Outlaw Heart

by Samantha James

  Kane wasted no time doing exactly that. He swept her from her feet and took her mouth in a deliriously long, unbroken kiss that didn't end until he laid her on the bed in her room.

  It was a very long time later that Abby reflected ... She really had been married in her nightie and bare feet. But she didn't mind . . .

  Somehow she didn't think their children and grandchildren would mind either.

  The End

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  My Cherished Enemy

  DEVIL'S MISTRESS

  Seeking protection from her vicious scheming uncle, spirited Kathryn of Ashbury is forced to turn to her despised enemy, Guy de Marche, the dashing Earl of Sedgewick, for aid. But the handsome arrogant knight demands more than she is willing to give—arousing within her a passion she has vowed to resist.

  MASTER OF HER HEART

  Guy returned from the Crusades to find all he loved destroyed. Craving vengeance against the blackhearted responsible, he claims his foe's beautiful niece as boots in his personal war of retribution. And though the fiery, headstrong Kathryn has sworn no man will conquer her, she is no match for the virile, battle-hardened knight. But Guy will not rest until he has won what is rightfully his—including the enchantress who has enslaved his heart and soul.

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  My Rebellious Heart

  LADY'S VENGEANCE

  Determined to avenge her father's death, fiery Princess Shana lures Thorne de Wilde, Earl of Weston, into the forest to have him killed. But face to face with the earl's devilish good looks, Shana is compelled to spare his life and take him prisoner instead…a decision she quickly regrets.

  LORD'S DESIRE

  The power of Weston's presence has been known to strip many a brave man of courage and will, but this bold Welsh beauty meets the mocking black eyes of this giant of a man with defiance, accusing him of crimes he hasn't committed. Furious with his lovely and brazen captor, Weston manages not only to escape, but to take Shana as his captive. And with tempers flaring, nations collide, binding the two in a searing alliance that will either destroy them both, or unite them in love for all time.

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  My Cherished Enemy

  Prologue

  Winter 1152

  “I cannot do this, my lady! I—I fear they will find us and we will both be killed, the babe and I!"

  The high thin voice belonged to a young girl of no more than sixteen summers. Her body was stout and tall for her age; she came from hearty peasant stock. She knelt in the rushes before the Lady Elaine, the woman she had served as long as she could remember.

  "Gerda, you must!" Elaine spoke sharply, a tone Gerda had heard but rarely. "If my son is to be saved, it is you who must save him. You must flee this keep and take Peter back to Sedgewick." Her eyes briefly sought the sunken gaze of the woman who lay abed, Lady Claire Chandler, but it was Gerda to whom she spoke.

  "We are marked, all of us here. You have seen with your own eyes the bloodlust of our attackers. They spare no one—not the farmer in the field, nor women or children. I prayed it would not come to this, but they know not yet of you or Peter."

  Outside in the bailey, the skirmish raged anew. The ramparts were filled with the sounds of battle. Harsh guttural sounds tore from men's throats. Sword met sword, the clang of steel against steel ringing through the air. A terrified scream reached a shattering crescendo, then fell eerily silent.

  The raiders were sly and cunning. Led by Richard of Ashbury, they had entered the keep as friends, not foes, seeking an alliance with Claire's husband Thomas, castellan of Ramsay Keep. They had barely passed through the gates than the unwarranted siege had begun.

  For three days, Ramsay Keep's defenders had fought a valiant but losing battle. Claire's husband Thomas was left with only one choice. Yet Thomas’s offer of surrender had been met with treachery. He was struck down from behind and still the raiders stormed the walls; still they maimed and killed.

  Elaine's tone grew beseeching. "Please, Gerda! I plead for the life of my son. These raiders take no prisoners. Their horses trample the dead and the dying. I would have Peter spared—and you as well!"

  Gerda began to tremble. She had been with the her lady forever, it seemed to her young heart. Her mistress had laughed with her, scolded her, protected her from her father who was wont to wield the stick whenever he was in his cups. Indeed, it was her father's wrath which had caused the injury to her knee when she was but a babe. Others ridiculed her clumsy gait, her awkward progress whenever she tried to hurry. But her lady guided gently and praised her care of the little lord Peter. Who would guide her when her lady was gone?

  Gerda was immediately ashamed of her selfishness. With eyes like the summer sky and hair as gold and glistening as a radiant halo, her lady was a vision from above, Gerda thought. And she was good and kind and sweet.

  She began to weep. " 'Tis so unfair, my lady! If your lord were here, these wretched robber barons would not have dared attack Sir Thomas or any of his vassals!"

  So be it, Elaine agreed silently. Her heart twisted. Gerda's words rang pure and true indeed. Sir Thomas held this keep for her husband, Guy de Marche, Earl of Sedgewick, who was a man of the times. Like all men of his rank, Guy had trained as a warrior throughout his life. His prowess as a knight was known from the mist-shrouded land of Scotland to the rugged coastline of nearby Cornwall. He was a fierce and lethal force in combat, deadly and precise and fearless. But Guy de Marche was also a man of great honor and he ruled his fiefs with a just and noble hand.

  But Guy was half a world away. Both he and Sir Hugh Bainbridge, Claire's brother, were on crusade. They had been gone nearly a twelvemonth.

  "Please, milady, will you not come?" Gerda begged her mistress. "You say this keep and all who dwell within are doomed. Come with me, I beg of you!"

  At this, Claire stirred slightly. She groped for Elaine's hand. "The girl is right, Elaine." What might have passed for a smile crossed lips that were once rosy and full with the sweetness of youth. Russet-brown hair lay matted and drab against the pillow. Her skin was white and colorless, her breathing shallow and raspy. Elaine despised herself for the thought, but she prayed that this ague which had sapped the life breath from her friend these past weeks would soon send her to God's kingdom. Better that than death at the hands of the treacherous butchers who ravaged the village and even now pillaged the keep.

  "Nay," Elaine said softly. "I cannot leave you, Claire. Your brother Sir Hugh has served my husband too long and too well for me to forsake those he holds dear. And you, his sister, are my dearest friend in all the land. As there is honor among the living, there is honor among the dead. I ask only that you save the life of my son." She touched the dry parchment-thin cheek of her friend. "I fear there is not much time. The fighting grows close. Quickly now, I bid you tell Gerda the way to the monastery. The monks there will see that they are sent to Sedgewick."

  Claire closed her eyes in silent assent. In a voice grown weak from strain and sickness, she told the girl of the secret staircase behind the bedstead. The staircase twisted down to a tunnel that led outside the keep to a hut near the woods. It was but a short distance to the monastery. From there the girl could seek refuge and escort back to Sedgewick.

  At last Claire slumped back against the pillows. Elaine lifted her sleeping child from the wooden cradle and gazed down at him. Tears glistened in her eyes.

  She touched his cheek gently, marveling that God had given her such a wondrous gift. She buried her face against his unruly dark curls. Peter was the image of Guy, every bit his father's son. He had been conceived on her last night with Guy. This Elaine knew with all her heart. Her one regret was that her beloved husband had yet to see the fruit of their love.

  God, how she loved them both! With tears blurring her vision, she drew back
to trace the babe's features one by one: winged brows as black as night, tiny nubbin nose, the beautifully shaped mouth that even now held a touch of his father’s strength.

  The tears spilled over. She would never see Peter grow sturdy and tall as the oak trees which grew near Sedgewick... as tall and proud as his warrior father. But even as she dried her tears, Elaine refused to think of death. She thought only of life... her son's life.

  Very gently she wrapped him in swaddling cloth and gave him over to Gerda. The child slept on, snug against the young girl's breast. Elaine slipped open the hidden panel behind the bed and turned to Gerda.

  She clasped her sturdy young shoulders and looked the girl straight in the eye. "I trust you in this, as I have never trusted anyone in my life, Gerda."

  Gerda looked ready to cry. "I—I will not fail you, mistress."

  Elaine squeezed her shoulders and smiled. "I know," she said simply.

  Gerda clutched the babe in one arm, a tallow candle in the other. She stood in the threshold of the secret stairway, frightened for herself, frightened for her lady. Tears streamed down her cheeks. Her shoulders shook with the force of her emotions. "I will pray for you, my lady," she sobbed. "I will pray that what you fear will not come to pass and you will once again grace the hall at Sedgewick."

  And she would pray for naught. But Elaine withheld these words; instead she tipped the girl's chin up. "I know you do not understand, Gerda," she said softly. "But I do what I must."

  "But you choose to die."

  Elaine was already shaking her head, a sad, faintly wistful expression on her face. Her hand came out to rest for an instant on the cloth covering her child's head. "No," she said quietly, "I do not choose to die. I choose for him to live." She gave the girl a gentle shove toward the darkened stairway. "Now go, Gerda. Fly as if the devil himself were at your heels and do not stop until you are safely inside the monastery."

  They shared one last hasty embrace. Elaine watched until Gerda disappeared from sight and the echo of her shuffling footsteps became faint and distant. At last she closed the heavy door and slid the secret panel back into place.

  When she turned she found Claire's eyes upon her, clearer than they had been for days. She crossed to her quickly and sat down on the edge of the bed.

  Claire feebly gripped her hand. "Had I known this would happen," she murmured, "I would never have bid you come to me." She tried to smile. "But I wanted to see you and Peter one last time," she whispered. "And I am afraid I am much like Gerda, for I fear I do not understand why this is happening. I do not understand why Thomas was killed. Why Richard of Ashbury covets this humble keep."

  " 'Tis not your fault." Elaine soothed her with a tender touch upon her brow. "King Stephen's rule has been naught but a time of lawlessness and greed. 'Tis said that vassals battle one another throughout the land, while Stephen tries vainly to restore order, to tame the pattern of violence. As for why, I cannot say. To war," she said sadly, "is the nature of men. And Richard is an evil man. He seeks that which is not his, for that reason alone." She could not change the course of events and so she must accept them.

  Elaine stayed by Claire's side throughout the long day, listening as the battle drew nearer. . . ever nearer. Dusk crept through the clouds hovering on the dismal horizon. The shadow of darkness—the veil of death—crept within the chamber. Elaine felt the strength wane from Claire's hand and knew that she slipped into sleep... sleep eternal.

  Hers was a hurt too deep for tears. Elaine lovingly folded Claire's hands upon her breast, silently praying she would be granted a Christian burial. She was dimly aware that the crush of battle had extended into the great hall below.

  She fleetingly thought of following Gerda and saving herself. But the notion had no sooner chased through her mind than fate decreed otherwise.

  There was a heavy footfall of steps in the passage outside. The door was flung open.

  A great hulk of a man filled the threshold of the chamber, dark and evil-looking. A vile lust gleamed in his eyes. Blood dripped from his sword onto the rushes.

  But Elaine drew herself up proudly, quaking inside but determined to show no fear. She was the wife of Lord Guy de Marche, Earl of Sedgewick.

  The man stepped forward.

  Elaine began to pray. She prayed that Gerda's journey back to Sedgewick would be a safe one. She prayed that the Lord would watch over Guy and keep him safe from the heathens in the Holy Land. She prayed that Guy would soon return home to Sedgewick to love and protect the son he had never seen. . .

  May her soul rest in peace.

  Chapter 1

  Spring 1155

  "... may her soul rest in peace."

  Guy de Marche, Earl of Sedgewick, knelt before the grave of his beloved wife. The words were the closest thing to a prayer he was able to summon, though his countenance was far from prayerlike. For even as he spoke the words, all the curses of hell sprang forth within him, fighting to be free. His mind was consumed by thoughts of but one man.

  Richard of Ashbury.

  High above, Ramsay Keep squatted on the hilltop. A melancholy veil of fog surrounded its crenellated towers and jagged outline, a reflection of Guy's dark and somber mood. For two long years Richard had laid claim to the keep, but no more. . . no more. Guy's battle to regain Ramsay Keep had been satisfying short, yet the taste of victory was like dust in his mouth.

  He rose to his feet, a powerful figure garbed in the fiercesome trappings of war, his helm tucked under his arm. Behind him, atop the rise that guarded the gravesite, a body of mounted men watched somberly, awaiting his command. The silence was broken only by the occasional snort of a stallion and the gurgling rush of the stream, swollen by early-spring rainwater.

  Another man walked slowly to his side. Guy stirred only when a rough callused hand clapped his shoulder. Neither man spoke, yet their very silence was rife with words unspoken.

  Sir Hugh Bainbridge gazed solemnly at the other man's profile. His sister Claire was buried but a few paces distant from Elaine, and so he had more than an inkling of the pain Guy felt. He called Guy lord as well as friend. As a boy, Hugh had been page to Guy's squire and served at his side whenever the call to duty arose. Hugh had shared in all his lord's triumphs—both on the battlefield and off—just as he shared this loss as well.

  It was Guy who broke the silence. "Why," he murmured in a voice thick with emotions held deep in his heart, "must the Lord see fit to give with one hand and take with the other?"

  Hugh gleaned his meaning only too well. Guy's marriage to Elaine was truly nothing short of a miracle. Theirs had been an arranged marriage, and yet the two had fallen madly in love with one another. Hugh and his friends had chided Guy greatly about his adoration of his wife, for no one liked the ladies more than Guy. But lo and behold, Guy found marriage to the lovely Elaine no burden at all and it proved the end of his wenching.

  In truth, Hugh had faintly envied Guy's happy contentment and his desire to settle into his estates and concentrate his efforts at building a family. Hugh was a knight bachelor and possessed no holdings of his own; he was certainly not yet sought after as a husband. Indeed, it was only of late that he'd even begun to think of gaining a wife.

  "I should have been here." Guy's mouth twisted as he sucked in a harsh breath. "God damn it, I should have been here!"

  His violence stunned his men-at-arms. They glanced uneasily at each other and wisely moved away, leaving the two knights alone.

  Hugh was the only one who was not startled. "Do you think I have not said the same a thousand times since?" he replied unevenly. "We cannot alter the course of our live. We cannot change the past."

  "And I," Guy ground out tightly, "cannot forget!"

  "You had no choice but to honor the call to arms."

  "The call to arms?" Guy's laugh was bitter. "My friend, you and I have been gone from this land for three harvests! Half of that time was spent in that bloody dungeon in Toulouse!"

  And it was there that Guy dis
covered the existence of his son Peter. It was there he was also told of his wife's murder. Guy had been so shocked— he'd had no idea Elaine was even with child—and then wondrously elated at the news of his heir. From the heights of happiness. . . to the dregs of hell. . . in the blink of an eye.

  "Had we not been there," Hugh reminded him, "we might never have run into Henry's forces when we were finally able to escape. And methinks it less than wise to be on the opposite side of our new king."

  "True indeed," Guy agreed with a grim smile. "I had no choice but to pledge my sword to Henry."

  Hugh's shaggy brownish-gold eyebrows shot up. "You regret it?" he asked in some surprise.

  Guy shook his head. "Nay," he replied. "Henry strikes me as a man of many faces. But I think 'tis well that with Stephen's death Henry has reclaimed the throne of England. I suspect 'twill not be long before this land is on the road to recovery." He fell silent for a moment. "And I gained Henry's sanction to recoup that which was taken from me."

  "Which you have done."

  "Which I have done."

  Guy's gaze flitted to the gates of the keep. His tone was harsh, even bitter. Hugh watched as a mask of hardness settled over his handsome features. Seeing it, Hugh suffered a prickly sense of unease. He knew Guy as well as anyone—better than anyone—yet in that moment he felt he knew him not at all.

  Guy caught his friend's uncertain expression and gave a twist of his lips. His next words were not what Hugh expected.