Table of Contents

Cover Page

Excerpt

Dear Reader

Title Page

About the Author

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Copyright

Hugh contemplated the situation across the room with growing anticipation.

His nightly brawl was going to come about rather easily tonight, it seemed. As he made his way through the crowd, Hugh kept his eyes on the girl, who was struggling with the biggest of the men facing her.

“Your pardon,” Hugh said politely, making a slight bow. “Is aught amiss?”

The big man surveyed Hugh’s muscular frame from head to foot, then replied, “Leave us be.”

Hugh smiled. “Good sir, you mistake me.” He pushed past them. “I addressed the lady.” He looked into her frightened face inquiringly. “Mistress,” he began, then stopped and held his breath. She was more beautiful than he had expected, more beautiful than any woman he had seen in a long time. Without thinking, Hugh reached up to pull the hood of her cloak away from her head, causing her wheat blond hair to spill free and removing the shadows that hid her eyes.. .sky blue eyes that gazed at him, filled with pleading.

“Please, sir,” she whispered, “I pray you, help me.”

With only those few words, falling from her pretty lips, what had begun as a game for Hugh became something deadly serious.

Dear Reader,

Sparks fly when a rogue knight who is running from his past rescues a strong-willed noblewoman who is running from her future in Susan Paul’s The Heiress Bride. We hope you enjoy this lively medieval romance, which is the second book in the author’s Bride Trilogy.

Love and loyalty clash in Devil’s Dare by Laurie Grant, a fast-paced Western about a sweet-talking cowboy and a straitlaced preacher’s daughter whom he mistakes for a soiled dove.

The Gambler’s Heart is the third book in Gayle Wilson’s Heart Trilogy. This passionate Regency features a warscarred French gambler who acquires a wife as payment for a debt, and must learn to accept her love for him.

And our fourth selection for the month, Elizabeth Lane’s Lydia, is the touching story of a former Union spy who moves to Colorado and falls in love with the brother of a man who died as a result of her actions.

Whatever your taste in reading, we hope that Harlequin Historicals will keep you coming back for more. Please keep a lookout for all four titles, available wherever Harlequin books are sold.

Sincerely,

Tracy Farrell

Senior Editor

Please address questions and book requests to:

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The Heiress Bride
Susan Paul

www.millsandboon.co.uk

SUSAN PAUL

lives in Duarte, California, with her husband, two young daughters, two dogs and two cats. She started her first novel when she was in her early teens, but eventually put it aside, unfinished, in favor of more important interests…such as boys. Now happily married and—somewhat—settled down, she’s returned to her love of the written word, and finds it much easier to finish the books she starts.

Chapter One

England, 1416

Please, my lady, you must awaken.”

The voice sounded so very far away, as though someone were calling to Rosaleen from outside her chamber window.

“My lady,” it pleaded again, more urgently, and Rosaleen felt a light, gentle touch on her cheek. As weary and stiff as she felt, she struggled to awaken, only to be greeted by sharp pains shooting from her head to her toes. An unbidden moan escaped her lips.

“Rosaleen,” another voice came, a deep, masculine, much hated voice, “either rouse yourself right quick or I’ll do it for you.”

The words brought Rosaleen to life as nothing else could. She opened her eyes a crack to see Sir Anselm’s dark face close to her own. She was lying on her stomach in deference to the bruises and welts he had placed on her back only a few hours earlier, and when he reached out to take a fistful of her hair and lift her face off the feather mattress, Rosaleen cried out from the pain.

“Good,” Sir Anselm said with a chuckle, shaking her head a bit before releasing her. “She’s awake and looks to be in a more obedient mood than she was this morn.” With his fingertips, he pushed her head to one side, so that she was facing him, and met her weary gaze with his own amused one. “Are you not, Rosaleen? You will be a very obedient lady from now on. As meek and mild as a lamb.”

Rosaleen stared at her uncle with as much hatred as she thought any being could ever feel. The memories of him stripping her clothes from her back, of the shocking feeling of that first strike on her bare flesh, all came back to her. “I’ll not mar your face, Rosaleen,” he’d murmured when she had finally given way and stumbled to her knees. “You shall be as lovely on your wedding day as you have ever been.” It hadn’t been too much longer before his blows had felled her completely, sending her into a blissful oblivion.

Until now.

She didn’t answer him quickly enough, and his fingers bit into her hair again.

“Yes!” She gasped against the pain. “Yes!”

“Good girl.” He released her once more.

Rosaleen didn’t dare to move. “I hate you!” she whispered fiercely. “If my father were alive…”

“I know, Rosaleen, I know,” he said wearily. “You needn’t tell me again what your life would be like were either of your parents still alive. Truly, dearling, it is most ungrateful of you to persist with such talk.” He crossed his massive arms over his chest. “I’ve spoiled you these past many years, ‘tis clear, else you’d be more ready to show me your gratitude. This morn was regrettable, I grant, but you’ve no one to blame but yourself. You must learn to command that fierce temper of yours, my dear, for Simon of Denning will not find such as that acceptable in a wife, and you would like his taming much less than mine, I vow.”

Rosaleen’s hands curled into fists.

“Simon of Denning is an animal! I’ll not wed with him.”

“You will.”

“Never!” she vowed. “You put me up for sale like a prize mare and he was naught but the highest bidder!”

“‘Struth, dearling,” Sir Anselm admitted, reaching down to squeeze the fine bones of Rosaleen’s chin between two large fingers. “But as you were mine to sell, there was no wrong done. The king himself wouldn’t dispute it.” His eyes glowed with amusement. “And ‘tis not my fault that God made you so very lovely and so very, very—” he laughed “—sellable. Sir Simon wants you, my beautiful girl, so much that he has willingly parted with all that was most valuable in your dowry in order to possess you. He shall have you, and I shall have Siere and all that goes with it. The title, the lands. Everything.”

“Siere is mine!” she said furiously. “Sir Simon has no right…you have no right to take it from me!”

“I have every right, Rosaleen. Never, ever think otherwise again.” He squeezed her chin harder, until tears welled in her eyes. “Now, you will do as I say, else I’ll treat you to more of what I gave you this morn. Sir Simon will be here to claim his bride before the day is out, and you must needs eat and bathe and prepare yourself to receive him. When the priest arrives I’ll fetch you. Until then you will behave yourself and think on how to best please your future husband and your loving uncle. Will you not, Rosaleen?”

Rosaleen closed her eyes. “Yes.”

“Good.” He rose. “I’ll leave you with Jeanne so that you may prepare.” He went to the door and opened it, pausing only long enough to look at the maid, who stood trembling in a corner. “Make certain she is in her best looks, Jeanne, else you will know your master’s displeasure.”

“Y-yes, my lord.”

He closed the door, leaving them alone, and Rosaleen let out the long breath she had been holding. She tried to move, to push herself into a sitting position.

“Jeanne…please…”

Her maid was beside her in a moment, the girl’s face pale as she put her hands beneath Rosaleen’s shoulders to help her rise.

“Oh, my lady!” she cried, and burst into noisy tears just as Rosaleen finally sat up.

“Yes,” Rosaleen replied absently. She felt dizzy, weak, and put one hand up to her damp forehead in an effort to still its spinning while using the other to hold up the remnants of her dress. The open places on her back burned like fire, and she could feel the skin there stiffening with dried blood. “Jeanne,” she whispered, wishing that her sensitive maid would cease the wailing that only made her head pound all that much more, “I will need some salve, and some cloth to bind the wounds. I must put on clean clothing…something very plain and simple. And after that I will need you to help me. Jeanne—” she met the girl’s frightened gaze “—I am going to escape before my uncle can come to get me.” Reaching out, she gripped the maid’s arm. “I must escape. Do you understand? Will you help me? I promise that you shall not be suspected or punished.”

Wide-eyed, Jeanne shook her head. “Escape? But, my lady, how can you do so? Your uncle has placed guards at every door. You could not even step out of your own chamber without being caught. And…your back, my lady…you could not get very far with it so.”

Rosaleen could hardly disagree with that, her body ached so badly, but nothing could make her stay at Siere and play a part in her own ruin. “That,” she stated firmly, “is my worry. All I need from you is a little help, and I shall do the rest. I swear that my uncle will never be able to suspect that you aided me, and even more so do I swear that he shall never have Siere. I would rather die than give it over to him, and I would rather kill myself with my own hands than marry Simon of Denning. Will you help me, Jeanne?”

“But where will you go, my lady? And how will you keep from being caught? You know full well that your uncle and Sir Simon will be after you before you can get very far. Oh, please, my lady,” Jeanne pleaded, wringing her small hands, “do not do this! I could not bear to see you beaten again at the hands of Sir Anselm! The next time he might kill you!”

Determination steeled Rosaleen in spite of the fear that threatened to overtake her. “I have said that I would rather die than wed Simon of Denning,” she replied sharply, “and so do I mean it! Somehow I will manage to keep from being caught.” She struggled to her feet, holding together the bits of what was once one of her most beautiful surcots. Jeanne helped her, but still Rosaleen could not hold back a groan of pain. Her breath came quickly and seemed to catch in her side. “And as to where I shall go,” she went on, forcing the few steps toward her mirrored table, “why, I shall go to King Henry. He must help me, for my father was a great favorite of his father’s as well as being the Earl of Siere, and for that alone he must lend me aid.” She collapsed into the chair set before the mirror. “I shall tell him what my uncle has done, that he has sought to wed me against my will and to steal my rightful inheritance, even my title, from me.” She met her maid’s doubtful gaze in the dim reflection of the polished steel mirror. “He’ll help me, Jeanne,” she insisted. “He will.”

Jeanne didn’t believe that this was so, for the world was a man’s world, and King Henry was only a man.

Rosaleen understood the expression on Jeanne’s face, but she refused to be swayed by it.

“He will help me, I know he will. But you must help me first, else my fate is sealed here and now.”

Jeanne’s voice trembled as badly as her slight body. “Yes, my lady,” she whispered. “I will help you.”

“Damn you, Hugh! Must you win at every game?” Peter Brenten scowled and picked up the dice before him. “It’s ungodly, that’s what it is. We should have you tried for sorcery. God only knows what a blessing it would be for all the honest gambling men in England.”

The dark-haired man sitting across from him laughed, settling back in his chair and draining off a good part of his ale.

“Now, Peter, don’t go saying things that aren’t true.” He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “You forget that you won against me only three days ago, at Newcombe.”

“At Newcombe!” Peter repeated. “Bah! We wagered for a mere draft of ale. Why is it that I always win whenever the stakes are little, while you win whenever it pleases you?” He tossed the dice on the table, saw the outcome and swore loudly, drawing more laughter from his friends.

“You’ll never learn, Pete, lad,” Stewart of Byrne said with a laugh. “I was well taught back in Rouen not to wager with Hugh Caldwell. I’ll never forget how he fleeced me till I was naked as a babe. He has the devil’s own luck, don’t you, Hugh?”

Hugh paused only long enough in counting the money Peter had passed him to flash his companions a charming smile. “Friends, friends,” he said soothingly, “I deny such a charge. I have it on the very best authority that I am always innocent in such matters as these.”

Stewart of Byrne laughed outright. “And what poor, misguided soul ever told you such a lie, man? ‘Twas certainly no man who has ever met you across a table.”

Grinning, Hugh pocketed his winnings in a leather pouch. “Nay, ‘twas my mother,” he admitted, gazing heavenward. “God bless her sweet soul.”

“Mmm,” Sir Gerald Walson intoned. “That may be as it is, Hugh, but your mother probably never had the pleasure of gambling with you. It’s a damned good thing we’ll be quit of one another on the morrow, else none of us but you would have a mite to call his own. Oh, hell. Hand me the dice, Peter. I’m ten kinds of fool but I’ll try my luck once more on our last night together. What odds will you give me, Caldwell?”

“The same as always, Gerry,” Hugh replied. “But first I want more ale. Gaming with you fellows is thirsty business, I vow. Here, girl!” he called into the smoky depths of the Red Fox Inn, but the serving maid who had hovered dutifully about them all night didn’t appear. A commotion at the far end of the room kept her, and everyone else in the tavern, occupied.

“What’s going on there?” Peter Brenten wondered aloud, straining to see better.

“It’s…a woman, I think,” Stewart of Byrne said, standing half out of his chair. “Mmm, covered down to her feet and arguing with the innkeeper. I wonder what she’s about.”

“A whore, mostlike,” Sir Gerald put in, making an experimental toss with the dice. “Though she must be an ugly one if she’s covered up.”

Hugh contemplated the situation across the room with growing anticipation. His nightly brawl was going to come about easily, it seemed.

“I rather think she’s trying to cover her beauty,” he said thoughtfully. “Our portly innkeeper is drooling over the sight of her. I’m sure she’s having none of that, though.” He laughed. “That old man is the last thing I’d want to take to bed, and that’s as sure as the new day dawning.”

“I don’t think the old man’s going to get her,” Stewart of Byrne said, sitting down again. “Her first customers for the night have just arrived. Three knights of the realm it seems, though she looks no happier with them than with the innkeeper.”

“I’d welcome having a woman tonight,” Peter Brenten said, his eyes wandering over the girl’s slim, cloaked figure. “I wonder how quick she is. Mayhap I’ll have a visit with her when she’s finished with those fellows.”

“Not with her, you won’t,” Hugh said, standing and placing a light hand on his sword. “It’s the tavern wench for you, Pete, old lad. This one’s mine.”

All three of his friends looked at him and groaned as one.

Peter Brenten put his head in his hands. “God’s toes, Hugh, not tonight.”

“Tonight of all nights!” Stewart of Byrne said angrily. “Can we not have a little peace on our last eve together?”

“One would think you’d have had enough troublemaking at the inn we destroyed last night,” Sir Gerald added, putting the dice aside with a look of regret. “And I’ll have you know that I don’t appreciate setting up against my fellow knights.” Hugh Caldwell’s green eyes glittered mischievously. “Don’t start feeling badly for what you are, Gerry. You’re the only dubbed man I can tolerate next to my own brothers. And we did not destroy the White Bull last night,” he insisted. “We only…rearranged it.”

“Damn you, Hugh Caldwell!” Sir Gerald returned angrily, checking the readiness of his own sword. “What’s gone wrong with you? We haven’t had a night’s peace since setting foot in Britain three weeks past. You were never so troublesome in France.”

Hugh made no reply but kept his eyes on the girl, who was struggling with the biggest of the men facing her. Stewart had spoken true…the girl didn’t want these particular customers, which only made the matter of taking her for himself that much simpler. What the big fighting men would think, well…Hugh’s mouth relaxed into a confident smile.

The knight who held the girl didn’t turn when Hugh tapped his shoulder. It took a strong hand on his arm to make him look around.

“Your pardon,” Hugh said politely, making a slight bow. “Is aught amiss?”

The big man surveyed Hugh’s muscular frame from head to foot, then replied in a surly tone, “None that I can’t take care of myself.” The two knights behind him laughed. “Leave us be.”

Hugh smiled. “Good sir, you mistake me.” He pushed past him. “I addressed the lady.” He looked into her frightened face inquiringly. “Mistress,” he began, then stopped and held his breath. She was more beautiful than he had expected, more beautiful than any woman he’d seen in a long time. Not since Lillis had he met with such perfection. Without thinking, Hugh reached up to pull the hood of her cloak away from her head, causing her wheat blond hair to spill free and removing the shadows that hid her eyes… sky blue eyes that gazed at him, pleadingly.

“Please, sir,” she whispered, “I pray you, help me.”

With only those few words falling from her pretty lips, what had begun as a game for Hugh became something deadly serious.

“God, she’s a greater beauty than you thought, Cyril,” one of the other knights said. “My turn comes after yours.”

The girl’s eyes lit with fire. “I am not…” She didn’t seem to know how to finish. “I am not a…a…” Struggling against the knight who held her, she pleaded with Hugh once more. “Please, good sir. I beg you.”

“I told you to lose yourself, man,” Cyril repeated in a tone full of warning.

Ignoring him, Hugh gazed into the girl’s distressed face and tried to decide what it was about this situation that disturbed him. There was something here that wasn’t right. She was far too beautiful to be a whore. And she was pale, as if she were in pain, as if she might faint.

“She doesn’t want you, Cyril, lad,” Hugh said slowly, “and a lady should always be given her choice, is this not so?” He graced the girl with his most charming smile. “What say you, mistress? Would you rather go with him or with me? I’m clean, I promise, and I’ll be gentle with you. I swear it on my own soul.”

“Be gone!” Cyril shouted angrily.

“You!” she cried.

Hugh looked at the big knight. “You have your answer, Cyril, from the lady’s own lips. Now release her and be on your way, like the good and godly knight you are, else take your chances.”

Cyril’s eyes narrowed. “You, man, are going to die!”

Laughing, Hugh unsheathed his sword with an easy, fluid movement. “One day, yes,” he admitted, “but not this night.”

Cyril freed the girl, and Hugh pulled her against himself, hearing her groan of pain and feeling the stiffening of her body.

“Are you mad?” the other man demanded. “You are one against three! Do you seek death, then?”

The sounds of Cyril’s fellow knights pulling out their swords was enough to bring silence to the crowded tavern.

“Oh, please, please, good sirs,” the innkeeper begged to no avail, “don’t…don’t…”

“The day I willingly seek death, Sir Knight, is the day the sun stops rising,” Hugh stated with bald confidence, his heavy sword dancing in the air as though it were a feather. “Especially at the hands of such a one as you, for, truth be told, I’d rather be devoured alive by swine.” He smiled pleasantly.

Cyril gave an angry, animal sound and advanced on Hugh slowly.

“Then I’ll make certain to toss your body into the wallow outside when I’ve finished with you,” he promised. “Now set the girl aside, fool, unless you mean to use her as a shield.”

The insult flew over Hugh’s head; his heart was pounding too erratically for him to mind it. In another moment the hot pleasure of the fight would pour over him like some soothing drug. He would let himself be consumed by it, but before that happened he must send the girl to safety. He wasn’t even certain that she was still conscious; she felt lifeless in his grip, but that wasn’t his worry now. Later he would have no other care than her full awareness, and he would make certain that it was centered fully on himself, but now…now he wanted only to feel the sweet relief the coming fight would bring.

“Take her, Pete,” he said, excitement shortening his breath. “Take her and keep her safe. When I’ve finished with good knight Cyril and his good knightly friends I’ll come to claim her, and God only knows how I’ll need her all in one piece.” Lifting his sword almost to the level of his chin, he smiled. “Now, sirs,” he murmured, “let us see who ends up in the wallow.”

Chapter Two

A soft, melodic sound drifted into Rosaleen’s dreams, beckoning her to wake. A lute, she thought dimly, her mind struggling to lift out of its sleepy stupor. Someone was playing a lute. And she was…where? In a room? Yes. Not her room at Castle Siere, but a room somewhere. Without opening her eyes she could sense light, the kind of light that meant day, and a gentle breeze caressed her shoulders and face. The bed she lay upon was firm and comfortable, the sheets were cool against her skin. Stretching, yawning, keeping her eyes closed, she snuggled into the mattress and tried to make sense of it all.

Her memories were blurred, at best. She had been so very weary and in so much pain. The wounds on her back had felt hot as fire and had stung as though soaked with lime. The battle to keep going had been fierce, indeed. And then she had caught sight of the inn. What had she done with her horse? she wondered. She couldn’t recall whether she’d had enough sense to stable it or not, only that she had somehow dragged her aching body inside the smoky depths of the inn to request a room.

The memory made Rosaleen frown. Aye, she had requested a room, and the innkeeper had given her a great deal of trouble. What was it he had said? Something about having to share her night’s profits with him? Whatever had the filthy creature meant? She hadn’t been able to make him understand that she only wanted a room, and when she had tried to explain it once more she’d been accosted by three lecherous brutes, one of whom had gone so far as to lay hands on her.

Her memories after that became less clear. There had been a handsome stranger, with a handsome smile and handsome green eyes and handsome manners, who had come to her rescue, and then there had been only this. A comfortable bed, the taste of bitter medicine, a soothing of her pain, gentle hands caring for her…and dreams.

Dreams, she thought hazily. Only dreams, and yet they had seemed so real. She could recall them vividly, as if she were dreaming them all over again. She could almost feel his hands and lips on her again, moving over her body, and she could hear his voice, soft, whispering. It had both unsettled and soothed her, just as he had…

“You’re smiling, sweeting. That means you’re either dreaming of last night or you’ve finally come awake. Now, which is it, I wonder?”

Rosaleen’s eyes flew open.

“Ah, you’re awake. Good.”

Warm breath touched her cheek. Rosaleen turned her head very slowly. There, smiling down at her, his face inches from her own, his arms like pillars on either side of her, was the handsome stranger.

The scream that came out of her mouth startled both of them. The stranger quickly stood up, and Rosaleen, ignoring the pain it caused, leapt out of the bed on the other side. A shock of cool air on her skin caused her to look down at herself, and the unexpected sight of her completely naked body made her scream again. She dived back into the bed and pulled the bed covers all the way up to her chin.

“God’s bones, mistress!” said the stranger, laughing, his green eyes filled with amusement. “Must you make so much noise? You’ll have our good hosts bursting in to see whether I’m murdering you.”

“How d-dare you!” she sputtered, tightening her grip on the covers. “How d-d-d-dare you! Get out!” She pointed a shaking finger at the door. “Get out! Now!”

The man raised an eyebrow at her. “You would throw me out of my own room, mistress? After all I’ve suffered in it for your sake these past two days?”

“Your room!” Rosaleen was flooded with confusion. “God’s teeth! What am I doing in your room? And where are my clothes? My things? At least send up a maid and go away so that I may make myself decent. Dear God in heaven!” She set a hand to her forehead. “How long have I been here? I don’t even know where I am!”

“It appears you’re feeling better, at least,” he commented. “Your back doesn’t pain you?”

“My back?” she repeated. Was the man deaf? Why was he still standing there when she had asked him to fetch a serving maid? “Yes, it’s much better. Now go away and send the maid at once to attend me.”

He sat on the bed beside her, causing Rosaleen to lean away and clutch the blankets even more tightly. “Whoever beat you like that ought to be strung up by his feet and repaid in kind, sweeting, and if I ever meet up with the bastard I promise you I’ll do it. I’m half-tempted to alter my plans and go after the fiend anyhow, so help me I am. What in God’s holy name did you ever do to deserve it?”

Making sure to keep herself covered, Rosaleen scrambled as far away from him as possible. The fact that he was sitting on a bed that contained a totally naked lady didn’t seem to bother him in the least. Indeed, he looked perfectly at ease.

“Well?” he prompted.

“I…” Rosaleen faltered beneath his green-eyed perusal. Merciful heavens! He was certainly handsome enough. His long dark hair, tied up neatly in a tail at the back of his head, had been lightened several shades by the strength of the sun. His face, squarely built and strongly featured, was the most perfectly masculine face she had ever seen. His lips, full and sensual, seemed drawn into a permanently mocking grin.

“Please get off the bed,” she said.

He laced his fingers around one crossed knee. “Not until I have a few answers from you, sweet. I’ve not wasted nearly two full days biding my time at this wayside inn for mere pleasure. The sooner you answer my questions, the sooner we can both be quit of this place.”

“Sir, if you will please just…go away for a few minutes so that I can…can…” She clenched her teeth. “If you’ve not yet noticed, I am not dressed.”

He grinned. “I’m not blind, mistress.”

“Well, then?”

“Well?” he repeated.

What in God’s name was the matter with him? Was the man an idiot? “Well then,” she returned patiently, “would you please go away and send the maid to me?”

“As soon as you answer my questions, I’ll answer yours,” he offered, unlacing his fingers and reclining across the bed near her feet, keeping himself propped up on one elbow. “We’ll begin with something easy. Your name.”

“My name?”

“Yes, sweeting, your name. What is it?”

“It’s…” None of your concern, she nearly told him, then thought better of it. She didn’t have a great deal of time to waste bantering with this fool. She had already lost an entire day, a day during which her uncle would have been looking everywhere for her. If he hadn’t yet come this direction, he soon would, and Rosaleen had to make certain she was on her way to London before that happened. “Rosaleen,” she finished.

“Rosaleen,” he repeated approvingly. “Very nice. You’re certainly as pretty as any rose I’ve ever seen. What’s the rest of it?”

Rosaleen bit her lip, wondering how much information she could safely part with. This man had saved her from an unpleasant situation and had clearly made certain that she’d been taken care of while she’d lain sleeping, but how far would his chivalry extend once he knew she was the heiress to one of the most powerful and richest titles in England? If he were to discover the truth, might he not try to force her back to her uncle with the hope of a reward?

“Just Rosaleen,” she whispered.

“Just Rosaleen?” His eyebrows rose mockingly. “I find that hard to believe, sweeting. Even the lowliest of serfs has more of a name than that. Come, tell me the rest of it. I’ll do you no harm.”

Rosaleen shook her head. “I cannot tell you,” she said, “and I would rather not lie. I do not know you or anything about you.”

She expected him to press her, but instead a look of understanding passed his features, and he smiled. “I’d rather you not lie to me, either, sweet. Honesty is a virtue I prize more highly than others.” He nodded his head in tribute. “Rosaleen will suffice. Now, lovely Rosaleen, where have you come from, and who beat you, and why did he do it?”

Resigned to the fact that he’d not be satisfied until he had his questions answered, Rosaleen replied, factually, “I come from a small village north of here. I was beaten by my uncle for refusing to marry the man he had chosen for me. And before you bother to ask, I am on my way to London. Now, may I please be allowed to dress?”

“In a moment,” Hugh said thoughtfully, settling his long body more comfortably on the bed, oblivious to the fact that Rosaleen drew herself into an even tighter ball.

He was quiet for a time, considering her words.

She had been beaten by her uncle for refusing to marry the man who’d been chosen for her. It was a common enough offense, and by law her guardian had every right to do exactly as he had, but that didn’t matter to Hugh. When he had carried her up to his room two nights before, he had been sickened to discover the condition she was in. The wounds on her back had opened and bled through her clothes, soaking them so thoroughly that he’d had to cut them off and throw them away.

The memory made Hugh frown. The bastard who’d beaten her was an animal, and hunting down such animals was one of Hugh’s very favorite sports. But she clearly wasn’t going to be forthcoming with enough information to lead him on that hunt, a fact that only made Hugh that much more curious.

She wasn’t a whore, of that he was certain, but if she was a lady, possessed of any kind of gentle birth, she couldn’t be anything grander than the daughter of some vaguely landed lord. The plain clothing she’d worn had given testament to that, and she’d already admitted as much, having said that she came from a small village.

He could almost envision what had happened. Her destitute uncle, desperate to better his standing, had decided to use his beautiful niece to his advantage by marrying her off to someone wealthier and better landed. Rosaleen had balked, her guardian had promptly tried to beat her into submission, and she had escaped and ended up at this inn. And with him.

“On your way to London, you say? What do you imagine awaits you there? You don’t think to petition the king for aid, I hope.” Hugh chuckled at her surprised expression. “The king would never grant you an audience, sweet, despite your admirable charms, and he would certainly never take your part over your uncle’s. Or did you think to find some other kind of refuge there?”

Rosaleen understood very well what he meant, and the suggestion that she would seek any man’s protection in return for her favors angered her.

“I have relatives in London,” she said, speaking the truth. Through her father, who had been the head of his family as well as the Earl of Siere, she had innumerable and very important relatives at court. The thought of not being received by the king, or at least by one of his regents, was laughable, though she wasn’t about to tell this strange man that.

Her answer brought him a look of relief. “Relatives,” he murmured. “Good. Much better than the other roads left you. Though with your beauty you’d no doubt end up in court, anyway.” As a leman, he left unsaid.

“I’m so glad you approve,” she replied dryly. “Now if you don’t mind, Sir…Sir…what is your name?”

Hugh rose from the bed with fluid grace. “It’s Hugh. Hugh Caldwell.” He lifted a pile of clothes off a chair and returned to place them on the bed. “At your service, my lady,” he added mockingly, with a slight bow.

Rosaleen gazed up at his towering, muscular figure. “I perceive that I owe you a debt of thanks, Sir Hugh, and I-”

“Not Sir Hugh,” he stated tersely.

She looked at him with incomprehension. “But, you are a knight, are you not?”

“God forbid!” he said with feeling. “I am nothing more than what you see. Just Hugh Caldwell.” He strode to the open window and gazed out of it. “And you may dress now, if it pleases you.”

Rosaleen glanced at the clothes he’d left beside her.

“But these—”

“Aren’t your clothes,” he finished, still gazing out the window. “I know that. Your clothes were soaked with blood, thanks to your guardian’s treatment of you and to your own foolishness in venturing out in your condition. They were ruined, and I had to throw them away. Those belonged to the innkeeper’s daughter. I bought them.” He glanced at her and shrugged. “They’ll be a little large on you, but they’ll do.” He turned his gaze skyward again. “There’s a girdle to secure them with.”

Silence reigned in the room for a full minute, until Rosaleen finally cleared her throat to gain his attention. He spared her another short glance from where he looked out the window.

“What?”

“I wish to dress,” she said as lightly as she could, hoping he would understand.

“And so you may.”

“Alone,” she clarified. “Or with the help of the maid, if you don’t mind.”

He smiled. “I don’t mind at all, sweeting, save there is no maid and I’ll not leave this room. You have about three minutes to get yourself dressed without me watching, so I advise you use them well.”

“But…at least send up the woman who helped me to undress in the first place!”

This time he actually laughed. “I’m the one who undressed you, sweet. If you desire my assistance, I’ll be more than glad to help. If you don’t, you’d best do as I advised earlier.”

Being possessed of an amazingly quick mind, Rosaleen grabbed the clothes and began to dress in a hurry. She wasn’t entirely successful, for she was not used to being dressed without help, and her back still pained her with the misery of slowly healing wounds. The underclothes provided, she discovered with dismay, were made of rough wool and not of the soft, supple silk she always wore. When she pulled the surcot over her head, her arms somehow got tangled in the cloth, and, muttering an angry oath, she found herself unable to get them free.

Hearing her, Hugh Caldwell turned away from the window, took in her half-clad figure with a shake of his head and strode to where she sat struggling helplessly. Grasping the light blue surcot, which matched the color of her eyes, he tugged it over her head and down her body, freeing her arms, then he snatched up the girdle to fasten it around her waist. “Your guardian was able to afford a maid to lend you aid in dressing, it seems,” he commented rather pointedly. “You clearly aren’t used to doing it yourself.” He knelt to fasten the overlarge leather boots on her feet.

“My maid was a girl who came from the village,” Rosaleen said truthfully, though guiltily. Jeanne had lived in the village, but Castle Siere had more than eighty other servants who had come from all parts of England.

Hugh nodded. “I see.” He strode to the window again. Once there, he leaned out, saw something he had evidently been looking for and turned back into the room.

He fixed a leather strap around his left arm and sent a sharp whistle out the window. With a great deal of flapping, a compact, fierce-looking gyrfalcon settled on his wrist, and he drew her into the room.

“Sweet baby,” he cooed to the magnificent creature. “Little darling. My beautiful Amazon.”

Rosaleen sat on the bed, her hands in her lap, and watched with interest as Hugh Caldwell filled his mouth with water from a nearby cup, then bent his handsome head to let the bird drink the liquid as it dripped slowly from his lips. When the hunter had drunk her fill, Hugh Caldwell began to hum a little tune to her, over and over, the same simple tones in repetition, which kept the wild bird entranced so that he could set a hood over her head. Once the hood was fixed the bird was perfectly docile, and he proceeded to handle her deftly, tightening the jesses on her legs and setting her on the back of a chair to perch while he went about packing his things.

“She’s beautiful,” Rosaleen murmured appreciatively.

In the midst of stuffing his lute into a traveling bag, Hugh paused. His head shot up and he grinned at her. “You know about birds, then?”

“Oh, yes,” she replied without thinking. “I’ve many fine birds of my own at—” she stopped herself just in time “-home.”

“Do you? I used to have several myself, when I was a lad. Amazon’s been with me this past year. She’s quite young yet.”

Rosaleen looked at the bird with open admiration. In her mews at Siere there were many fine hunting birds, and she was skilled in using them during hunts, but never had she seen a more promising gyrfalcon than the one Hugh Caldwell possessed. It occurred to her that there was more to him than met the eye. Perhaps he wasn’t a knight, but no ordinary man could possibly possess such a creature, or afford one, either.

“She hasn’t any bells,” she commented, still watching as he continued to pack his things.

Hugh didn’t stop this time as he tied the strings of his bag together. “No, she hasn’t,” he replied, straightening and lifting Amazon from her perch. “Well then, Rosaleen no-name,” he said as he toted the bag up over one shoulder, “goodbye. It has been more pleasant than I could ever say, and I do hope you’ll find your way to London with ease.”

He started for the door, and Rosaleen shot up off the bed.

“What!” she shrieked.

He stopped just in front of the door.

“I said goodbye.”

“I know what you said! What do you mean by it?”

His expression was openly bewildered. “I mean goodbye. I was not aware there was another meaning to theword.”

“But you cannot mean to say that you’re leaving!”

“I can’t?”

“Well, no, of course not! I’m not ready to go. I haven’t yet eaten to break my fast, and I don’t know where my things are, though perhaps you’ve taken care of that already. They were on my mount, and you have taken care of my horse, have you not?”

“Ah, no, I haven’t,” Hugh replied. “I didn’t even know you had a horse.”

“Of course I had a horse!” she stated, wondering at how slow-witted he was. “How do you think I came to be here otherwise? Oh Lord!” she said with a groan. “I imagine he must have been stolen. I was in such a state when I arrived here that I didn’t even think to stable him. Everything I had was on him. All my money, my change of clothing, everything!”

“Well, that’s a stroke of bad luck, Rosaleen, and I’m sorry,” Hugh said sincerely. “Listen, I’ve a good bit of money at the moment. I’d be happy to give you enough to help you get started…”

But Rosaleen wasn’t listening to him. She cut him off with an imperious wave of her hand. “Never mind. It’s too late to cry over what’s been done, and it was my own fault, really, for not stabling the beast. You shall simply have to purchase another mount for me, and I shall have to make do with the clothes you’ve provided until we arrive in London.”

Hugh blinked rapidly, certain he hadn’t heard right. “We?” he repeated.

Rosaleen paced the room. “I shall need clean linen to cover my hair, and a brush, of course. If you would go now and ask the innkeeper’s wife to bring me those two items along with some bread and cheese, I shall shortly be ready to leave.” She stopped pacing and glanced at him. “You may make the arrangements for my mount while I’m eating.”

When he simply stood there and stared at her, Rosaleen fluttered her hands as if to shoo him on his way. “Hurry, Hugh Caldwell. We’ve no time to waste. My uncle will be looking everywhere for me, so we must be on our way at once. How many days do you think it will take us to reach London?”

“Far fewer than you think, lady,” Hugh replied stiffly. “I’m not taking you to London.”

“But of course you are. You have to.”

“What I have to do, sweet, is get myself on my way. I’ve surprised even myself by playing the gallant and watching over you these past two days, but don’t think I’ve a mind to do any more. Now, I’m willing to leave you enough gold to get you to London, but that’s all I’m willing to do. Take it or leave it.”

“Your sense of humor is not only badly timed,” Rosaleen chided, “it is sadly improper.”

“And your understanding, mistress, is slower than a turtle’s pace. What makes you think I’d take you to London?”

God’s mercy! Rosaleen thought with irritation. The man was as dense as a tree. “How can you ask such a thing?

Surely you know your duty as a gentleman!”

Shock possessed Hugh’s features for a long, silent moment, and then, quite suddenly, he began to laugh. “My duty as a what? As a gentleman? God’s bones, mistress, but it’s been a long while since I’ve been so amused. I’ve already told you that I am no chivalrous knight, and if you could possibly think me gentle then you must have no care whatsoever for what passed between us last night in that bed behind you.”

Rosaleen gasped out loud. “What!”

Hugh’s laughter died into a very masculine grin, and he fixed her with a decidedly warm gaze. “Do you not remember, little one? Do you remember nothing at all? Or did you think perhaps you had only dreamed it? You were so sweet and warm, so responsive, that I would have wagered all I own that you’d not forget a single moment of what we shared.”

“Oh!” Rosaleen cried. “Oh! You’re lying! They were dreams!”

Hugh lowered his bag and set Amazon atop it to perch. Then he straightened and very slowly approached Rosaleen, who backed away from him. “They were not dreams, sweeting, and I should be most happy to renew your memory, if you like. Now, do you still think me gentle? Do you still wish to spend all those lonely nights on the road to London with me?”

Rosaleen rounded the other side of the bed, moving away from him as quickly as he followed. She wasn’t frightened of him, she was furious. In fact, she wanted to kill him.

“You swine! You despicable knave! How dare you! How could you! I was a maiden, you wretched beast! I-I’ll have you hanged for this!”

Hugh stopped and chuckled. “You truly don’t remember, do you, sweet? I may be a knave and a swine, but I’m not so base that I’d take advantage of a half-conscious female. If you were a maiden last night then you are a maiden still.”

“And I may be an ignorant girl, Hugh Caldwell, but I’m not a fool!” she cried. “You touched me!”

Hugh inclined his head. “ ‘Struth, I did indeed touch you, lovely Rosaleen, and enjoyed every moment. But touch is all I did. You were restless and cried in your sleep. I only tried to comfort you. That’s all. Most gentlemanly of me, do you not think?”

Rosaleen didn’t believe him. The memories she had of his hands and mouth moving over her were dim, true, but they were there all the same. “You did m-more than t-touch me, you lecherous fiend!”

Hugh’s grin was fully masculine. “A little more, yes, my lady. I considered it repayment for my kindness in taking care of you.” He eyed her appreciatively. “Verily, sweeting, I have never been so pleased with any recompense in my life. Shall we get started for London, then?”

“You’re an animal!” she shouted, pointing at the door. “Leave then, you wretched, unchivalrous rat! Get out! I wouldn’t go one step in your company, you…you…ravisher!” Hugh laughed and turned toward the door. In a rage, Rosaleen followed. “And when I get to London, I’ll have a warrant put out for you, signed by the king’s own hand, you…you…defiler! I swear by God’s holy name, I shall!”

“Good lack, woman! If this is the kind of abuse you heaped upon your uncle’s head, it isn’t a wonder he beat you so!” He stopped at a small table near the door and dug his coin bag out of his tunic. “Here,” he said, placing several coins down. “I shouldn’t be so merciful to such a shrew, but this ought to be enough to—”

“How dare you!” she screeched from right behind him, so that when Hugh turned he bumped into her. “First you abuse me, you…you…seducer! And then you try to pay me off like the veriest whore, you…you…”

“God’s bones, I did not ravish you!” Hugh insisted, barely ducking in time when she picked up the coins and threw them at his head. “Calm yourself, Rosaleen! I only meant to help you, not hand you an insult.”

“The only way you can help me is to get out of my sight!”

“All right, all right! I’m going!” He picked up Amazon and reshouldered his bag. “First you say I can’t go, and then you throw me out. What a wild creature you are, Rosaleen no-name. Your gratitude for my care these past two days is overwhelming, indeed.”

“Oh!” she gasped, taking a swing at him. “How dare you, you…you… great randy goat! If you think to wait until I thank you for deflowering me, then you’ll be waiting until Satan’s breath blows cold!”

“I did not,” he said with growing anger, “deflower you! If you don’t quiet yourself, my sweet, I’m going to take you back to that bed and show you exactly what I did do!”

“Get out!” she shouted. “And when you get downstairs I wish you to send up one of the friends who stood with you the other night. Surely one of them will be chivalrous enough to help a lady in plight.”

“You are quite right, my lady. Any one of my friends would have been pleased to play the good chivalrous fellow for you, more fool they, but they are gone, having left yesterday morn, as I, myself, should have done and now wish to God that I had!” He drew in a breath, then said more calmly, “I fear you shall have to seek London on your own, as you did before you ever came to this place.”

Rosaleen froze, staring at him in surprise, as though he had struck her, and then she did the inexplicable. Her face crumpled and her eyes filled with tears.

“But I can’t.”

Hugh looked away, thoroughly aggravated. “You were planning on going alone before,” he said gruffly. “If you’d let me leave you a little money you could still do it.” It was a damned lie, and he knew it. A woman on the open road, alone, was as defenseless to every rogue and knave who came her way as a newborn mouse might be against Amazon.

She shook her head and spoke more to herself than to him. “I learned very well two nights ago that I will need protection. I must get to London. I must.” She turned and walked back to the bed, wringing her hands. Sitting on the mattress, she bowed her head and was quiet.

Hugh cleared his throat. “Well, you’ll be fine. Goodbye, Rosaleen. Good luck.”

She said nothing, only kept her head bowed. Her fingers laced and unlaced in a worried rhythm.

“I said goodbye, Rosaleen. Godspeed.”

“Yes, yes,” she mumbled tearfully. “Goodbye.”

He opened the door and walked out, shaking his head to rid it of the memory of her sitting so unhappily on the edge of the same bed where he had spent some exceedingly enjoyable hours with her. Well, he’d be damned if he’d feel guilty about that, he told himself as he made his way down the stairs to the main room. She had enjoyed herself quite as much as he had, though she didn’t remember it yet. And he had considered it repayment for all the trouble he’d gone through. There wasn’t anything wrong with that. She was a beautiful girl; any other man would have used her much differently had he had the chance.

The innkeeper was standing behind his serving board when Hugh walked in, and the little man smiled in greeting.

“Well, sir, are you on your way, then?”

“Yes, I’m on my way,” Hugh replied. “The lady is feeling better this morn, and would like some food to break her fast with. She also wishes the use of a brush and needs clean linen to cover her hair. See that she has all she desires.” He tossed the innkeeper a couple of gold coins and watched with disdain as the man pocketed the money with lusty greed.

“That I will, my lord,” the man promised quickly. “The lady be well satisfied, I vow. Will there be anything else, my lord?”

Hugh gave the man a considering glance and wondered how far he could trust him. The innkeeper was willing enough now, when a fighting man was present, but how would Rosaleen fare once he’d ridden away? Aside from that, he hated the way the man spoke of her, as though Rosaleen were naught but a whore flaunting herself as something better.

He struggled for a long moment, telling himself sternly that he was going to regret this. If he only could have expelled the image of her sitting so defeated and miserable on the edge of that damned bed, he might have won.

“The lady,” he said curtly, emphasizing the word, “will need a good mount. Is there anyone in this godforsaken village who owns a decent horse he’d be willing to sell?”

Chapter Three

“I am not taking you to London.”

They’d been traveling together for only half a day, and already Hugh felt like strangling her.

“You needn’t be so intemperate, sir,” Rosaleen stated from where she rode beside him on a tiny brown mare that made his own magnificent black steed look like some mighty and fabled creature. “It certainly wasn’t my idea that we go anywhere together. And if you think that escorting me to London will stop me from issuing a warrant for your arrest, you are sadly mistaken. I intend to go straight to the king regarding the matter of my ruin, and when he hangs you, I shall be at the very front of the crowd, cheering the executioner on.”

Hugh gritted his teeth and wondered what sin he had ever committed to make him suffer this fate.

“Rosaleen, I am going to say this one more time, and if you ever again mention the matter I shall make you exceedingly sorry. Listen well, lady. You are still a maiden. I did not ruin you. And I am damned well not taking you to London!”

She perched as high as she could in her saddle, trying in vain to level herself with Hugh Caldwell.

“Then what good do you do me?” she demanded. “I’ve told you over and again that I must get to London as quickly as possible, yet you refuse to tell me how taking me to your brother will help me in getting there. Don’t you understand anything? I must get to London!”

“I understand perfectly, Rosaleen,” Hugh replied with what he felt was admirable calm, considering the measure of his vexation. “And I promise that my brother will be able to help you. He is a man of no small influence and can help you attain whatever goal you have. He could even get you an audience with King Henry, if you desired it.”

With a sigh, Rosaleen settled back into her saddle and turned her eyes to the road. Hugh Caldwell was lying, there could be no mistake of that. What would such a man as he know about influence? His brother was probably a pig farmer, a big man in some unknown village who held a few dozen ignorant peasants in thrall. And as for Hugh Caldwell himself.. .well! She didn’t care how handsome he was or how handy with a sword. He was as bad as a pig himself. Worse, even, for he hadn’t the faintest idea of how to treat a lady.

“How far away is this so esteemed brother of yours?” she asked, thinking that she must start planning anew her route to London.

He sounded grim as he answered, “Two days’ ride. No more than that.”

“You live with your brother, then? In the same village?”

“No.” He kept his eyes on the road ahead. “I’ve not been home in over ten years. In truth, I have no home.”

“Really?” Rosaleen’s womanly heart responded to the sad note of his reply. “That seems very strange. Ten years! Did something happen to keep you from returning to your family? A fight with your brother?”.

He shook his head. “No fight, Rosaleen, and you may keep your curiosity to yourself. It’s no concern of yours, just as you are no concern of mine. I’ll take you to my brother and leave you in his care, and then I shall be on my way. If God is truly gracious, we’ll never set eyes on one another again.”

“Save on the day of your execution, of course,” Rosaleen returned sweetly. “Will not your brother be surprised to see you after ten years?”

Hugh made a snorting sound. “You’ve no need to worry, Rosaleen. He’ll not turn you away. You’ll get to London.”

“That’s not what I meant. And I can very well get to London without any help from you, Hugh Caldwell, so you needn’t think I’m worried about anything at all. I simply wondered whether your brother wouldn’t be surprised to see you. And what of the rest of your family? What will they think to have you suddenly come riding into your village after having been gone so long? Why, if it’s truly been ten years, you must have been little more than a child when you left.”

Hugh laughed, but it wasn’t a pleasant sound. “God’s bones, what a chattering little creature you are, Rosaleen no-name. And if you’re not worried about anything at all, then why do you keep looking about as though you expect someone to jump out at us any moment?”

“I’m not…” Rosaleen stopped herself. In truth, she was worried. They were traveling on a main road, out in the open for any and all to see. She had tried to impress upon Hugh Caldwell the need to ride more secretively, but the arrogant beast had insisted they would be fine…kept safe by himself, of course. It would serve him right if her uncle and all his men came riding down upon their heads.

“Why will you not answer my questions?” she asked, changing the subject. “How old were you when you left home? Ten and five years of age? Ten and six?”

“I’ll not let anything happen to you, Rosaleen,” he assured her, changing the subject, as well, “and I’ll certainly not let anything happen to me, so you may rest easy.”

“Well, God’s mercy, Hugh Caldwell, I’m glad to hear it,” Rosaleen replied with sarcastic relief. “I’d not want anything to happen to you, either, before I get a chance to see you hang.”

Hugh sighed loudly. “You, my sweet, are a true example of the gentle flower of womanhood. Your sharp tongue causes me to wonder if your uncle wasn’t beating the wrong person. It seems that the one who’d need the forcing would be the man picked to marry you, not the other way around.”

Rosaleen gasped furiously. “Oh!”

“What a dread fate it would be,” Hugh continued pleasantly, “waking each morn to be greeted by that sharp little tongue. On the other hand, of course, there is your soft body to make some recompense for your shrewish nature, as I know firsthand.” He grinned at her lecherously.

“Why, you…you…you…”

Hugh clucked and shook his head. “No, I cannot think even that would make marriage to you a pleasant prospect. Are you certain this fellow your uncle chose wanted to wed you, Rosaleen? I find it very hard to believe.”

“Oh, you wretch!” She knew very well that he was baiting her, purposefully trying to anger her. She knew, too, that she was behaving exactly like the shrew he called her. It wasn’t like her to behave so badly, but then, she had never before found herself in the company of such a crude, infuriating man. “Yes, he wished to wed me, though you may choose not to believe it if you like. In truth, Hugh Caldwell, I don’t care what you believe of me.”

Hugh was disappointed with her tame answer. He had insulted her so beautifully that he’d been certain she would have flown into a good rage at the very least. Instead, she seemed to have understood his intent and had calmed herself and answered readily. She was smart, little Rosaleen no-name, and if there was one thing Hugh avoided as he would the plague, it was smart females. He’d have to keep his wits about him or he’d shortly find himself behaving decently, and the ten years he’d spent cultivating himself to do otherwise would be for naught. He’d already been too damned nice to her as it was. In truth, it might be said that he’d behaved chivalrously, a thought that actually made him shudder.

“I see,” he said. “Then if your chosen mate was so hot to wed you, sweet, what was the trouble? Was he not to your liking? Or wasn’t he good enough for such a fine lady?”

He’d meant the words as he meant everything he said, mockingly, but her reaction, the look on her face, made him regret speaking them.

Rosaleen shut her eyes and tried to push away the image of Simon of Denning. “No, he was just so…” How could she explain? How could she put Sir Simon’s huge, terrifying hands…hands matted with the blackest of hair, hands that groped and squeezed and hurt…how could she put them into words? How could she relate his cruelty, his lust, his strength, which made her know only too well how easily he could crush her to his will when it pleased him to do so? God’s mercy! She didn’t want to think of him! She didn’t want to remember what it felt like to be shoved up against a wall and held there by the weight of his hard body, fighting nausea when he vised her jaw between two strong fingers and forcibly opened her mouth so that he could thrust his tongue inside, or wincing at the pain of his strong fingers squeezing and pinching her breasts, or wanting so much to faint so she wouldn’t have to feel the hardness of his sex as he rhythmically rocked it against her, speaking his crude, filthy words about what he was going to do to her when they were finally wed.

Twice he had actually found his pleasure with her that way, pushing himself against her, grunting like a hog eating its swill, until he finally shuddered with his release. Rosaleen had almost been relieved when he had, for at least he had let her go and, with the laughter of contentment, had patted her like a dog and jested of how he would have to suffer with the wetness she had wrought in his chausses.

He’d been so pleased on those two occasions, so pleased, while she had felt so sick and helpless.

“Rosaleen.” Hugh Caldwell spoke to her. She felt a gentle touch on her cheek. “Rosaleen.” His voice was strangely tender.

She opened her eyes.

The horses had stopped moving, and she and Hugh Caldwell were sitting on their mounts in the middle of the road, perfectly still. He was leaning down from his higher position, gazing at her with an expression of deep concern while his hand stroked her cheek. He was such a beautiful sight that she couldn’t help but stare.

“What?” she asked dumbly. She couldn’t remember what they’d been discussing.

He ran his thumb over her cheek. “Are you all right, little sweeting?”

“Yes,” she whispered, still staring at him. She never wanted to stop, for when she looked at Hugh Caldwell she didn’t think even vaguely about Simon of Denning.

Rosaleen’s skin felt softer than silk beneath Hugh’s callused hand, and he didn’t want to stop touching her. The change she’d undergone when she’d thought of the man her uncle had betrothed her to had first stunned, then enraged him. It was clear that the man had hurt her badly, else her beautiful face never would have grown so stricken. He wanted to kill the bastard. He wanted to wipe that look of misery off Rosaleen’s face. Permanently. All he could think of at the moment, however, was a temporary solution. And she would probably never know what a sacrifice it was.

Slowly he withdrew his hand and straightened in his saddle.

“I was ten and six when I left my home,” he announced, nudging his steed, Saint, forward.

Rosaleen’s little mare followed, as Hugh had expected she would, and in a moment her mistress had shaken her dismals and gazed up at him with interest, as he had also expected she would.

“Ten and six!” she repeated with amazement, all thoughts of Sir Simon thoroughly displaced. “Were you all alone? What made you leave?”

Hugh smiled. He hadn’t known Rosaleen no-name very long, but already he could read her like a monk’s new manuscript. He had never before spoken of the time he had left his home, yet here he was, about to reopen all his old wounds in order to distract a silly, sharp-tongued female. The idea almost made him laugh. The great Hugh Caldwell, famed for his hardness and lack of heart, behaving like any other damned fool for the sake of a mere female. He could scarce believe it, and desperately hoped none of his acquaintances would ever hear of it.

“I was alone,” he began, “and more frightened than I was willing to admit, though of course I considered myself very brave, being as foolish as any sixteen-year-old is…”

Over the next few hours he told her of his life, those parts he could bear to tell, from the moment he had left home to all the adventures he’d had, including his sojourn in France, from whence he had just returned as a soldier for King Henry. Rosaleen listened raptly, laughing when the tale grew humorous and looking suspiciously teary when she thought it sad, and Hugh allowed himself to be amused at her interest in what his life had been.

Women! he thought silently. They were all the same, even this beautiful little shrew. They all seemed to think they knew what a man wanted and needed, but he’d never yet met the female who could even begin to understand the things that he barred so tightly from his heart.

“What will you do now, Hugh Caldwell?” Rosaleen asked. “Your brother will want you to stay with him in…where did you say you came from?”

“I didn’t. And I’m not going to. We’ll just keep our destination a little secret, shall we? That way neither of us will know what to expect.”

The stiffness of his tone said more than his words did. For all that he was a big, muscular fighting man, it was plain to Rosaleen that he was as nervous about going home to face his family as a naughty little boy who’d done something bad might be, and the very thought softened her heart. Perhaps she didn’t want to have him hanged, after all.

“Very well, Hugh Caldwell. It shall be a secret.”

Hugh glanced at her suspiciously. “That meek tone suits you not, Rosaleen no-name. Much more of that and I’ll be thinking you’re not the same lady who called me every unthinkable name in King Henry’s English this very morn.”

She reddened. “And with good reason! Until I am proved otherwise, I shall continue to believe that you are exactly what I have proclaimed you.”

“Why, Rosaleen,” he uttered with feigned surprise, “should you like me to make proof of your innocence? There is nothing, I promise you, in all of God’s earth that would please me more.”

“You, sir, are a bastard,” she replied, keeping her eyes forward and wondering if she shouldn’t reconsider having him hanged.

“And your mouth, my lady, needs cleansing. How is it that your uncle ever allowed you to use such language?”

Rosaleen laughed bitterly. “It was from him that I learned it, my lord. Sometimes it was my only defense against him, though I was loath to so lower myself.”

Again, Hugh felt a fierce need to kill the man who’d beaten her.

“Rosaleen,” he said, “I’m going to do something I’ve not done in a long, long time.”

“Oh? Behave decently, you mean?”

“No,” he returned dryly. “I am going to beg your pardon for what I said a moment ago. About your language. It was amiss in me to judge you so hastily, and I’m sorry.”

Rosaleen bit her lip to keep from laughing. It was evident that Hugh Caldwell was sorely unused to apologizing for anything at all. “Your apology is accepted, Hugh Caldwell, but only on the condition that you answer my question about what you mean to do once we reach your childhood home. Do you intend to stay there or no?”

“I’ll only stay long enough to make certain you are taken care of, Rosaleen, and then I will leave. I am to become my own man,” he added before she could ask why he wouldn’t stay. “There was a fellow I fought beside in France, a baron named John Rowsenly, who possessed a fief called Briarstone, which he gambled away to me one night. I hadn’t meant to keep it, as it was his family home, but he was killed at Agincourt, and I have determined that I shall go and make my life there as best I can.”

He glanced at her and saw that she was gazing at him in disbelief.

“His people will be expecting me,” he went on, “for I sent them a missive regarding their lord’s death and assuring them that I would come and take care of them.”

She kept staring, and he said, almost defensively, “I cannot let them sit unprotected any longer. Any band of wandering knaves might wreak havoc, seeing the place unmanned. Rowsenly was a fool to wager away his holdings, but his people don’t deserve to be left alone because of it. I’m no great lord, but I can manage a small fief such as Briarstone without any trouble, I vow, and hold it safe against any intruders.”

Rosaleen regarded the masculine profile he offered her, then let her gaze wander over his broad shoulders, his hard, lean body and long, muscular arms and legs. His hands were as big and hard as the rest of him, yet looked agile and skilled. He was a beautiful man, a fighting man, and she had seen enough of such men to know that he was good at his trade. He’d have no difficulty protecting his little fief, she decided, and he already spoke of Briarstone with a pride of ownership, though he’d not yet set eyes on the place. It must be a very small estate, indeed, for she had never before heard of it.

“Rowsenly left no heirs? No wife or children?” she asked.

“Not that I know of. He never spoke of any, and when I won the deed to the place he assured me it was mine and no one else’s.”

“The king has a say in such matters, Hugh Caldwell, though you may not be aware of it. He could declare Sir Rowsenly’s lands forfeit to the throne and deed them to one of his favorites as a reward. It’s his right as your liege, you know.”

Her words brought a smile to Hugh’s lips. She was a high-handed little thing, thinking him so ignorant as to need such instruction. He was tempted to play the idiot and let her spend the next hour making a fool of herself. God’s mercy, it was going to be pleasant to see the look on her face when they finally rode through the gates of Castle Gyer and she realized just exactly who his brother was.

“I must needs take my chances on the king’s leniency, then, will I not?” Hugh asked, keeping his smile to himself. In truth, he had already sought the king’s approval for his taking of Briarstone, right after he had learned of John Rowsenly’s death. King Henry had offered to make a knight of him more times than Hugh could count, and when Hugh had appeared before him after Agincourt he had offered to do so once again, insisting that it was only right that one of his best soldiers, as well as the brother of one of his most favored barons, be knighted. But Hugh had refused, and instead had asked for the king’s favor regarding the matter of Briarstone. Henry had been only too happy to make him the master of the place, telling Hugh quite truthfully that it wasn’t so grand a fief that he’d ever want to make a gift of it to anyone who’d done him a good service. Hugh had been relieved once Henry’s approval had been given, for he hated seeking the favor of any man, even his king, and had vowed immediately afterward that he would never again lower himself in such a way.

“Aye, that you will, Hugh Caldwell,” she answered, following the words with a tsking sound. “You’re a stubborn devil, and that’s as certain as the new moon rising. I think even Henry himself would have trouble standing against such a one as you.”

“If he knows what’s good for him, he’ll not even give it a try,” Hugh replied confidently.

“Hugh Caldwell! ‘Tis your king you speak of!”

“Well, of course it is, Rosaleen. Who did you think I meant?”

“Oh, you are a devil,” she said, pursing her lips in disapproval. “I’ll wager your brother had his hands full when you were a boy.”

Her words sent the oddest sensation tingling down Hugh’s spine, and memory after memory waved in his mind. They were good memories, things he hadn’t let himself think of for a long time. Unable to stop himself, he laughed, and unwittingly gifted her with a smile…a real, true, honest, rare smile, not one invented from the depths of his anger and bitterness.

“That he did, Rosaleen no-name. That he most certainly did.”

Chapter Four

“I’ll not take my clothes off just because you tell me to, Hugh Caldwell!”

Rosaleen backed away, looking wildly around for some heavy object to throw, but Hugh kept coming at her, slowly and surely.

“Don’t be a fool, Rosaleen. I’m not going to ravish you. I only want to put some of this salve on your back, and then I’m going to put you to bed.”

“Ha!” Rosaleen cried, bumping into a table as she moved around the small room. “You admit your evil intentions, you…you…lewd fiend!”

Hugh gritted his teeth and felt a headache coming on. He was tempted to throw the ointment the innkeeper’s wife had given him that morn right out the window. If he hadn’t known that Rosaleen was suffering badly after their day’s long ride, he would have done just that, without the least hesitation, but she was suffering and he was going to put the salve on her. The girl was too damned stubborn to know what was good for her.

Drawing in a breath, he tried to speak more calmly. “Be reasonable. Your back pains you, and you’re hungry, and you’re so weary that you’re about to fall on your face. Let me put a little of this on your back to give you ease, then I’ll go downstairs and fetch you something to eat while you get into the bed. How does that sound?”

Wonderful, Rosaleen thought, but that didn’t mean she was going to disrobe in front of the likes of Hugh Caldwell.

“I’ll put the salve on myself,” she countered, “and you may have one of the serving maids bring me something to eat.”

Hugh sighed, wondering if he’d ever met a more stubborn female in his life and realizing at once that he hadn’t. If he’d ever met a woman more exasperating than Rosaleen no-name, he never would have forgotten her.

“I didn’t bundle you into this inn in that heavy cloak for no reason at all, Rosaleen. If any of those men downstairs hear that I’m keeping a beautiful maiden in my room, I’ll end up having to kill half of them just to keep your precious virtue intact. I can’t take the chance of letting anyone see you, not even a maid. You understand that, do you not?”

A chill crept up Rosaleen’s spine. She hadn’t been able to make out much from the depths of the dark cloak Hugh Caldwell had made her wear into the inn, but she’d seen enough to know that the men patronizing the tavern were exactly the same sort who had accosted her two nights before.

“I understand,” she replied meekly.

“Good. Now take off your clothes and let me put this ointment on.”

Despite her weariness, Rosaleen hadn’t lost any of her fight.

“I’ll not, you lecher! You’re only doing this to take advantage of me!”

That was it. Hugh had had enough.

“If I’d wanted to take advantage of you, sweet, I would have done so last night when you were begging me to give you pleasure!”

Rosaleen gasped. “I never…I never did such a thing! You filthy beast!”

“Rosaleen,” he said in a low voice, advancing on her again, “I am tired, and I am hungry, and I want to go below stairs and have a welcome cup of ale, but most of all, my fine lady, I am past weary of being called every base name under God’s sun. Unless you want me to undress you myself you will remove…your…clothes. Now!”

His roar seemed to shake the whole room, and Rosaleen knew that she had pushed him too far. She had only seen such a look of fury on one other man’s face, and the last time she had defied her uncle he had taken a whip and beaten her. It was that memory that defeated her, and she bowed her head. With shaking fingers she began to unlace her surcot.

Damn, he was in a foul mood!

Hugh hefted his third tankard of ale and wondered what devils beset him so that he felt more sharply than ever the need to ease the bitterness that was his constant companion. If someone didn’t give him a good reason to release his fury soon he would have to seek out a fight himself, and that was always a nuisance.

He set the tankard down and rubbed a hand over his weary eyes.

Damn her! Damn her! It was that wretched female’s fault, every bit of it, and he only hoped she was as miserable as he was. God’s teeth, he was beginning to hate women, the fickle, useless shrews. There was only one thing they were good for, and the particular female he was stuck with wasn’t even any good for that.

Damn her…Rosaleen. He was miserable. He didn’t want to think of her, didn’t even want to think her name. He had lost his temper, he’d shouted at her, and the fight had gone out of her as though he’d actually struck her a blow. She’d started removing her clothing with trembling obedience, sickening Hugh with the realization of what he’d done and enraging him anew at the bastard who had abused her so badly. He’d made her stop when she’d gotten to her chemise, and then, feeling as great a bastard as her uncle, he’d carefully put the salve on without exposing her skin to his sight. She’d slid into the bed without a word after that, and when he had later taken her a tray of food, she had still refused to speak to him. He’d come downstairs feeling like nothing better than a great, hulking bully and had every intention of drinking himself into oblivion and then soothing his nerves with a good, vigorous fight.

His sharp eyes roamed the crowded tavern with acute skill, rapidly picking out the potential opponents to be had. Briefly, his eyes rested upon the full-figured serving girl who had earlier made him an offer he almost hadn’t refused. She caught his gaze and winked at him, letting him know that the offer was still open, and Hugh eyed her prospectively. She wasn’t a beauty by any stretch of the imagination, but she had a fine body. Her breasts were lovely, Hugh knew, for she had waylaid him in the shadows of the stairwell and displayed them quite prettily. They were made for a man to enjoy, just as the rest of her was, and Hugh was highly tempted.

Yes, indeed. Highly tempted.

And he needed something to take his mind off the morrow, for tomorrow he would finally see Hugo. After ten years…

Hugo.

He shut his eyes and felt himself plunging headlong into hell.

The next moment he shot off his stool and approached the biggest man in the room.

“Here, friend,” he said, tapping the man’s shoulder. “If your mother’s as ugly as you are, then she must be the finest bitch in the king’s own kennels.”

The unknown man roared his outrage, the sound of which was solace to Hugh’s ears. He clenched his fists and knew with contentment that for the space of the next half hour he would be able to banish every thought of Rosaleen, and home, from his mind.

The soft stroke of fingers upon her cheek wakened Rosaleen. It was dark in the room, but the light of the moon spilling through the shutters offered some visibility. Blinking, she tried to focus but couldn’t make sense of what was before her eyes. It was broad and solid and fleshcolored, and lightly sprinkled with hair. She blinked again, and again.

“Tell me that isn’t you, Hugh Caldwell,” she whispered, “lying in my bed as naked as the day you were born.”

His fingers continued to caress her, and she could hear the smile in his voice when he replied, obediently, “It’s not me lying in your bed as naked as the day I was born.”

Slowly, her eyes moved upward to look into his face. He was smiling pleasantly, as relaxed and happy as could be, and Rosaleen forced herself to remain calm.

“What, may I ask, are you doing here?”

“Preparing to sleep, sweeting, and touching you.” His fingers ran lightly from her face down her throat and across the delicate bones of one shoulder. “Does this return memories, Rosaleen?”

It did, but the gentle touch of his hand made her tremble, and she was unable to speak.

She was as warm and soft beneath his fingers as Hugh had remembered her to be, and the stricken look in her eyes undid him.

“Yes,” he murmured, drawing closer. “Memories like this.”

His mouth closed over hers, and Hugh lost no time in pressing his tongue between her lips and into the welcoming warmth of her mouth. His arms enfolded her, careful of her healing back, and he pulled her against his painfully aroused body. She lay stiff and frightened for a long moment, and then, with a little cry, she gave way and set her arms around his neck.

“Yes, Rosaleen,” Hugh whispered, thrusting one leg between her thighs and drawing a moan from her lips. “Yes, love, like this. This is what we did with one another last night, and more. So much more. You’re remembering now, aren’t you, my sweet? You’re remembering the ways we pleasured one another.”

Rosaleen shook her head and tried to draw away from him. “No,” she murmured, unable to escape the heat of his hard body, of his mouth as it moved over her neck and shoulders, of his hands as they eagerly roamed her skin, pulling up her chemise and slipping beneath to caress her bare buttocks. He grasped her there, gently, holding her still as he rocked needily against her.

“No.” She pushed at him once more. “It was dreams. Dreams…”

“Not dreams, beautiful lady.” Hugh took one of her delicate hands and flattened it against his chest. “You touched me, and I touched you. Everywhere, love. Everywhere. Like this. Oh yes, little love, like this.” He kissed her again, deeply, and pressed her hand over his hot skin. “Remember, Rosaleen,” he commanded. “Remember the pleasure we gave one another. I didn’t take your maidenhead, but I gave you a sweet release, just as you gave me. You were so beautiful in my arms, so eager. I couldn’t help myself, darling. I couldn’t help myself.”

It was too much for Rosaleen, too overwhelming.

“Please, stop,” she begged. “Please, Hugh, don’t.”

She tugged frantically to make him release her hand, but Hugh was too lost in his passion to heed her. He dragged her hand down his body toward the place where he so desperately wanted her touch.

“Touch me, Rosaleen. Please, my beautiful sweet. Touch me with your soft little hands and take me to heaven, just as I shall take you.”

This was wrong, Rosaleen thought wildly, struggling. Wrong, wrong, wrong!

“No, Hugh! Oh God, don’t. Don’t”

He was so much stronger than she, and he was just drunk enough with both ale and passion to mistake her struggles and cries for pleasure. Gently but insistently, he wrapped Rosaleen’s fingers around him, and for just a moment Rosaleen stilled with the amazing shock of what a man felt like.

Then, frightened, overwhelmed and horrified at her lack of courage, she burst into tears.

Nothing else had penetrated Hugh’s passion-riddled brain until that moment, but her sudden tears worked on him like a bucketful of icy water. Shocked, he released her.

“Rosaleen! What—” He didn’t know what to think. One moment they’d been making sweet love and the next she was sobbing her heart out. “Did I—God’s feet, sweeting, did I hurt you? Your back? Did I…did I squeeze you too hard or…” He was at a loss, and Rosaleen only lay there, crying. He placed a tentative hand on her shoulder and she shoved it away. “Please, Rosaleen,” he pleaded. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

Rosaleen was in a fury such as she had never before known. Even her uncle, at his worst, had never enraged her so greatly. She stopped her tears just long enough to glare at the man hovering worriedly above her.

“I’ll tell you what’s wrong, you lecherous beast! I’ve been molested by the greatest bastard in King Henry’s kingdom! That’s what’s wrong!”

Hugh was so shocked that he sat up, but not fast enough to avoid the stinging slap Rosaleen gave him as she shot out of the bed.

“Molested!” he shouted indignantly. “You were as eager as I, wench! Don’t try to deny it! And don’t you ever strike me again!”

“Strike you!” she screeched. “Strike you! By, God, Hugh Caldwell, I’ll do more than strike you! I’m no tavern whore to be tumbled whenever you please! I’m a lady, you spawn of Satan! A lady!” She picked up a pillow and began to hit him with it, hard and repeatedly, while she continued raging.

“You-” whack! “—bastard! I’ll—” whack! “-teach you to—” whack! “—touch a lady in such a—” whack!

“—crude manner! You—” whack! “—beast!”

Hugh held his arms up to counter her blows.

“Dammit, Rosaleen! Cease this!” Whack! “I said cease!” whack! “Cease or I’ll—” whack! “—turn you over my—” whack! “—knee!”

“I’d like to see you—” whack! “—do it, you rutting boar!” Whack! “Better men than you—” whack! “—have tried to tame me, you hound from hell—” whack! “—but I’ll bow my knee to no man—” whack! “—save the king—” whack! “—you randy satyr!”

Something that sounded suspiciously like laughter drifted up to Rosaleen’s ears, and two long, muscular arms reached up to grasp her, despite her efforts with the pillow. Hugh got a good hold on her, then tossed her to the bed, flinging the pillow away and pinning her beneath his body.

Rosaleen fought him, freeing one hand to hit his rockhard chest. “Let me go, you lecherous goat! Let me go!”

Hugh was laughing so hard he could barely speak. “R-Rosaleen! D-don’t!” He burst into another storm of laughter. “Stop it! S-stop, my 1-lady!”

“Oh!” Rosaleen cried, outraged. “How dare you laugh at me, you foul ravisher! How dare you!” She drew up a fist and hit his solid chest again, hurting herself more than him. “I hate you!”

Hugh tried to stop laughing. He tried so very hard, yet he couldn’t help himself. And Rosaleen didn’t help. He had never seen anyone more perfectly beautiful and selfrighteous in his life than she, outraged.

“I’m sorry,” he managed to say, holding her tight even as she struggled against him. “No, ‘tis the truth I speak, Rosaleen.” He grinned into her furious face. “Last night you responded to me because you were drugged for your pain and hardly knew what you did. I assumed too much this night, thinking you would respond again just as readily. But I frightened you, did I not, my little innocent? You are but a maiden, and I have frightened you with my grown man’s desire.”

“You’re disgusting!” she said angrily. “You crawled into my bed to ravish me apurpose, even when you knew I wanted no such thing! Have you no morals at all?”

“Few,” he admitted honestly. “But I never would have taken your maidenhead, Rosaleen, I swear it. I wanted to share pleasure with you, sweeting, but I’d never do aught to hurt you.”

“You don’t think that what you were just doing hurt me?” she asked incredulously. “You were ravishing me!”

“That’s foolish,” Hugh replied, rolling away. “You’re too innocent to know what you speak of. If I’d been ravishing you, I wouldn’t have stopped, and I’d even now be mounted on your lovely body, taking my pleasure of you.” He stretched and yawned, then scratched his chest and settled beside her. “It’s over. Forget about it and get some sleep. We’ve a long day ahead of us on the morrow.”

“You can’t mean to sleep here!” she cried with disbelief, tossing off the arm that tried to crawl around her waist.

Hugh yawned again before answering. “Of course I do. Where else is there?”

She sat up. “God’s bones, man! You’ve the nerve of a devil!”

“Be quiet and go to sleep, Rosaleen.”

“Sleep! If you think that I’ll sleep in the same bed as you, Hugh Caldwell, then I pray you will think again!” Rosaleen started to get out of the bed but was stopped when a muscular arm wrapped around her waist and pulled her back onto the mattress and up against the hard body she had only minutes before been touching with her hands.

She opened her mouth to scream, but Hugh’s other hand came up and firmly, though gently, closed over it.

“Rosaleen, my sweet,” he said patiently, “we are only going to sleep. You have made yourself clear about not wanting to share any pleasures with me. I’d be a fool to force myself on such an unwilling shrew, especially when England is filled with warm and willing females who would be more than happy to lie with me. Now be quiet and go to sleep, else I’ll tie you to the bed and place a gag in your mouth.”

“You’re naught but a brute!” she huffed when he released her. “And I wish you would stop touching me!”

Hugh was reminded of how he had intimidated her earlier and felt instant remorse. Pulling his hands away, he rolled to his back and heard Rosaleen shuffle over to the far edge of the bed.

“Yes, I am,” he admitted, pushing away the desire to apologize to her yet again. He’d only known the wretched creature a few days and he’d already apologized to her more than he could remember apologizing to any other person. “And I hope you’ll keep that in mind until I’ve got you safely lodged with my brother. I warned you before we set out that I’m no gentle knight, or any kind of gentleman. I dare what I please, Rosaleen, and I take what I want. Remember that.”

A loud silence prevailed, until Rosaleen said, “I hope whoever you fought with earlier was able to match you. Mayhap you’ll have some bruises to make you miserable for a while.”

Hugh closed his eyes and smiled widely in the darkness. It would have been impossible for her not to have heard the fighting that had gone on downstairs two hours before, when he had taken on more than half the patrons in the tavern. They had pretty well destroyed the place, as usual, but Hugh had paid the innkeeper more than the trouble was worth. When it had all been over and he’d felt thoroughly relaxed, Hugh had bought drinks all around and had gotten pleasantly drunk with his newly found mates before finally coming upstairs to Rosaleen. He hadn’t meant to touch her when he had first crawled into the bed, but she had looked so sweet lying there, like an angel, that he hadn’t been able to resist.

“He was,” Hugh admitted with easy contentment, “and I will.”

“You are crazed, my lord,” she said, yawning, “and I wish you the joy of your wounds.”

“Good night, Rosaleen.”

“Good night, you beast.”

Chapter Five

It was late the next day before Hugh finally turned their horses off the main road. They rambled along a side road for a few minutes and then stopped. In front of them, still some distance away, stood an imposing, venerable monastery, that Rosaleen knew by reputation. In fact, though she had seldom been through this area of England before, she was well aware of where they were. It would have been impossible not to know, for this land belonged to Sir Alexander Baldwin, the Lord of Gyer, who was widely known as one of King Henry’s richest and most powerful barons.

“Is this where we’ll be spending the night, then, Hugh Caldwell?” she asked, turning to look at him.

He didn’t answer, but sat stiffly atop his steed, staring at the monastery.

“Yes,” he replied at last, his voice taut.

Rosaleen wondered at the change that had come over him during the past few hours. He had wakened in a good mood that morn; had, in truth, enjoyed himself greatly with teasing her over the fact that she had curled against him for warmth during the night. But during the last several miles he had grown quiet, and even short-tempered, answering her questions with sharp replies plainly meant to tell her that he wanted to be left alone, until Rosaleen had actually wished he would start teasing her again.

Earlier, when they had passed by the small barony of Wallewyn, he had become increasingly grim, and when Rosaleen had begged that they stop at that place and rest for a short time, he had practically growled at her.

“I’ll not step foot in that damned place again,” he’d said tightly. “Ever. We’ll keep on.”

Those had been the last words he’d spoken to her until this moment.

“It is early to stop yet. Should we not press on and spend the night in Gyer?”

He shook his head. “We’ll spend the night here.”

He looked so strange that Rosaleen felt a little afraid.

“Very well, Hugh Caldwell. We’ll stay here.”

He was silent again, gazing hauntedly ahead.

Rosaleen cleared her throat. “Will we be spending the night in the middle of the road, then? Or shall we go down?”

Hugh turned to look at her, and the fire in his eyes nearly burned her to a cinder. His hands were clenched so tightly around the reins of his steed that his knuckles showed white.

“We will go, my lady, but I want you to know that the only reason I even came within a day’s ride of this place is because of you.”

He spurred his horse forward and galloped toward the monastery, leaving a stunned Rosaleen to follow. Above them, Amazon, having been loosed to feed herself an hour earlier, circled and gave her fierce cry.

Hugh rode like a demon through the monastery’s gates, causing the monks working in the surrounding fields to look at him wonderingly. Rosaleen followed more sedately, smiling and nodding politely at the bewildered men, hoping that they wouldn’t turn them away because of Hugh Caldwell’s rude behavior. When she made the gates herself she saw that he had gone straight through the courtyard and into the stables. She rode in after him and was grabbed and yanked out of her saddle before her eyes could adjust to the building’s darkness.

Hugh set her firmly on her feet.

“Go and wait for me in the gardens. I’ll take care of the horses and meet you there.”

Well! thought Rosaleen. He treated her as though she were naught but baggage!

“I’ll not be ordered about like a servant, Hugh Caldwell! And I’ll not be tossed about like a sack of grain!”

Ignoring her, he took hold of the little mare and led her toward a stall. “Go wait in the gardens for me,” he repeated. “They’re just across the courtyard and through the half gate. You’ll find them easily enough.”

Rosaleen stood her ground, glaring at him. Hugh turned, saw her there and raised his eyebrows.

“Have you gone deaf, Rosaleen? I told you to go and wait for me in the gardens.”

“I heard you!”

“Then get out of my sight, woman, and do as I say. Go on, now.” He turned his attention back to the horses.

Rosaleen huffed loudly, then stormed out of the stables with as much dignity as she possessed. Ignoring the stares of the monks in the courtyard, she strode across it to the half gate, flung it open and slammed it behind her after she walked into the gardens.

“If he thinks that I came to the gardens because he bade me do so,” she announced aloud, “then he’s an even greater idiot than I first supposed!”

Making her way down one of several paths to a bench, she angrily plopped down upon it.

“I don’t care if he is the handsomest man I’ve ever seen,” she muttered. “He’s rude and ill-mannered, and he probably thinks he’s one of God’s blessings to women!”

A cool breeze brushed her face, but Rosaleen’s fury wasn’t tempered by it.

“He’ll be sorry when he discovers who I am.” An angry, feline smile lit her face. “And I only hope I’m there to see it! By my troth, I’ll make him grovel if it’s the last thing I do. When he realizes who it is he’s insulted, he’ll be on his knees, begging my forgiveness!”

So caught up was she in her vengeful fantasies that she didn’t hear the garden gate open again, or the sound of the careful footsteps that approached her.

“Wretched beast! Brother of a pig farmer! Thinking he can treat me, the daughter of an earl, without the least bit of common decency, as though I were naught but the lowliest whore! But he’ll come to rue his behavior, I vow. He’ll…”

“Careful, daughter, lest you say words you’ll one day regret.”

Hugh! Rosaleen thought, paralyzing with mortification. He had finished with the horses more quickly than she had imagined he would. Embarrassed beyond words to have been discovered talking to herself, Rosaleen flushed and slowly raised her eyes to look at him.

What she saw stole the breath from her.

“Hugh Caldwell!” she shrieked, shooting up off the bench.

He shook his head with confusion. “My lady?”

“How could you! Oh, how could you!” Rosaleen’s hands flew up to press against her hot cheeks. “Merciful God in heaven! Are you insane?”

For one horrible moment Rosaleen thought she would be sick, so great was her shock. She was only grateful that she didn’t faint.

He took a step toward her, holding out one hand.

“My good lady, whatever is the matter?” His voice was filled with concern. “Are you ill?”

She backed away from him in horror, as though he were diseased.

“Don’t touch me, you…you infidel! You godless pervert! Stay away from me!”

He stopped and held his hands palm up. “Of course I’ll not touch you, my dear,” he said very soothingly. “You mustn’t be afraid. I only wish to help you. All of us here—” he motioned back toward the courtyard “—only want to help you, good daughter.”

She truly thought she would swoon. “Sick. Dear God, you are sick! Oh, Hugh, how can this be? What can I do to help you?”

His expression changed slightly, and he raised his eyebrows in the manner that was now so familiar to her.

“What did you call me?”

“And your hair!” she wailed. “Your beautiful hair! How could you cut it so dreadfully? Oh, Hugh!”

He frowned deeply. “I think perhaps you’ve made a mistake.”

A sudden realization struck Rosaleen, and she stared at him anew, dumbfounded. “But it isn’t possible! I left you in the stables only a few moments ago. You couldn’t have cut your hair and changed your clothing so quickly. It’s not possible!” Another idea occurred to her, and she felt sick all over again. “Oh my God, Hugh Caldwell! I’m the one who’s gone mad! This is what’s happened to me after spending time in company such as yours. I’ve lost my mind!”

His gentleness vanished and Rosaleen found herself grabbed up by his strong hands.

“You’ve called me that twice now!” he said angrily, shaking her. “Hugh Caldwell! What do you know of Hugh Caldwell? Tell me!”

Stunned, Rosaleen peered into his face, searching in vain for some difference. There was none, save his hair and clothes. He was Hugh Caldwell, or Hugh Caldwell’s exact reflection.

“If you’re not him,” she squeaked beneath his stern gaze, “then I left him only a few moments ago in the stables.”

He dropped her so fast she actually fell on her posterior, but Rosaleen scrambled up and raced after him as he strode out of the gardens and toward the stables. He flung the stable doors open so violently that they banged off the walls, startling every living creature in the building, including Hugh Caldwell, who quickly looked up from where he crouched, brushing Rosaleen’s little mare.

His gaze locked with that of the man who stood in the doorway, and the brush fell out of his hand. He took one hesitant step, then two, toward Rosaleen and the man, and a tentative smile grew on his lips.

“Hugo,” he said very softly. He took two more steps and held out his arms.

“You,” the monk whispered, and with an animal sound launched himself at his brother. Hugh never even knew what hit him, Hugo’s attack was so violent and sudden. A blow to his left cheek sent him sprawling into a nearby stall, and as soon as he landed Hugo leapt upon him, his fists pummeling him again and again.

Rosaleen was thoroughly stunned. She had never seen such a sight or imagined anything like it. A monk, of all people, brawling like a common knave! She didn’t know what she should do, or what the precedent was for handling the situation. If it had been Hugh and some other common man, she would have dumped a bucketful of the horses’ water on them, but she didn’t know if throwing water on a monk was allowed by the Church, and she had too much consideration for her soul to endanger it by committing a sin in ignorance. Unable to think of anything more helpful, she simply ran around the fighting men, begging them to stop.

“No, no, Hugh!” she cried when he slugged the priest in the stomach, doubling him over before hitting him again to send him flying into a pile of hay. “He’s a monk! A monk, Hugh! You mustn’t hit him!”

“I know damned well what he is!” Hugh roared. “Stay out of the way, Rosaleen!”

He barely got the words out before Hugo slammed into him, sending the both of them sliding across the stable floor. This time Hugo ended up on top and quickly straddled his struggling brother, pinning him down.

“You rotten bastard!” he shouted. “I’ve been waiting ten years to do this to you, and I’ll not be denied my pleasure!”

“Oh, oh, oh!” Rosaleen wailed. “Father, your language!”

“Be quiet!” both brothers shouted at her.

“Well!” Rosaleen stamped her foot.

“Do you have any idea how I felt that morn when I woke and found you gone?” Hugo demanded angrily. “Do you?” He shook him. “Sixteen years we were together, never apart, sharing everything, and yet you snuck off in the middle of the night without so much as a word to met Not one damned word!” He lifted a fist and furiously slammed it into Hugh’s face. “You’ll never be able to imagine what that did to me! Never!”

“I’m sorry,” Hugh mumbled, groaning, shaking his head to clear it. “I’m sorry, Hugo.”

“Sorry!” Hugo repeated. “Ten years later and you say you’re sorry!”

“I never meant to hurt you. I never meant that, Hugo, you know that’s true. But I had to go.”

“You didn’t have to go,” Hugo told him. “You could have stayed and worked through the pain, as I had to do all alone once you deserted me. We could have worked it out together. But instead you chose to run, and you’re running still. Hugh Caldwell!” He spat the word out with disgust. “In all of ten years you never once came home.”

“No, I didn’t,” Hugh agreed miserably. “But I did write, Hugo, so that no one would ever worry about me.”

Hugo nodded grimly, shoving at Hugh’s shoulders. “That’s right. You wrote on occasion. And Lillis cried over every single missive, just as she cried her heart out for weeks after you ran away. She blamed herself, and nothing Alex or I or anyone else did or said could make her think otherwise. That’s what you did to her with your selfishness, brother.”

“Oh God,” Hugh whispered, his voice filled with pain. “I didn’t mean to hurt Lillis.”

Hugo laughed bitterly. “You didn’t mean to hurt me, and you didn’t mean to hurt Lillis, and I’ll assume you didn’t mean to hurt Alex or Aunt Leta or anyone else, but you did, Hugh. You did.” He moved off his brother at last and slowly stood. “Now, what are you doing here?” he asked coldly. “Why did you bother to come home?”

“Because of me,” Rosaleen murmured, horrified at what she had made Hugh Caldwell return to.

Hugo turned to look at her as Hugh lifted himself from the ground.

“And who, my lady, are you?” “Hugo,” Hugh said, gingerly rubbing his bruised jaw, “please meet Rosaleen. I don’t know her last name, so you’ll have to live without that. Rosaleen, meet my brother, Father Hugo Baldwin. Rosaleen’s in need of help, so I’m taking her to Alex. But I…wanted to see you first…so I thought we might spend the night here. If you want us to go, we will.” When Hugo glanced at him sharply, Hugh added, “I understand, Hugo. It hasn’t been so long that I don’t know your thoughts anymore.”

Hugo made no reply but turned his gaze once more to Rosaleen, surveying her first with the same anger he had directed at his brother, then with growing curiosity.

Rosaleen examined him in much the same way, just as angrily and curiously.

“Why, of course,” she said. “You’re twins. That’s why I mistook you for Hugh.” Unconsciously she inched toward Hugh until she stood beside him. Only then did she make a tiny bow. “Father Hugo,” she greeted dutifully, and stiffly.

“My lady.” He nodded at her. “If we have you to thank for bringing my brother home, then not only I, but my entire family, will be most grateful.”

“You don’t seem grateful to see your brother, my lord. Indeed, from your manner and speech I should think you’d rather string me up than thank me.” The words came out of her with surprising tartness.

Instead of being angry, as he had every right to be, Rosaleen knew, the monk surprised her by lowering his eyes. Slipping his hands into the sleeves of his plain tunic, he looked suddenly meek and defenseless. “I think, then, my lady, that you know nothing about twins. You are wrong when you say that I am not glad to see my brother. His return is the answer to a prayer I have prayed every night since the night I saw him last.”

“Hugo,” Hugh pleaded, reaching out to his brother once more. Hugo quickly sidestepped him and started for the door.

“I shall see to your lodgings.” His voice was stern again. “The evening meal will be served in two hours’ time.”

Their dinner passed more easily. Hugh and Hugo had silently agreed to at least be polite to each other, if not friendly. The three of them ate together in a small private chamber off the main dining area, so that they could converse without the restriction of the silence imposed upon the monks during their meals.

It was strange for Rosaleen to sit between two men who were exact copies, save for their hair and clothing. Even their voices sounded alike, so that she didn’t think she would be able to tell them apart in the dark.

“You’ve turned into something of a firebrand, Hugh,” Hugo commented. “We often get word of your adventures, even here at the monastery, though I generally hear of them from Alex whenever I visit at Gyer.”

Pushing his soup aside, Hugh chuckled. “I’ve turned into something of a firebrand? You’re one to speak, brother. Do you not remember all the mischief we got into when we were boys? Being a monk has affected your memory.”

Hugo laughed in turn. “I remember, Hugh. The brothers here won’t let me forget the time we loosed our dogs in the monastery’s hen yard. Father Bartholomew still becomes angered over it whenever we have chicken at table. And Alex won’t let me forget the time we kidnapped Lillis and brought her to Gyer as a prisoner. If he hadn’t fallen in love with her I think we might still be suffering punishment for that particular deed.”

“Trumpery!” Hugh replied, hefting a tankard of ale. “If we hadn’t kidnapped Lillis, Gyer would have ended up at war with Wellewyn. We saved the lives of hundreds of people.”

“You kidnapped your sister-in-law?” Rosaleen asked in disbelief.

“Well, she wasn’t our sister-in-law at the time,” Hugo explained somewhat shamefully. “She was the daughter of Gyer’s enemy, Jaward of Wellewyn. Truthfully, however, we didn’t know who she was when we first kidnapped her. We were playing highway thieves, you see, and were out to get any wayside traveler we could. If we hadn’t ended up capturing the daughter of our brother’s enemy, Alex probably would have strangled us.”

“Your brother is Alexander of Gyer, then?” she asked quietly, keeping her eyes on Hugh, who wouldn’t look at her.

Hugo gave her a strange look. “Of course he is. Did Hugh not tell you?”

Both Rosaleen and Hugh were silent.

“Ah,” Hugo said with understanding. “He didn’t tell you. Well, yes, Alex is our brother, just as Lillis is our sister. Did he tell you that?”

“Hugo!” Hugh growled.

“No, Father Baldwin, Hugh Caldwell has been very secretive regarding his true identity,” she replied tartly.

“I’ve been more forthcoming than you, Rosaleen no-name,” Hugh returned.

“Hardly,” Rosaleen scoffed. “I may not have given you my full name, Hugh Baldwin-Caldwell-whoever, but at least I didn’t lie to you.”

“I did not lie to you,” Hugh insisted. “My name is Hugh Caldwell and has been for the past ten years.”

“That’s impossible!” Rosaleen argued just as angrily. “If your brother is Alexander Baldwin and your twin brother is Hugo Baldwin, then I can only assume that your true name is Hugh Baldwin, isn’t that so, Father?” She looked to Hugo for aid but found that he had turned away.

Hugh, however, was looking at her so coldly that Rosaleen almost thought he might freeze her. “What I choose to call myself is my concern, my lady, just as your last name is yours. It makes no difference to you anyway, so leave the matter be.”

“Oh!” Rosaleen huffed furiously, throwing her linen napkin on the table. “It does matter to me, Hugh Caldwell! You led me to believe that your brother was a pig farmer, not the richest baron in all of England!”

Both brothers gazed at her with shock, and silence reigned in the little room for several seconds. Then Hugo began to laugh.

“You did what!” he asked Hugh.

“What foolishness is this, Rosaleen?” Hugh demanded. “I never told you that my brother was a pig farmer!”

Rosaleen, realizing what she had said in her anger, flushed a bright, mortified red. Hugo was laughing so hard it was difficult for her to speak over him.

“Well…I just assumed…I mean…your manners Hugh, are so…so…and I just assumed that you were…well…”

Her fumbling words sent Hugo off again, and he laughed so hard that he nearly fell off his chair.

“Dammit, Hugo,” Hugh said. “This isn’t funny!”

“Your m-manners m-made her th-think that Alex is a p-p-pig farmer!” Hugo howled with delight, slapping a hand on the table. “That’s th-the f-funniest thing I’ve ever h-heard! W-wait until I t-tell Alex!”

“You’ll tell Alex no such thing! I’ll not have it!” Hugh stated angrily. “And you, my lady—” he fixed Rosaleen with a heated glare “—should stop assuming that everyone else is like your uncle. Or does he even aspire to be a pig farmer? Mayhap I should think you were flattering me.”

Rosaleen returned his glare with one of her own, and it was on the tip of her tongue to reveal her true identity to him. He would certainly be no less surprised to discover that she was the daughter of an earl than she had been at finding her ungallant companion to be a member of the highest nobility. Unfortunately, now knowing the truth about Hugh, she could trust him even less than she did before. If anyone in the Baldwin family should discover that she was Rosaleen Sarant, the heiress of Siere, they would certainly do what they felt was their duty and give her over to her uncle. Rosaleen had never been formally introduced to the Lord of Gyer, but they had been at court at the same time during several important royal occasions in the past. She would recognize him, she knew, but would he recognize her? She could only hope and pray that he wouldn’t.

Both brothers waited for her to make a reply, and the longer she tried to think of what she must say, the more curious their expressions grew.

“Mayhap you should,” she finally answered, then, reaching for a piece of bread, she quickly changed the subject. “Please tell me how it is that you came to be a monk, Father Hugo. You are very different from Hugh that way, are you not, even though you are twins?”

“Oh, my tale is tame and dull compared to most,” Hugo replied with a grin. “I’d much rather hear more about you, Lady Rosaleen, and about why such a beautiful young lady must keep her identity a secret.”

“As would I,” Hugh agreed but, since he didn’t at all like the manner in which his brother was looking at Rosaleen, regardless that Hugo had taken a vow of chastity, he added, “but I would also be interested to know why you’ve gone into holy orders. If anyone had ever told me when we were boys that either one of us would end up in the Church, I would have laughed until I was ill. I was just about done in, as it was, when I had news of you from friends.” He popped a grape into his mouth and leaned back in his chair. “I couldn’t believe it! When I think of all the things we did together, I wonder at how you ever got ordained. Why, if the Church only knew about all the women you and I used to—”

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