An Ellora’s Cave Romantica Publication
www.ellorascave.com
Seductive Persuasion
ISBN 9781419918780
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
Seductive Persuasion Copyright © 2008 Frances Stockton
Edited by Briana St. James.
Cover art by Philip Fuller.
Electronic book Publication December 2008
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This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.
SEDUCTIVE PERSUASION
Frances Stockton
Chapter One
2nd August 1453—Danford Manor—England
Garrick Forrester, Earl of Danford, stood at the window of his solar and inhaled, instinctively burying the roar sawing at his throat.
His fingers itched to curl into claws, forcing him to press his knuckles against the hard stone ledge. A gray sky hid the sun that was beginning to set on the western horizon. The scent of rain lingered over the manor, but he could still feel and smell…her.
Sensing that the woman could be his mate, he wanted to roar, to hunt. Instead, he waited, deliberating whether it would be right to pursue another English woman. He’d married two in his four hundred and fifty years of age and hadn’t been able to trust his secrets to either of them. If he followed his instinct and claimed another wife, he prayed she was truly meant to be mated to him.
“What troubles you, my friend?” a familiar voice called out, startling him.
Shaking off the lure of nightfall and a hunt, Garrick turned. His visitor stood just inside the door, the wood and hinges cringing with age as it closed.
“How long have you been there?”
“Not long, I assure you,” Lucien Hunter said. “Is something amiss, Garrick? You should have sensed my presence long before I spoke.” Lucien leaned back against the door, waiting for an explanation. Older than Garrick by a hundred years, Lucien was a panthera Abcynian in his prime, though he looked to be about thirty and five years.
“My instincts were elsewhere.” Unsettled, Garrick pushed away from the window. “Have you brought Valiant?”
“Aye, my son needs to learn the ways of a knight. Who better to instruct him than the second eldest of our kind?”
“To be granted the right to instruct Valiant is an honor, Lucien. I am grateful for the trust you’ve shown.” Garrick accepted the task, inclining his head in deference to Lucien.
Both men switched their gazes to the door when the shuffle of wool and leather mules indicated a serving woman neared. “I trust Catarina is well?” Garrick asked on the chance that the servant would overhear.
“After giving me another son and twin daughters, she claims she is through with childbirth. But my family has grown by one more, a boy named Dante, whom I have taken in as my own due to the unfortunate deaths of his parents. He is a year younger than Valiant. “
“The time passes more readily since last we spoke,” Garrick said. His duties as a warrior and a lord weighed heavily upon his shoulders, forcing him to forget how long it had been.
The servant knocked and waited for permission to enter.
“Enter anon,” Garrick snarled.
As bid, the woman peeked warily around the opening. “Sorry to bother you, m’lord,” she begged, casting her eyes to the floor when she saw Garrick. “I’ve come to ask if your guest would like something to eat. His son has already scoured the livery cupboard for his meal.”
“Nay, I have eaten,” Lucien replied. “Make certain my son finds his way to his quarters.”
“Aye…m’lord, I shall,” the servant said and left the room without looking at Garrick.
“She fears you,” Lucien said.
“They all do.”
“If you did not snarl, they would not tremble at the rasp of your voice.”
“Mayhap, but I cannot allow myself to speak to them at length.”
“Might I inquire as to why? By all accounts, you are a fair lord to this manor and to those who work your lands. You refuse to allow harsh punishments by your bailiff and have allowed many to pay their fee for freedom if they wish it.”
“You know I must guard my secrets from the servants and avoid lengthy contact with the tenants.” Remaining where he stood, Garrick crossed his arms before his chest.
“Garrick, why do we speak as mere acquaintances when we have known one another far too long?”
At first, Garrick did not wish to answer. Pending nightfall drew him to the window. He breathed in. Her scent had grown stronger. His erection lengthened, making him all the more aware of how long it had been since he’d last bedded a woman.
“I confess, Lucien, pacing the manor house and tutoring your son are not what I have in mind. I need to hunt this night.”
“There’s no need to begin his instruction tonight.” Lucien joined Garrick at the window. “I feel it too, Garrick. The change is easiest when the moon is full. If you are in need of food, you know better than to resist.”
“I have no intention of resisting, but I am not in need of food.”
“Ah, I see. You hunger for a woman.”
“Aye.”
“The village is close. Choose a wench for the night and return to the manor ready to tutor Valiant.”
“Nay, my friend, it is not a mere wench I shall be prowling for. I believe my mate is living in the village.”
“If you are right, it would be wise to claim her.”
“I know. The need grows stronger as we speak.”
“Then by all means go and find your woman. We’ve lost too many of our kind to war and the Saturians over the centuries, Garrick. You are an Abcynian Elder, the second eldest amongst us. It is your duty to continue our legacy in England.”
“Think you I have not tried? I have married twice for political alliances and I never trusted my wives enough to tell them of the Abcynians. I tried to be a good husband to them, but they were difficult to understand. Much like my wives, the woman I believe to be my mate is English. I’m not sure I want to align myself to a woman I cannot trust. It has been my experience that Abcynian women are much easier to deal with.”
“Nay, Abcynian women can be most complicated, as all are, I find.”
Garrick rolled his shoulders against the pull of the moon coming up on the horizon. He could not see it easily from where he stood, but the lure of the moon was there nonetheless.
Night was falling across his land. Whispers were spoken as loud as shouts to his ears. The village smelled of the small game and porridge the villagers had prepared earlier that day.
Beyond the village, something else lured him, and it was not just his potential heart’s mate. Strangers approached hi
s demesne.
“Trouble stirs within the village, Lucien,” Garrick said. “I must see to it and then I shall find my mate.”
“Do what you must. I will remain here unless you need me.” Garrick inclined his head, aware of the amber eyes that studied him as he left the solar.
* * * * *
“Come one, come all! Merchant and peasant, come one, come all!”
Over and over, Aisley heard a stranger beckoning. She followed the sound of his voice because something felt terribly wrong.
“For a coin, no more than a farthing or two, lend your ears to my traveling minstrel. Five pence will earn you merriment with a jester trained amongst the best within the royal court. Peruse the candles, spices and incense found in the most exotic lands. Come one, come all!”
Finding it odd that a stranger had entered the village after a rainstorm, Aisley grew more concerned. The gray sky was getting darker. Perhaps the stranger was detained by the storm or he wanted shelter before nightfall, but she didn’t trust her reasoning.
She’d marched a few feet before hesitating to look back at the woods separating her cottage from Danford Manor. The Earl of Danford had recently returned after spending years at war with France and it was his duty to protect the people living and serving on his land. She did not know him other than by name. Few of the villagers did, though she knew they liked to gossip about the lord only few had ever seen. But she was certain he would send his guards if the stranger meant anyone harm.
Long ago, her father had been the Earl of Danford’s physician. When she was a child, she used to beg her father to take her to the manor house. She’d wanted to meet the Earl, to see the nobleman so many spoke of in whispers. But Papa denied her request, saying the Earl was too busy for a child or that another battle called him away from Danford. Yet her father always assured the villagers that their lord was an honorable man.
She often thought that Papa was protecting something about the Earl and longed to know Lord Danford’s secrets. Her father had warned her to listen to her elders and to mind her lessons. As he claimed to have no other living relatives, he had wanted her to be learned on the chance that someday he might not be there to provide for her or her mother. He’d made certain she would not depend upon other villagers for her meals or needs.
Aisley realized she was spending too much time thinking about Lord Danford when the stranger beckoned anew. “Come one, come all! For I have yet to reveal the best of all. A glimpse will cost each of you a penny. Full reveal will take a shilling.”
Before reaching the village common, she spotted the villagers circling the caller a bit warily. Several horse-drawn wagons rested in a straight line. The sky remained gray, but Aisley spied unlit torches attached to the wagons. Did the stranger plan to stay when it was dark?
Two older villagers, Howard Jones and his wife, inspected the wares and concoctions displayed on a market stand. A handful of coins were tossed to the ground and a small lad scuttled to pick them up.
In a thrice, a jester danced about the villagers. His antics induced a trickle of laughter. At the same time, an eerie grumble coming from the forest lifted the tiny hairs on the back of Aisley’s neck. Frightened, she rushed for the safety of the crowd and it wasn’t long before she stood amongst them.
“Pay your tribute to Ruck, dear friends,” the stranger touted, swinging his right arm about as the jester continued to dance. Coins sprinkled the dirt almost as fast as the boy swiped them into a purse. “The finale is near. You have my word, one and all; Sedgewick Haywood will not fail your call. “
Aisley hesitated to admit she was intrigued by what was to be revealed. Pennies were spread on the ground at Haywood’s feet. How odd that the villagers would give up their coin.
“Wait, sir,” Aisley said. Breathing harshly, she stepped forward. “What brings you to our village on such a night as this?”
“I mean no harm, fair lady,” Haywood promised. His smile was little more than a gap-toothed leer. The balding man made her the tiny hairs on the back of her neck rise, causing her to ignore her worry over the sawing rumble in the distance. “I wish to entertain the village. I have traveled far through the day’s rain in the hope of warding away your troubles for at least a night. Might I inquire as to whom quells my efforts?”
“Aisley, a healer, and I speak not for myself, but for the villagers. This village has not gone unscathed by plague. We have lost many. I would not wish for the sickness to return.”
“Nor would I,” Haywood responded. Feigning elegance, he bowed at the hips. The expense of his green and tan robe and the silk of his gypon made him appear a man of means. At the hem of his robe, Aisley caught a glimpse of a sword. “I am free of plague. You may inspect me for lesions if it would set your mind at ease.”
The rumbling she’d heard grew more prominent, sounding like an animal. It felt as if the beast was warning her against inspecting the man. Oddly, no one else seemed to hear it.
“I think it best if you leave before the villagers lose more coin.” Inspecting this man would require three areas, the armpit, neck and the inner thighs. Touching him was not something she relished, regardless of her vow to attend those in need.
“Aisley, do not rush him off. He promises to reveal the creature behind that curtain, and I, for one, have paid to see it,” Howard Jones said.
It was difficult to avoid staring at the curtained stage resting behind the stranger. The jester had tumbled his way to one side of the wheeled contraption and hung from a ladder. The minstrel strolled toward the opposite.
“Throwing away money like this can only lead to trouble,” Aisley said.
“How is it that a woman speaks so bold?” Sedgewick Haywood demanded.
“It is common for Aisley to do so,” Andrew White answered. “Her father was a physician for the Earl of Danford. She is valued amongst us.”
“Then why have you given what this man has asked?” Aisley wondered aloud.
“Curiosity.”
“We want to see what he has to offer.”
“Worry not, Aisley. All will be well.”
The villagers relayed their wishes and Aisley stepped back. She could not deny them a few moments pleasure. Even her curiosity was piqued.
More pennies hit the ground as Sedgewick demanded. Apparently pleased with the villagers, the visitor bowed once again in acceptance.
“Ah, at last my performers will grant your due,” Haywood pronounced. Proudly, he moved to the side. “Beware, dear friends, sometimes myths can be proven.”
Both the minstrel and the jester beckoned to the crowd and the curtain before them. Whispers filled the air, but they could not mask the eerie sawing drawing ever closer to the village.
Did no one else hear the beast? It sounded as if he roared from a mountaintop.
“What is that I hear?” she asked. “Is someone cutting branches in the forest?”
“I hear nothing of the sort, Aisley,” Howard said.
Ease your worry, little one, only you can hear me, someone said, someone male with a deep, gruff voice. I am close. Do not provoke the visitor.
“Who spoke to me?” Aisley demanded, glancing about. The villagers stared back as though she’d gone mad.
“Your attention, healer,” Haywood insisted. “To one and all, I give you living proof of werewolves in England!”
“Werewolves…are you mad, Haywood?” Andrew asked.
“Nay, I tell you true, feast your eyes on a werewolf’s babe.” Sedgewick swept his right hand toward the jester, who sliced a rope and the curtain shushed to the ground.
“Oh!”
“Evil.”
“Witchery.”
“What do you mean by this?”
“Deplorable…”
“Barbaric…”
Aisley gasped in horror as the villagers voiced her feelings. A child with large, rounded blue eyes stared at them and wept, pleading for love. It was barbaric to see such a beautiful girl subjected to such cruelty.
“Dastard,” Aisley accused. “How dare you cage a child?”
“It is for her safety and yours, dear lady.”
“Nay, this is an atrocity the likes of which none of us have seen.”
“All should know by now there are no werewolves or men that can change into animals,” Howard said. “You show us an unfortunate child.”
“Can you not see her deformity?” the visitor insisted. “This occurs in children of a werewolf.”
“You speak of what is evil, Haywood!” Andrew White shouted.
“Nay, cease! I beg you,” Aisley warned. Talk of evil could spread quickly amongst the crowd. “There is no evil here. This child is an angel from God, not some creature.”
“Mayhap the healer feels herself capable of speaking for God,” Sedgewick hedged, rounding on Aisley and marching toward her. “Be careful in your speech, healer. It would be unwise to speak of His will in such a way.”
“There is nothing wrong in speaking of God.”
“Yet you are certain you can dispel the existence of evil.”
“Evil is a man who can cage a child!” Aisley accused.
“Step away from me, woman! How dare you speak to me with such disrespect? I see standing before me a woman of flame red hair, freckles upon her face and a dark patch of skin right beneath her chin, a woman who shouldn’t be so outspoken.” Sedgewick looked at the villagers. “Your healer bears the marks of a witch. She should be sent to a priest to confess her sins.”
Unbidden, tiny bumps pricked Aisley’s skin as Sedgewick spoke of witchcraft. Because of her father’s teachings, the villagers of Danford did not believe a birthmark was the mark of evil. Such talk could sway minds, causing hysteria and fear.
“My mother bore freckles and my father the same red hair. He also had a mark on his shoulder similar to that which you see beneath my chin. You’ll not find a villager amongst us who would think they were anything less than good, decent Christians, nor I,” she said.
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