His Forbidden Touch
by Shelly Thacker
HIS FORBIDDEN TOUCH (Stolen Brides Series)
In a realm of snow and ice, a mercenary is assigned to protect a princess on a journey that may prove deadly to them both.
Disgraced ex-knight Royce Saint-Michel was banished from his homeland because of an impulsive act that cost him all he held dear. Now, he has the chance to reclaim his birthright—if he escorts the lovely Princess Ciara to her royal wedding and ensures that she arrives untouched. The two set off alone on a treacherous journey through snowy mountain passes, but forbidden desire soon proves even more dangerous than the assassins on their trail. With the fate of two kingdoms hanging in the balance, will Royce and Ciara do as honor and duty demand … or surrender to the longing in their hearts?
“A fun and erotic 14th-century romp … loaded with non-stop adventure.” Publishers Weekly
“It is stories like this one that keep so many of us reading romances.” The Oakland Press
“Shelly Thacker has a unique and dazzling talent.” New York Times bestselling author Lisa Kleypas
“The adventure is thrilling and the sensuality is breathtakingly erotic. A must read for anyone who loves a well-written, wonderfully rich and fulfilling romance.” Tanzey Cutter, Old Book Barn Gazette and TheBestReviews.com
“Shelly Thacker has the gift of bringing readers straight into her adventurous, heart-pounding romances and keeping them highly entertained and completely captivated. This fairytale romance will sweep you off your feet. This is an author who has made an indelible mark on romance. Exceptional. 4 1/2 stars (highest rating).” Kathe Robin, Romantic Times
A full-length novel of 100,000 words
Adult content: explicit love scenes
Originally published in print by Avon Books
This Author’s Preferred Edition e-book includes bonus content: “The Making of His Forbidden Touch: The Story Behind the Story,” plus excerpts from Forever His, Timeless, and the upcoming new edition of Falcon on the Wind.
THE STOLEN BRIDES SERIES: One falls through time and finds herself married to a dark stranger … one may never reach her royal wedding if she can’t resist her rugged protector … one is abducted by a mysterious swordsman and swept away to a secret island paradise. Three regal brides are about to discover that falling in love with a warrior is the most dangerous adventure of all.
The Stolen Brides series
Forever His: Gaston and Celine
His Forbidden Touch: Royce and Princess Ciara
Timeless: Hauk and Avril
And coming soon, an all-new edition of the prequel, Falcon on the Wind: Connor and Laurien
About the Author: Shelly Thacker’s bestselling historical and paranormal romances have won numerous national awards and lavish praise from Publishers Weekly, The Atlanta Journal-Constitution, Locus, and The Oakland Press, who have called her books “innovative,” “addictive,” “memorable” and “powerful.” For the latest news and sneak previews of upcoming books, visit www.shellythacker.com
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, business establishments, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Publishing History
First edition published by Avon Books
Copyright 1997 by Shelly Thacker Meinhardt
Second edition published by Summit Avenue Books at Smashwords, 2011
Copyright 2011 by Shelly Thacker Meinhardt
ISBN: 978-0-9847646-6-2
All rights reserved. No part of this book, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews, may be reproduced in any form by any means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without prior written permission from the author.
The scanning, uploading, and distributing of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the copyright owner is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.
Excerpts from “The Nightingale” from Lays of Courtly Love in Verse, Patricia Terry, Doubleday, Copyright 1963.
Cover design by Kim Killion of Hot DAMN! Designs www.hotdamndesigns.com
Digital formatting by A Thirsty Mind www.athirstymind.com
Publishers interested in foreign-language translation or other subsidiary rights should contact the author at www.shellythacker.com.
Dedication
To all the Thacker Backers, past and present,
who have blessed my life with their enthusiasm and kindness.
Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
eBook Titles and Excerpts
Bonus Content: The Making of His Forbidden Touch
About the Author
Fearful that they might betray
The love that they had come to share,
They always took the greatest care
Not to let anyone detect
Anything that might be suspect…
But lovers can’t be satisfied
When love’s true pleasure is denied.
~Marie de France
“The Nightingale”
Twelfth century
Prologue
Châlons, near the French border
1302
Fire lit the night sky, devouring the forest like a hungering dragon that would not be sated. A treacherous wind lifted the flames higher, until it seemed they might swallow even the stars and moon. That fierce draught of air whirled up the mountainside, howling around the palace walls, carrying ashes that rained down on Princess Ciara as she ran across the bailey.
Her velvet cloak billowing behind her, she darted through the crowd of servants and peasants who were gathering up scythes and pitchforks to use as weapons. Burning cinders stung her face, her hands, but she barely noticed. Beyond the massive stone curtain wall that guarded the castle’s perimeter, she could hear the metallic crash of blades and lances, war hammers and shields.
The war was ending. With the enemy victorious.
She felt each blow as if it pierced her own heart. After seven years of battle, the Thuringians had come within striking distance of the palace itself. And the men of Châlons could not hold back Prince Daemon’s ruthless mercenaries for long. Her father and his knights were outnumbered five to one.
Dear God, please protect them. Please watch over him.
Her eyes and throat burning, she kept running, past the storage sheds and granary, their thatched roofs ablaze; past the stables and mews where milkmaids and serving women were trying to rescue the castle’s valuable animals. She circled around the keep toward the front, choking on the sharp taste of pure fear.
When she reached the main gate, she found herself in the middle of a deafening tumult. Guardsmen and archers thronged the parapets, rushing up and down scaling ladders, carrying weapons and torches and ca
uldrons of some sort, their leaders shouting commands. The night blazed with firelight, so bright that the billowing smoke from the forest beyond glowed eerily, like a dragon’s breath.
She searched for one particular face among the mail-clad warriors, felt a stab of panic when she did not see—
“Saints’ blood!” a familiar male voice boomed from behind her. “What do you think you are doing out here?”
Ciara turned to see her brother atop one of the towers that flanked the drawbridge, and she exhaled in relief. As he came down from his position and stalked toward her, his tone and his mien had warriors scrambling to get out of his way. “I told you to stay inside!”
“I was inside, Christophe. But I could see the fire from my chamber window, and I thought I should—”
“Disobey my commands as quickly as possible, and walk into the middle of a battle?” He came to a halt barely a foot away, towering over her. “Without consulting me?”
Ciara almost gulped. At twenty-three, Christophe was four years older and a full foot taller than she was. He made a most imposing presence, wearing his chain mail, his helm, and his most severe scowl.
“I am consulting you,” she pointed out, rushing onward before he could interrupt. “I cannot remain in my chamber with my books and my music while everyone else defends the palace against the enemy. I came to see what you would wish me to do.”
“I wish you to go back inside the keep. At once.”
She darted aside when he tried to take her elbow. “I cannot help anyone if I am inside,” she insisted, thinking that should be obvious, even to a male brain. When he reached for her again, she grabbed his arm instead, lowering her voice so that only he could hear. “And I will not sit by and do naught while our kingdom comes down around our ears.”
“By God’s breath, Ciara, if I have to lock you in a tower—”
A barrage of arrows interrupted his threat, singing over their heads and striking the dirt with lethal-sounding thwacks just inches away. Christophe grabbed her and pushed her toward the curtain wall as the bailey erupted in battle cries and curses—and several shouts of pain.
“You foolish girl, do you see now?” He flattened her against the stone, protecting her with his broad-shouldered body as more arrows rained down from the sky. “This is not a game! And it is no place for a woman. You must go back inside where it is safe.”
Ciara could not reply, her heart pounding so hard it seemed to fill her throat and block her breath. She stared past him to the spot where a quartet of sharp-pointed shafts protruded from the ground.
The very spot where she had been standing seconds ago.
An instant later she heard a great roar—the sound of dozens of ancient pine trees snapping like twigs—and knew that one of the castle’s most important defenses was gone.
The forest where she and her brother had played as children was being reduced to ashes.
“Christophe,” she whispered brokenly, “there is no safe place. Not anymore.”
He remained silent, not bothering with false words of reassurance. They both knew it was true.
A second later, he abandoned royal protocol and hugged her tight, in full view of their subjects. Closing her eyes, Ciara buried her face against his silk surcoat and let the tears come, not caring that his chain mail bit into her cheek.
For a moment, in the midst of the fire and desperation and despair, there was only the two of them. Not prince and princess, but brother and sister. Afraid and in need of the comfort that only love could bring.
“God’s mercy, Christophe,” she said tearfully, “Father is out there. If the enemy has gotten this close, it must mean that he and his men—”
“Nay, little sparrow, do not underestimate our father. He is one of the two most brilliant military tacticians ever born in Châlons. He knows he can elude them. That is why he insisted I …”
He did not finish, but Ciara knew what he had been about to say. She had heard the heated argument between her father and brother yestereve, when they had clashed over which of them should go forth with the palace’s knights. Father had ordered Christophe to stay behind, where he would be safer.
As heir to the throne, he was too valuable to risk.
“We are not finished yet,” Christophe said fiercely, his arms tightening around her. “Our ancestors built this castle on the most inaccessible peak in the heart of Châlons for a reason. In three hundred years, no enemy has breached these walls, and none ever will.”
“But no enemy has ever come so close,” Ciara whispered.
As if to underscore her words, the sounds of the battle on the mountainside grew louder. She could hear the war cries now. And the screams of the wounded and the dying.
Several leaders of the palace guard came running up to ask for orders, and Christophe gently set her away from him. Ciara turned her face toward the wall, wiping at her tears. They both knew they had to conceal their own fear and uncertainty, had to provide a brave, calm example for their subjects.
Christophe addressed his men, his deep voice crackling with authority once more. “I want you and you to go to the rear of the castle, gather up everyone who is still outside, and get them into the keep. If any of the men back there can wield a weapon, send them to me.” He motioned one of the other warriors forward. “Escort the princess to her chamber and see that she—”
“Christophe, you are the heir to the throne. Father was right.” Ciara placed her hand on his arm as she glanced at the night sky, which now glowed red on all sides of the castle. Her heart pounded wildly. “You are much more important than I. You are the one who should be escorted to safety. I will go, as you wish, but I beg of you to come with me.”
“Nay, Ciara. My duty is here. I must see to the gate and the drawbridge. That is the first place they will attack.”
Their gazes met, his light brown eyes, so much like her own, reflecting the full depth of his love and concern for her.
“Be off now, my little songbird,” he murmured, using one of his favorite nicknames for her and tugging lightly at the long braid that hung down her back. “Châlons has only one princess.”
“And she has only one brother,” Ciara whispered desperately.
Suddenly the ground shook, so violently it knocked her off her feet. It felt as if the mountain were a sleeping giant that had just awakened.
“What was that?” she cried.
Christophe uttered a vicious oath. “Catapults. Sweet Jesus, they are attacking the gate with catapults. How in the name of all that is holy did they get them up the slope?” He reached down and grabbed her arm, pulling her to her feet, turning to the guardsmen. “Back to your posts. Now. I will see the princess to safety myself.”
“But Christophe—”
“No more arguments, Ciara. Do you know what Daemon’s mercenaries will do to you if they capture you?”
The images that filled her head at his words were enough to silence her.
Holding fast to her arm, he ran along the curtain wall, staying out of reach of the arrows that now rained down among the searing ashes in a deadly storm. Ciara looked back over her shoulder, at the towers that supported the gatehouse. “Why can we not get inside that way?”
“Because the drawbridge towers have all been sealed from the inside,” he explained tightly, “so that each can be defended like a miniature keep. A trick I learned from the second of Châlons’ most brilliant military tacticians—my old friend Royce.”
A hail of arrows thwacked into the dirt in front of them and Christophe yanked her to a halt. “I only wish he were here now,” he added under his breath.
Ciara barely remembered her brother’s best friend, except that he had disappeared suddenly and mysteriously four years ago. But she did not have time to ask any more questions, for Christophe led her across the open bailey at a dead run, heading straight for a mural tower at the rear of the keep.
They reached it safely, and he tore open the door that led inside. “Go to the secret chamber in
the east wing, Ciara. Seal it behind you.”
She nodded, trying to summon a brave look and failing utterly.
He brushed a cinder from her cheek and tucked a loose strand of her brown hair back behind her ear. “There will be peace, Ciara, I promise you. One day this will be my kingdom, and I swear that Châlons will know peace and freedom once more.” He hugged her again, tightly.
She did not want to let him go. But he had his duty to attend to, and she …
She could do naught but hide and hope. And pray.
Releasing her, he gave her a brief smile before he turned and ran back across the bailey, into the fire-ravaged night, heading toward the front of the palace.
“God be with you, Christophe.” She watched with her heart in her throat as he circled along the inside of the curtain wall, trying to stay beyond the reach of the arrows.
Then suddenly the ground shook again. And this time a whole section of wall gave way.
With Christophe beneath it.
She stared in mute horror, seeing it happen by the unearthly light of the fire that painted the night bloodred. Rock and mortar rained down on him. It was over in the span of a heartbeat. One moment her brother was there, the next he was gone. Simply gone.
Buried beneath a crushing mass of shattered stone.
“Christophe!” she screamed, leaving her place of safety, running across the bailey, crying out his name again and again.
She was halfway across the open ground when Prince Daemon’s mercenaries came swarming through the breach.
Chapter 1
Alone in her father’s solar, Ciara huddled deep in a corner of the stone window seat, an open book in her lap, a single tallow candle flickering beside her. Bright winter moonlight gleamed through the stained glass, spilling a pattern of blues and reds and greens across her velvet skirts and the rush-strewn floor.
Slipping off her jeweled coronet, she rested her forehead against the window, her breath fogging the frosted panes. Through one of the clear triangles of glass, she could see the mountainside stretching away into the darkness, the stars sparkling on a fresh blanket of snow … and the newly repaired curtain wall.
The Stolen Brides 02 -His Forbidden Touch Page 1