Outlaw Heart

by Samantha James

  "Believe me," he told Richard coldly, "nothing would please me more than to rob you as you have robbed me. To strip you of all that you hold dear—"

  "I will do anything you ask, my lord! I beg of you, spare me! I have no wish to die. Please, milord..."

  Guy was suddenly furious. There was no triumph in watching Richard grovel, trembling in fear for his life. Did he have no honor? No pride?

  "Your lands are mine even now," he said flatly. 'You were granted these lands during King Stephen's rule. Now that Henry is on the throne you have been ordered to relinquish your title."

  Richard looked stunned. Sir Hugh stepped forward with the king's document. Richard gazed at it numbly.

  Guy smiled grimly. "Henry is aware that you dared to attack the vassal of an absent crusader. That is why he has seen fit to forfeit Ashbury and all your other possessions to me."

  Kathryn's head began to spin. Ashbury... in the hands of this devil-knight. For an instant she thought she would faint. She made a choked sound deep in her throat, dimly aware that the earl spoke once more.

  "As for your punishment. . ."

  Richard staggered to his feet. "Henry has stripped me of my lands! Is that not enough?"

  The earl's jaw tensed. His eyes were cutting. They shone like glittering steel. "Not," he said through clenched teeth, "for what you did. That is why the king has seen fit to leave your fate in my hands."

  Richard's shoulders sagged defeatedly. "And what is my punishment to be?"

  "I have not yet decided," the earl said coldly. "Until that time you will not leave this chamber. You may content yourself with the knowledge that I allow you to spend your last days in comfort— and not in the dungeon." He spun around and strode from the room. Hugh motioned to Kathryn. She stepped past her uncle without sparing him another glance.

  She stopped short out in the hallway. The earl stood there, arms folded across his chest.

  Kathryn did not wait for him to speak. "Is there to be a guard outside my door as well?" She couldn't hide her bitterness, nor did she wish to.

  Something flickered across his face, something that made her think she wounded him. But it was gone in the blink of an eye. In its stead was the cold merciless knight she had seen thus far.

  "Not unless you give me reason," he replied coolly. "But bear in mind, lady, that if you do, I'll not hesitate to throw you in the dungeon with your lover." He glanced at his friend. "Hugh, see the lady to her chamber. I'll take the others and meet you where we entered."

  Kathryn wasn't sure which infuriated her more—his mocking smile or the fact that he considered her no threat. She marched off in the direction of her chamber, leaving Sir Hugh no choice but to follow behind.

  Her temper had cooled by the time she reached her door. She paused and glanced across the passage where Elizabeth slept. "I must wake my sister and tell her what has happened." She spoke the words with difficulty.

  Hugh touched her shoulder gently. This had been a blow to her, he suddenly realized. He had thought to hate her. After all, she was Richard's kin. Yet he could not. She had had no part in her uncle's treachery. And now she looked almost. . . beaten.

  She looked up at his unexpected touch. "I see in your eyes," he said softly, "that you think the earl has been hard and cruel. Believe me when I say—"

  " 'Tis not that," Kathryn said quickly, shaking her head.

  "What then?"

  "Have you . .. have you ever lost your home, Sir Hugh? Your lands?"

  Hugh's smile was crooked. "Nay, for I have never possessed my own lands. My father had a small manor in Sussex, but I am naught but the third son. The manor went to my eldest brother upon his death." He gazed up at the arching stone walls. "Nor was it so grand as this."

  She looked away, her expression pained. "I hated it when my father died," she said tonelessly. "Elizabeth and I were born here, as our father and father before him. Richard is my father's bastard brother, but he did not grow to manhood here. When Father died four years ago, Richard ran to King Stephen and pleaded for Ashbury, when it should have gone to me—and Elizabeth. He cared nothing for it! He sought only the rents it would bring. He was here but a fortnight when he sold our dower lands!"

  She blinked to hold back the unexpected sting of tears. "When Richard came here, I felt he was an invader, because he did not belong... as Elizabeth and I did. I felt as if I had lost everything..." Her eyes squeezed shut. "Now Ashbury belongs to your lord. 'Tis not so much for myself that I fear the future, but for my sister."

  Hugh patted her shoulder awkwardly. "You need not fear, my lady. My lord is a just man, I swear."

  Her eyes opened suddenly, clear and brilliant but shadowed with sadness. "Mayhap," she said quietly, "it would be best if Elizabeth and I packed our chests."

  'To go where?" Hugh said, aghast.

  'There is a nunnery not far from here—"

  "Milady, you presume too much! Guy’s quarrel is with your uncle, not you! Nay, I'll not hear another word. Guy is not a heartless beast, no matter what you think."

  He was so unlike his lord, Kathryn thought a few moments later. Sir Hugh was gentle and kind and generous. With a weary sigh she closed the heavy oak door, peering through the gloom toward Elizabeth's bed.

  But Elizabeth was already scurrying across the floor. "Kathryn! You are safe! I—I was so frightened... I checked your chamber and you were still gone... I could not sleep. And then I heard strange sounds!"

  Kathryn gripped her sister's hands. There was so much confusion, so much turmoil and pain inside her that for a moment she was unable to speak. Her lungs burned from trying to hold back tears.

  She led Elizabeth over to the bedside and haltingly told her of all that had happened tonight. Oddly, Elizabeth looked almost relieved when she had finished.

  "Why do you look like that?" Kathryn asked quietly.

  "Do you not see?" Elizabeth said simply. "Uncle is a wicked, wicked man. No doubt the Earl of Sedgewick will mete out a punishment that is swift and severe." She tipped her head to the side and smiled. "We are free of him, Kathryn. We have what you wanted. We are free of him!"

  "But we do not have what we wanted!" It was a cry of outrage, of anguish. "We do not have Ashbury—and I helped him wrest it from our grasp!" True, they were no longer at the mercy of Richard, but now they were at the mercy of the Earl of Sedgewick. Kathryn's heart twisted in despair. Her life was still not her own. . .

  It would never be her own.

  If only she could be as accepting as Elizabeth, the loss would be so much easier to bear. If only...

  To her horror, a tear slid down her cheek. Then another and another.

  For once it was Kathryn who sought refuge in the arms of her sister, sobbing out her bitter heartache. She cried in fury; she cried in pain. She cried for all she had lost.

  And all that would never be hers.

  Noonday saw a curling fog creeping round the towers. The sky was a depthless gray. A thick layer of clouds smothered the presence of the sun.

  Guy turned away from the narrow window, cursing and rubbing his knee. The weather was a melancholy reflection of his mood. Damn, but he hated the chill and misty climate of Cornwall! The damp sea air did naught but make all his old wounds ache.

  He was tired, he realized. Tired of war. Weary of war within war. He was suddenly anxious to be back at Sedgewick, to see his son Peter and hold him close...

  Hugh threw open the door of the counting room. "What! Are you still brooding? Never has victory come easier. Richard's knights are in the dungeon, but I've no doubt they'll swear their allegiance to you when they realize Richard will never command here again. And we lost not a single man!" His voice faded as he beheld his friend's countenance.

  Hugh sighed. "It’s Richard, isn't it?" He needed no response. He had only to watch Guy's features harden into an implacable mask.

  He walked over and laid a hand on Guy's shoulder. "You have Ashbury, Guy. I know you already have lands aplenty, but didn't you see Richard's
face last night when you told him Henry had ceded Ashbury to you? You have broken and beaten him. Throw him in prison for the rest of his life and let it be over and done!"

  Guy closed his eyes. Gerda's words echoed over and over in his brain, like a death knell. They showed no mercy .. .no mercy at all!

  His hands clenched. "But he still lives, Hugh. Richard still lives while Elaine—" There was a rough thread of pain in his voice. "—Elaine is dead." He shook his head. His eyes opened, filled anguish. " 'Tis not so easy to let go, when the thought of Richard dead is all that has driven me for the last two years—that and the thought of seeing my son."

  Hugh watched him for a long moment. "There is also Lady Kathryn to think of," he reminded him. "I understand there is a sister as well."

  Guy snorted. "I'd be wise to throw the lady in prison along with her uncle."

  Hugh smiled. "Were it not for her, you wouldn't have taken Ashbury so easily."

  "I almost killed an innocent man because of her! And I crave nothing more than to put my fingers round Richard's throat, yet because of her I can't lay a hand on him!"

  "At any rate, I assured her you were a just lord who wouldn't dream of casting her out of her home."

  "You what! Egad, man, is she a witch who's cast you under her spell? What foolishness is this that you dance to her tune so readily?"

  "She has no love for her uncle, Guy. Not because of the taint on his name but because of his treatment of her and her sister. Stephen granted Ashbury to Richard when her parents died, but she feels it would have been hers if Richard hadn't intervened. He also sold their dower lands."

  "Is that what she said?"

  "Yes."

  "And you believed her?"

  "Don't you?"

  Guy rubbed his chin, pricked by sudden doubt. His first impulse was to cast aside all her claims as ridiculous. Yet knowing Richard's deceitful nature, it was possible she spoke the truth. Still, instinct told him that she must be watched, that she could be dangerous.

  Hugh sighed. "You can't turn them out of their home, Guy. Why, she was ready last night to scurry off to a nunnery."

  Guy gave a shout of laughter. "A nunnery! By God, man, that's rich! Have you forgotten how we found her?" He sobered abruptly and gave his friend a long hard look. "Indeed, she seems to have you well in hand. Mayhap she knows rather well how to bend a man to her every whim."

  Hugh denied it, and they soon moved on to other things. But Guy's thoughts returned again and again to Richard, and Hugh's plea to let his vengeance end.

  Nay, he thought grimly. A voice within him still cried out for revenge. He could not let go so easily. But he could not lay a hand on Richard—at least not yet. There had to be another way.

  He would not pronounce his sentence just yet, he decided. Richard feared for his life, and the thought of Richard stewing—trembling in fear—appeased the storm in his soul.

  For the moment.

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  My Rebellious Heart

  Prologue

  Wales, Summer 1282

  The battle had scarce begun ere it was over.

  For Shana of Merwen, no passage of time was ever more immense.

  When the cry of alarm went up, her father had thrust her into the arms of his knight, Sir Gryffen. Gryffen wasted no time herding Shana and the women of the household to the cellar. Twice Shana had sought to push past him; twice he blocked her way.

  "There is naught you can do, milady!" His eyes pleaded with her. "Would you have me break my sworn vow to see to your protection? Your father would never forgive me were I to let any harm befall you, and I would never forgive myself! I pray you, milady, you must remain here until the fray is over!"

  And so she huddled against the wall, arms banded tightly around her chest, her gaze fixed tirelessly on the trap door high in the ceiling. The air was cold and damp, but Shana did not notice. High above, the ground reverberated with the thunder of hooves and footsteps. The ring of steel against steel was unmistakable. Though muted and far away, she could hear men shouting and yelling—and screaming in agony.

  Her limbs were trembling, though it was not fear for her own safety that rendered them so. Dread abounded in her heart, for her soul was in terror for those she held near and dear.

  Then all was silent.

  The chill that swept through her turned her veins to ice, for the quiet was even more terrible than all that had gone before.

  Shana leapt to her feet. "Gryffen, you must let me pass!" she cried. "I must know what has happened!" Gryffen did not try to stop her; he slipped the ladder in place and followed behind her.

  Seconds later, the young girl burst through the door of the ancient keep. With long, golden hair streaming behind her like a banner in the wind, she lurched down the stairs and out into the evening stillness.

  The stench of death was everywhere. Blotches of crimson puddled the ground. Revulsion roiled inside her like the churning of the sea. Swallowing the bitter taste of bile, her feet carried her across the valley floor, weaving among the dead and the dying. Bodies lay strewn across the earth like fallen trees flung from a mighty hand above. Villagers had been struck down where they stood, planting corn in the field, drawing water from the well.

  With a gasp she drew to a halt. Her gaze chanced to fall on a man who lay nearby—the oxherd. She bent forward, thinking he yet lived, for his eyes were wide open. But the vacant emptiness she encountered struck her like a blow.

  Shana had seen men wounded in battle, but nothing like this ... never like this!

  With a choked cry, she picked up her skirts and ran. This was not war, she thought sickly, this was slaughter, foul and fetid.

  And then she spied her father.

  She fell to her knees with a sob. "Oh, merciful God in Heaven, this cannot be!" She cried out in desperate entreaty. "Father, you have done nothing to deserve this—nothing!"

  His eyelids opened slowly, as though weighted with lead. Kendal, youngest son of Gruffydd, grandson of Llewelyn the Great, the first prince of Wales to be so recognized by the King of England, beheld the features of his only child.

  Her hands touched his breast. Her fingertips came away bloodied and stained. She paid no heed as she fumbled with the hem of her white linen undershift, tearing away a strip. With shaking fingers she pressed the wad of cloth to the gaping wound in his chest.

  "Oh, Lord, Father. Who dared to do this? It was the bloody English, wasn't it?" In her heart she knew she was right. Once again the drumroll of rebellion—the cry for independence—had rolled across the land.

  "They were English, aye," her father rasped. "I did not recognize the pennon they carried. 'Twas blood red with a black, fierce, two-headed creature of the deep. But I have cause, daughter, to believe they came from Castle Langley."

  "Langley! But the Earl of Langley passed on some months ago!" The Earl of Langley had been a powerful Marcher lord. He and her father had had several run-ins, but they'd managed to settle their disagreements without taking up arms against each other.

  "Aye, daughter. But I received word only yesterday that some brave Welsh soul has been stirring up our own along the border—making fools of the English knights—a man who distinguishes himself by wearing a mantle of scarlet and calling himself the Dragon."

  The merest trickle of breath soughed through lips that were nearly bloodless. "Ah, Shana. I have erred greatly, I fear. For now King Edward seeks to put an end to the Dragon—and the threat of rebellion. He has summoned one of his earls to Castle Langley to snuff out the fires here." His sigh held a world of regret. "The English will not be satisfied until we are beaten into the ground. I truly thought they would leave us in peace, if only we did the same. Now—now it is too late."

  Shana shook her head furiously. "Do not speak so! You will be fine, truly, Father."

  "Nay, Shana. ''Tis my time, and well we both know it."

  "Father!" A painful ache constricted her chest, an ache she was afraid to acknowl
edge. With her fingertips she wiped the grime and dirt from his cheeks.

  He smiled slightly. "You have the fighting spirit of our ancestors, daughter, and the courage of your Irish mother. I brought the two of you here to this valley to shield you, but I can no longer protect you. You must look to Barris, for I know he will make you a good husband."

  His hand clutched at hers. "All my life I have believed there was no greater measure of a man's worth than his honor and loyalty. My brothers warned me the English would not be satisfied until we were broken. I had hoped they were wrong, but alas, it is not so. I was the one who was wrong, Shana. I only regret that I did so little to help unite this land I so love. Only now do I realize how selfish a choice I made."

  Shana defended him staunchly. "Nay, Father, you have never been selfish! You fed the village when the harvest was meager. You gave them shelter when the rains washed away their homes. The people of Merwen love you dearly. Surely you know this!"

  "I prayed that it was so," he admitted. Then his expression grew bleak. "But the winds of change are blowing, daughter, and I cannot predict what lies ahead. All that I have is yours, but you alone must decide if you follow Barris and your uncle Llywelyn, or if you trod your own path. But above all, Shana, be true to yourself above all others, for your heart will never forsake you."

  She cradled his head in her lap. Tears slipped unheeded down her cheeks.

  He summoned the last of his strength and gazed upon her face, anguished now, but as lovely as ever. He knew that this was the vision he would take with him to his grave.

  His chest heaved. He drew a gasping breath. "Remember these things, daughter. And remember me...

  The words were his last, for he had already fled this world for another.

  A sob tore out of Shana's throat, a sound that held all the pain and despair shredding her heart. "You shall not die in vain," she cried. "I will find the man beneath whose pennon this foul deed was committed. His retribution shall be swift and just!" Deep inside a burning rage began to flame and swirl, a rage that spiraled along with her voice.