scowled, ready to object.

Henry continued, "No, Bryce, you are a fighter. I need you in France. I cannot leave England until this is resolved." He lifted the goblet to his lips again and continued walking. Bryce followed.

"Have you heard anything of this French knight called the Angel of Death?" the king wondered.

Anxiety rippled through Bryce like a flag in a soft breeze. Bryce had heard of his deeds, but he knew little of the man. Still, the way the king had asked...it was as though he were being tested. "I have heard the name."

Henry turned to Bryce, his inquisitive eyes asking for details, his raised eyebrows encouraging more.

"He has taken and held land for the Armagnacs," Bryce continued, and watched as a smile tugged the king's lips before he averted his gaze. Bryce's brows drew together in confusion. "He does well for his country," he added, shifting uneasily. He had somehow failed the test, and it annoyed him.

"Yes, he does, doesn't he?" Henry chuckled.

"Is there more to know?"

"Much." Gradually, Henry's smiled faded and he slowed his pace. His words were thoughtful and full of woe as he spoke. "The Angel of Death has caused more enemy deaths than any other French lord. This knight is unlike any we have ever come across."

"He is mortal. Blood runs through his veins. And that blood can be spilled."

"According to rumor, this Angel of Death has ice for blood."

"Pah. Rumor is the gossip of cowards."

"Yes. I suppose it is – Prince of Darkness."

Surprise rocked Bryce. He knew he shouldn't have been amazed that the king had heard the name, but he could not suppress the shock that flooded his body. The rumors had traveled so fast....and so far! The court. It thrived on any kind of gossip. "The peasants labeled me that," he explained.

"Not without reason, I hear."

"I am merciless only to our enemies, my lord."

"And that is why you must be the one to go to France and find the Angel of Death. There are ships waiting to take you and your army across the channel."

"Do you wish to keep him for ransom?"

"I would prefer a ransom. We can use the finances for the war. But if you cannot take the knight captive, then take this angel's life. I will join you in France as soon as I can."

"As you wish, sire." Bryce bowed slightly.

"Many men have fallen beneath the knight's sword," King Henry added. "Be cautious."

Bryce nodded and took a step away.

The king stayed him once again with his hand. "I warn you, Bryce: do not underestimate the Angel of Death."

King Henry watched Bryce Princeton stride away. Perhaps he should have told him. But if he knew the truth, Henry was sure he would underestimate their enemy by far too much. Besides, the man needed a jolt to disturb that confident gait of his. He only hoped Bryce would be able to kill this Angel of Death...when he found out she was a woman.

The Angel and the Prince - Chapter Two

East of Ypres, France, 1415

The clang of metal against metal rang out in the large clearing as the two swords met, the echoing melody of their clash spreading throughout the surrounding forest.

"Watch out for her parry!" a voice called, joining the reverberating tune as it reflected off the nearby trees. Andre De Bouriez lounged on his side in the thick grass, his objective gaze scrutinizing the combatants as they swung their heavy broadswords. He nodded with satisfaction as his sister, tiny compared with Lucien's height and broad shoulders, easily deflected a thrust of her brother's. Andre chuckled low in his throat, his brown eyes twinkling merrily. She was good. She knew the limitations of her sword and her strength well; she was patient and observant. This made her a very dangerous opponent despite her size.

Ryen finished an arc, the impact of the weapons jarring her arm. She stepped back, panting. A trickle of perspiration ran from her hairline down her cheek, sparkling in the sun like a diamond. She brushed a strand of brown hair from her forehead with her free arm.

A perfect smile lit Lucien's boyish face. "Come, come. You cannot tell me that you tire after so few exchanges!"

A cold grin stretched across her shapely lips. "I tell you no such thing, Brother. Only to guard your blind side." Ryen lunged and then feinted right.

Lucien caught the blow with some effort and countered with an arc overhead.

Ryen sidestepped the swing and Lucien's blade crashed into the ground. As he pulled it up, a clump of dirt came with it, impaled on the tip of his blade.

"You know she's too quick for you, Lucien," Andre called.

Ryen laughed at the dirt on Lucien's sword. "Don't take your anger out on the ground, Lucien. Your opponent stands before you, not below you."

Lucien came after Ryen with two quick lunges. She easily parried the blows and drove forward with an arc of her own, then retreated and stood staring at Lucien.

"Little sister, you're growing up," Lucien commented.

"Don't goad her, Lucien," Andre advised, too late.

Ryen suddenly charged her brother, hitting him in the stomach with her shoulder. The impact knocked him onto his back. Breathless, Lucien lay stunned for a moment. Before he could recover, Ryen stepped on the wrist of his sword arm and placed the tip of her weapon to Lucien's neck. "Yield or die," she stated.

"I yield to the Angel of Death!" Lucien hollered good-naturedly.

Ryen lifted her foot from his wrist and withdrew her sword. She gently kicked his arm with her booted foot. "I hate it when you call me 'little sister'."

Lucien sat up, rubbing his wrist. "I won't make that mistake again."

Ryen stepped back, offering her brother a hand. Lucien clasped it and she helped him to his feet.

"That was a good move," Lucien commented. "But a little reckless."

"It beat you," Ryen replied, bending to pick up a cloth from the lush grass.

"If I had raised my sword, you would have run right into it."

"But you didn't," Ryen said, wiping the cloth smoothly over her blade. "Don't criticize my move just because it landed you on your buttocks. You yielded. I won. There are no 'ifs'."

"She has a point," Andre agreed, stepping up beside Ryen. "She beat you and I'm afraid it grates on your nerves."

"Nonsense!" Lucien exclaimed, brushing the grass from his yellow tunic. "I simply –"

"Angel!" a tiny voice called from the forest, interrupting Lucien.

Ryen's head shot up and she saw her page, Gavin, crashing through the bushes in his hurry to reach her. His brown cotton smock caught on a branch, but he quickly yanked it free and continued toward her, gasping, "Angel!"

Ryen placed her hand on his shoulder. "Take a breath, Gavin, and tell me what's happened."

"We..." he started, breathlessly.

"A deep breath," Ryen urged.

Gavin drew in a long breath and blurted out, "We've caught an Englishman, m'lady!"

Ryen raised an anxious gaze to Andre before moving to retrace Gavin's path. She heard the heavy footfalls of her brothers as they followed her into their camp. The scent of venison wafted to her on a light breeze and her stomach rumbled despite her anxiety. She maneuvered through the sporadically placed tents like an expert, dodging a barking dog, stepping around two men who were absorbed in a game of chess.

She slowed upon seeing Jacques Vignon, her advance scout, approaching. "You found him?" she asked.

"Aye, m'lady," Jacques replied.

It always unnerved Ryen to speak with Jacques, for while he was the best scout she had, looking into his face was like gazing into an emotionless abyss. His eyes were black, so black that she could not discern the pupil from the iris. Jacques had never done anything to earn her suspicion; on the contrary, he was a loyal fighter, as good at swordplay as he was at disappearing into the shadows, but there was something cold about him that set off every warning within Ryen. He avoided the sun, so his skin remained white, almost as white as the porcelain doll her father had once given her sister. His skill at infiltrating the English was what had earned him Ryen's respect; his command of the English language surpassed even her own. "Where?" she demanded.

"Northwest of here," he answered. "He said he was separated from his army. Lost."

Ryen moved past him, eager to see her enemy. As she neared the prisoner tents, she noticed that, suspiciously, more than a few of her men were seated near one tent. Each head was bent over their work, the men diligently sharpening weapons or polishing armor until it sparkled like a gem. Ryen knew they were eagerly awaiting the outcome of the interrogation. It had been almost two weeks since they had seen any battle, and they were eager to confront the English.

"What can I do, Angel?" Gavin wondered.

Ryen stopped and the boy ran up before her. He was panting vigorously and Ryen knew he had run the entire way to keep up with them. She smiled at him and patted his unruly hair before carefully handing her sword to him. "Take this to my tent. Then find Mel to look after it."

Gavin's brown eyes widened as he stared at the blade. "Aye, m'lady," he whispered reverently. He gazed at it a moment longer before heading toward her tent at a slow, careful walk.

Ryen exchanged a grim look with Lucien before continuing.

Two guards stood outside the tent, looking more like stone gargoyles poised on the pillars of a church than like men. They were clothed in chain mail, white tunics washing over the metal links that protected their bodies.

Ryen shoved the tent flap aside and entered.

The prisoner was tied to a large, planted stake, bound hand and foot. Small in build, and dressed in a leather jerkin, the Englishman reminded Ryen more of a squire than a foot soldier. His jaw was set with determination, his dark eyes cautious and distrustful. He assessed Lucien and Andre with a swift glance and his lip curled. When his gaze turned to Ryen, his eyes widened in surprise.

He was not dirty. His cheeks were not sunken from lack of food, nor were his lips parched from lack of water. "He is not lost," she muttered. She didn't think the prisoner would understand her French words but murmured just in case.

"I agree," Andre stated.

Ryen stepped toward the prisoner.

Lucien followed protectively and stood beside her.

"What lord do you serve?" Ryen asked the man in perfect English.

His brow furrowed in confusion and his gaze slowly traveled over her body appreciatively. She straightened slightly as his insolent, laughing gaze locked with her eyes.

Lucien slapped the man's impudent face and the blow twisted the man's head to the side. A silver chain around the prisoner's neck glinted in the candlelight.

Ryen stepped forward and the man gazed down at her with defiant eyes as she peeled his jerkin aside. There, hanging from the chain, was a medallion of a silver wolf enclosed in a circle. Ryen stared at the pendant for a long moment. Her teeth clenched slightly and her hand trembled with anger as she reached out, encircling the pendant with her fingers. Its cold metal bit into her palm as if it were alive.

"He's closer than we thought," Lucien sneered at seeing the crest.

Ryen nodded. "Much closer." She dropped the medallion to the man's chest. Her blue eyes lifted slowly to meet his gaze. "Bring me the truth powder, Lucien," Ryen said. She watched recognition wash over the prisoner's face, followed closely by fear and disbelief.

"The Angel of Death," he gasped.

"He will tell us where the English army is camped. I will have the Prince of Darkness before tomorrow's dawn."

THE ANGEL AND THE PRINCE

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Champion of the Heart - Prologue

England, 1323

Dark demons cast by the dying fire in the hearth danced over the cold stone walls of the solar room. Lord Frederick Mercer sat on the bed, lifting his arm to tighten the straps of his plate armor. Beside him, Michael shifted his position, bowing his blond head. Fox, five years older than Michael, paced the floor before the bed.

"I don't understand, Father." Fox Mercer looked at his father with confused eyes. He was thirteen, but today he had enough pain in his heart and enough torment in his soul for a man five times his age. "Just tell the king who did it."

"I can't, Fox," Frederick Mercer said, bending to slip his booted foot into a spur. He was quiet for a moment, staring at his boot. "I can't." He reached for his other boot and slid it on.

Fox paced the drafty room, desperately searching for a way out of the terrifying predicament his father was in. For a brief, horrifying moment the shadows of the waning fire took on the shape of an executioner, his face masked in a dark hood, his thick arms clutching an enormous axe. Fox quickly looked away from the black silhouette on the wall. No one was worth this sort of protection, not with such disastrous consequences. Fox's gaze fell on his younger brother. Michael sat on his father's bed, his shoulders slumped, his head bowed. His brother's blond hair hung forward to obscure his face. Michael had been quiet for days now, unnaturally silent.

The chink of chainmail made Fox turn back to his father. As he looked at the man who raised him, who gave him a home, who always gave him hope for the future, he clenched his teeth, making his jaw ache with the effort. His small fingers clenched into fists so hard it made his arms shake. Why would his father give up everything to keep the identity of a murderer secret? Fox began to pace again. He moved back and forth, back and forth, fighting to keep his emotions in check, fighting to remain calm just as his father had taught him.

But today this was a battle Fox would not win. He stopped and whirled to face his father. "Don't you care about what happens to us?" he asked in agony.

Lord Mercer straightened in his chair. "Of course I do. I care..." He took a deep breath. "I would do anything to protect you and Michael. Anything." He shook his head and resumed his preparations, standing and reaching for his belt. "I only wish I had killed the baron myself." He lifted haunted eyes to stare at Fox. "He was a horrible man, Fox." He turned to Michael on the bed beside him and tenderly stroked his hair. "A horrible man."

Fox scowled. "But I don't understand."

"You don't have to. We will not speak of it again." His father picked up his sword and gazed at it for a very long moment.

Fox couldn't stop the anger that burned in his chest. What kind of man was the murderer to remain silent while his father took the punishment for him? Had he no honor? Fox's jaw clenched. Whoever had murdered the baron would pay. It was a vow he was determined to keep, no matter how long it took him.

His father slid his sword into his sheath and then headed for the door.

Fox looked at Michael. His brother stared at him with large eyes. They were the saddest eyes Fox had ever seen. He took his little brother's hand in his and squeezed it reassuringly. Together they left the room, shadowing their father as he moved down the corridors and through the stone tunnels that made up Castle Mercer's hallways. They descended a dark spiral stairway that led to the Great Hall.

The noise coming from the Hall was a jumble of tones and timbres, some somber weeping and sad words of mourning, some dark laughter and sinister words of support. His family's doom waited in the room. Some of the gathered throng dreaded what was to come, while others approved and eagerly waited for the king's response.

Fox's heart started pounding faster in his chest. His hand tightened around Michael's, his palm slick with nervous sweat.

His father did not hesitate at the room's threshold. He moved into the Great Hall with his customary strong stride, his head held high. Fox and Michael followed. Fox was careful to keep his eyes on his father's back; he didn't want to see the satisfied look in some of the gathered nobility's eyes. He didn't want to look at their disgust and their disapproval of the great man who walked proudly before him. They were all wrong in their merciless feelings for his father. All wrong.

Fox shifted his gaze to the front of the room. Normally, the raised platform situated there would hold the table for him and his family. But on this dark day, the table was gone. In its place was a row of seated people dressed in finery and velvets. One man drew his attention: King Edward of England. He was seated in an ornately decorated chair in the center of the row of nobles. He sat stiffly in the high-backed chair, surveying Fox's father with obvious disapproval, and absently rubbed his chin with long, slender fingers.

Fox's father stopped before the rise, bending one knee to the floor and bowing his head. Fox did the same, having to pull Michael down before the King.

A disgruntled snort came from the King, and Fox lifted his head slightly to see his reaction. The King studied his nails, announcing, "Rise, Mercer."

A murmur ran through the room. The King had not used lord Mercer's rightful title.

Fox rose after his father, the insult and degradation not lost on him. Fox clenched his fist, careful not to hurt Michael.

The King waved a hand. Two men in chainmail came forward and took Fox's father's arm, leading him onto the rise. They turned him to face the crowd of nobles assembled in the room. A herald stepped down from the platform, clutching a rolled parchment. He was a thin man with a graying, manicured beard. The herald waited a moment for the room to become silent. Then he unrolled the parchment, cleared his throat, and read the king's decree.

"Frederick Mercer has been found guilty of official corruption," the herald proclaimed, his voice echoing from one side of the Great Hall to the other.

Behind Mercer, the two knights lifted large metal hammers and brought them smashing down at the back of his heels. His father's spurs cracked under the blows.

Fox stood immobile. Beside him, Michael sobbed and Fox felt the same anguish twisting his stomach and churning his throat. It took all his willpower to stand still and not rush to his father's aid.

Kchang! The grating, harsh sound of metal striking metal immediately filled the large room. The abrasive noise echoed from wall to wall, as if chasing the herald's ricocheting words. Kchang! The new blast of noise overtook the ghost of the previous metallic clang before it completely faded away.

With every strike, Fox willed his father's humiliation to stop, but it continued.

The herald looked back down at the unrolled parchment he held in his hands. "Frederick Mercer is stripped of his lands," he announced.

Murmurings spread like wildfire through the Great Hall.

Fox shifted his glance to King Edward, who lounged in his chair, calmly sipping a golden goblet full of ale, impervious to the destruction he was causing. He was an imposing man, large in presence, but slim in girth. He radiated power and authority with a mere glance and a gesture. Today, his eyes were dark, his expression calmly hiding his fierce anger, except for the grim set of his lips. The King scanned the mass of people in the Great Hall, as if searching for someone.

Why couldn't you tell him what he wants to know? Fox silently asked his father. Fox's jaw clenched with agony and anger. Just tell him! his mind screamed.

Kchang! The spurs finally broke away from the heel.

"His lands will be forfeit to Lord Vaughn," the herald droned.

Lord Vaughn! Evan's father. Fox's jaw clenched tighter. Evan. My friend, he thought bitterly.

On the platform, the two knights finally ceased their attack and stepped away from Lord Mercer. Each grabbed a fallen spur, one knight tossing a spur left and the other tossing a spur to the right.

Another knight clad in chainmail stepped forward with a sharp dagger.

Fox straightened instantly as the room became quiet, the murmuring dwindling into a prolonged stretch of complete silence.

The herald cleared his throat and repositioned the parchment in his hands. Finally, he read the last, chilling sentence written on the scroll. "Lord Frederick Mercer is no more."

Terror washed over Fox. Would the King allow his father to be killed? he wondered as the knight with the dagger ominously approached Frederick Mercer. The knight seized Mercer's leather belt, the belt that held his sword and scabbard about his waist, and raised the dagger. With a sharp, violent swipe, the knight cut the belt clean through. Frederick's sword fell to the floor with a loud, hollow clang. The knight picked up the sword, pulled it from its sheath, and lifted it high above his head.

Fox lunged forward.

But he was too late. The knight brought the weapon down, smashing the blunt part of the blade over his father's head with such force the weapon broke in two. Frederick swayed under the brutal strike, dropping hard and fast to his knees. He swayed for a moment, his eyes nearly rolling into the back of his head, but he did not topple to the floor.

Fox reached out a hand to his father's elbow to steady him, but his father pulled angrily away from the offer of aid. He forced himself to stand erect as best he could, obviously struggling with the tremendous pain he was experiencing, his legs buckling under him as he stood. Blows of such force had killed lesser men. Blood trickled down his father's head, dripping over his left eye and splashing across his cheek. He steadied himself, bowed stiffly to the King, and turned to walk back down the aisle toward the large double doors that would free him from this public display of disgrace.

Fox watched him with a mixture of awe and humiliation. He recovered quickly and took Michael's hand, hurrying after his father.

The crowd gaped at Frederick Mercer as he moved down the aisle, most staring at him in disbelief, some even staring at him in awe for having the courage and strength to stand and walk from the room of his own accord. He had been a well-respected lord, a friend of many who were in the Great Hall. A brave, strong, honorable man. Now, he was a broken man -- titleless, landless. A commoner. Lord Frederick Mercer was indeed no more.

Quiet descended over the room as he moved through it. Frederick kept his head high, his chin raised in defiance of their stares. Blood continued to drip down from his head and stain his face.

Fox moved solemnly behind his father. The room seemed to be in a haze from the embarrassment and utter devastation swirling through Fox. Suddenly, something seized his hand. He glanced down to see small, feminine fingers clutching at his. He lifted his gaze to see a small angel. Her eyes were red-rimmed, her cheeks streaked with tears.

His look softened for a moment as he gazed at her.

Jordan Ruvane, one of the two best friends he had in the whole world. And the other was Evan Vaughn, he thought bitterly. He squeezed her hand once before moving after his father. Their hands slowly separated, their fingers sliding across each other until finally there was nothing but distance between them.

"...The Baron of Dalton was murdered. Stabbed."

"I hear Mercer knows who did it. But he won't say."

"...Baron Magnus was one of the King's favorites."

Fox hurried past the gossiping nobles, hurried through the corridor toward the great double doors of the castle. He had to get out. He had to escape the superior looks, the haughty stares and whispers behind his back. I don't give a damn what they think, Fox told himself. But he couldn't stand the way they looked at him.

Just a day before, just hours before, the same people were his friends, his equals. Now they saw him as inferior. Fox clenched his teeth. He reached the doors only to find a downpour of rain slamming into the ground.

Fox halted. He couldn't go out. He took a step back and turned. Four nobles, two he recognized as Lord Hagen and Lord Lynch, were staring at him, whispering. Fox whirled and stormed out into the sheets of rain. He raced through the downpour, sloshing through large puddles and thick mud clutching at his ankles, dashing through the inner and then the outer courtyard as the rainfall splattered his young body. The wards were mercifully empty. He continued across the lowered drawbridge and turned sharply to his right to run across the field bordering Castle Mercer. The tall wet grass blew in the strong wind, slapping at his thighs. He could not see more than a few feet in front of him because of the torrents of rain, but he raced on. It was lucky he knew the way by heart. It was the only place he could go.

The last few days' events replayed in his thoughts as he ran. Lord Vaughn had magnanimously given his family two weeks to find somewhere else to stay and vacate the castle. But they had nowhere to go, nowhere to stay. His life was over. He could not be a squire or a knight. He would never be a lord. His future had been destroyed.

The roar of the river greeted him first. It was not the gentle caress it had been when he had visited it last, but a powerful rush of churning, white capped water. Its width had swelled to the very edges of the willow trees dotting its banks, the fast-moving water pushing at the drooping branches that had sunk beneath its surface, making the trees appear alive.

Fox ran to two trees that grew very close to each other and pushed the heavy branches aside, stepping into the makeshift cave their branches had created. It was very dark in the cave today. So very dark and cold.

He sank down on the soft, wet moss, the chill from the ground quickly seeping through his already wet clothing, seeping into his very bones. He felt defeated. Alone.

Darkness settled over the land and over Fox's heart. And like the intense emotions and confusion raging inside Fox, the storm continued to vent its fury outside the makeshift branch walls of Fox's secret hideaway.

"Fox?" someone called from outside the cave.

Fox knew the owner of the voice, but for a moment he thought he had imagined it.

"Fox?" She sounded a little more desperate.

Jordan. She shouldn't be here. She should be with the other nobles. "Leave me alone," he commanded softly. She didn't have to endure the pain he was going through. He buried his face between his hands.

"Fox," she almost sighed, ducking to move beneath the branches, stepping toward him. "I was hoping I'd find you here."

"I said leave me alone." His tone was stronger.

She fell to her knees, reaching out to him.

Fox pulled away from her touch, turning away from her. "You shouldn't be seen with me anymore," Fox whispered in a ragged and hoarse tone. "I'm a commoner now. A peasant. A nothing..."

"Do you think I care if you are titleless? Or if you have no lands? Would I have come out in this storm if I did? I don't care about any of that."

"Your father does," Fox retorted. "Your friends do."

Jordan reached out to clasp his hands. "You are my friend."

Despite the chill surrounding them, her hands were warm and soft.

"Not any longer." Fox ripped his hands away from her. She had to leave him for her own good. She could not be seen with him. It could bring the King's wrath on her and her family.

"Why are you doing this? I would never give up our friendship. You mean more to me..."

"Just go!"

Jordan shook her head. "Don't make me leave."

Her anguish tore at his young heart. He didn't want to hurt her. It took all his willpower not to apologize, not to let her be the friend he so desperately needed.

As the silence stretched, Fox thought it was over. She would leave him now. He lifted his gaze to her. Her dress was soaked. Her long brown hair hung over her shoulders, shining with rain. Her pale skin was speckled with raindrops. She looked like some fallen angel.

Her large eyes caught and held his attention. In them, he swore he saw his salvation. He almost lifted his hand, almost reached out to her. But he couldn't draw her into his desperation. He clenched his hand, refusing to move it. She had to leave him.

But she didn't. "You think that by hurting me you will make this easier," Jordan said. "I won't be forced away."

"Jordan," Fox whispered, fighting down his need, fighting the loneliness that engulfed him. He did need her. He would always need her. Fox suddenly leaned into her, embracing her tightly, pulling her close. "I don't want to lose you. You are all I have in the world now."

Jordan clung to him, squeezing his wet velvet tunic beneath her fingers. "You won't lose me, Fox. I'll always be with you. There will never be anyone else."

Fox pulled back slightly, his deep blue eyes sweeping her face, taking in every detail. Faithfulness shone from her blue eyes. He lifted a hand to brush his wet fingertips across her cheek.

Fox gave in to the complete and utter desolation he felt. He leaned forward, resting his forehead against her shoulder.

They held each other, the branches of the willow tree surrounding them, sheltering them, closing out the world and stopping time.

***

When the sun rose the next morning, Fox bounded from his room and raced to the inner ward. The night had brought him little solace and much restlessness. But of all the chaos in his life, he still had one privilege. He ignored the turned backs of his former friends, his former peers. Now they treated him no better than the dirt on the ground. But he didn't care. He didn't need them. He had the only friend that mattered. A true friend.

His gaze searched the throng of departing lords and ladies in the inner courtyard. Their tall headdresses and rich clothing were something he would not be able to afford anymore. But it didn't matter. He never liked the fashions anyway.

Then his gaze settled on the red lion emblazoned on a white flag, the Ruvane crest, clearly visible above the crowd. A bright smile blossomed on Fox's face, but then abruptly vanished as he saw the flag moving out of the castle, already beneath the outer portcullis. Fox raced after it, desperation swelling within his chest. Jordan was leaving! And without saying a word to him. Something horrible had happened. He could feel it in his very bones.

Fox desperately pushed his way through the knights, shouldering his way past one lord who shoved him rudely in the back. But Fox did not take his gaze from the departing flag. It drew farther and farther away, moving down the road toward the town. Fox tried to increase his pace, but the courtyard was too crowded with departing nobles, horses, and servants for him to move quickly. Finally, he burst through the crowd, breaking free of its confines, moving onto the drawbridge...

... only to see the Ruvane flag picking up speed as it moved away from him down the road, flapping in the breeze.

"Jordan!" Fox screamed, but his voice was swallowed up by the wind. "Jordan!"

Champion of the Heart - Chapter One

Ten years later

Jordan entered the small house, throwing her hood off her shoulders. Her cloak was damp from the misty rain that permeated the night air. She removed the cloak quickly and tossed it onto the table in the center of the room.

She stepped past the pan set at one end of the table. It had been put there weeks ago to catch the drips that fell from a hole in the thatched roof. For the past month, she had told Abagail to have it fixed, but she had never gotten around to it, and Jordan knew it was for good reason. The children were quite a handful. This time, she didn't comment on it as she moved to one of the two doors situated on the far wall.

An elderly woman with gray hair and wrinkled skin stepped before her. "Lady Jordan," she said, wringing her hands. Age spots freckled her loose skin, dotting the backs of her hands with spots of light and dark brown.

"How is she, Abagail?" Jordan demanded, her eyes on the door over the woman's shoulder.

"Maggie can wait for the moment," Abagail said. "I just checked on her."

Jordan looked down at Abagail for the first time that night. She had dark rings beneath her blue eyes, and her usually neatly wrapped bun had strands of gray hair poking out wildly from the back of her head. She reached over to a nearby table and handed Jordan a candle, jerking her head at the other door.

Jordan swiveled her gaze to the other door. It was slightly ajar, and in the darkness, Jordan saw four pairs of wide eyes watching her. She cast one longing look at the door over Abagail's shoulder before moving toward the other door.

Jordan heard little feet scampering through the room as she opened the door, blankets being whisked aside, small voices muttering to be quiet. A ray of light fell across the room from the candle Jordan held in her hand. The weak circle of light illuminated two large straw beds, one on each side of the small room. Forms huddled beneath the blankets. They were moving around far too much to be asleep.

Jordan entered the room and moved up to one of the beds, setting the candle down on a nearby table.

"Is Maggie going to die?" a small voice wondered.

The thought sent agony through Jordan's heart but she masked her worry and turned to the other bed and the owner of that small voice. "No, Kara. Maggie is just very, very sick."

A thick set of dark curls emerged from beneath the blanket, then Kara's big hazel eyes. "I know. That's what the physician said."

"Mistress Abagail said we can't see her," another older voice complained.

Jordan turned her gaze to the first bed to meet the stare of a dark-haired boy. "And she's right, John. Maggie is too sick for visitors right now."

"When will she be better?" John asked, throwing the covers to his lap and sitting up.

Jordan sighed at John's question. She wished she knew the answer. "I don't know," she said quietly.

"But we heard the doctor say she needed herbs from far away."

Jordan nodded at Ana's statement, turning to address the blue-eyed eight year old in the opposite bed. "She does. Sir Evan is riding out to get them tonight. He should return by morning."

"What if he doesn't?" Jason wondered.

Jordan turned her gaze to the small boy beside John. He was usually so vibrant but he seemed withdrawn now. "All right," Jordan said, trying to hide just how much Jason's question unnerved her. "That's enough questions for tonight." She moved to one of the beds, pulling the cover up over the two boys. "I'll be here all night." She bent to press kisses to John's and Jason's cheeks. Then she crossed the room to the other bed. "Don't worry about Maggie. I'll stay with her." Jordan pulled the blanket up to cover Ana and Kara, pausing to press a kiss to baby Emily's cheek, who was sleeping like a little angel, though the two year old had more of the devil in her. Jordan kissed Kara and Ana.

Kara pushed the blanket aside to show Jordan the straw mattress, and pointed to an empty spot on the mattress. "I'm saving Maggie's spot for her."

Jordan smiled down at her. "You do that, Kara," she said softly. "Keep it warm for her."

Jordan walked to the door.

"Lady Jordan!" Kara called, stopping Jordan. "The door."

"I know, Kara," she whispered. "I'll leave it open a little."

Jordan stepped from the room and set the candle down on a table, leaving the door open a crack to let some light spill into the room for the children. They so hated the dark, she knew, especially with what was happening to one of their friends. It made the dark that much darker, the quiet that much quieter. She could feel the anxiety and fear in her heart, too.

She stared at the other door for a moment, afraid of what she would find on the other side. She willed herself to be strong and took a deep breath before walking to the other door. She pushed the door open slowly, trying to be quiet. The old wood creaked despite her best efforts.

The room was dark, the only illumination coming from a candle that was in danger of going out at any moment. The sputtering flame cast sinister shadows on the wooden walls. To Jordan's overtired mind, they looked like hovering black ghosts waiting to claim the dead. She quickly forced that unpleasant thought away and stepped deeper into the room. In the corner was Abagail's bed, a comfortable straw mattress. But the figure on it was far too small to be Abagail.

Jordan hurried over to the mattress. Maggie was still and pale in the candlelight, her brown curls laying limply around her head. The edge of the thick wool blanket was folded beneath her small hands, as if she had not moved in a very long time.

Jordan knelt beside the mattress, taking the girl's tiny hand into her own. Maggie was only four years old. She had her whole life ahead of her. It wasn't fair. Jordan brushed the hair back from Maggie's forehead and was shocked at how warm the little girl felt. Heat emanated from the girl's skin before Jordan even touched her.

Tears rushed into Jordan's eyes and she silently begged Evan to hurry.

Maggie's eyes fluttered and then opened to mere slits. "Lady Jordan," she managed to whisper, although it seemed to take all her strength to do so.

"Yes, Maggie," Jordan whispered. "It's me. Don't talk. Save your strength."

"I'm so cold," Maggie said.

Fear shriveled any glimmer of hope in Jordan's heart, and she climbed into bed with Maggie, pulling the child tightly against her, making sure the blanket was wrapped around every inch of the little girl's body. She rubbed Maggie's hot forehead.

"I don't feel well," Maggie whispered.

"I know, sweetheart," Jordan soothed. She rubbed her cheek against Maggie's hot one. "I know."

Maggie's eyes slowly closed again.

Jordan's eyes again filled with tears. Maggie had been with her the longest. She had been abandoned at the castle as an infant, barely able to walk. She would have died if Jordan hadn't found her and nursed her back to health. She was the reason Jordan had convinced her father to give her the old run-down Johnson cottage to shelter the children who had no families. She worked a small patch of garden in the castle so they would have food to survive on and mended their clothing so they wouldn't be cold. They were the abandoned children. The children no one wanted except for her. Maggie had given Jordan's life a true purpose.

And now she was unable to help the poor girl. She could do nothing for her but hold her and hope Evan made it back in time. He had to get the herbs. The physician had said that only the herbs would save Maggie's life.

Maggie groaned softly.

"Shh," Jordan whispered. "It will be all right," she said as much to Maggie as to herself. "Everything will be fine."

***

But it would not be all right. Everything would not be fine. For what happened that night in the dark moonlight on a desolate road would change Jordan Ruvane's life forever.

Champion of the Heart - Chapter Two

The road was dark and empty. A layer of wispy fog floated across the dirt, glowing a ghostly pale yellow as it absorbed what little moonlight reached its shifting surface. A light mist of rain fell from the night sky, its droplets beginning to break up the patch of fog. The rain was not enough to drench Fox, just enough to annoy him and obscure his view of the road. He swiped a few drops of the cool mist from his forehead with his fingertips and looked further down the dirt road, peering out from his hiding place behind the leaves of a bush.

A form shifted at Fox's right. "How long are we going to wait in this weather?" a large man with red hair and a beard asked.

"As long as it takes," Fox replied. Fox glanced at the big man beside him. Fox couldn't even remember his real name, nor did he recall anyone ever telling him what it was. Everyone just knew him as Pick -- an obvious name for a master pickpocket and lock picker. But the name fit, so Pick he was and Pick he would always be. The odd thing about the big man was that no one outside Fox's small band would ever believe that a man of such girth, with shoulders as wide as a horse and arms as thick as tree trunks, would have the subtlest touch Fox had ever seen. The man could steal toys from a child and somehow the child wouldn't even notice.

"Maybe Frenchie heard the baker wrong," Pick suggested.

"Pick, you know gossip is one thing Frenchie doesn't get wrong," the man to Fox's left said, pushing his damp blond hair from his head. Beau had been known as Beauregard O'Connell, but Fox knew if he called him that to his face, he wouldn't have much of a face left. Beau was a good-looking man, younger than Fox, with hair down to his shoulders. The man had hawk-like deep brown eyes that seemed to look right through people sometimes. But those keen eyes had saved Fox's men more than a few times, because Beau had the archery skills to go with them. Good aim and a quick, sure release had provided many an avenue of escape for Fox's band.

Pick chuckled low in his throat. "Not like his cookin', eh?"

"I still have that burned rabbit stewing in my gut," Beau complained. "My tongue wants to climb out of my mouth and hide in my ale mug every time he calls us for supper. The man wouldn't know how to use a spice if his life depended on it"

"Maybe that's why he's with us," Pick added, laughing. "An outcast cook for a bunch of outcasts."

"I don't think he was thrown out of Chandler Manor for his cooking, but he should have been," Beau remarked.

Fox ignored Pick and Beau's chatter. His eyes were focused ahead on the empty road, waiting. The darkness seemed thicker now than just a few moments before. The sliver of moon trying to poke out from behind the clouds had disappeared completely. What little light it had been throwing down on the road now was gone. Even the fog seemed to have vanished. He had to rely on his other senses now. His ears were tuned to any noise, any sign of activity. This road was the only route they could take to get to Ruvane village, and that was where Frenchie had heard they were headed.

Silence greeted him. Too much silence. Then the rain grew heavier, the drops getting larger and larger, and the mist became a steady stream of falling water. Above them, thunder rumbled in the night sky, threatening a bigger storm.

Nervousness churned in Fox's stomach. They had to come this way. Damn them, they'd better come this way. There is too much at stake for them not to. He impatiently wiped more rain from his eyes.

Suddenly, the tweet of a bird sounded above the falling rain, but it was no real call. It was an alert from one his band. Their target was coming up the road. Pick and Beau moved into action immediately. They disappeared into the forest around Fox, moving in opposite directions to surround the approaching merchant.

Fox listened again. The first alert was a sound for them to get prepared. Now would come the call of how many men were in the group. He heard one tweet, then another. Fox listened intently, but no further call came. Thunder grumbled in the sky, loud and angry. Two men? Fox wondered with amazement. Only two men? This would be too easy. He breathed a sigh of relief. For once in his life, something would be easy.

He listened to the pattering hum of the rain as it hit the leaves around him, his gaze focused on the road before him. He couldn't make out anything in the darkness. Then he heard the sound he was waiting for, the soft plod of horses in the thick mud of the road.

Fox's body stiffened in anticipation. Far off down the road, he could barely make out two silhouetted riders coming over the hill.

He slowly, silently slid his sword from its scabbard. The handle was wet from the rain, but Fox's palm gripped the leather hilt with confidence.

The two riders came closer.

Every muscle in Fox's body tensed as he stepped out into the middle of the road. Above, the clouds drifted across the sky and a slight gap appeared between them. Moonlight shone down through the gap, illuminating the road before Fox, illuminating a cart being drawn behind the two riders, a cart filled with ten men at least. A chill raced up Fox's spine. There were only supposed to be two men. That had been the signal he heard. Not two and ten! Fox's gaze darted to the bushes on the side of the road, but there was no sense in trying to hide. The riders had obviously seen him, and he needed what they were carrying. Needed it desperately.

And then the riders were before him, slowing their horses. Fox reached out and grabbed one of the horse's bridles. "Good evening, good sirs." Fox glanced at the men in the cart and breathed a soft sigh of relief. They were farmers, from the looks of them. Very tired farmers. They were all asleep, except for one old man who looked at him curiously.

"What do you want knave?" one of the riders grumbled, keeping his head down out of the rain. "Out of the way. We are on our way to Ruvane village. The cart is full. We can carry no more."

Fox stepped up to the riders, having to look up through the rain to see the man's face. "The rain must have soured your temperament," Fox responded.

"I'll sour you, you oaf." The man raised his fist.

Fox lifted his weapon in one fluid motion and rested the tip against the man's throat. "I think not."

Pick stepped out of the woods, moving to stand beside the second rider. He grinned up at the riders, his smile much more predatory than friendly.

The first rider slowly lowered his fist.

"What is it you want?" the second rider asked in a calmer voice. "We have no coin. Nothing worth taking." As he spoke, his hand dipped down toward the handle of a dagger jutting out from his saddlebag.

Fox swiveled his gaze slightly to the second rider. He wore a hood, no doubt to keep out the rain, but it also kept his features hidden in darkness. "I want what you carry to Ruvane village," Fox told him.

"God's blood, man!" the first rider cried. "Do you know what you ask?"

Fox nodded. "I do. Now please hand over the bag." The first rider opened his mouth to object but Fox pressed the blade against his throat. "Quickly."

"You can't ask us to! There is –"

"I can more than ask. I am demanding it." Suddenly, a whooshing sound filled the air and a tuft of Pick's hair seemed to leap off his head. The second rider cried out in alarm as an arrow sunk into the dagger's wooden handle, a mere inch from where his fingers were groping for the blade! His horse started from the brunt of the impact but the rider quickly brought him under control.

Beau stepped out of the woods, a second arrow nocked and ready to fire.

Pick bent down and picked up the chunk of his lopped-off hair. He touched his head, feeling the spot where the arrow had shaved his locks.

The first rider produced a pouch from his saddlebag and held it in his palm for a moment, as if weighing its value against the life of the other man. Finally, he held the bag out to Fox. Fox's hand closed around the bag and relief coursed through his body. "Thank you, sirs." He backed toward the cover of the forest.

"You're an insufferable maggot!" the first man hollered, shaking a fist at Fox. "You don't know what you've done!"

Fox ignored him and disappeared into the foliage. Pick and Beau quickly trailed him. He made his way through the woods, moving in and out of the trees, leaping fallen logs, looking over his shoulder to make sure they weren't being followed. He paused at a tall tree and yanked the string on the bag open. He worked the neck of the bag wide so that he could peer into the pouch. He smiled in relief when he saw the contents.

"Is it there?" Pick asked.

"Yes," Fox replied.

"Then we must hurry." Beau passed him, racing on.

Fox pulled the string closed and tightened it quickly, then looped it around the leather strap of his belt, patting the precious bag before racing deeper into the woods after his companions.

"Hey, wait for me," a voice called out.

Fox turned to see a young woman racing through the trees toward him. She was dressed in a leather tunic and leather breeches, her womanly figure clearly showing through the tight clothes. "Let's go, Scout," Fox called out to her.

Scout hurried to his side, moving nimbly through the trees, crashing through a small bush.

"Two men, eh?" Fox said.

"I saw them," Scout countered. "I just didn't want to panic you. They were all asleep anyway."

"Next time, just give me the numbers."

Scout scowled. "Yes, sir, Lord Mercer. As you command. Far be it from me to make a decision." Scout moved angrily away from him, joining Pick and Beau.

Fox frowned, cursing silently, but hurried on. His hand unconsciously moved to encircle the bag of precious herbs he had just taken from the riders. He needed them far more than anyone in Ruvane village could ever possibly need them.

Champion of the Heart - Chapter Three

Jordan held Maggie tightly, doing her best to shield the young girl from the horror that was threatening to take her from the world. It was almost morning, and Evan wasn't back yet. Maggie's breathing was growing weaker and weaker, her small body laboring with each intake of air, her skin blotchy, far from its normal healthy coloring. The fever was slowly consuming her. Jordan wanted to tell Maggie to open her eyes, to give her just a glimpse of life, but Maggie needed every ounce of her strength, so she kept silent. She was afraid if she tried to wake the girl, Maggie wouldn't open her eyes at all.

Jordan's arms tightened around her. She couldn't lose her. Not after raising Maggie herself. She meant more to Jordan than... Tears rose in her eyes as she once again silently begged Evan to hurry. He should have been back hours ago. Where could he be?

She squeezed her eyes closed, wishing that somehow she could take the sickness into herself, that somehow this tragedy could be hers to bear instead of Maggie's. Despite Jordan's best efforts to fight it back, a hot tear squeezed out of the corner of her eye and trailed down her cheek.

The sun's rays began to peek beneath the door and spread across the floor, drawing closer with the passing minutes. Jordan watched the light grow brighter and brighter, creep closer and closer. Usually, the sunlight cheered her and warmed her spirit, but today the light seemed unusually bright and glaring, bringing with it the hands of death.

Suddenly, the door was thrown open. For a brief, horrible moment, a black shape stood motionless in the doorway, taking on the ghastly appearance of Death, darkly robed and ominously quiet.

Jordan's hands tightened around Maggie.

Then the shape stepped forward. It was Evan. He entered the room and moved toward her.

Jordan felt such relief rush through her that her arms trembled as they held Maggie against her bosom. She sat up in the bed, holding Maggie against her chest. "Do you have the herbs?" she whispered in a voice dry with relief. "Has Abagail made a drink I can give to Maggie?" She looked at Evan, her eyes imploring him for answers.

But Evan shook his head at all of her questions. "No, Jordan."

"No?" Jordan asked in confusion. "Abagail hasn't made the drink yet? Tell her to hurry. Maggie is –"

"I don't have the herbs."

"What?" Jordan gasped weakly.

"The merchants were robbed before I reached them." Evan looked away from Jordan to stare at the floor.

"No," Jordan whispered, pulling Maggie tighter against her. "No."

"I'm sorry, Jordan."

Jordan looked down at Maggie's somber face. She stroked the little girl's pale cheeks with the backs of her fingers, moving some of her damp, brown locks away from her closed eyes. Her small, small hands were still clasped together, resting atop her tiny chest. Jordan wouldn't let her go without a battle. Jordan lifted her gaze to Evan, even as tears filled her eyes, blurring her vision. "There has to be something else we can do."

"I -- I think we've tried everything."

"No. We have to think of something." But even as Jordan said the words, Maggie's breathing slowed. She pressed her cheek to the girl's head and looked at Evan through her blurry vision. "She's dying, Evan," Jordan whispered in agony.

Evan looked away.

"Maggie," Jordan sobbed, and pressed her cheek to the child's. "No," she begged. But even as she said the word, the girl's breathing stopped altogether and her body went limp. Her chest no longer rose and fell. Jordan pulled Maggie tightly to her, sobbing, pleading with the Almighty not to take her. Maggie was only a child, the daughter she didn't have yet. She couldn't die because of some silly herbs.

"Jordan," Evan called.

Jordan refused to look up. She kept her eyes closed tightly, her fists wrapped in the girl's cotton dress. Her body shook with unspoken sorrow as she held Maggie.

"Jordan." Evan's voice was firmer, demanding her to look up.

Jordan didn't care what he wanted. He had failed to bring her the herbs that would have saved Maggie's life. It was his fault. It was all Evan's fault.

But she knew deep down it was not Evan's fault. It was her fault for letting the children play in the rain the other day. Everyone had warned her.

But the herbs would have saved Maggie's life. Who could have stolen them? And why? Why?

Someone grabbed her shoulder, shaking it gently. Jordan looked up to see Evan standing beside her. He jerked his head at the doorway. Jordan looked over Evan's shoulder to see the children standing in the doorway. Kara, Ana, and Jason were sobbing. John was holding Emily slightly behind them in the open doorway.

Jordan straightened and looked away to the dark wood wall, composing herself. It took her a long moment to blink back the tears and wipe her cheeks. She carefully laid Maggie on the bed, smoothing back her hair one last time. A well of grief opened inside her as she gazed at Maggie's still face, but she fought down the tears. She pulled the blanket over Maggie's head, saying a silent farewell.

She slowly turned to the children and rose from the bed. With each step she took toward them, their tears pulled at the fragile wall of protectiveness she had tried to throw up around her own emotions. She had to stay strong for them. She had to keep her composure. Their large eyes looked to her for a reason, their tears demanding an answer. She reached the door and stopped.

"You promised us Maggie would be all right," Ana said. "You promised."

Jordan knelt before them, pain and failure welling up inside her. She could feel the protective wall starting to crack. "I'm so sorry," she whispered.

Jordan knew she had to control her tears. She had to be strong. She had to be. But when Kara threw her arms around Jordan's neck and cried into her shoulder, the wall shattered completely and Jordan could do nothing to prevent the wave of anguish overflowing her senses. She hugged Kara tightly, sobbing.

All the other children threw their arms around her in a protective shelter of love and grief.

They wept for a long time together, holding each other, comforting each other as best they could. Thankfully, Evan had closed the door on Maggie's death, sealing out the image of her unnaturally still form.

Abagail clapped her hands. "It's time to eat, children," she said in her motherly voice.

Jordan looked up at her and stood. She dabbed a sleeve at the corners of her eyes. "Abagail is right," she agreed, gently taking Kara's shoulders and guiding her to her chair at the table. The rest of the children followed, taking seats at the wooden bench.

When the children were all seated at the table, eating in a strange brooding silence, Evan gently took Jordan's elbow to lead her to the side of the room.

"You have guests arriving at Castle Ruvane. You can't afford to dwell here much longer," Evan said.

"I will stay as long as I am needed," Jordan replied softly, her eyes taking in the way Ana bowed her head and wiped at her eyes.

"Jordan," Evan began sternly.

Jordan's gaze turned to the closed door, and the image of the young girl lying lifelessly inside filled her mind. Maggie. They had been so close to curing her. "I can't believe she's gone. Just yesterday morn I was playing hide and seek with her."

"Life is like that," Evan said, distracted. He glanced at the front door as if he had somewhere better to be.

"You can leave, Evan," Jordan said coldly, angrily. "Thank you for staying and thank you for your help with Maggie."

Evan's gaze shot to her as she began to move past him. "Don't be like that, Jordan. I did my best. I will capture the cur that stole those herbs and make him pay for what he did. You have my word on that."

Jordan faltered and turned to him. "You know who did it?" she asked, shocked.

Evan nodded. "The merchant saw him. Yes," Evan said stoically. "I know who did it."

"Who?" Jordan demanded, grabbing his arm tightly.

Evan shifted his blue gaze to her. There was such animosity in his gaze that for a moment Jordan was taken aback. Just by his stare, just by the hatred in his gaze, she knew who it was. And she couldn't believe it.

"The Black Fox," Evan said. "The Black Fox killed your Maggie."

CHAMPION OF THE HEART

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The Lady and the Falconer - Prologue

England, 1373

"Ready or not, here I come!" a young girl's voice cried out in the distance.

Solace Farindale pressed a hand over her mouth and giggled, scrunching lower behind three bales of hay. She didn't know where her friend Gwen was hiding because as soon as Helen had begun counting, she'd run into the barn and dove behind the hay. Lillian, her maidservant, would no doubt be angry that she had dirtied her new velvet dress, but Solace couldn't resist such a perfect hiding place. The sweet smell of straw filled her nose, and several strands tickled her back as she settled into her spot. She loved coming to visit Helen on her farm. She and Gwen had begged their fathers to let them go, just for the afternoon, and after much pleading the men had reluctantly agreed. It was half a morning's ride from Gwen's home, but well worth it.

Finally, after a brief moment of expectant waiting, Solace peeked through a slit between the hay bales. The barn was empty. Several stalls that used to house horses now stood vacant. Solace knew Helen's parents had to sell the beasts off because their crops had yielded a poor harvest last year. Solace scanned the narrow area of the barn that she could see through the opening, but there was still no sign of Helen. She shrugged and settled back to wait.

Then she heard the barn door creak open. Her eyes widened and again she placed a hand over her mouth as she slid lower behind the hay, afraid her giggles would give her away. But there was no scurry of searching feet, no calls of her name.

Solace shifted and peered through the slit between the hay bales. She glimpsed a woman grabbing a rusty bucket from the ground and carrying it to an empty stall across from her. It was only Helen's mother, Anne. Solace's gaze flew to the door. Where is Helen? she wondered.

Anne placed the bucket on the ground next to a small pile of seeds. She scooped up a handful with her cupped palm and dumped them into the bucket.

"Good afternoon, Anne," a man called out. His deep, guttural voice gave the greeting a harshness that belied the innocence of his words.

Solace heard Anne gasp and she tilted her head, leaning closer to the narrow opening between the bales. She saw two men dressed in chain mail lurking near the door and one man standing inside the barn. She nervously twirled a strand of dark hair around her finger as a feeling of fear engulfed her. The tall man wasn't a good man. She could sense the evil in him, as if a dark cloud belonged over his head. His hair was immaculate, styled in a fashionable bowl-cut, black as the night. The red velvet of his jupon was tailored to his chest and arms, padded somewhat at the chest and shoulders to accent their broadness. The collar reached all the way to his neck. He had the coldest blue stare she had ever seen.

"Lord Randol," Anne greeted with a slight bow.

Randol sauntered closer to her. "Looks like you've kept the barn in good order."

"It's our living, m'lord. We take good care of our things."

"Perhaps you should take as good care of your lord," he grumbled. "Where's your husband?"

"In the fields, of course, m'lord," she replied.

Solace watched lord Randol nod as if he already knew what Anne would say. "I'm here for my taxes, Anne."

"M'lord, my husband explained to you that the rains and the flooding have washed out most of the crops."

"You're three months behind in your payments, Anne," Randol interjected.

Solace saw Anne wring her hands and she sensed something terrible was coming, but she didn't know what to do.

"I realize that, m'lord," Anne said. "But we have nothing to pay you with. You have all our animals. We have no coin, no –"

"Coin is not what I'm asking for." He reached out and ran a finger along the bare skin at her throat.

Solace watched with a growing fear as Anne's eyes widened in outrage and her slender fingers slapped lord Randol's large hand aside.

"You go too far this time," Anne retorted. "You've taxed us until we've become unable to pay. You've taken everything from us. I will not give you myself, too!"

"You have little choice, Anne," Randol said, stepping closer. "With nothing else to give, it's either that or your house."

Anne stepped away from him. "Sleeping in a field is preferable to your touch," she spat.

"You won't think that come winter," he murmured, but loud enough for Solace to hear. Again Randol reached out to Anne, this time grabbing hold of her dress and yanking it from her shoulder.

Solace wanted to flee, wanted to escape the horrible man, but she dared not move. The two men lurking in the doorway would surely see her.

Anne bolted for the door. Randol caught her in his arms, pulling her hard against his chest. "Such a willing wench," he whispered, licking her ear.

Anne whirled, striking out at her attacker, raking her nails down his face.

Lord Randol howled his disbelief and rage, and pushed her to the ground. He raised his fingers to his gashed cheek. "Bitch," he snarled, studying the blood on his hand. He undid his belt and let his breeches fall to the ground.

"No!" Anne screamed, struggling uselessly as Randol dropped to his knees.

The hay bales blocked Solace's view of Anne. All she could see was lord Randol's face, the ugly grimace that twisted his features. She had never seen anything more vicious in her life, the way his lips sneered like a snarling animal's, the way his cold eyes stared like a venomous serpent's at Anne. She heard Anne screaming and sobbing, saw her hands come up to push Randol away. He ignored her flailing fists and continued to violently thrust himself at her.

Tears came to Solace's eyes. She didn't know what was happening, but she knew that Anne was being hurt. She pressed her hands to her ears, trying to block out the sounds of Anne's cries.

Finally, lord Randol rose to his feet and wiped an arm across his slashed cheek. Without a word, he turned away.

Hot tears ran down Solace's cheeks. She was trembling all over. She fought to choke back her sobs, terrified of what the man would do to her if he found her.

Anne's moans filled the air. Solace watched lord Randol take a menacing step toward the woman, and a bright flash of silver flared across her vision, arcing toward Anne.

Solace blinked. After that, she heard no more sobs. Shivering, she huddled behind the hay, praying the men would go away, praying they wouldn't find her. She barely heard Randol's last words. "Never strike a lord."

Solace listened to the silence that followed for a long moment. Her muffled sobs sounded loud to her own ears. She was sure Randol would discover her. Please, she silently begged, don't let him find me.

Then she heard footsteps, booted feet treading over the dried hay of the barn floor. They were getting louder, closer. She hugged her knees tightly to her chest, squeezing her eyes tight. Tears forced their way from the corners of her clenched lids, sliding down her small face, bringing their salty bitterness to the edges of her lips.

The footsteps drew closer. And then stopped. Something called to Solace, compelling her to open her eyes, urging her with an undeniable force to lift her head. Slowly, she opened her wet eyes to stare into the face of evil. Dark, malevolent eyes glared at her, eyes that trapped her in a hypnotic grip.

Something glinted in the morning's sun, reflecting light into her eyes. Her gaze shifted to the sword Randol held in his hand. A smear of blood marred its smooth, flat surface.

Solace couldn't take her eyes from it. She trembled with a ferocity that should have moved the earth. Suddenly, the blade lowered.

Her gaze remained locked on the empty air where the weapon had been.

Then, finally, Solace heard the footsteps recede and the barn door swing closed. Still, she couldn't move. She was afraid of what she would find if she left her hiding spot. What if the men hadn't really gone? What if they were waiting to hurt her?

Finally, after a long moment of silence, Solace pushed herself forward, peering around the hay, her body still shaking with fear. The barn was empty...

...except for Anne lying on the ground. Solace wanted to see if she was all right. But she was afraid. So afraid. You have to help her, a voice inside her urged. Solace dragged herself out from behind the hay and was surprised to find that her shaky legs held her up. She approached Anne very slowly. Was she dead? Her eyes were closed. Blood trickled from the corner of her mouth. Her chest wasn't moving.

Solace wiped at her moist eyes, trying to push aside her tears so she could see. Suddenly Anne's eyes opened and pinned Solace where she stood.

Solace jumped back, stifling a scream.

"Solace," Anne whispered, a gurgle of blood issuing forth from her lips as she tried to speak.

Solace shook her head, refusing to move from her spot. The sight of Anne's blood terrified her. She spun toward the door, wanting to run, wanting to flee and pretend this never happened. But then Helen came to her mind. Helen would want to know why she didn't help her mother. Helen. Where was she? She turned back to Anne and moved stiffly to her side.

Anne reached out to seize hold of the hem of Solace's velvet dress. "Tell your father," Anne coughed. "Don't let Randol get away with this. Don't let me die for nothing."

Solace shook her head again, frightened.

"Please," Anne begged. "Tell Helen that I love her."

Solace watched Anne's head slump back to the earth, saw Anne's hand release her dress and fall lifeless to the dirt. She was dead. Anne was dead. Solace ran from the barn, tears streaming from her eyes, her sobs now loud and heavy in her throat.

***

Lord Farindale ran his hands over the parchment, spreading it out on the table before him. He was a tall, imposing man with a thick tangle of brown hair, his full beard flecked with speckles of auburn. He studied the plans for a long moment, tugging at his lower lip in thought. Then, he raised green eyes to the man who stood on the opposite side of the table from him. "This castle will take years to construct," he said.

The man nodded, his bright blue eyes alight with approval. "Yes," he agreed. "It will be a mighty asset. A powerful home for you, my friend. And also one of the strongest fortresses in all of England."

A smile crept across Farindale's lips. "God's blood, Erickson!" he exclaimed. "I believe you want me to build this for the protection it will offer you!"

Erickson chuckled. He was shorter and stockier than Farindale, with a receding hairline that was fast growing into complete baldness. "I won't lie to you," he answered. "A castle this strong will attract many fine knights."

"Not to mention the knights my full coffers will attract."

Erickson continued, nodding. "It would be a relief to know that my neighbor, and my good friend, has such a large disposal of men at his service."

Farindale laughed out loud. He slapped the man on the back. "It's good to see you, Erickson. But come, tell me truly what you think of the plans? Where can I improve them?"

The door squeaked open, and the padding of feet caused the men to turn. Solace raced across the wooden floor and Farindale opened his arms for her. In the flickering light of the room's candles, Farindale made out his daughter's red cheeks and teary eyes. "What's wrong, darling?" he wondered, a tightness constricting his chest at her distress.

She buried her face in his shoulder, sobs wracking her tiny body.

"Where's Gwen?" Erickson demanded. "Where's my daughter?"

Solace turned wet eyes to Erickson. "She's with Lillian. And Helen."

Farindale cast Erickson a glance over the child's dark head. "It's all right, my love," he whispered, turning his attention back to Solace. He sat in a chair to cradle the small girl in his arms. "What's happened?"

"Oh, Father," she wept, clinging to him tightly. "It was horrible."

He pulled back to look into her eyes, scowling. "Tell me," he ordered.

Her lower lip trembled, quivering with anguish. "They killed Anne, Father," she sobbed.

"Anne?" Farindale echoed, casting a confused glance at Erickson.

"One of Randol's tenants. They live on our border. The girls went there this morning to play with her daughter."

Farindale nodded, remembering. "I knew we shouldn't have let them go. There's nothing but trouble to be had in Randol's lands."

Erickson knelt beside Farindale to stroke Solace's soft curls. "Who killed her?"

Solace turned large, green eyes to Erickson. She was crying so hard she could hardly speak. "L—L-Lord Randol and his men." She turned her eyes to her father. "He hurt Anne b-because she couldn't pay her taxes. He d-did something horrible to her. And then he stabbed her with h-his sword."

Farindale clenched his teeth and pulled her head to his chest, trying to calm her, but Solace continued to cry. "Did he hurt you?" he demanded, every muscle in his body tensing.

"No," Solace wept.

Farindale crushed her in an embrace born of relief.

The door opened and a thin woman dressed in black bobbed a curtsey to lord Farindale.

Farindale reluctantly released his hold on his daughter. "Go to Lillian, my love," he whispered, wiping the tears from her red cheeks. "She will get you some warm cider."

Solace refused to let go of him, and Farindale held her tight for a moment longer. He kissed the top of her head, feeling her tiny body shudder. Then, he pulled her arms from around him, and urged encouragingly, "Go with Lillian."

Solace looked up into his eyes. "You have to stop him," she said sincerely. "You can't let him get away with this."

Farindale stared down at his young daughter in shock. Her face was wet from tears, her cheeks and nose red, her eyes swollen, her body trembling with fright. But she was as serious as any adult. He admired her in that instant.

"You won't let Anne die for nothing, will you?" she wondered.

"Hush, child," Farindale said, wiping the tears from her cheeks and stroking her rebellious head of curls. "I'll speak with you later."

Solace nodded softly, and inhaled a shaky breath as she slid from his lap.

Farindale watched her walk to the door and take Lillian's hand. She was a lovely girl, charming and innocent. She was going to grow up to be a beauty. She glanced back at him over her shoulder, those green eyes imploring him. Then, she was gone, closing the door behind her.

Farindale's hands clenched into fists. "That bastard has gone too far."

Erickson placed a hand on his shoulder. "Easy, my friend. Randol is a powerful lord."

"Powerful and evil from all you've told me." Farindale turned to his friend to meet his blue eyes with resolve.

Erickson sighed in resignation. "It's true. He treats his people cruelly. This is not the first time I've heard of his killing a peasant."

"But it's the first time my daughter has witnessed it." Farindale's fists clenched tighter. "I've tried so hard to shelter her from the cruelties of the world. I didn't want her to see something like this."

"She was on his land," Erickson reminded him.

"Maybe it's time we changed that," Farindale said, moving to the table to stare down at the luxurious plans for his new castle.

Erickson joined him.

Farindale picked up the parchment. "We're not building a castle, my friend." He crumpled the parchment in his fist. "We're taking one."

The Lady and the Falconer - Chapter One

Thirteen Years Later

The beautiful fall day was fresh and warm, summer refusing to relinquish its grip. Solace Farindale moved through the grassy field beside Gwen Erickson, their steps leisurely and relaxed. Behind them, Castle Fulton loomed large, its many towers reaching high into the sky. The drawbridge stretched across the deep moat, and dozens of villagers moved in and out of the castle as they saw to the business of the day. A monk passed Solace and her friend on the way to the castle's chapel, his head bowed, his hands clasped in silent prayer. The pious men and their brown robes were a common enough sight at Castle Fulton. The monks stopped at the fortress on their way to the Abbey of St. Michael, sometimes alone, but Solace had seen groups as large as fifteen.

In a field to the left, knights were practicing their jousting skills, their enthusiastic shouts filling the air. Solace turned at the sound of hoof beats to see a man striking a quintain with his long lance. The counterweight whirled quickly around and hit the man in the shoulder. The man tumbled from his horse amidst laughter from his fellow knights.

Solace turned her attention back to Gwen. "Is it serious?"

"I... I don't know," Gwen replied solemnly, wringing her hands in front of her. "Father just seems so weak."

"I'm sure he'll be fine," Solace said kindly. But she had seen the pale color of lord Erickson's face, the sagging of his shoulders, and knew his strength was waning. "Have you sought physicians?"

"We've tried everything!" Gwen exclaimed. "They gave him all sorts of herbs. They studied his urine. Even the bloodletting didn't work! More and more of our coin goes to trying to make Father well." Gwen looked up at Solace, her blue eyes dull with worry. "Father doesn't like me to concern myself with the finances, but I know that's why we're here."

"What do you mean?"

"Father was hoping your father could loan him some gold," Gwen said quietly, glancing around the field, not wanting the others to hear. "But since your father is off with the king..." Her voice trailed away.

Solace stopped to meet Gwen's eyes. "Are you in danger?"

"No," Gwen insisted. "It's nothing like that. It's just that our coin is almost depleted. Until the taxes are collected next year, there's not enough to pay the knights who protect the castle."

Solace nodded in understanding. "I'm sure Father would give you the gold without any questions."

"Yes, but will your stepmother?"

Solace opened her mouth to reply when the loud cry of a bird drew her gaze to the sky. A magnificent falcon soared overhead, circling the field. For a moment, she wondered if it had escaped from its owner. But as her gaze dropped back to Gwen, she spotted the falconer in the distance over her friend's shoulder.

A second bird, a peregrine falcon, was perched on his fist. The falconer was holding onto the jesses, leather strips attached to the falcon's legs, while offering it a lure. The falcon ate the offered meat, devouring the entire piece. The bird was beautiful, its golden brown feathers shining like expensive silk in the warm sunlight. But it was not the falcon that caught Solace's eye.

Every time she saw him, the falconer's conspicuous good looks totally captured her attention. He towered over the rest of the men by at least a head, and he now stood absolutely still, as if somehow knowing he was being studied. He was marvelous to gaze at, a statue carved by the most skilled artisan. He had an arrogantly symmetrical face that was breathtakingly gorgeous. His aquiline nose was straight, his jaw strong, chiseled by a master sculptor. His lips were firm, strangely...foreignly...sensual. The sunlight suddenly seemed to be shining for him alone, glimmering over his black hair like a halo, making it gleam like onyx under the sun's bright rays.

A small girl, Mary, ran to him from over the drawbridge. She stopped at his feet, and the falconer turned to her. Solace watched as the girl exchanged words with him. She saw his gaze shift to the falcon on his wrist. Then, he held out a piece of meat to the child. Mary took the meat with a grimace and held it out to the bird with two fingers.

The falcon captured the meat and quickly ate it.

The falconer patted Mary on the head, and the girl beamed at him.

A warm sensation flooded through Solace. There was something about this falconer that wasn't what it seemed.

Gwen turned and glanced over her shoulder. A devious grin stretched her lips as she turned back to face Solace. "He is very handsome."

Solace quickly looked away, blushing.

Suddenly, Old Ben limped by Solace and Gwen, cursing under his breath and muttering, "He's no falconer." Old Ben was the oldest man they knew, his skin darkened and weathered by the sun. Most of his hair was gone, and what few strands remained were as white as lamb's wool.

Solace and Gwen exchanged a look and then smiled in unison. Old Ben was always complaining about something! Solace knew he took keen pride in his birds, always wanting everything done with perfection. That was one of the reasons her father had hired him as his first falconer.

Old Ben waved his arms at the falconer, flapping them as if he were a great bird himself. "Not like that!" he called out in exasperation. "If n ya feed 'er too much she'll never go after the game! Ya just give her a taste!" Old Ben took the peregrine from the falconer and walked away, mumbling curses under his breath.

Solace watched the falconer for a long moment. Tales had circulated about him in the castle, the gossip of frustrated wives and eager young women. Tales of how his eyes could undress you with one penetrating gaze. Tales of how his muscles rippled with explosive energy, muscles hidden beneath a layer of bronze skin. Tales of how his deep, confident voice could make your limbs tremble with the anticipation of hearing your name whispered by him.

The black falcon cried out again and swooped in for a landing, digging its claws into the leather patch sewn on the shoulder of the falconer's tunic. The falconer barely acknowledged the bird's arrival until Mary clapped with glee. He smiled down at the girl as the black falcon shifted its position on his shoulder. The falconer then set a hand on Mary's shoulder and steered her back toward the drawbridge.

As he moved, Solace admired the ease, the natural grace with which the bird rode his shoulder, mildly intrigued that it was riding its master's shoulder instead of on his forearm where it belonged.

Gwen gently cleared her throat.

Solace turned away from the falconer. She clasped Gwen's hands. "Don't worry," Solace assured her. "Everything will be fine."

***

The needle stabbed Solace's finger for the hundredth time, and she silently cursed. She was sure this embroidery of a flower would turn out much better than her previous efforts. She had been concentrating on it all evening, trying to block out the mundane conversation Gwen was having with her half sister, Beth, and her stepmother. But as much as she tried to focus on her work, the image of the falconer kept haunting each stitch. The beauty of his face, the perfection of his features, aroused her imagination. She continued to try to push the distraction aside, but he kept materializing in her mind's eye like a stubborn phantom refusing to be banished.

Solace glanced across the solar at Gwen to see her head bowed over her work, her fingers nimbly finishing up some fancy mending on her father's leggings. She wondered if the falconer's manly physique was playing havoc with Gwen's mind, too. But as she watched her friend's deft fingers move, she knew Gwen was not thinking of him.

She shifted her gaze to Beth. Her wedding gown cascaded over her lap like a white shimmering waterfall. Solace knew Beth's thoughts would not be interrupted by some mysterious stranger; she was totally devoted to lord Graham Harper, her betrothed.

Her stepmother, Alissa, shifted in her chair, drawing Solace's gaze. Alissa ran a hand over her immaculate brown hair before once again bending over her husband's tunic. She was wearing a new purple houppelande, trimmed with white fur. Alissa was always in fashion. It would be a disgrace for her to be caught wearing one of Solace's favorite dresses, a cotton gown. Alissa's elegance made her beautiful, but her haughtiness made her unlikable. For a long moment, Solace watched her stepmother work. The stitches were perfect, each the exact length of the one before it.

Solace dropped her gaze to her own embroidery. No one in the entire castle would let her do their embroidering. They weren't mean about it, but they always happened to come up with some excuse when she offered her services. This time it would be different, Solace had promised herself. This time she would get it right. Finally, she pulled the last thread through and tied it off. Then, she flipped the fabric over, triumphantly gazing down at the flower.

Her expectant smile disintegrated into a disgruntled frown. The flower looked more like a sick, fat snake than a beautiful rose. She didn't understand. She had done everything right! Woefully, she glanced up at the others. Gwen was still bent over her work, her beautiful blond hair falling around the leggings she was stitching as if shielding them from Solace's eyes.

Solace looked over at Beth. Her skillful fingers quickly drew the needle in and out of the silk material, effortlessly creating a detailed floral design of roses and climbing ivy.

Finally, she turned her gaze to her stepmother. Alissa was staring at her. A wicked grin curved her thin lips. "Finished, Solace?" She set aside her husband's tunic and stood.

Solace panicked as all eyes turned to her. She felt Gwen's excited, yet hopeful gaze; Beth's disinterested eyes reluctantly turned to her. "I--I--" Solace stuttered.

Then, her stepmother was standing before her. She held out a hand to Solace. "May I see it?"

Solace shoved the fabric behind her. "It's not finished," she lied. "I need to..."

Alissa nodded patronizingly, her brown eyes shadowed with contempt. "Well, you just take all the time you need to complete... your flower."

Beth snickered.

"If you need help, just ask me," Alissa said and turned her back on Solace.

Solace cast a misery-filled glance at Gwen. Her friend stared back, her eyes filled with sympathy. They both knew she could never go to her stepmother for help. Solace's pride wouldn't allow it. Not when she heard her stepmother's laughter behind closed doors, saw the disdain in her eyes. Alissa would never let her forget that she was not her real daughter.

Solace was sure Alissa would be happier if she were dead -- or had never been born. Solace's mother had died when she was two, and her father had married Alissa less than a year later. Beth had been born a year after that.

As Alissa retook her seat and picked up her father's tunic to continue working on it, Solace sneaked the fabric out from behind her back. She gazed down at it dejectedly. It came so easy to the others, she thought sullenly.

Suddenly, the door swung open and a soldier clad in chain mail burst into the room, his breathing ragged and shallow. The candlelight glinted off his damp brown hair, its thin strands plastered to his head with sweat. As his gaze swept over the women, Solace noticed a frantic, if not desperate, look in his eyes and almost stood from her seat.

He approached Alissa, dropping to one knee before her.

"M'lady," he said. "Forgive the intrusion."

"What is it, Fletcher?" Alissa wondered, barely raising her eyes to him. "Aren't you supposed to be off... guarding or something?"

Solace stood up, her ruined embroidery forgotten. Yes, she thought, he was supposed to be on guard duty. He was a border patrol guard, keeping watch over the boundaries of Fulton. Her stepmother would have known that if she got up for the weekly reports the guards gave on Saturday morning. But she preferred to sleep in, leaving that one duty to Solace.

"Yes, m'lady," he said, lifting his gaze to her. He cast a sideways glance at Solace, and she read the uncertainty in his eyes.

Solace stepped forward. "What's wrong, Fletcher?" she demanded. "What's happened?"

Fletcher stood to address Solace. "It's Baron Barclay, m'lady. He's amassed an army. I estimate three thousand men."

"Oh, pooh," Beth said dismissively, waving her hand as if to fend off a fly. "Does this mean my wedding will have to be postponed?"

Fletcher's back straightened as he answered with scorn. "He has building materials for siege machines and enough supplies to hold him for months."

"He wouldn't dare," Alissa gasped, bolting to her feet in outrage, clutching her husband's tunic tightly in a clenched fist. She tossed it to the floor, storming from the room, hissing, "Come!"

Fletcher marched after Alissa with Solace following closely.

"Where are you going?" Gwen called.

"We have to prepare!" Solace shouted. "Barclay is going to lay siege to Castle Fulton!"

The Lady and the Falconer - Chapter Two

The darkness of the dungeon surrounded Logan Grey like a dense fog. A stench of decay and urine reached his nose, attacking his sense of smell with an acrid sting, but he didn't flinch. He was used to the smell of the dying, having encountered it numerous times throughout his life in the thick of battle and on the dark, dangerous streets of London.

He sidled cautiously around a corner, knowing he was nearing the dungeon guard's position. After watching the changing of the dungeon guard for a week, he knew there was no better time to attempt a rescue and escape than at dawn. Now only one man stood between him and his brother. Logan wrapped his fingers tightly around his long, wooden staff. Just a sharp rap on the head would knock the guard out long enough for him to find Peter and escape.

Peter. He had not seen his brother since that fateful day thirteen years ago when Peter had begged him not to leave the castle. All these years... He had thought Peter was dead, killed along with his mother and father. Then, a little less than three months ago, a close friend had told him that a friend had spoken with Peter... in Castle Fulton. Logan had traveled straight to Fulton and had spent his days and nights seeking out any word, any sight, of his brother. He knew he had to be careful of the questions he asked and of whom he asked them, which made his search all the more difficult. But he had neither seen nor heard any mention of Peter in the week he spent at the castle. It was as if he were hunting for a ghost. The thought had crossed his mind more than once. Perhaps the man had not spoken to his brother at all. Perhaps it was a different Peter. But Logan could not risk it. He had to know for sure.

A memory flooded into his mind, with images so strong that he was powerless to ignore them -- he and his brother pretending to be valiant knights, clutching the wooden swords and shields their father had carved for them, wearing the "chain mail" their mother had embroidered for them, searching the dungeon for spies. Now here he was, skulking through the dungeons like the spies he and Peter had so loved to hate.

Logan pushed the memory away and pressed himself against the damp stone wall to slowly, quietly, peer around the next corner. A crackling torch lit the area before him, illuminating the guard who sat in a wooden chair with his back to Logan, his heavy boots propped on a second chair. Logan froze as the guard tipped back on his chair, casually tossing a heavily gnawed mutton bone to the floor. The man stretched, his dull and dirty chain-mail armor struggling to glisten in the torchlight.

Logan moved in, clutching the staff tightly in his hands. He crossed the expanse of the room silently, moving quickly toward the guard. Just a sharp knock and the man would have a headache, but little else to show for his wound. Then a crunch came from beneath Logan's boot and he froze, glancing down at the noise. He raised his foot to see an old crumbled bone from a previous meal lying crushed on the stone flooring.

When Logan lifted his gaze, the guard was standing before him.

"What are you doing here, falconer?" the guard demanded. His gaze flicked quickly to the staff in Logan's hands, then darted back to meet Logan's stare.

Logan remained quiet, certain the guard could understand the resolve that now filled his own eyes, certain he could see his jaw clench tightly, certain he could sense his muscles coiling taut in his body. He sharply flicked his wrist, bringing the bottom end of his staff up into his open, waiting palm.

The guard was just as quick, his hand curling around the hilt of his blade, his elbow bending, releasing the sword from its sheath. He turned the drawn blade back and forth in front of him, the torchlight shimmering on its glossy silver surface, the fire's glare dripping along the blade as if it were freshly drawn blood.

Logan could only think of Peter lying in a pile of his own refuse, chained to the wall like some pathetic caged animal, his skin hanging on him like some ragged piece of cloth as starvation ravaged his body. He let his knees go limp, and his body suddenly dropped toward the floor as he whipped the end of the staff toward the guard's legs. The heavy wooden pole hit the man's right knee. The big man grunted painfully as his legs buckled beneath him, and he dipped his sword to the floor so the sharp edge could prop him up.

Logan swung the staff again, knocking the blade away. The guard plummeted forward, landing on the stone floor with a tremendous thud, the metal covering his arm grating harshly against the rough rock.

Logan brought his staff down on the back of the man's head. The man grunted once and then was still. Logan bent to retrieve the key from the guard's belt. He quickly removed the torch from the wall and disappeared down the dark corridor of the dungeon.

"Peter?" he called into the eerie veil of darkness that lurked beyond the circle of light thrown from his torch. But all that greeted him was an echo of his own voice and the plip plip of water dripping somewhere in the distance. Logan stepped deeper into the black heart of the dungeon.

He stopped at the first cell door he came to, stepping closer to the small, rust-covered bars that lined the window opening. He peered through them, calling softly, as if afraid to wake the dead, "Peter?"

A moan sounded from within.

It could be Peter. It could be my brother... or it could be some raving lunatic ready to smash my skull to get free. Logan tightened his grip on his staff and stuck the key into the lock. With a click, the thick wooden door opened. He swung the door wide, thrusting the torch into the small cell. The light cut through the blackness like the sun breaking through a hole in a blanket of dark clouds. The occupant groaned, shielding his eyes. He was a skeletal old man, his clothing ragged, sheared away from years of wear. Beneath the ripped and tattered clothing hanging from his thin body, Logan could see open, pustulant sores. Leprosy!

Logan backed quickly out of the cell, closing the door. Dread filled him. What if Peter...? Logan shook his head, refusing to acknowledge the thought, even the possibility.

The next cell was empty, as was the third one, both containing only piles of old bones and scraps of clothing. But as Logan swung the door open on the last cell, he saw a young man sitting cross-legged on the ground, his back to him. His heart skipped a beat. My brother! He thrust the torch at the prisoner, trying to get a better look, taking a joyful step forward. "Peter?" Logan whispered hopefully.

The man didn't answer and Logan felt a tightening of anxiety in the pit of his stomach. He moved closer, stepping around the still form. As the light crept forward to fully reveal the man, Logan's happiness died.

The face staring at him was not Peter's. The vacant eyes were dull with madness.

Logan backed out of the cell, shutting the door quietly behind him. Bereft, he returned to the land of the living -- a living hell for him. His brother was not here. His hopes of the last months suddenly shattered into nothingness. He was the only member of the Grey family left. He cursed himself for even daring to hope. He had learned long ago that hope was the longing of fools, and here he was again proving himself to be just that -- a fool.

He returned the torch to the wall and found himself staring down at the unconscious guard. His head was tilted to the side, his neck bared to the dancing torchlight that flickered across his skin. What are you doing here, falconer? Logan clearly remembered the guard asking. The man had recognized him. Logan knew he couldn't risk being imprisoned, being the subject of suspicion. He couldn't chance the guard telling anyone he had come to the dungeon.

Too much was at stake.

A strange calm settled over him as he raised his staff over his head.

***

Logan made his way through the keep to the main door that led outside to the inner ward. He paused in the opening, listening to the calls of the guards from the walkways above. He lifted his head to the sky. It was bright red as the rising sun stretched its fingers over the world. Even with the early hour there was much activity outside. He heard steady, heavy pounding as scaffolds were being secured to the castle walls. He could smell the acrid stench of burning oil being readied for the siege. People rushed around as if the world were ending.

It brought back the memory of preparations for another siege, a siege from long ago. Logan glanced at the open gate that led to the outer ward. It had been there that his brother warned him not to go. He could still clearly see the image of his brother -- that worried expression on Peter's face-- in his mind's eye.

Just then the bells of the chapel chimed throughout the courtyard, bringing him out of his reverie. Many people paused in their duties and hurried past him toward the morning mass.

He stepped outside into the sun's rays. The smell of burning wood from the Great Hall's hearth filled the air. He could almost taste the porridge that he was certain was brewing in a cauldron over the hot flames. Nearby he saw two men loading a final barrel of ale into a horse-drawn cart. Opposite the ale house, three women were setting their laundry aside, quickly putting their scrubbing boards away.

Logan walked further into the ward, fondly studying his surroundings. One of the biggest fears he'd had of returning to Castle Fulton was that a merchant or a servant would recognize him and call out to him. But that had not happened. No one knew him. And the one or two he remembered probably recalled only a slim boy, not the man he had grown into.

His mind drifted back to his brother... to his life here. All the happy days of childhood spent inside these very walls. But he could not remember how happiness felt. He could not recall the joyful abandon of his youth. It had been so long ago, another lifetime. Now all he felt was bitterness. His dreams were filled with regret, and he often awoke in a sweat, cursing himself for his impulsiveness.

Peter is dead, he thought. And nothing can change that. Not the idle gossip of friends, not all my hoping. My family is gone.

The reborn memories of his brother had brought to life the grief he'd thought he had buried all those years ago. He had believed he could control the anguish, but being back home was harder than he'd thought, as the nightmares attested to. Now he would have to push aside the memories again, to concentrate on revenge, the only thing he had left. Thank God, Farindale is not in residence, Logan thought. I would slit his throat on sight. His fists clenched.

"Yes!" he heard a voice call out. "Ask Peter Grey!"

THE LADY AND THE FALCONER

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Midnight Shadow - Prologue

England 1415

"... and he brandished his sword above his head, declaring, 'Tyranny will not be tolerated! All people will be treated fairly!' With that, the Midnight Shadow whirled away on his horse and disappeared over the horizon."

Bria Delaney sat on her grandfather's lap listening to the beloved tale of her favorite hero, but it couldn't erase her heartache. She glanced down at her lap and folded her hands. "I wish Father was here," Bria grumbled.

"Every man must fight against tyranny in his own way, child." Harry held Bria close to him. "Your father didn't want to leave you, but he had to fight beside the King. He is duty bound to the wishes of the crown." His old, wrinkled hand wiped a tear from her smooth cheek. He pressed a kiss to her forehead and brushed back her curly brown locks.

"I want to go with him," Bria said. "I want to fight against tyranny, too."

The timbre of her grandfather's laughter made Bria scowl fiercely. "They are armed men, Bria. What can a child do against an army? No. War is no place for you."

Bria crossed her arms and jutted out her lower lip. "I hate the French."

Harry chuckled, his entire body shaking. "Most of England does, my dear." He pulled her against him, hugging her. Then Harry set her on the ground, patting her bottom lightly. "Go. Mary and Garret are waiting for you."

"I don't feel like playing today," Bria said glumly.

"Ah, but who knows what grand adventure awaits you? If you brood all day in the castle, you might miss it," Harry reminded her.

Bria glanced up at her grandfather's warm, smiling face. Adventure. That word always seemed to stir her senses and rouse her imagination. The wet smear of tears on her cheeks was quickly forgotten.

Bria nodded and ran out of the room. She raced through the corridors of her father's castle, practically flying down a set of spiraling stone steps. As she burst from the stairway, a woman carrying an armful of laundry stepped into her path. Bria twisted her body with the agility of an eight year old and barely missed knocking into her. "Sorry!" she called over her shoulder as she charged down a corridor to a large set of open double doors. She raced through the doors, leaping down over the last two steps to land in the dust of the inner ward.

The warm sun washed over her, forcing her to squint. She dashed through the inner ward, slowing long enough to leap over a puddle, then hurried through the outer ward, sprinting past the blacksmith's workshop, oblivious to the loud clang of metal against metal.

"Bria!"

A man standing near the outer gatehouse waved her over. It was Jason of Victors. She recognized him by his red beard and carrot-colored hair. His chainmail coif shone in the bright sunlight as if he had just polished it. His white tunic bore a flying falcon over a red cross, the crest of the Delaneys.

She hurried over to him.

"Good morn, child," Jason greeted warmly with a slight bow.

Bria smiled at him.

"I'm to deliver you a message," Jason added softly, almost conspiratorially. He glanced around the area, then motioned for Bria to come closer.

Bria anxiously stepped closer. "What message?" she wondered.

"Garret and Mary have pursued the French dogs onto Knowles' lands in the east woods. They are in desperate need of your assistance." Jason pulled back from her, nodding with a knowing look.

A grin burst upon Bria's face, bringing a happy sparkle to her eyes.

"Hurry now," Jason urged. "They may already be vastly outnumbered."

Bria wasted no time in darting beneath the outer gatehouse, remembering to turn and wave good-bye to Jason just as her slippered feet slapped against the wooden planks of the lowered drawbridge. She ran toward the meadows that surrounded Castle Delaney, her smile making her entire face radiant.

The sounds of horses' hooves, chickens clucking, and the distant sound of swords clanging grew farther and farther away as she left the castle and the village behind to enter the relative quiet of the grassy fields surrounding Castle Delaney. As she bounded through the grass that rose almost to her neck, her mind replayed the story of the Midnight Shadow -- the way he fought against tyranny and protected the weak. His generosity and his courage were unequaled. She wanted to be just like him.

She thrust at an imaginary foe, cutting down a stalk of grass with her hand. "Take that, you insufferable French cur," she growled. She spun and chopped at another stalk. "For England!" she cried.

Bria bounded through the stalks and into the forest separating her family's lands from the Knowles' lands. She raced headlong into the brush, knowing the way well, having traveled it often to Mary's farm. Mary and Garret would be fighting the French somewhere in these woods, probably near the pond by Mary's house.

"Garret!" Bria called, halting to listen as she reached the edge of a small clearing. "Mary!" But there was no response, only the caw of a distant bird. Bria picked up her brown velvet skirt and raced deeper into the woods toward Mary's house.

After a minute she halted again, breathing hard. "Garret!" she called. "Mary! Where are you?"

She bit her lip lightly. Maybe she should go back. She looked over her shoulder in the direction of Castle Delaney.

The Midnight Shadow would never leave his friends alone in the woods at the mercy of the French. The thought pierced her mind and bolstered her courage.

As she moved slowly through the woods, the dried twigs and leaves crunched beneath her feet. She paused again to call out for her friends. "Mary! Garret!"

An eerie silence answered her. She looked around the quiet forest, her instincts telling her to flee. But how could she leave her friends?

Then she heard the crunch of approaching footsteps. "Mary?" she called hesitantly.

A figure emerged from behind one of the trees in front of her, but it wasn't Mary. As the shape neared, Bria recognized the boy and gasped silently. Randolph Kenric. He was bigger than she was and four years older. His brown hair hung loose around his shoulders. He looked like a wild animal.

The silence around her grew even more thick and ominous. Kenric once skinned a kitten just to see how loud it could howl.

Bria stepped back. Her foot landed on a branch and snapped it in half. He turned his head and his brown hair fell into his eyes. He swiped the strands away to glare at her.

Bria took another step back.

Kenric smiled. "Ahhh," he said. "The heir to Castle Delaney. You're a little off your lands, aren't you?"

"I'm looking for my friends," she admitted.

"Which one? The peasant girl I shoved in the mud or the sniveling little boy?"

Anger pierced her, and her small fingers clenched into a fist. What gave him the right to treat her friends like that? Her eyes raked him with rage. "You're a mean cur, Randolph Kenric," she told him and turned to march toward Castle Delaney.

"Hey," Kenric called. "Didn't your father just leave to fight some war?"

Bria didn't answer him. She swatted aside a branch, continuing to move through the forest back toward her lands, her home.

Suddenly, she was yanked to a halt by biting fingers digging into her arm. Kenric wrenched her around to face him. "Don't walk away from me when I'm talking to you," he commanded. "What kind of manners were you brought up with?"

"Let go of me," Bria ordered.

"Is that a command, your ladyship?"

She tried to pull her arm free, but he held her wrist tightly.

"I just asked you a question," he said innocently. "But you're too good for the likes of me, eh?" He chuckled low in his throat. "I'm not nobility like yourself, after all, just a poor cousin of the Knowles. Shall I grovel before you, my lady?"

Bria twisted her arm. "Let me go," she said again, trying to sound commanding. But her voice caught in her throat as tears of fear stung her eyes.

"You need a lesson in humility." He began dragging her through the forest.

Bria dug in her heels, but her slippered feet were no help on the leaf-carpeted forest floor, nor against Kenric's strength. She tried to pull his fingers from her wrist, but he held her tight. He pulled her deeper into the woods, into the darkness. "Stop it!" Bria called.

"You know, running through the forest alone isn't such a good idea," Kenric said. "You might fall into a bramble patch."

Bramble patch! Horror consumed Bria. She twisted and turned, trying to free herself, pushing at his hand with her free one. But his laughter rang out, as strong and vicious as his hold.

Kenric reached the edge of the bramble patch and stopped. Bria stared at the dangerous growth, the thorns looking like millions of miniature daggers. Some were long and straight like blades, others curved like hooks. All of them were sharp. She struggled against his hold, pulling at his grip, crying, "Why are you doing this?"

Kenric turned his dark smile from the spiked plants to her face. "Because I want to."

"Let her go!" a male voice commanded.

Bria looked up to see a man cloaked in black, a black mask on his face, a black cape on his shoulders. The Midnight Shadow! He stood at the edge of the woods, his hands on his hips, his back tall and straight.

Kenric turned to look... and then broke out in a grin. "You must be joking!"

"I said let her go!" the Midnight Shadow repeated.

Kenric tightened his grip on Bria's hand. "Come and get her."

The Midnight Shadow moved forward, pulling a wooden sword from his belt.

Kenric tossed Bria aside. She landed hard on her hands and knees, the cluttered mass of branches and rocks of the forest floor scraping her flesh. Bria lifted her gaze in time to see Kenric pull a dagger from his belt as he approached the Midnight Shadow -- a real dagger, made of hardened steel. Kenric advanced upon the Midnight Shadow, waving the metal before him.

Bria climbed to her feet, dread constricting her chest as the Midnight Shadow took a brave step toward Kenric. They faced each other for a long moment. Then the Midnight Shadow swung at Kenric. Kenric ducked the blow, but the Midnight Shadow swung back, glancing a blow off Kenric's head, the wooden sword clunking against his skull.

Bria gaped as Kenric fell back to his bottom with a grunt. Joy exploded through her and she took a step toward her hero, but halted as Kenric shook his head, clearing it, and climbed to his feet. The Midnight Shadow arced his blade at Kenric's head, but Kenric caught the blow in his open palm. He yanked the wooden sword from the Midnight Shadow's grip and bashed him in the head with it.

Bria watched in horror as her noble hero fell to his knees before the evil Kenric.

Kenric reached down and ripped the mask from the Midnight Shadow's face, revealing a face Bria knew very well. She gasped. It was Garret!

Kenric laughed again, and again hit Garret's head with the wooden sword.

Garret toppled to his side and Bria lurched forward, seizing Kenric's arm as he raised the weapon to strike another blow. "Stop!" she cried. "Don't hurt him anymore!"

Kenric snorted and threw the sword down on top of Garret. He turned to Bria.

She took a step back, but Kenric locked his hand around her wrist. "Looks like your rescuer didn't save you after all."

"No!" she cried. But before the impulse to free herself overcame her fear, Kenric jerked her forward.

Bria felt herself falling, the thorns growing larger and larger as she plummeted toward the bramble patch. She reached out attempting to brace herself from the fall. She turned her head from the thorns and squeezed her eyes shut. One of her hands landed on a small thorn and she cried out, pulling away from it. Other thorns stabbed at her arms, her legs, her back. The branches caught and snagged her clothing and her hair, pulling and ripping.

Panicked, Bria fought to be free. But the more she struggled, the more entangled her clothes and hair became, the deeper the thorns dug into her. Frightened, hurt, Bria stilled her fight. Her entire body was aflame with pain.

Through tear-filled eyes, she looked up and saw Kenric standing at the edge of the briar patch, staring down at her, laughing and laughing, his mouth big and wide, his thin lips stretched tight. Slowly, he turned away and moved off into the forest, his laughter still echoing in her ears.

Bria lay absolutely still, trying to calm her fear, trying to stop crying. She wanted her father so desperately. She wanted him to be home with her to protect her.

Then her thoughts turned to Garret. Where was he? Was he hurt? She had to get to him, had to reach him. Kenric had hit him hard. "Garret?" she called, but received no reply.

Her tears lessened as she concentrated on her friend, on helping him, on making sure he was all right.

Bria shifted slightly. Her hair pulled tight, caught and entwined in the thorny branches of the bushes. She grabbed the long lock around the top and pulled hard until she was free. The thorns in her arms burned hotly and she found herself crying again.

"Garret!" she called, worried for him. Worried she would never be free. Still she heard no sound from her friend.

Tears continued to roll down her cheeks as she fought her way free, pulling and tugging at the nasty claws entangled in her velvet skirt. Tiny rivulets of blood trickled down her right arm.

"Bria?"

Instantly, she froze, looking toward the spot where Garret had fallen.

"Brie? Are you all right?"

She could barely make out his face through the blur of tears filling her eyes. "Oh, Garret!" Bria cried, so relieved she felt herself trembling. "I'm stuck. I can't get out."

"I'm coming," he said. "I'll help you."

Bria sobbed in release. Garret was all right! He'd help her get out of this. He'd help her free herself.

As Garret neared, Bria saw blood running from his blond hair, the crimson smear staining the side of his face. "Garret, you're hurt!"

Garret lifted his hand to his forehead. He brought his fingers away to look at the blood on the tips. Then he shook his head. "It's nothing." He grabbed a piece of her skirt and pulled it free of the thorns, then stood beside her and gently grabbed a lock of her hair, working it free of the bush.

As he leaned over her to ease her arm from the biting thorns, Bria noticed his black cape and mask were gone.

"I made a proper mess of things," he admitted quietly.

Bria looked away from him, tugging and pulling at her other forearm to free the brown velvet fabric of her sleeve from one of the brambles. Together, the children worked in silence until Bria was free of the bramble patch.

"Those thorns really got you." Garret gently wiped a spot of blood from her elbow. "Are you all right?"

"It stings a little, but I'm all right."

Garret looked at her for a moment, then hung his head, glancing away from her to the ground. "I never should have pretended to be something I'm not." He kicked at the cape and mask lying in the dirt.

"You were very gallant," Bria said, touching his shoulder warmly.

"Not gallant enough to protect you," Garret whispered. "Not as gallant as the Midnight Shadow would have been."

If it hadn't been so quiet in the forest, so still, Bria never would have heard his admission. She pretended she hadn't.

"Where's Mary?" Bria asked. "Is she hurt?"

"After Kenric pushed her in the mud, we ran away from him. She's all right. She's at her house waiting for us. I came back here looking for you." Again, Garret kicked at the fallen cape. "Little good that did."

Bria bent down and retrieved his fallen sword, holding it out to him. Garret stared at it for a long moment. Bria pushed it toward him again, an anxious feeling stirring the pit of her stomach. "Here."

Finally, Garret took it and placed it back in his belt.

She held out her hand to him and he clutched at her fingers. "I think I'd rather just go home now," Bria said softly.

He nodded, and they returned to Castle Delaney.

Bria never heard Garret speak of the Midnight Shadow again.

***

Bria squeezed her eyes shut. The shearing noise of her own hair being cut sounded loud in her ears as her grandfather ran the dagger through her long locks. Her shoulders shook with a suppressed sob.

"That's it, Bria," Harry told her.

Bria opened her eyes and glanced down at the floor. Her long brown locks lay curled around her bare feet.

Parts of her hair had been so tangled around the brambles, so full of thorns, her grandfather had to cut off her hair. Now her once long locks reached only an inch above her shoulders.

Bria lifted a hand and ran it through her butchered hair. Sobbing quietly, she bent and scooped up the long strands in her trembling hands as if they were a valued treasure. She stared at the knotted mass of hair.

"It was unavoidable," her grandfather told her quietly, sincerely.

"Will Garret be all right?" Bria asked, wiping her sleeve across her nose.

Harry nodded. "He'll be fine," he said. "Just a bump on that hard head of his. You're sure you just stumbled into that bramble patch? And that Garret fell and hit his head?"

Bria looked away, unable to meet her grandfather's gaze. She'd argued with Garret to tell the truth so Kenric would get in trouble and be properly punished, but Garret insisted they keep it a secret. "Yes," she answered.

"Very well." Harry began to rise from his chair.

"Grandfather?" Bria said.

Harry looked down at her.

"Will you tell me the story of the Midnight Shadow?" she asked softly.

A grin stretched across Harry's face. "Of course." He motioned for her to move to the bed. They sat down together upon the soft mattress, and Harry picked Bria up and positioned her on his lap.

Bria settled into her grandfather's arms, looking down at the mound of brown hair she held in her hands. Someday Kenric would be punished. Someday he'd get what he deserved. Bria hoped she would see it.

Harry began, "He was known far and wide for fighting against tyranny and for upholding fairness. He was called the Midnight Shadow..."

Midnight Shadow - Chapter One

Ten years later

Candles cast wiggling demons onto the stone walls of the dark room. A large bed held a sole occupant in its lonely vastness. The shadows slithered across her pallid cheeks and moved over her neck like serpents looking for a tender spot of flesh upon which to inflict their deadly attack.

Lord Terran Knowles bent over her small hand, pressing his forehead to the slim fingers he held crushed in his. Her once warm skin felt clammy and cold. He didn't move for a very long time, and it appeared as if both he and the woman were dead.

But Terran wasn't about to let her die, not when he'd fought so hard to get her, winning her over another suitor. Not when he'd negotiated a dowry so grand it would provide enough funds to pay his knights and secure peace for his people and his castle for years to come. Not when he loved her. No, he couldn't permit Odella to die.

But how could he stop it?

Why, Odella? he asked silently. She'd been happy here at Castle Knowles -- at least he'd believed her to be -- and they were to be wed in a week. Why would she do this? Why would she poison herself?

He could think of no answer. Nothing! She'd always seemed so cheerful, with a soft shy smile. God knew he'd do anything to make her better, give her anything she desired.

A knock sounded at the door. Terran didn't respond. He wanted to be left alone with Odella. The door opened behind him.

"Terran?" a voice called, hesitantly.

Kenric.

His cousin moved closer. "I've brought a physician."

Terran's jaw clenched; his hands tightened to fists. "A physician will do her no good," Terran growled. "She poisoned herself. I want someone who knows about poisons."

"I can't find the herbalist," Kenric said. "And a physician –"

Terran whirled, his movements as lithe as a panther. He was off his knees in an instant, grabbing his cousin by the tunic and slamming him back against the wall. "Get me the herbalist," he snarled.

Kenric's black eyes were wide as he stared at his cousin for a long moment before nodding his head. "As you wish, m'lord," he whispered.

Terran released him, and Kenric walked swiftly from the room.

It took a long moment for Terran's anger to subside. Physician. What good is a physician? I need someone who can help Odella. Someone who can cure her of the poison.

Odella was like a glorious angel laid out in his bed, her hands folded on her stomach, her slender face somber and pale, her eyes closed. Her beautiful honeyed hair was tucked beneath her head.

She was a ghostly reminder of what she'd once been.

He remembered the first day he'd laid eyes on her, more than a year ago. He'd been riding into McColl Village to attend a tournament, arriving just as the merriment began. Odella had been dancing around a maypole with some of her ladies. He remembered her bright blond hair all but glowing in the sunshine, her laughter like music to his ears. He'd immediately fallen in love with her.

He won the tournament in her honor, defeating all who stood against him. After that, through months of negotiation, Terran convinced her father to betroth her to him.

In granting Terran Odella's hand in marriage, her father had given him the woman his heart desired and a bountiful dowry that would save his castle.

Now she lay dying in his bed. As he looked at her, lifeless and ashen, he wanted to cling to the memories until she regained her radiance. But somehow the images wavered and dissolved before his mind's eye into a mocking replica of what she used to be.

He rubbed his hands over his eyes, trying to wipe away the truth they presented to him, desperate to hold fast to the memories.

I have to remain calm. She'll be as good as new soon. It won't be long before she's smiling again. It won't be long before I hear her laughter.

"Odella," he whispered. "Why?" He bent again at her side, gently taking her hand in his. "Why?"

Odella's head shifted slightly and Terran raised his eyes to her face.

In the flickering light of the candle, he could have sworn her lips moved. He stared at her for a moment, holding his breath, waiting for them to move again. It must have been his wishful imagination. Now they were still. Terran wiped his weary eyes, trying to clear them. But when he opened his eyes to look at her again, her lips were indeed moving.

He quickly boosted himself up on the bed. Her breath was so shallow he could barely hear her. He lowered his ear closer to her lips.

"Garret," she whispered.

Terran sat bolt upright, his jaw hard as granite. He must have misheard her. But there was no mishearing her next cry.

Her lips moved again, her face contorting with pain. "Garret," she managed to gasp.

Dysen! Terran reared back. He knew only one Garret. Garret Dysen. This cannot be. Why does she call for another man?

Then a thought struck him so hard he almost reeled. Could she love Dysen? Could she have killed herself because she couldn't be with Dysen?

Anguish and disbelief tore through Terran. He stood and stepped away from the bed. How could this be?

He whirled away from her, clenching his fists. God's blood! Have I been so blind?

Agony tore through him. It cannot be, he told himself. But deep in his heart, he knew he finally had his answer. Odella had poisoned herself to escape marriage to him.

Midnight Shadow - Chapter Two

The midday sunlight washed down upon the tilting field. A dozen knights were busy practicing their skills in the arena set up in a field on the western side of Castle Delaney. Some of the men were on foot, clanging swords in mock battles. Others rode their muscular warhorses, practicing battle maneuvers. Several men worked diligently on their jousting skills.

Bria pulled her knees up to her chest, staring down at the men in the field. She sat beneath a large tree, watching her grandfather give orders to one of the younger men as he handed him a jousting pole. Her grandfather indicated the quintain in the center of the field with a wave of his hand. The man nodded and spurred his horse forward, riding toward the far side of the field.

Someone plopped down on the grass beside Bria. She swiveled her head to see Mary adjusting her patched skirt around her legs. Her friend shoved a strand of unruly dark brown hair behind her ear and attempted to pat the rest of the flyaway strands flat. Her brown eyes twinkled with glee. "Has anyone arrived yet?" Mary asked breathlessly. She liked this suitor business much more than Bria did.

Bria returned her dismayed gaze to the field. The young knight with the jousting pole had reached the far side of the field and was turning his steed to face the quintain. "Two. No one interesting, though."

Mary chuckled. "I think if the Midnight Shadow himself walked through your door, you'd call him 'not interesting' to avoid marriage."

"If the Midnight Shadow walked through my door, I'd jump at the opportunity to marry him!" Bria exclaimed. "But he isn't going to walk into Castle Delaney."

The young knight in the jousting field spurred his horse and it charged forward, kicking up small puffs of dirt in his wake. The knight leaned forward in the saddle, leveling his pole at the quintain.

"That's your problem, Bria," Mary explained, watching him. "No flesh-and-blood man will ever be as attractive as the imaginary one you've created in your head."

The young knight hit the quintain, which spun rapidly. The soft bag hit him in his shoulder with enough force to throw him from his steed. He tumbled over the side of the animal, landing in a pool of dust.

Mary put her hands over her eyes and groaned.

Bria grimaced and murmured, "Well, we know he's not the Midnight Shadow."

Mary burst into laughter.

"Can you still meet me tonight?" Bria asked, elbowing her friend.

"Of course," Mary replied.

Suddenly, the distant sound of trumpets filled the air.

Mary's eyes widened and she strained to see toward Castle Delaney, where the sound was coming from.

Bria rolled her eyes and crossed her arms, sitting back against the tree. "Another suitor," she said with disdain.

Mary giggled and grabbed Bria's arm, trying to pull her to her feet. "Let's go see."

"Why?" Bria demanded, refusing to be lifted.

"With all that fanfare, he might be handsome!"

Bria huffed disinterest. Mary yanked her to her feet and pulled her down the slight rise toward the road leading from the village to Castle Delaney.

Before them, Castle Delaney rose mightily skyward, its rounded towers standing as sentinels at each corner of the grand structure, connected by massive walls that protected the inner wards of the castle. The drawbridge was lowered, the portcullis raised to welcome the guests marching across the bridge.

Bria looked closely at the arriving guests, trying to discern their heraldry. The red flag one of the riders held fluttered in a gentle breeze, giving a teasing glimpse of the crest of a lion.

Bria's heart leaped slightly. She knew the crest. It was Lord Dysen and Garret!

Mary shook Bria's arm in excitement as she, too, recognized the heraldry.

Garret! She hadn't seen him in five years! Bria took a step forward, scanning the throngs. Dancing women waved translucent scarves as they moved to a minstrel's flute; men on stilts called out to the castle guards; a caged bear growled as a guard stuck the tip of his sword into its cage.

Bria scowled. Why had Garret brought such a show with him? He usually just arrived with his father. These performers must have cost enough to feed a village for a winter. Oh no, she thought. Not Garret, too! She groaned slightly and rolled her eyes skyward. Please Lord, tell me Garret hasn't come for my hand in marriage! But as she returned her gaze to the jugglers and minstrels disappearing into the castle beneath the gatehouse, she knew Garret had.

Mary grabbed her arm and pulled her toward the castle. Bria had been away at her aunt's castle the last time Garret and his father had visited two years ago, but Mary said he'd grown into a very handsome man. It was quite obvious Mary had been smitten by him, and still was. Her friend giggled whenever they spoke of him, and dramatically placed her hands over her heart whenever his name was mentioned.

But regardless of his newfound manhood and his handsome looks, he was still the Garret Bria had grown up with. He'd always be a brother to her. She couldn't imagine him being anything more.

Mary all but dragged her over the drawbridge and beneath the gatehouse. Inside the outer courtyard, the retinue had come to a stop. Jugglers with brightly painted faces entertained the peasants milling around. Children raced in and out between the legs of men on stilts, screaming in joy. Shouts of awe arose from the onlookers as one of the stilted men teetered and then caught his balance. Somewhere a dog barked. Several onlookers cried out in delight as a man slowly lowered a sword down his throat.

Even as Bria gaped at the numerous entertainers, Mary continued to pull her through the outer courtyard and into the inner courtyard, all but leaping up and down in excitement. The large space overflowed with the front of the procession, a garrison of armored knights, their plate armor glinting in the sun.

Had any knights been left behind to guard Castle Dysen?

Behind the soldiers, a group of actors recited poetry, and behind them a group of dancing gypsies performed wonders with their gyrating bodies.

Mary jerked her forward again, and they wove their way through the peasants milling about, past a rotund blacksmith grabbing his stomach in laughter at one of the actors.

Bria searched the crowd, but there was too much movement for her to focus on any one thing. It was a scene more befitting a holiday than the arrival of family friends. More jugglers rushed about tossing bags of beans, and musicians played merry tunes. Everywhere, people were laughing and cheering.

Bria moved past the jugglers and stopped dead in her tracks as a masked man clad in a black cape and wielding a shimmering blade stepped in front of her. Bria gasped, her heart pounding with the ferocity of a madly galloping horse. Could it be? The Midnight Shadow standing mere feet from her?

Suddenly, a woman tossed an apple into the air, and the masked man brandished his sword, instantly slicing the apple cleanly in two. Onlookers clapped at the man's show of skill.

Bria's body slumped slightly, her heart slowing. He's just part of the show, she thought. Just part of the show.

"There he is!" Mary exclaimed. She waved her hand high above her head and shouted his name. "Garret!"

Bria scanned the crowd, taking her gaze from the Midnight Shadow look-alike. "Where?" she demanded.

"Near the stairs of the keep," Mary answered, continuing to wave her hand.

Bria scanned the steps near the keep, but there were too many people. "I can't see him!"

Mary pulled Bria close. "There!" She pointed.

Bria followed her finger. She spotted Lord Dysen sitting atop a horse. He was speaking with someone on the stairs, but a man on stilts blocked her view of the person he was speaking with.

"Garret!" Mary screamed.

Bria pulled away from Mary and rubbed her ear, glancing at her in displeasure. When she turned back to search for Garret, she caught sight of a blond man dismounting a white horse, but she couldn't see his face as he disappeared into the crowd.

Mary squeezed Bria's wrist tightly. "He's coming!" she whispered loudly and jumped up and down in delight.

Bria grinned at Mary's thrill. She had to admit she was just as eager to see Garret as Mary was. She stood on her tiptoes, trying to see her friend amongst the crowd in the courtyard, but it was so full that every time she caught a glimpse of Garret, someone moved before her, obscuring her view.

"Bria! Mary!"

Bria saw a hand waving at them above the crowd. Before she could get a glimpse of him, the hand was gone, swallowed by the undulating crowd. Finally, the curtain of peasants before them parted and Garret emerged from the throng.

Bria's mouth dropped open. Golden blond hair swept down over strong shoulders. Garret was no longer the awkward, lanky child Bria remembered. His face had lost its thinness and had filled out; his jaw had squared. He was a knight now, a warrior. She felt an abyss of change open between them.

Then she looked into his eyes. There, in the twinkling blue depths, she found the Garret she knew and loved, the same boy she'd made a vow of friendship with all those years ago.

A smile of relief and of happiness stretched across her lips.

Garret stopped before her, his gaze sweeping her. For a moment, Bria thought he was going to take her hand and kiss it, marking a complete transformation into adulthood for both of them. Instead, Garret swept her into a tight embrace and whirled her around. Their laughter mingled.

When they parted, Garret swept Mary into a warm embrace. He kept his arm around Mary's shoulder as he looked at Bria in awe. "You've grown," he finally admitted.

Bria smiled. His sentiments mirrored her own. "I should hope so," Bria answered. "Last time I saw you, I was but a child."

"Yes." Garret sighed. "As was I."

Garret kissed Mary's head and Bria watched the red bloom over Mary's cheeks.

"And what of you, little woman?" he asked Mary. "What have you been up to?"

"Nothing," Mary whispered shyly, looking up at him through lowered lashes.

Bria realized with a jolt Mary was flirting with Garret.

Garret's smile stretched wider, revealing perfect white teeth.

And Garret knew it!

Their friendship would never be the same. The innocence of childhood had fled, and adult desires raged. He was a man now, and she and Mary were women.

"And what of you, Garret? I heard you went to war beside your father."

Garret's gaze swung to Bria, piercing her with the full intensity of his glorious blue-eyed stare, and he nodded, his eyes lighting up. "Have I got tales for you!" he began, but faltered. "Maybe we should speak of other things."

Bria glanced at Mary and frowned. "Why would we speak of other things?"

"Well, you're a lady now and –"

Bria smiled. "And maybe such talk offends me?"

"Well." Garret shifted from foot to foot uneasily. "Well, yes."

"When they didn't offend me before?" Bria asked, poking fun at him. Garret had often told her of the dreams he had of slashing down the French, of ridding the land of tyranny. "I'm still the same girl, Garret, as I'm sure you're the same boy."

Garret shrugged slightly.

Bria reached out to squeeze one of his biceps. His flesh was firm with powerful muscles distinguishing him as a strong warrior. "These are real, aren't they?"

"I should say so!" Garret squeaked in objection.

A grin stretched Bria's lips and Mary covered her mouth against her giggles.

Garret glanced from Bria to Mary and back again. He shook his head, smiling. "Yes, you are the same girl." He grasped her hands tightly. "And it's good to see you. I missed you the last time I was here."

Bria smiled at him. "Me, too."

"Come on," Mary called. "Let's go watch the knights practice."

Garret nodded. "I'll meet you there. I must say hello to Lord Delaney."

Mary raced off through the crowd toward the practice field. Bria turned to join her, but Garret grabbed her arm.

"Do you still sword fight with your grandfather?"

Bria nodded, but quickly hushed him, looking from side to side to see if anyone had heard. Her father would never approve, so she and her grandfather kept it a well-guarded secret. Garret wouldn't have known except he'd followed her out of the castle one night long ago when the Dysens had been visiting. He'd discovered them fighting. She'd sworn him to secrecy.

"Have you beaten him yet?" Garret wondered.

Bria shook her head, a grimace of disappointment crossing her features.

"I've got a move guaranteed to disarm him. Are you interested?" Garret asked, a smile curving his lips.

"Am I!" Bria almost exploded with excitement.

"Meet me tomorrow morning in the field where you practice," he whispered.

Bria nodded.

***

Two swords crossed under a slitted moon, their metal blades clanging as they collided. The moon shimmered in the cold steel, its reflection clear and bright.

"Come on, girl, you can do much better than that." Harry watched Bria smile. She was beautiful. Who would have thought such a gangly girl would grow into such an elegant lady? Her long brown hair hung loosely in large curls about her shoulders; her lips were full and rose red, the blue of her eyes rivaled that of the sky -- eyes that right now stared at him with the heated blue of a fire's core. She would indeed make a fine wife. It was just that defiant, determined streak she had to be wary of. Men wanted at least some semblance of subservience from their women.

The blades pushed hard against each other, then abruptly separated, the slender steel screeching as the weapons slid free of each other. Bria swung, but Harry backed away and her blade whistled through the empty air. She swung again, but this time Harry caught her swing and grabbed her wrist, bringing her in close so they were practically nose to nose.

"You're angry because your father finally made the decision to find you a husband." He pushed away from her and swung. "You're fighting with your emotions today, not with reason."

She ducked and spun away from him. "I am not," she insisted, then countered with an arc to his head. He blocked her blow, knowing she was lying because of the intensity with which she fought.

It took all his concentration to match her move and block it. "It's time, Bria. You should have been married long ago," he said.

She was quick, much quicker than he was. And she was smart, despite her emotions warring to take control. He could see her mind working as she lunged. But experience won out, and he was still able to thwart her strike. He caught her sword with his and twisted his wrist. He had disarmed her more than once with that move. It worked again tonight. Her sword went sailing through the air.

Disappointment surged within him. Even though she was getting better and better each night they sparred, he was still disappointed in her lack of self-control. Yet, it was only a matter of time before she disarmed him. Then he'd have nothing further to teach her. That would be the biggest disappointment of all.

Bria cursed quietly and stomped after her sword. Before she could reach it, Harry put the tip of his sword to her neck. "Yield," he ordered.

Again, she mumbled a curse. "I yield," she added grudgingly, and moved to proceed past him.

He kept the sword to her neck. "Why were you disarmed?"

Her jaw worked as she clenched her teeth. "I was overanxious. I thought I had you that time. Just like all those other times." She shoved the sword from her neck and marched past him to her weapon, yanking it from the ground. She swung it through the air, hacking the breeze assaulting her. "I'll never get it."

"You'll get it," he said, kindly. "You just have to learn patience. You want to win, but you're not willing to wait for an opening."

"You make your own openings," she countered.

"When you're good enough," he agreed, approaching her, "and when you realize you'll never be stronger than a man. You have to wait for an opening. You can't fight aggressively. You have to fight defensively. Always."

Bria rolled her large blue eyes. "I know, I know."

"But you don't know, or you wouldn't be disarmed."

She handed her sword to him. He took the handle of the weapon. "Don't stay out too long. Your father is suspicious enough."

"I know," she murmured. She walked toward the thick forest just beyond the clearing where two horses were tethered to a tree.

Harry shook his head in admiration. She was already better than most men he knew, but he dared not tell her that.

Suddenly, she paused and turned to look at him. Her long, dark brown hair cascaded over her shoulder as she stared at him. "Thank you, Grandfather."

Harry smiled and nodded. "It's my pleasure." She was his joy, his treasure. She was the only spark in his otherwise tedious life at the castle. He would grant her the moon, but teaching her to sword fight was a hell of a lot easier.

One of these times, he knew he'd have to stop her from riding out to her secret meetings with her friend Mary. The world was becoming much too dangerous a place for her to be out late at night on her own.

Midnight Shadow - Chapter Three

Bria rode through the night, knowing the way to the pond in the east woods by heart. She knew where the land dipped, where it rose, where she had to duck to avoid the stinging slap of tree branches. So did her horse. They'd ridden this route together since she was ten, since her grandfather had begun teaching her to use a sword.

She tried not to let her frustration consume her thoughts. She should have had him! She thought she did have him! Only one wrong move. Damn. That's all it would take in a real battle to cost her life, all it would take for someone to kill her. One mistake.

Bria spurred the horse faster. The animal raced on, the night speeding by. The huge rock at the edge of the Hagen farm marked the spot where she crossed over into Knowles' lands, but she didn't slow her pace. She turned right as she passed the massive stone, heading toward the pond where Mary would be waiting.

As she topped a slight rise, the pond appeared, glistening in the moonlight. Bria slowed her horse and steered the animal toward the forked tree, actually two trees twined about each other so tightly as to become one.

Bria dismounted, throwing the reins around a tree branch. She walked through the waist-high grass, staring at the dark pond. Long ago, soon after her grandfather had started teaching her swordplay, she and Mary had begun meeting at the pond. It was their secret place, a sanctuary where they could hide and tell each other their deepest desires. On some warm summer nights, when the moon was high and bright, Bria and Mary had gone swimming in those waters. She felt safe and comfortable here. They both did.

At the crunch of grass, Bria looked to her right. Mary bounded toward her, her dark hair alive with the moonlight's sheen.

As Mary drew closer, her eyes scanned Bria's disgruntled face for a long moment. "I'm sorry, Bria," Mary whispered. "You'll beat your grandfather yet."

"I know. It's just so unfair," Bria murmured. It was uncanny how sometimes each knew what the other was thinking or feeling.

"Unfair, is it? Your grandfather is so much older than you! It should take you years to surpass his expertise, if ever."

"Thanks a lot!"

Mary shrugged her shoulders. "You know what I mean. How would he feel if you beat him the first time you crossed swords?"

"But it's been hundreds of times!" Bria said with exasperation. "Hundreds of times, and I have yet to best him once!" Bria kicked at a fallen branch.

"It'll take time, but I know you can beat him," Mary assured her friend.

"Garret said he has a move guaranteed to disarm him," Bria said quietly.

"Really?"

Bria nodded her head. "He's going to show it to me."

"Isn't that cheating?"

Bria quirked an eyebrow. "Not if I win."

Mary's brown eyes widened in disbelief. Then she smiled and draped an arm across her friend's shoulders. Together they walked slowly through the grass. "Do you think your future husband will let you sword fight?"

Bria grunted. "Not likely," she murmured.

"What if it's Garret?"

"Mary!"

"You're so lucky!" Mary's enthusiasm bubbled over. "He's handsome and kind –"

"Mary, I can't marry Garret. It would be like marrying my brother!"

"But he'd let you sword fight."

"And we'd have to move very far from you."

Mary sighed, her excitement leaving her in a huff of exasperation. "No matter who you marry, you'll move away."

"So I won't marry." Bria shrugged Mary's arm from her shoulders and raced off through the clearing.

Mary followed her through the tall stalks of grass. "You have to marry! You're a lady! That's your place -- to produce heirs."

"What if my place isn't to produce heirs? What if my place is... to battle against tyranny?"

Mary giggled.

Bria stopped, striking a statuesque pose with her hands on her hips. "I am the Midnight Shadow!" she proclaimed in a deep voice.

"You sound like a woman."

"How's this?" Bria lowered her voice to a husky whisper. "I am the Midnight Shadow."

"That's pretty good," Mary admitted, amazed and surprised. "I think you've been practicing."

Bria smiled. Sometimes alone at night, she did. "Tyranny will not be tolerated!" she whispered. "All people will be treated fairly."

Mary grunted, the humor leaving her. "Then you'd have to battle Lord Knowles."

Bria broke her pose. "Now what has he done?"

"He increased our taxes again."

"Not so!" Bria gasped. That was the second time in a month. Trying to come up with the extra food to pay the collectors had been hard enough, but now it would be next to impossible for Mary's family to have a decent living.

"Mother and Father work so hard. They're up before dawn and work well into the night. I help as much as I can..." Mary shook her head, her dark locks swaying over her face. "But it's never enough. Lord Knowles always wants more, more, more."

Bria had no words to console her friend. She wished Mary lived on her lands, under her father's rule.

"Someone has to do something!"

Bria was shocked by the conviction in Mary's voice, the passion.

"It's not fair that we should have to work day and night! If Mother or Father get sick, we'll starve!" Mary sighed. "If only the Midnight Shadow were real. He'd do something about this."

Bria remembered a time when she'd wished for the Midnight Shadow, too -- when her father had gone off to war to fight the French and Randolph Kenric threw her into the bramble patch. She put an arm around Mary's shoulders. "I wish I could do something to help –"

Suddenly the sound of a man's laughter rang out through the forest. A second man's voice spoke quietly.

Silence settled around them again and the two girls glanced at each other.

"Let's go find out who it is," Bria whispered, feeling brave in the darkness.

"No," Mary gasped. "What if it's robbers?"

"They won't see us. Come on, Mary." Bria tugged her friend toward the voices, pulling her into a group of thick bushes near a small dirt road.

An elderly woman's voice drifted over to them from the road. "I don't understand why you're bringing me here this late at night."

"It's necessary," a man replied.

Bria peered through the leaves. An old gray-haired woman stood near a man in the pale moonlight. She was dressed in a plain brown gown, a shawl wrapped around her shoulders. The man had his back to her, so Bria could not see his face. His leggings were black, his tunic pale. But what captured Bria's attention was the sword strapped to his waist. Bria swung her gaze down the road before them and saw another man not far away \-- a soldier, she guessed, by the chainmail he was wearing -- but his tunic had no crest, no allegiance. He held the reins of two horses.

"Well, what is it you want?" the old woman demanded. "I'm sure it could have waited until morning."

"It's Widow Anderson," Mary whispered. "The herbalist."

Bria nodded.

"You want me to make you more potions?" Widow Anderson asked. "You still owe me for the first one. A lot of time and skill went into it, believe me. And if it's not used properly it could have deadly consequences. I took a great chance giving it to you."

"Yes, you did. And you've kept the secret well, as I instructed. It is with great regret that I must tell you there will be no payment," the man said.

Every one of Bria's senses flared to life. Something was wrong here, very wrong. Beside her, Mary shifted her position. Bria could feel the anger in her friend's stiff shoulders and clenched fists.

"No payment?" the woman huffed. "We agreed on ten gold coins." Her voice quickly changed from one of outrage to one of calm certainty. "I think you'll pay up."

"And I think you're mistaken." The man's hand dropped casually to the hilt of his sword.

One of the horses the soldier held whinnied and reared, and the man before the old woman turned suddenly, stepping into a beam of moonlight.

Bria froze as the ghostly light washed across his features. It couldn't be! She recoiled into the safety of the dark bush, praying he hadn't seen her. She'd hoped never to see him again.

"Listen, Kenric, you cheap worm, you'll pay what you owe." The old woman drew the man's gaze to her once again.

Kenric! Fear coiled around Bria's body, immobilizing her. Bria reached out for Mary...

But Mary wasn't there. Her friend had burst through the cover of the bushes and onto the road.

"No! Mary!" Bria whispered frantically.

But Mary moved forward, oblivious to Bria's warning, stalking toward Kenric and Widow Anderson.

Bria peered anxiously through the bushes, but remained hidden, unable to stop her pounding heart, unable to suppress the fear encompassing her. It was Kenric, her mind repeated. Kenric.

As Mary stomped toward the duo, Kenric's eyes slowly turned and his lips curled into a contemptuous sneer. Fear gripped Bria's insides. Fear for Mary, fear for the old woman. Fear for herself. Her breathing came hard and fast as frightful images danced before her mind's eye. Haunting memories of Kenric's ugly black eyes glinting down at her. Falling into a thorny patch of brambles. Wicked laughter played over and over again in her ears.

Deep inside, she knew she should do something. She knew she should take a stand beside Mary, but she couldn't. She couldn't face Kenric. She could only watch in frozen terror as Mary approached Kenric, her tiny fists clenched at her sides.

Kenric surveyed the area around them, his gaze flashing past Bria's hiding spot and moving on. He turned back to Mary.

"That is quite enough!" Mary proclaimed. "You'll pay Widow Anderson, or everyone will know you cheated her." Her threat hung in the air.

"She'll get what's due her," Kenric finally said.

Bria didn't like the sound of his voice.

Mary seemed well pleased by his verdict. She nodded and smiled with satisfaction. Had Kenric changed after so many years? Was he going to do the right thing? Would he pay Widow Anderson?

Kenric drew his sword and plunged it into Widow Anderson's stomach.

Sheer terror held Bria immobile as Widow Anderson's mouth went round in a circle of shock.

Kenric's black, evil eyes shone in the moonlight. They were the most terrifying eyes Bria had ever seen. He smiled coldly as he pulled his sword from the herbalist's body. Widow Anderson crumpled to the ground like a scarecrow untied from its pole.

Bria struggled to regain control of her senses. "Run, Mary, run!" she shouted. A dark, shadowy presence swept over her as Kenric turned in the direction of her voice. She prayed she was hidden well enough in the bushes so he couldn't see her. He studied the area around her, his dark eyes narrowing as they tried to penetrate the darkness.

With a cry, Mary raced away into the forest on the opposite side of the road and quickly disappeared into the blackness of the thick trees, swallowed up by the woods. The soldier gave chase.

Bria shrank back into the cover of the bushes. Kenric still held his bloodied sword, looking in her direction. He took a step toward her.

He's coming. He's going to find me.

Midnight Shadow

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A Knight of Honor - Prologue

England 1340

Taylor Sullivan wondered if her mother had gone mad. No one in her right mind would be wearing a bright vibrant smile like the one that lit her mother's lips, not in a situation like this one. How could she smile in the face of such unspeakable horror? Taylor wondered frantically. Her own body shook with fear. She had to clasp her small hands tightly in front of her so her mother wouldn't see her fingers trembling with terror and misery.

The black gown her mother wore contrasted sharply with her pale alabaster skin, making her flesh look almost ghostly white. Her brown hair was tied back tightly into a thick braid that hung down the length of her back, dangling to and fro as she walked toward Taylor.

Dangling like a rope.

Taylor dropped her chin to her chest, unable to look at her mother's radiant face.

"Oh, darling," her mother murmured and reached for Taylor's hands. "Why such a sad face?"

Suddenly unable to control herself, Taylor hurled herself toward her mother, flinging her arms around her mother's shoulders and hugging her as tightly as she could.

With a startled laugh, her mother returned the embrace.

Taylor squeezed her eyes shut against the tears that burned there.

Her mother stroked her hair calmly, reassuringly. "Don't worry," she whispered. "He'll come for me. I know he will."

Taylor pulled back to look into her mother's blue eyes. They were glazed and had a faraway, dreamy look to them. The blissful smile Taylor had seen on her mother's lips when she first stepped into the room returned.

"He won't let me burn," she went on, even as the reflections of the room's candles dancing in her eyes tortured Taylor with a vision of the terrible things to come. Her mother turned to the window. She placed her palms on the cold stone ledge of the windowsill and stared out into the early morning sky. "We love each other far too much," she whispered.

"Father?" Taylor wondered, a weak hope in her question.

Her mother laughed softly. "No," she said.

Taylor heard the door opening behind her and turned to see two guards standing in the doorway. To a child of twelve, the two burly men looked like armor-plated giants. The light threw deep shadows across their faces, transforming them into gruesome masks that made Taylor think of the ogres in the tales her mother had once told her.

"It's time, m'lady," one of the ogres called, his voice gruff and menacing to Taylor's ears.

Taylor's desperate gaze returned to her mother. Her time was running out. She had to stop this. "No!" Taylor cried out, finally finding the strength in her voice. "They can't do this!" She grabbed her mother's arm, pulling her deeper into the room.

Her mother touched her cheek softly. "He'll come," she reassured her and gently pried Taylor's small fingers from her arm. Then she stepped past her daughter, moving out the door.

Taylor watched her mother's straight, tall form and wished that she could feel the confidence her mother voiced. Then the two brutes stepped in behind her mother, forming a massive wall of muscled flesh and cold steel. A sinking feeling grabbed hold of Taylor and pulled her deeper into despair. She followed the procession into the hallway. There was only one chance. There was only one man who could stop this.

Taylor turned away and ran down an empty hallway, fully aware of the blossoming sky as the sun chased the darkness from the land, fully aware that the sun's rays heralded her mother's doom. She couldn't make her small slippered feet move fast enough over the stones of the corridor. Her silk dress wrapped around her legs, inhibiting her hurried steps.

Finally, she halted before a closed door. Her fear rose like a tidal wave to bathe her resolve. But like a brave knight, she fought down her dread and lifted a hand to push the door open.

The room was dark except for a lone candle on a desk. Taylor took a hesitant step forward. She made out the shadowed form of a man sitting behind the large desk.

The man slowly lifted his dark eyes to her as she entered.

The wavering flame of the candle threw slashes of reddish-orange light over his face, casting demonic shadows across his brow.

Taylor knew she could not give up, despite every one of her senses telling her to run, beseeching her not to incur his wrath. "Please," she whispered. "Show mercy."

The man leaned back and his eyes disappeared completely into the darkness. After a long moment, he rubbed his palms over his eyes. "I loved her, you know," he murmured. "I gave her everything. Everything she ever wanted." He shook his head, his gray hair swaying around his shoulders with the movement.

Taylor thought she saw a sparkling in his eyes as he lifted his head to gaze at the ceiling and she wondered if they could be tears.

"This I cannot forgive," he groaned. "There will be no mercy."

"Please, Father," she whispered, barely able to contain the terror she felt.

Her father suddenly looked older than she had ever seen him before; the wrinkles on his brow, the lines around his mouth, all seemed to darken and deepen. "There is no such thing as true love," he murmured. "Remember that, daughter."

"But Mother –" Taylor managed in a whimper.

He rose and moved to the window, where the sun was just beginning to peer over the horizon. The morning's light splashed him in a blood red wave. A sudden breeze from the window lifted his cape about his shoulders and the cloth fluttered behind him, making it look as if he had suddenly sprouted wings. "Will burn in a few minutes' time," he said flatly.

Taylor reared back. He was so cold. So uncaring. How could he say he loved her mother one moment and then sentence her to death the next? She straightened her back and glared at him, trying desperately to keep the pain from showing on her face.

She had failed. She had not been able to change her father's mind. In the distance, she heard the drums and their foreboding rhythm begin. She had to hurry. It was starting.

She started for the door, but his voice thundered across the room. "You will remain with me," he commanded.

"No," Taylor gasped. She had to say goodbye to her mother.

"You will stand at my side and learn what infidelity leads to."

Taylor felt her insides twist. Her blood pounded in her ears, drowning out the drum roll. "Please, Father," she begged.

"You will stay," he told her in a voice that could not be disobeyed.

For a long moment, a strange hush blanketed the castle. And Taylor's heart. She thought of disobeying her father and racing out of the room to be with her mother, but never in her twelve years of life had she defied him. Years of strict discipline prevented her from doing it now.

She silently begged God to spare her mother. She prayed that her mother was right, that "he" would come for her. She desperately wanted to believe what her mother believed. She desperately wanted a knight in shining armor to race to her mother's rescue and snatch her from the flames to which her father had condemned her.

Her mother's words rang through her mind, 'He won't let me burn.' Hope ignited in Taylor's breast. Her mother had so much confidence. Could she be right? Would he save her?

Taylor raced to the window, to her father's side. But her frantic gaze wasn't on the courtyard, where the horror of her mother's execution was being played out. Her eyes searched the lowered drawbridge and the road beyond for the knight. The knight of honor who would rescue her mother.

But the road and drawbridge were empty. Silent.

'We love each other far too much,' her mother had said.

Taylor glanced expectantly at the empty road, waiting for her mother's rescuer.

And waiting.

Her father's confession echoed in her mind, 'I loved her.'

And waiting.

'There is no such thing as true love.' Suddenly, Taylor understood her father's words. And with the comprehension came a chilling realization.

There would be no rescue. Her mother would burn. A panic filled Taylor so completely she trembled helplessly. As black smoke and dark orange flames spiraled up to meet the dawning light's rays, a scream rent the silence.

Suddenly a triumphant burst of flames sprang high into the dawn sky, its hungry tongues licking the fading night. To a terrified child, it was the face of death. Taylor fell to her knees, burying her face in her hands, her own agonized cry replacing her mother's suddenly silent one.

***

Jared Mantle cursed. What was England coming to if it allowed a fine woman such as Lady Diana to be put to the flame?

Diana was one of the most compassionate women Jared had ever known. Years ago, she found him beaten and near death at the side of the road. She took him to Sullivan Castle and nursed him back to health. Then she asked lord Sullivan to retain his services. It had taken ten long years of hard work after that, but Jared finally reached the rank of captain. He had trained most of the men that now kept the castle secure. Few of them, if any, could best him in combat.

Now, after fifteen years of loyalty and devotion, Jared found himself back where he had begun. Alone. He rubbed his short beard. Oh, he was certain Sullivan would keep him on, but he could not stay where they would burn a kind, generous woman. Jared shook his head sadly. Besides, it was time he sought his fortune before he could not lift a sword.

He strapped on his belt and his scabbard, and he glanced one last time about the room. He pocketed the measly coins he had saved in his service to the Sullivans and headed for the door, stepping outside into the night.

The moon was a mere slit in the dark sky, a narrowed eye watching his departure. He moved deeper into the courtyard.

Suddenly, Jared tensed. Instinctively, he knew someone was there. He pulled back into the darkness and watched with curious eyes as a silhouetted figure snuck into the empty courtyard. Huddled and tentatively watchful, the figure moved swiftly from shadow to shadow to the outer gates.

Jared's eyes narrowed and he moved silently across the yard, his large strides taking him to the figure, whose back was to him. "Late for an evening stroll," Jared said quietly.

The figure whirled to stare at him. Green eyes flashed defiantly up at him. The girl swung her clenched hand behind her back, concealing something in her fist.

Surprise jarred him as he stared down at the girl. Even with her face concealed beneath a velvet hood, he knew her instantly. Diana's daughter. What would a young girl be doing out this late? he wondered to himself. And without a chaperone.

"Don't try to stop me!" she snapped.

For the first time, Jared noticed the sack slung over her shoulder. She started to turn away from him, but he caught her wrist, pulling her hand out of the shadows. The ring on her finger shone in the night's blue light. Two crossed swords with a large S in the middle were etched into its surface. He raised his eyes to hers. Had the girl stolen the ring?

Taylor raised her chin and her eyes narrowed. "It was my mother's," she said imperiously.

He glowered at her for a long moment. "Running away?" he asked.

"Leaving," she insisted.

"With no one to watch over you? No guards?"

"I don't need a guard!"

He pondered her words. He could see traces of her mother in every one of her stubborn movements, the worry beneath the defiance in her eyes, the resolution that set her shoulders. She was so young. So young and so inexperienced. He glanced at the gates. The world outside would eat her alive.

"Where are you headed?" he asked her.

Taylor paused for a long moment. She glanced at the wooden gate, then up at the walkways surrounding the castle as if they held the answer. "To London," she finally replied.

He grunted softly. She had no idea what she was getting herself into, what kind of people waited to take advantage of a twelve-year-old-girl. Most likely she would end up a prostitute. Or dead on the side of the road without her rich velvet cloak. He briefly wondered if she had even thought to pack any food. He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. Well, I owe my lady that much, he thought to himself. "That's where I'm heading," he said. "Can you use the company?"

A Knight of Honor - Chapter One

Eight Years Later

Slane Donovan dismounted in front of a small shop and tethered his black warhorse to a nearby tree. Woodland Hills was a simple town. There was only one shop to buy supplies in and this was it. The sign hanging from a weather-worn wooden pole jutting out from the building's thatched roof creaked as it swayed in the easy breeze. He glanced up at the charred words burned into the wood.

Benjamin's Goods.

A prickling at the back of his neck caused him to look away from the sign toward the shop's open door. A small girl stood in the doorway, watching him with large brown eyes. Slane grinned and patted her head as he entered the shop.

The interior was dark except for the area lit by the flaming hearth burning to his left and the entranceway lit by the sun behind him. After his eyes adjusted to the gloom, Slane noticed a man sweeping the floor near the rear of the shop. When he heard Slane enter, the man stopped his work and looked up, clutching the broom handle with both hands. "Good day, sir," he greeted. "What can I do for you?"

"You must be Benjamin."

Benjamin nodded. "That I am. Are you needing supplies?"

Slane glanced around at the various tables that filled the room. Piles of dull-edged daggers, rusted knives, maces with chipped handles, and numerous other weapons filled several tabletops. Other tables held cooking utensils or farming tools. Shelves lining the wall held foodstuffs of all kinds, dirt-caked vegetables, trenchers, a few strips of salted meat. "I just need some information," Slane said.

Benjamin began sweeping again. "Nothing comes cheap these days, sir."

Slane sighed and pulled out a gold piece from the pouch at his waist. "I'm looking for a ring," he said. "Two swords crossed, and an S on it."

The man's eyes lit up at the sight of the coin. He reached for it, but Slane pulled it back.

"Have you seen it?"

"Yes," Benjamin said eagerly. "Not two days ago. A woman wore it."

"Did you see which way the woman went?" Slane asked.

"She rode off to the west. Near as I can guess, she was heading toward Fulton."

Slane nodded and handed the man the coin. Benjamin greedily snatched it from Slane's fingers. Fulton. That was only a day's ride. He turned and moved to the doorway.

He caught the small girl staring at him and her eyes went wide before she quickly pulled back out of the doorway. Slane grinned. He strolled out the door and moved toward his horse.

The soft tread of a child's footsteps followed him. "Did she do something bad?"

The girl's small voice caused Slane to turn. "No," he told her.

"Then how come you want to find her?" she asked.

Slane smiled and knelt down to the child's level. Her eyes were large and brown and innocent. "I'm looking for the ring."

"Oh."

Slane ruffled her hair and turned back to his horse. He swung himself up into the saddle.

"Like those other men this morning?"

Slane froze. "What other men?"

"Some other men were asking about the ring and the lady this morning," she said. "One of them was real mean, the one with the hair on his lip. I didn't like him."

"Corydon," Slane hissed, staring off down the road. When Corydon had won lands that bordered Donovan and Sullivan lands five years ago, Slane himself had approached him in peace, seeking to secure friendship with his neighbor. But Corydon had scoffed at his efforts and attacked his party. Two good men had been killed that day. Slane could still hear Corydon's laughter burning in his ears.

And now Corydon had actively begun to accumulate an army of men. Enough men to lay siege to a castle. Slane knew he had precious little time to complete his mission. Corydon's appetite for new lands was insatiable.

Slane returned his gaze to the small girl. She couldn't have been more than four, but she was obviously smart beyond her years. He bestowed on her one of his most beguiling smiles. "Thank you, m'lady," he said. "You've been very helpful."

She put her small hands to her mouth and giggled.

Slane spurred his horse and the large animal fell into a trot and then a full-out gallop. With Corydon so close, he knew there was no more time to waste. He needed help. He needed experienced trackers.

***

The arm slammed heavily down upon the table. Cheers broke out around the room, echoed by groans and finally, what Taylor liked to hear the most, coins clinking together. She watched Jared rise from the table, a victory smile on his bearded face. His brigandine armor shifted with his movement, the leather shining dully in the fire of the hearth as he reached his full height. Taylor looked at the fire for a moment, at the snaking, whipping flames, then she quickly turned away.

Jared's opponent in the arm wrestling match, a taller and heavier man, rose from his seat rubbing his arm. Taylor froze for an instant, her hand moving inconspicuously to the hilt of her sword, but when she saw the defeated man's shoulders slump slightly and his head hang she took her fingers away from her weapon. A smile curved the corner of her lips. He would be no trouble. There had been many a time when she and Jared had to leave an inn fighting. Most men were not easily parted from their hard-earned coin.

Jared clasped a few arms and slapped a few backs.

Most of the gambling men found it distasteful to give up their coin to a woman, and Jared was busy speaking with the patrons and his opponent, so Taylor and Jared had found it best to employ a man to collect their winnings. Taylor leaned against a wall at the rear of the tavern, scanning the room for the shady little creature. She had found it best to remain discreetly separate from the patrons, keeping an eye on Jared's back.

She spotted Irwin slithering from person to person in the dark room, collecting the coins that glinted in the torchlight when they fell into his open palm. The way he held his hands curled into his chest, the way he scurried, reminded her of a rat. Keeping her gaze on him, she reached down to the table before her and grabbed her ale. Irwin held out his hand to the next man, who deposited two coins into his open palm with a grimace and moved away. Taylor lifted the mug to her lips, but paused as she watched Irwin's eyes shift left and then right. She knew what he was going to do even before his small hand dipped into his pocket and came up empty. Her green eyes narrowed and she threw back her head to drain the mug of ale.

By the time Irwin finally scurried up to her, Taylor was on her second ale. A grin spread across his rodent-like face as he produced the coin-filled pouch, chuckling gleefully, "We emptied their pockets!" He dropped it onto the table and the coins clanked heavily as they hit the wooden surface.

Taylor scooped up the pouch. She weighed it in her hand for a moment and was gratified to see Irwin's smile slip a notch. She tied the strings around her belt, watching him. "Nice doing business with you, Irwin," she said and took a step past him.

Irwin moved to block her path.

Her gaze slowly shifted to him.

"My payment," he whined. He extended his hand, palm up.

"You know, Irwin, as I see it, you have two choices. You can try to get your payment from Jared, but he's a smart man and all he would have to do is look in your eyes to see how you cheated him." She watched Irwin's face turn from gray to white. But he recovered quickly.

"Cheated him? I am a man of morals. I would never –"

"I saw you, Irwin."

He sputtered for a moment, his hands twitching nervously. "It was a mistake, a misunderstanding!"

Taylor nodded. "I know. And I sympathize with you. But I'm afraid that Jared is not the forgiving type. Do you know what he did to the last man he caught with his hand in our moneybag?"

Irwin shook his head, his black eyes wide, anxiously awaiting the answer.

"He followed him out into an alley and -- well, the poor soul was never seen again. My guess is rat food."

"Rat food?" Irwin echoed.

Taylor nodded. "Not the forgiving type."

"You -- you said I had two choices."

"Well, yes. You can take what you have... and disappear."

Irwin did not move for a long moment. Taylor was sure that she saw his little nose twitch. "But..." he finally protested weakly.

Taylor held up a finger, halting his objection. "Rat food," she reminded him.

Irwin shuffled his feet. "I see your point."

"And next time," Taylor murmured, leaning toward Irwin, "be sure that no one is looking when you steal."

"Sully!" Jared called.

Taylor turned to see Jared making his way through the crowd of well-wishers. He stood a foot above her, his bald head shining in the torch light.

"The ale is on me tonight!" he called out to her.

Taylor nodded. "I thought as much. Irwin here—" Taylor turned to Irwin, only to find him gone. A smile lit her face. "They don't like to get caught."

"God's right hand! Another one?" Jared roared. "Good help is hard to find these days. How much did he take?"

"Not enough to make a dent in the profits you brought in." Taylor hefted the bag in her palm. "It looks as though we'll sleep in a bed tonight!"

Jared dropped his head, seriousness washing over him. He took Taylor's arm and steered her to a private corner of the common room. "We can't keep on like this, Sully," he murmured. "We have to find work. A few coins from wagering won't see us past a night."

"You worry too much, my friend. I'm sure the morning will bring better luck and a paying fare. Just watch." She turned to move back into the crowd, but Jared caught her arm.

"If nothing comes on the morrow, we move north. Agreed?"

Taylor sighed. She didn't want to go north in search of employment. It was too close. Too close to what she had been avoiding all these years. She clenched her teeth and pushed away the unpleasant memories that threatened to take hold of her senses.

Jared shook her arm. "Agreed?"

Taylor pulled free of his grip. "Agreed," she reluctantly assented, then turned and barreled through the rowdy patrons and out into the night air.

North. She glanced up at the stars and suddenly their glistening brilliance shimmered, transporting her back in time. Flames roared before her eyes. A horrible scream filled her ears. She quickly shook her head and marched around a corner. She paused to take a deep drink of ale. It slid over her tongue and down her throat, washing away the memories.

"It's dangerous for a woman to walk these streets alone," a voice called out.

Taylor groaned, immediately recognizing the voice. Usually when she told the vermin to stay away, they did. But it looked as if Irwin wasn't as bright as the rest. "Irwin," Taylor murmured and spun. "I told you to take what you have –" Her voice faded. The firelight shining through the tavern window illuminated three men standing in the alley before her: Irwin and two burly others. So, Taylor thought, our little rat has friends. She leaned against a crate that lined the dark road.

"I'm not satisfied with the payment I received," Irwin said.

"I could have guessed," Taylor murmured, lifting the mug to her lips.

"And now I want it all."

Taylor swallowed the ale in a surprised gulp. "All? Aren't we getting a little greedy, Irwin?"

He shrugged his scrawny shoulders. "If I have to get my fair payment this way, I might as well take it all."

Taylor dropped her chin to her chest, sighing. "I suppose I can't talk you out of this." Part of her didn't want to. Her hands itched for a little swordplay.

"Oh, your tongue is witty, but you'll need more than that to change my mind."

Taylor set her mug down on the crate, careful not to spill its contents. Then she straightened up and faced Irwin. "All right."

Irwin's beady black eyes widened. "You will give us the bag?"

Taylor chuckled in disbelief. "Not a chance, Irwin," she said. "If you want the bag, you're going to have to take it."

Irwin's companions laughed lasciviously.

The half moon that lit the sky cast a bluish glow over the alley, allowing Taylor to see her opponents as they approached. They were both big men dressed in soiled breeches and ragged tunics -- one with a long, dark, unkempt beard that reached almost down to his stomach, the other missing two teeth. They moved slowly and laboriously. Taylor was certain that their bulk would be more hindrance than help in their actual fighting.

"Get her," Irwin ground out between his teeth.

"Tsk-tsk, Irwin," Taylor admonished. "You're not the one doing the dirty work. Give them a moment to think. Here, gentlemen. Let me make this easy on you. One of you go to my right, the other to my left. Try to surround me."

The two men cast speculative glances at each other before doing what Taylor told them.

"What an ingenious plot!" Taylor laughed. She continued to face Irwin, keeping the two men in her peripheral vision. Suddenly, the men acted. The one with the beard rushed her from her right while the other man charged from her left.

Taylor feinted back and then stepped forward. The two men knocked shoulders, the man without the teeth falling onto his buttocks. Taylor whirled in time to see the man with the beard stomping toward her. She heard a movement behind her and brought her elbow back sharply into Irwin's ribs, then danced two steps out of the bearded man's path.

"If this is the best you've got, you might as well leave now," she scoffed.

She stood two steps from the wall, able to see all the men. The man with two missing teeth climbed to his feet. Irwin stood beside the bearded man, his arm wrapped around his stomach.

The man with two missing teeth drew a small dagger.

All the amusement Taylor felt up until now disappeared. When weapons were drawn, it was no longer a game. Now, it was a fight for her life. She eased her sword from its sheath.

The men halted for a long moment.

"She's a woman! She doesn't know how to use it," Irwin reassured the men. "It's just for show."

"Then you come and get it, Irwin," Taylor invited. "I'll put on a show for you."

Irwin swallowed hard. "This is what I'm paying you for," he said to the men. "There are two of you... and one of her."

The man with the missing teeth came forward, rage in his dark eyes. She had somehow insulted him and his anger was burning. He would fight irrationally. Every instinct told her to fight her way free and flee. But painful memories still lingered like a glowing ember inside her. She needed to bury them again. She needed a fight.

The gap-toothed man approached steadily. Taylor did not move back until he lashed out at her. She ducked and whirled away, but he followed her, dogging her steps. She caught one of his swings with her sword, and the dagger bounced harmlessly off her blade. He kept at her, and she moved carefully within the small space of the alley, biding her time. Finally, he foolishly waved his weapon by her face and she took advantage of the moment. She reared her head back from the sharp edge of the dagger as it swept just beneath her chin—and thrust forward with her blade at the same time. She had meant to wound him enough to scare him, but the idiot stepped into her swing. The sword hit flesh and for a moment everything froze.

The gap-toothed man's dark eyes went round with surprise; his mouth went slack with shock. His dagger slipped from his fingers and it clattered against the ground.

Taylor pulled her sword from his torso and turned.

The fist that slammed into her face sent her reeling to the ground! Her head spun fiercely for a moment and her cheek throbbed with a pulsing, biting pain. A kick to her side spun her over onto her back. She lay with her eyes open, gasping for a breath, unsure whether the white blotches that flared before her eyes were stars in the night sky or patches of pain clouding her vision.

A dark, twisted face suddenly appeared above her, a face covered with dirty hair and picked-at scabs. She felt hands shaking her shoulders. She saw lips moving and heard unintelligible sounds. Then two savage punches knocked her head back and this time she knew the flashes of white filling her vision didn't come from the heavens above.

She lay still for a long moment, her cheek pressing against the dust and dirt of the road. Slowly, the stars swimming before her eyes faded and the world came back into focus. She saw a splash of moonlight washing over her mug, which had overturned in the battle. Her eyes followed the thin stream of ale as it dripped down to the puddle below.

The bearded man's words cut through her fogginess. "Had enough?"

"You spilled my ale," Taylor groaned. She was rewarded with a brutal kick to her abdomen.

As she lifted a limp hand to ward off any more blows, she heard laughter.

"You were right," Irwin whispered in her ear. "That was a good show."

Their shrill laughter faded into the distance.

Taylor lay in the road for a long time, watching the growing pool of ale on the ground, wishing the pounding in her head would stop. She tasted blood in her mouth; her tongue traced a gash on her lip. She forced herself onto her back and lifted a hand to her throbbing left cheek. She knew it would swell and bruise before the morning. She closed her eyes, taking stock of her injuries. Stomach, side, but mostly her face. Her left cheek was by far the worst. The right cheek stung, but the ache was nowhere near as intense as the biting pain on the left side. Already she felt puffiness ringing her left eye. At least she didn't think anything was broken.

Her head pounded savagely behind her eyes and she rubbed her forehead with the tips of her fingers, unsuccessfully willing the pain to go away. She opened her eyes to contemplate the heavens and the God that had delivered her to such a fate.

That was when she noticed that her ring was gone! Her mother's ring! They had pried it from her fingers!

She tried to push herself up off the ground, but didn't make it past her hands and knees. "Damn it," she whispered, groaning as pain shot through every muscle in her body. She was in no condition to pursue the thieves, but she vowed she would have the ring back. Whatever it took.

She quickly scanned the alley, hoping they hadn't taken everything. The man with the missing teeth lay sprawled not five feet from her. Her gaze shot past him, past her spilled ale, up the alley. Where was her sword? It wasn't what they had been after. Had they taken it to sell it?

She spotted her blade lying in the shadows against the wall of the tavern and breathed a sigh of relief.

The sudden clattering of hooves made her freeze. She crawled into the shadows of the tavern, hoping that whomever it was would not look into this dirty alley -- and that it wasn't some wretched God-loving knight with a penchant for doing good. She was in enough trouble in plenty of towns as it was.

The horses continued past the alley without stopping. Taylor eased out of the shadows and took another look at the body only a few feet from her. The toothless man was definitely dead, his chest still and lifeless. Not the first man she had killed, and probably not the last. Unless, of course, she was caught here with his blood on her blade.

The dripping of her trickling ale caught her attention and she turned her head. Her mug rested on its side on the crate beside her. She reached up and grabbed it, then crawled over to her sword and took hold of it with trembling fingers. Kneeling, she resheathed the weapon, taking four tries to get it back into its scabbard.

She pulled herself to her feet, using the wall as support. Mustering as much determination as she could, she willed the pain away and straightened only enough to walk toward the tavern. Each step was agony; each footfall pounded through her entire body.

Finally, the open doorway of the tavern loomed before her. She stepped into the entryway and halted, leaning heavily against the wooden frame and closing her eyes against the throbbing pain that pierced every muscle in her body.

"Sully!"

When Taylor opened her eyes, she saw Jared sitting across the room between two buxom serving wenches. He jumped up and rushed to her side. Relief washed over her so completely her shoulders sagged and her entire body started to go limp.

Taylor raised the empty mug. "I need a refill," she grunted before collapsing into Jared's arms.

A Knight of Honor - Chapter Two

Slane entered the Wolf's Inn, his blue eyes narrowing immediately as he assessed the main room. It was the kind of place that had trouble brewing around every corner, where pickpockets lurked in every dark shadow, where a killer could be bought for a shilling. Laughter and conversation rose and fell around him. A harlot seated near the door reached under a table and demonstrated her skills to an eager-to-learn merchant. Four armored men sat to Slane's right; all had the dull haze of too much ale in their red-streaked eyes. Most of the tables were occupied by solitary figures nursing their ales or filling their bellies with steaming vegetables and mutton. Nobody appeared to notice his presence, but he knew they were all aware of his entrance.

"What can I do for you, m'lord?"

Slane turned to see a short man standing beside him.

The top of his balding head barely reached Slane's shoulder. "I'm looking for a man called Jared Mantle."

The innkeeper chortled. "M'lord must understand that I can't just –"

Slane quickly produced a gold coin, silencing the man's objections. The innkeeper pointed a chubby finger in the direction of a back table, where two men were sitting. Slane tossed over the gold coin and moved through the room toward the table.

A lone candle illuminated the two figures in earnest conversation, one of them possibly a merchant -- no self- respecting tracker would wear such gaudy colors, nor tie a yellow-and-red scarf about his waist. Slane's eyes quickly assessed the other man's well-worn leather armor and easy confidence, and he knew that this man must be Jared. He was much older than Slane had anticipated, but his age was probably a testament to his skill. He was still alive, after all. "Jared Mantle?" Slane asked.

The man raised his eyes, eyes that were suspicious and alert, to meet Slane's. "Who's asking?"

Slane swiveled his gaze to the merchant and then back to Jared. "Slane Donovan."

Jared's eyes narrowed slightly. "I'm Mantle. Do we have business?"

"I'd like to hire you."

"I'm in the process of doing the exact same thing," the merchant protested.

"I can offer you double what this man is offering," Slane said. "I need your services immediately."

Jared's eyes shifted to the merchant. "Can you better that?"

The merchant shook his head and rose from the table. "Perhaps next time," he murmured, casting Slane an irritated glance before moving away.

When Slane took the vacated seat, Jared asked, "What services do you require?"

Slane couldn't help but notice the skepticism in his voice. Had Jared had dealings with his brother, Richard? No matter. "I need you to find a ring."

"A ring?" Jared echoed. "What importance does a ring hold to you?"

"That is my concern. Can you track such a thing?"

"What does it look like?"

Slane opened his mouth to respond when a woman slipped into the empty chair beside Jared. Annoyed at her presumption, Slane scowled... until he saw her face. It was covered in bruises and healing scabs. "God's blood!" he exclaimed. "Where did you get those injuries?"

The woman glanced over at Slane. The one eye that wasn't puffed closed narrowed instantly, and her swollen lip curled into a humorless grin. "A friend."

He stiffened at her cold tone. "If you'll kindly excuse us, we are in the middle of a business transaction. I'm not in need of your services."

The woman didn't budge. "If it's business, then you can talk to me as well. Jared and I are partners."

Slane darted a glance at Jared, who nodded, an amused look crinkling his eyes. "I'm only hiring you," he said to Jared.

"We come together or not at all," Jared replied.

Slane turned his thoughtful gaze to her. She responded with a chilly glare. He turned back to Jared. "Fine. But I don't intend to pay any more than I did before."

"For the work of two?" the woman objected.

Slane crossed his arms. "Take it or leave it."

He watched her shoulders sink as she sighed and glanced at Jared, who nodded once. "What's the job?" she asked.

Slane leaned across the table. "I'm looking for a ring. Two swords crossed under an S."

Jared and the girl sat motionless for a long moment, then looked at each other. Suddenly, the woman began to laugh.

"What is so funny?" Slane snapped.

She met his solemn look with amusement. "This is going to be the easiest coin we've ever worked for," she replied.

Slane frowned quizzically. "You know where it is?"

She nodded and began to rise, but Slane grabbed her arm, halting her movement. "Look, woman. If you know where it is, tell me. We can begin and end your employment right here."

She hesitated for a moment casting an unreadable look at Jared. "Sully," she finally said, her lips curving up in a grin. With her swollen lip, the smile was more grotesque than appealing. "My name is Sully, not woman."

***

Taylor leaned against a wall and crossed her arms over her chest as she regarded Slane out of curious eyes. What could he possibly want with her mother's ring? They had been traveling together for half a day now and he hadn't spoken one more word about it

He glanced at her and she smiled brilliantly through her cut and fattened lips. He scowled and turned away.

At least he's consistent, she thought. Her gaze shifted to Jared, who was speaking earnestly with a large man \-- a man who was almost as tall as Slane but with a much less flattering physique. His belly flopped over his breeches; the muscles in his arms were slack. Jared had sensed he was the town gossipmonger the second he laid eyes on him. And as usual, Jared was right. The large man looked at her and smiled, then glanced back at Jared and spoke quickly to him.

Taylor shifted slightly. "This ring must be very important to rouse you from the comfort of Castle Donovan."

"Yes," Slane answered stiffly.

"No more tournaments to play in?" she quipped.

He stared curiously at her.

She cast him a wry look. It was like speaking to a wall. A well-muscled wall, with long, glorious blond hair, but a wall nonetheless.

Jared and the man headed over to them, Jared wearing the same exasperated expression he always wore when some man would insist on propositioning her. Taylor shook her head. They never learned. Or were there just too many to teach?

"He says he won't give me any information unless you bed him," Jared explained.

As a large, eager grin split the man's lips, Slane's eyes widened in outrage.

Taylor pushed herself from the wall, placing a hand on Slane's chest to quiet him. "I'm used to it," she said.

"You're not thinking –" Slane began, but Taylor turned her attention to Jared.

"You offered him a gold coin?"

Jared shrugged slightly. "Two," he said.

Taylor smiled at the large man. "You know, you're being quite unreasonable about this," she told him. "All we need is information. You've seen the ring?"

The man nodded. "I've seen it. But that's all you'll get from me unless I see some action."

"Action?" Taylor repeated. "Is that all you want?" She half turned to Slane, clenched her fist, and turned back to the man, ramming her balled fingers into his stomach.

The man doubled over. Taylor shoved the brutish lout backward over Jared's carefully positioned foot and he slammed into the ground. Taylor whipped out her dagger and held it to the man's neck. "Is this the type of action you wanted?" she asked.

The man fought back the urge to swallow as Taylor pressed the side of the blade against his throat.

"All we want is a little information about the ring. I know that you'll be very accommodating, won't you?" Taylor eased the tip slightly from the man's neck.

"I don't want any trouble," the man gasped.

"Out with it," she ordered.

"They went toward Briarwood," he gasped. "I swear that's all I know. They rode north!"

Taylor paused for a long moment. She knew he was too shocked and scared to lie. Still, she liked the feeling of this slime groveling in the dirt. "Maybe next time you'll think before you insult a woman," she said and slowly stood up.

The man sat up, putting his hands to his throat, eyeing her with hatred.

Jared joined her, standing protectively behind her.

Finally, the man narrowed his eyes, stood and scrambled away.

Taylor's lips quirked up in a grin of satisfaction.

"I bet you make a lot of friends that way," Slane said and moved toward the stables.

"No one needs friends like that," Taylor retorted, casting one last glance at the man's retreating back before following Slane.

"Good job," Jared congratulated as he trailed after the duo.

***

Slane rode behind Sully and Jared. His gaze lingered on the woman, this enigmatic Sully. Her long, braided black hair swung back and forth over her cuir-bouilli armor. The hard leather armor had been worked and shaped to fit her tiny figure. And the leather maker had done an admirable job. It fit her very well indeed. She wore black leggings beneath her armor. Black boots hid her calves. The sword strapped to her waist continued to catch his attention every time he glanced at her. He had rarely seen a woman with a blade and wondered how good she was at wielding the weapon.

It was a shame he probably wouldn't have time to find out. He turned his concentration back to his mission.

The Sullivan woman.

He was certain that once he found the ring, he would find the girl and his search would be over. He wondered what she looked like. Had eight years on her own taken their toll? Was she haggard and gaunt from lack of food and working too hard? Did she look older than her twenty years? He knew she had dark hair. But that was all he knew of her.

His eyes shifted to the two horses before him as one of the animals snorted. Sully smiled at Jared in a private joke and spurred her horse on to take the lead. Slane wondered if Sully and Jared were lovers. And if they were, how could he have let her get beaten like that? How on earth had she gotten those cursed bruises? Why, if Sully were his woman, he would never let anyone hurt her. He would kill anyone who laid a hand on Elizabeth.

He sighed, thinking of Elizabeth waiting for him at her home in Bristol. He had sent word with his best man, John Flynn, that he would be delayed. He knew John would watch over Elizabeth and protect her while he was away. He wouldn't be long. Not with the best tracker this side of France in his employ.

Slane nudged his horse and took up step beside Jared, turning his head to regard the mercenary. He was indeed old. There were deeply shadowed wrinkles around his eyes and his skin sagged around his cheeks. He glanced up ahead at Sully. What could she see in this old man? What kind of pleasure could he show her? And then another thought occurred to Slane. Perhaps they weren't lovers. Perhaps their relationship was more of a father watching over a daughter.

"We're coming to Briarwood," Jared announced.

"Are you sure the ring is here?" Slane asked.

"Look," Jared said, "you're paying me to track. That's what I'm doing. I'll find the ring. Don't doubt that."

Slane nodded, satisfied. They rode in silence for a few moments, the hot sun beating down on their shoulders. "You used to work for lord Sullivan, did you not?" He felt Jared's gaze turn to him.

"Aye," Jared replied. "A long time ago."

"Tell me of the girl," Slane ordered.

"The girl?"

"Taylor Sullivan," Slane clarified. "What did she look like?"

"That was a long time ago," Jared replied, keeping his eyes on the road. "I was surprised she ran away. Didn't think she had it in her."

Slane looked steadily at Jared, not saying anything. After a moment of silence, Jared added, "I suppose when your mother dies, you do impulsive things."

"So you haven't seen her since then?"

"No," Jared said. "Don't know if I'd recognize her anymore."

"What do you remember of her?"

"Why do you want to know?"

Slane watched Jared's knuckles tighten on the reins of his horse. He had no intention of telling him his reasons. Not with his unusual behavior. "Just curious."

Jared looked at him then, and Slane swore he saw hostility in his blue eyes. But then it was gone. "She was a fat, lazy thing, from what I remember," Jared said. "There was one pretty thing about her. She had the most brilliant blond hair that I've ever seen. Almost like gold."

"Golden hair," Slane murmured. "Indeed." He allowed his horse to fall behind. As he studied Jared's back for a long moment, Slane's eyes narrowed slightly. Why would Jared lie? What was he hiding?

***

Taylor walked back and forth before Jared, who sat beneath a tall tree. With each step, her muscles stretched and she almost groaned in delight. After such a long ride, it felt good to be off the horse. She paused to glance over her shoulder at the stream, where the horses drank, to see Slane bent over near the water, splashing his face.

"What do you think he wants with the ring?" Taylor wondered.

Jared snorted. "Don't know," he said, lifting a flask of ale to his lips. He lowered the bag and wiped his mouth with his sleeve, then offered the flask to Taylor. "But that's not all he's interested in."

Taylor took the flask and lifted it to her lips. The refreshing ale slid down her dust-filled throat.

"He was asking about you," Jared whispered.

Taylor lowered the flask and shifted her startled gaze to Jared. He raised his eyebrows and nodded. She returned her gaze to Slane. He was standing now, stretching, reaching toward the sky with his arms.

"What did you tell him?" Taylor asked.

Jared chuckled. "That you were a fat, lazy girl with blond hair."

Taylor lifted an amused eyebrow. "And he believed you?"

"They don't know you like I do," Jared said, chortling deeply.

She squatted beside her friend and handed back the flask. "Do you think Father sent him?"

Jared's eyes narrowed as he looked at Slane. "I don't know," he said quietly. "All I know is I don't like him." His gaze turned to Taylor. "So stay away from him. You hear?"

"You know me, Jared," Taylor said, standing. "I don't court trouble."

Jared groaned and rubbed his hands over his face.

Taylor walked across the small clearing toward the horses. Slane was checking his animal's bridles and straps, and she watched his strong shoulders and golden head over the horse's back. How many stories she had heard about him! Lord Slane Donovan of Castle Donovan winning the tournament at Warwickshire. Then the tournament at Glavindale. Then another tournament. And there were the great battles, fighting at the King's side. She shrugged. It all seemed so unreal to her. She had just turned away when his soft voice reached her.

"Where was Jared when you got those bruises?"

Taylor turned slowly. "Jared is not my protector," she said. "I am a free woman and I do as I please."

He lifted his gaze to her, and she was suddenly startled at how blue his eyes were. Then those tawny brows slanted over his eyes, and he returned his concentration to his horse.

He had dismissed her without a word! Exasperation filled her. But in that exasperation was a sense of victory. For the woman he sought stood face-to-face with him and he didn't even know it!

A KNIGHT OF HONOR

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