Love Conquers All: Historical Romance Boxed Set

by Laurel O'Donnell

  She knew Evan hated Fox. His face twisted and his lips drew back in a tight grimace every time he spoke his name. Fox had been stealing and pillaging within Vaughn’s borders for more than a year. There was no love lost between the two former friends.

  But Jordan believed she understood the pattern of Fox’s robberies. He wasn’t randomly stealing, as Evan thought. Fox was supplying his men, taking crops and food, pigs and horses. Only occasionally, when it was obvious he was purposely antagonizing Evan, would he rob people of their coin. He had certainly not been the most dangerous outlaw. Simply the most annoying.

  Now his childish antics had killed someone dear to Jordan, had cost a young girl her life. It was time to put an end to it. Evan had been after Fox for the past year. Jordan had remained silent because of some long ago loyalty she still felt for Fox. She felt guilty about leaving him without saying good-bye. She tried to right her wrong, had written him countless letters, only to find each one of them refused again and again, returned unopened.

  But Maggie’s death changed everything. They were enemies now.

  “I can help you capture the Black Fox,” Jordan said quietly.

  Evan turned to her, surprise lighting his eyes. He reined in his horse, halting the animal until they rode side by side. He almost laughed, until he saw the scowl on her brow. “You can’t be serious, Jordan. You know nothing of his kind. You know nothing of criminals and robbers. Not to mention setting traps or...”

  “But I know Fox.”

  “You knew Fox.”

  The condescending tone of Evan’s voice annoyed her. “I can set a trap he will be unable to resist. I can get him to jump at the bait. Take my help or leave it but I guarantee you Fox will come.” She spurred her horse into a canter, moving down the road toward Castle Ruvane.

  Evan hurried after her. “All right, Jordan! All right. I’ll use whatever means I must to capture the Black Fox. I will listen to what you have to say.”

  Jordan groaned inwardly as she made her way through the crowded Great Hall of Castle Ruvane. She didn’t enjoy being at the castle, especially not today. She didn’t feel like wearing the heavily embroidered dress her maidservant, Therese, had chosen for her.

  The image of lowering Maggie’s casket into the ground still burned in the forefront of her memory. They had buried her in the town’s cemetery on the western edge of the village before returning to the castle. She could still hear the clumps of dirt hitting the wooden box. And every so often she swore she could hear the soft echo of the other children crying, their small voices drifting in the wind.

  She caught herself looking over her shoulder more than once, expecting to see John or Ana standing right behind her, tears streaming down their cheeks, their chests heaving with sobs. But every time she turned around, the road was empty and still. Deathly quiet.

  Today, the castle was far from quiet. All the more reason she did not want to be there. The Great Hall was bustling and loud with raucous laughter from the knights attending her father’s tournament. Many of the men had come from miles around; some had traveled for days, even weeks, just to attend. More seemed to be arriving every hour. The castle had quickly filled to capacity, and some of the knights had been forced to raise tents just outside the castle walls.

  There seemed to be an unusual air of excitement about this particular tournament, but Jordan couldn’t quite put her finger on why. There were still four days to go before the tournament officially began, and the knights were already practicing very hard for it. A few of the men had already been wounded in practice battles; one had been taken home on the back of a wagon, still unconscious from a serious blow to his head. She had asked her father about the level of excitement among the knights, but he had avoided giving her a straight answer, telling her that the thrill of battle simply had attracted many fine warriors. When she pressed him further, he just smiled and kept silent.

  Jordan made her way toward the head table. It was positioned on a raised platform so it sat just above the other tables, its occupants looking down at everyone else. At the head table, she saw her father laughing with another well-known lord, Lord McColl. McColl was a small man, his black hair peppered with gray. His son sat beside him, a young, wiry lad who looked down at the other tables with envious eyes, studying the dozens upon dozens of knights gathering at Castle Ruvane for the tournament, obviously wishing to be one of them. Also at the head table was Evan. Thankfully, the only empty chair was between her father and Evan.

  As she made her way past the lower tables, many knights bowed respectfully. Others stared furtively, while others ogled her quite brazenly. She was the hostess and smiled back at many, favoring none, mumbling greetings to them as she passed.

  A brazen young lord leaped before her, startling her. He grabbed her hand in his and pointed to an empty seat beside him. “I have kept your seat warm, Lady Jordan. Please.”

  Jordan shook her head respectfully. “Thank you, good sir, but I will sit beside my father.”

  The young knight tried to pull her toward his table, and she could smell the strong scent of ale on his breath. She glanced at her father, whose eyes burned into the man. Jordan leaned close to him. “If you want to compete in the tournament, you had best release me at once.”

  The young man glanced over his shoulder at her father and quickly removed his hand from her. “I shall win the tournament in your honor,” he whispered to her before returning to his seat.

  Jordan frowned at the knight, then moved past him to the head table, raising the hem of her dress as she moved up the two steps. Every lord at the table greeted her with a slight bow. Then Jordan took her seat. Her father lifted her hand and pressed a kiss to it.

  Before Jordan could even utter a word of greeting, her father stood. The musicians immediately ceased their playing and the din of conversation quickly lessened into muted whispers.

  “I’d like to thank everyone for coming to participate in the tournament,” her father said.

  Murmurings erupted from one table and then laughter.

  Her father continued, undaunted. “I know you’ve traveled far. There are gathered among us some of the most skilled knights in all the realm. As reward, the winner of the melee shall be granted a prize worthy of the most valiant and able of knights.”

  A prize? Jordan’s father had mentioned nothing of a prize. She took a sip of the ale one of the serving women placed before her.

  “A prize worthy of the greatest knight or lord in all the lands.”

  What could it be? Jordan mused. Part of the Ruvane lands?

  “The winner shall have my daughter Jordan’s hand in marriage.”

  A murmuring spread like wildfire through the Great Hall. Then a hearty huzzah! rumbled through the chambers. “Huzzah!” “Huzzah!”

  Jordan’s stomach dropped. She could feel the color drain from her face, could feel her flesh turning from pink to white. Marriage? Prize? The idea was so sudden, so ludicrous, that she had a difficult time comprehending it.

  Jordan glanced at her father in disbelief. Had she heard him right? When he retook his seat, she shook her head slightly as if trying to clear it.

  All of these men had gathered at Castle Ruvane for her? She glanced down at the dress she was wearing, the revealing glimmer of her breasts, the open curl of fabric at her shoulders. No wonder Therese had insisted she wear this garment. She was dressed like a trophy, sparkling and shiny for all to see.

  Her father patted her hand comfortingly. “You are well beyond the marrying age,” he said softly, leaning close to her. “Besides, Evan is the best knight in all the lands. You have nothing to worry about.”

  Jordan glanced at Evan. He smiled brightly at her. “You knew we would marry,” he said simply.

  Jordan frowned in worry and returned her gaze to her father. She searched for something to say, some way out of this ridiculous position she found herself in. “But why this way? Why as a prize? Why not just betroth us?”

  A rumble of laughter churne
d in her father’s throat, confusing her. “It was how I won your mother’s hand, may she rest in peace. I hope you will find the same happiness we had.” He squeezed her hand tightly. “We must honor tradition. It has brought me great fortune, and I expect it to do the same for you.”

  “But Father,” Jordan said weakly, “what if Evan doesn’t win?”

  “He is the best knight in all the lands,” her father replied with assurance. “How could he not win?”

  Jordan sat motionless for a moment. Then she tentatively lifted her gaze to survey all of the men gathered in the room. Some were old and gray, some were bearded and gruff, some were young and full of vitality. Suddenly, her apprehension overwhelmed her.

  Her father kissed her cheek and whispered, “You must feel honored that all these men have come here to compete for your hand.”

  Jordan harrumphed. “Not so. They’ve all come for the blood sport,” she whispered.

  Her father scowled slightly in disapproval. “You’re showing that rebellious spirit again.”

  Jordan picked up the dagger she used for slicing her meat. “Which none of the men know about.”

  Her father chuckled. “It’s lucky for you Evan knows all about it. When you are married, it will come as no surprise to him.”

  Jordan peered at Evan to find him in earnest conversation with Lord McColl. Again, the thought rose in her mind: What if Evan doesn’t win? What if some fat, lazy slob wins my hand? Or some vicious evil lord?

  “Jordan,” her father whispered.

  She turned her attention to him to see his gaze was on her hand. She realized suddenly that she was playing with the dagger, moving it in a full circle around her hand, maneuvering it expertly over her fingers and under her palm, repeating the move again and again. She stopped instantly, grabbing the dagger by its handle. She shrugged helplessly at her father.

  Her father sighed. “You have nothing to fear, dear heart. Vaughn is the best knight in the lands. He will win the tournament and your hand.”

  A deep frown creased her brow.

  “You need not worry. I will not let any harm come to you.”

  Jordan lifted her gaze to her father. Slowly, a smile crossed her lips and she threw her arms around him, hugging him tightly. “I know,” she whispered. “I know.”

  Her words came out strong, but she still could not shake the feeling this tournament was going to change her life in ways she had never imagined.

  Chapter Five

  Jordan found it hard to concentrate and even harder to get the villagers to take her seriously. All they wanted to do was gossip about the tournament and how she felt about being the grand prize.

  “All those men fighting over you,” she remembered a farmer’s wife declaring, her eyes aglow with jealousy. “They’ll be all sweaty and dirty, grunting like pigs, smashing at each other like savages. And then they get to take you home...” Jordan remembered the woman waving her hand before her face, fanning her reddening cheeks. “It’s so exciting.”

  Jordan ground her teeth, bringing herself out of the memory. That was why it had taken three days to put the plan into action. She had been getting the same kind of response from everyone. No one was concerned about capturing some rogue bandit. But finally she had managed to convince several farmers to participate in her plan.

  Now, she had only one obstacle. Jordan faced Evan with her hands on her hips. “I’m going with you.”

  “No, you are not!” Evan said, facing her in the hallway of Castle Vaughn.

  “Yes, I am!” she insisted. “It was my idea, my plan. I got the villagers to cooperate.”

  Evan scowled at her. “It’s too dangerous. There is no way I’m going to let you come.”

  “You can’t stop me,” Jordan said, her eyebrows furrowing, her arms crossing stubbornly.

  “Damn it, Jordan, I should be practicing for the tournament today, not chasing down some damned fool. I’m already giving you more than I should.”

  Jordan scowled. “You’re not giving me anything, Evan. This isn’t for me. This is for Maggie.” Jordan looked hard at Evan. “And I’m going!”

  “All right! All right!” Evan conceded, throwing up his hands in defeat. “You are so stubborn!”

  Jordan set her chin defiantly and glared at him.

  Evan shook his head. “Fine,” he relented. “But you have to stay well away from the battle. On the hill on the north side of the farm.”

  Jordan nodded in agreement, fighting down her obvious enthusiasm. She had thought it would have been more difficult to convince Evan to let her accompany him.

  “But if your father finds out, I’m saying it was your idea,” Evan warned. He grumbled something about women and moved past her into the inner ward of the castle, calling for the stable boy to saddle another horse.

  Jordan moved quickly to follow Evan. She raced after him, skirting a dog that ran in front of her, and trailed him beneath the inner gatehouse and into the outer ward, where Jordan saw exactly why Evan was letting her go with him without much of a fight.

  Two rows of armored knights sat atop large battle horses, twelve men in all. Each was bedecked with the Vaughn insignia, a crested black dragon over a red background, on their tunics over their breastplates. Each had swords secured in their scabbards, shields fastened to their backs. Some of them had crossbows strapped to their saddlebags, quivers filled with arrows tied next to them. It looked more like he was heading off to a small war than going to capture an outlaw.

  Evan paused and Jordan slammed into his back. She pulled back quickly, mumbling an apology.

  Evan spoke curtly to a tall man with blond hair. He cast a sour glance at Jordan and then moved toward his horse.

  When the man walked away, Jordan wondered, “Are you expecting an army?”

  “Just being cautious,” Evan said and started toward his horse at the front of the line. “Jordan, Captain Pavia will stay with you on the hill. You are not to leave his side, understood?”

  Jordan nodded and pulled herself up into the saddle. She looked again at the knights awaiting Evan’s command to proceed.

  Fox didn’t have a chance.

  She had convinced a few of the Mercer village farmers to cooperate with her in spreading a rumor, one she knew a hungry renegade outlaw would be unable to resist. Murderer or not he still had to eat and feed his men. She and her father had taken care of the villagers in the years after Castle Mercer’s downfall. They trusted her.

  “Let’s bag us a Fox,” Evan announced.

  Fox was desperate. Six sheep. They could eat them and use their wool for clothing. The animals were invaluable to him. He lay absolutely still in the high grass on the outskirts of the farm.

  The farm had been still for hours. He had a cramp in his calf, but he dared not move for fear of alerting the farmer he was there. The fading sun was still hot, making a trickle of sweat slide down his neck beneath his tunic. Night would arrive soon, and then he would strike. He had kept a keen watch on the farm for several hours, counting the men and women going in and out to work the fields and tend to the other livestock. So far, he had seen only three men and two women. And one of the men he had seen earlier rode off on a horse and had not returned.

  He shifted his stare to the other side of the farm. Somewhere hidden amongst the thick copse of trees was Beau.

  Something prickled the back of Fox’s neck, making his hair stand on end. He scanned the clearing below him for a moment, carefully taking in the large barn behind the farmer’s house, the empty path from the farmer’s house up the rise to the top of the hill. There were more trees at the top of the hill, and it was here his gaze came to rest.

  Something was wrong. He couldn’t see anything. It was just a feeling, one he had had many times before -- a gut feeling that never deceived him.

  A slight breeze stirred the grass around him, but he remained as still as a statue, staring at the trees on the top of the hill. But there was no movement.

  Maybe he was wrong. Maybe thi
s was the one time he was mistaken.

  And then something flashed in his eyes, blinding him for an instant. Then it was gone. It was as hot and bright as sunlight. Someone was up there. Was it armor? The brilliant flash shone again in his eyes.

  Fox scowled. It was no thing of nature. Someone was there. But who? Was it a secret rendezvous with a lover?

  Or was it a trap?

  Fox glared at the trees, his gaze piercing through the leaves. Something moved, shifted. And then Fox made out the shape of a horse through the branches. The flash blinded him again and he had to look away.

  He cursed silently as he turned his gaze toward Beau. He had to warn him to stay put until he found out whether it was a trap or not.

  Suddenly, the front gate of the barn opened and a man led out six sheep. Fox’s jaw clenched and he looked carefully at the man, trying to see beneath the brown tunic and breeches and the straw hat. He didn’t recognize the man as one of the two remaining old farmers. Had he been in the barn the entire time?

  The man led the sheep to a fresh growth of grass, then quickly returned to the barn, leaving the animals alone in the field. The man was hunched, but there was definitely something amiss about his movements; they were not as slow as an old man’s. It was something that could have easily been overlooked. It was something Beau would not see.

  And sure enough, Fox turned to the copse of trees to see his friend emerging from his hiding spot. Fox cursed silently.

  As soon as Beau reached the sheep, the barn gate exploded open and a squadron of armed knights charged out.

  Fox’s eyes grew wide as he watched them overtake Beau. His fingers curled into tight fists and he ground his teeth together hard. With every fiber of his being, he wanted to fight beside Beau. His hand moved to his sword, but he did not grab the handle. He knew he could not outfight a dozen men. To even attempt to do so would spell disaster for them both.