‘No! No, please do not send me away,’ Anne said desperately. ‘Have I done something to make you angry?’

‘No,’ he said, his voice soft and caressing. ‘Nothing but keep me restless in my bed each night. You haunt my thoughts, Anne…’

He moved towards her, reaching out to catch her and draw her close. His eyes seemed to burn with a dark flame, and then he bent his head and kissed her. It was not the gentle kiss he had given her before, but a hungry, passionate kiss that seemed to draw her soul. She felt his heat pressing against her body.

When he let her go at last, she felt her senses swim.

‘I cannot go on this way. I have tried to ignore my feelings, because you deserve more than I can give, Anne. I am not a gentle or a good man, and I am not sure I know how to love— but I want you in my arms, in my bed…’

AUTHOR NOTE

Stefan de Montfort is a man with a past—a dangerous man of brooding passions. When he plucks Anne Melford from the sea, her life is irrevocably bound with his. Stefan intends to wed this young girl who knows nothing of her past, but first he must come to terms with the demons that haunt him. Can such a man as he ever hope to find true happiness?

This is a further novel in The Melford Dynasty. Over the coming months I hope to write more of these books for you, bringing you the stories of the descendants of these men and women as the centuries pass and we arrive in modern times.

My wish is that this book will bring pleasure to my readers. Please contact me at my website: www.lindasole.co.uk. You can find competitions, blogs, and news of my books.

Previous novels by the same author:

MARRYING CAPTAIN JACK

THE UNKNOWN HEIR

THE HOMELESS HEIRESS

THE RAKE’S REBELLIOUS LADY

A COUNTRY MISS IN HANOVER SQUARE*

AN INNOCENT DEBUTANTE IN HANOVER SQUARE*

THE MISTRESS OF HANOVER SQUARE*

FORBIDDEN LADY†

THE LORD’S FORCED BRIDE†

THE PIRATE’S WILLING CAPTIVE†

And in the Regency series The Steepwood Scandal:

LORD RAVENSDEN’S MARRIAGE

COUNTERFEIT EARL

And in The Hellfire Mysteries:

AN IMPROPER COMPANION

A WEALTHY WIDOW

A WORTHY GENTLEMAN

*A Season in Town trilogy †The Melford Dynasty

About the Author

ANNE HERRIES lives in Cambridgeshire, where she is fond of watching wildlife, and spoils the birds and squirrels that are frequent visitors to her garden. Anne loves to write about the beauty of nature, and sometimes puts a little into her books—although they are mostly about love and romance. She writes for her own enjoyment, and to give pleasure to her readers. She is a winner of the Romantic Novelists’ Association Romance Prize.

HER DARK AND

DANGEROUS LORD

Anne Herries

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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Chapter One

Stefan, Lord de Montfort, looked down at the body of the woman lying at the feet of her murderer. She had betrayed Stefan, lured him here to meet his death, but instead she lay dead, slain by the man who had once more plotted to destroy Stefan.

‘You are a vile murderer,’ Stefan accused, his eyes hard as he met those of his enemy. He was a strong man, broad in the shoulder and powerful, which is why his enemy had plotted to entrap him rather than meet him in open combat. ‘She did all that you asked and yet you killed her…’ He looked about him, seeking a weapon. He had not brought his sword to the chamber of a lady he thought innocent and so was unarmed.

‘You are her murderer,’ Sir Hugh said, an evil smile on his mouth. ‘For I intend to see you dead, and she had to be silenced. She had served her purpose. Besides, she fell on my sword—which, as you know, was meant for you.’

‘You are a cold devil,’ Stefan said. He was trapped in this house, for Sir Hugh was not alone. Stefan should never have been fool enough to come here alone and unarmed, but the lady Madeline had begged for his help. He saw the open window and knew that it might be his only way of escape. Yet even as he moved cautiously towards it, Sir Hugh lunged at him with his sword, just catching him with a slight slash to his thigh. Stefan dodged back, picking up a wooden stool and using it as a shield to fend off his attacker. Sir Hugh laughed like the demon he was, aware that Stefan was trapped and that he must win this time. ‘I should have finished you the last time we met.’ Sir Hugh bore a scar at his temple that was testimony to the last clash between them many years previously.

‘This time I have the advantage…’ Sir Hugh cried, triumph in his eyes. ‘I have hated you since we were lads and you gave me this…’ He motioned to the scar. ‘Your brother was an arrogant brat and he gave me good sport before I killed him, but you—’

He broke off as the door crashed open and a large man came in. He was dressed in the clothes of a man of the east, his face horribly scarred, a turban on his head, and a wicked-looking scimitar in one hand, a sword in the other.

‘It is as I thought, my lord, she trapped you,’ Hassan said and threw the sword towards Stefan, who caught it neatly by the hilt. Even before he did so, Sir Hugh flung himself at the newcomer, slashing at him with his great sword and roaring his anger.

‘Saracen dog! You should have died long ago!’

Hassan counter-attacked, his deadly blade flashing out in an arc and catching the other man’s sword. With a twist of his wrist he sent the sword skimming across the floor and in the next instant his blade cut Sir Hugh across the body, a deep deadly wound that sent him sprawling to the ground, his lifeblood gushing out in a stream. For some minutes, he twitched, an expression of disbelief in his eyes, and then he lay still.

‘That devil will bother us no more,’ Hassan said, a look of satisfaction in his eyes. ‘He has tortured and murdered for the last time, my lord.’

‘Yes,’ Stefan agreed. ‘You have done what I should have done long ago, Hassan—but now we must leave for his men are coming….’

Stefan advanced to the door, sword in hand. The sounds of fighting would have reached the ears of Sir Hugh Grantham’s men. They would need to fight their way out, side by side, as they had many times before this day, comrades and brothers, their swords for hire to any that would pay them.

Anne Melford stopped to watch the mummers on the village green. The men were a fine sight as they danced, the bells they wore on leather straps about their legs jingling merrily as they jigged to the fiddler’s tune. The summer fair had come to Melford and Lady Melford had promised her daughter that they would buy cloth for new gowns, as was their custom. Normally, that thought would be pleasing, but Anne frowned as she turned away from the celebrations. Since her sister Catherine’s wedding three years earlier, Anne had grown restless at home. Sometimes she despaired of it ever being her turn to visit the court and find a husband. Her parents had talked of it the previous year, but then her young brother had fallen ill and the visit had been postponed. At sixteen years of age it would have been usual for Anne to at least be betrothed by now and she had thought of her marriage constantly for years.

At one time she had believed herself in love with Will Shearer. She had feared Catherine might wed him, but Anne’s sister had fallen in love with Andrew, Earl of Gifford. Anne occasionally visited her sister and brother-in-law and envied them their happiness. She was no longer sure who she wished to marry, for she knew that Will had recently married his mistress, a woman not of his own class. His marriage had made his mother very angry, and at first Anne had been terribly hurt because she had truly believed that he would love her one day. However, her distress had given way to a feeling of emptiness and uncertainty that grew with the passing of time. Perhaps her mother had decided that it would be best if she remained at home. It might be that she would never marry…

As she crossed the village green, Anne caught sight of two men approaching on horseback. It was not an unusual sight, except that one of them was dressed rather oddly in loose flowing robes over his leggings. His head was covered by some kind of cloth, the bottom half of his face hidden. She could see his black eyes and his nose, and noticed that his skin was the colour of polished walnut, as were the hands that held the reins of his horse. The second man was dressed as befitted a nobleman, though not in the English style, and, as Anne moved her curious gaze to him, she saw a fierce, proud, handsome face with eyes as blue as a summer sky. She noticed a dark brown stain on his silken hose and wondered if it were dried blood.

He had become aware of her interest and his gaze narrowed, icy cold and challenging. Anne was startled. What could she possibly have done to make him look at her that way? She felt that he was hostile and shivered, feeling nervous as she hurried on her way. She sensed that the men were strangers to her village and wondered what brought them to this quiet valley in the Marches that lay on the borders of England and Wales.

She was not sure what nationality the men were; one had much lighter skin than the other, but both had a foreign air about them and she did not think that either was English. She wondered if they were Saracens, because one looked as if he came from the East, but what would men like that be doing here? Her father, Lord Robert Melford, sometimes traded with men from other lands, but she did not think they had come from her father’s estate. She would judge that they had travelled some distance for there was dust on their boots, and the dark man’s clothes had been spattered with brown marks that Anne took to be mud—or was it blood?

She thought about the strangers for a few minutes as she made her way through the meadows to her home. The grass was long and sprinkled with wild flowers—it had been left to grow wild and would be cropped for hay later in the year. However, as she entered the courtyard of her father’s manor house she saw that several men on horseback had just arrived, and one of them was her elder brother Harry—or Sir Harry as he was known since King Henry had knighted him after Prince Arthur’s wedding. Sadly, the prince had died only a few months after his marriage. The King’s heir was now Prince Henry and there had been some talk of him marrying his brother’s widow.

Anne’s feeling of boredom vanished as she saw her brother. Harry was some years older than Anne, was Catherine’s twin, and was often at court or on some business for the King. He had not visited for more than six months and Anne’s feeling of boredom vanished as she saw him.

‘Harry! Harry!’ Anne cried, gathering her skirt in one hand so that she could run faster, heedless of the fact that she was revealing a pair of pretty ankles.

Anne was in fact a very pretty young woman. Her hair always turned lighter in the sunshine, and it was presently the colour of ripe corn, lighter than Harry’s dark auburn and their mother’s red tresses. Anne’s eyes were a greenish blue, but often became a deeper green when she was angry, at least her brothers told her so, because they said she had eyes like a cat. Slim, fiery and always eager for life, she had a temper that she was at pains to hide for her mother’s sake.

‘Anne!’ Harry turned towards her with a smile on his lips. He had matured these past years and was now a powerful man, strong and influential at court, too busy to think often of his home and family. ‘You grow more lovely each time I see you.’

‘You hardly ever come home,’ Anne accused, but with a smile on her lips because she was glad to see him. ‘You are too busy with your fine friends at court. Mother said only yesterday that she despairs of you ever settling down.’

‘Then perhaps she will be pleased with my news,’ Harry said and grinned. ‘It is my intention to take a wife quite soon. We shall live at court for a time, but once we have children my lady may wish to live on my estate—and Father will be pleased to learn that I have secured land no more than thirty leagues from Shrewsbury.’

‘Close enough for us to visit you often,’ Anne said and sighed. ‘I am glad you are to wed at last, Harry, but I wish I was betrothed.’

Harry chuckled at his sister’s impatience. ‘What a woeful picture you are, Anne. You are still young enough, never fear. I dare say Father will take you to court before another year is out.’

Anne slipped her arm through his, smiling at him as they went into the house. His men were seeing to the horses and the baggage cart. These days Harry travelled with a train of at least ten men-at-arms and the servants necessary to fetch and carry for them.

‘Sometimes I feel as if I shall be a maid all my life,’ Anne said and pulled a face. ‘But tell me, brother, what is the lady’s name and where does she live?’

‘She is Mademoiselle Claire St Orleans,’ Harry said and gazed down at her, for she reached only as far as his shoulder. Above six foot in height and broad shouldered, Harry was a giant amongst men and very attractive. ‘In truth, I do not know that she will take me. We have met but three times. Once at court, when she attended a masque with her father, and twice in Paris when I was on business for the King. She lives in the Loire valley and it is there that I must journey if I am to ask for her hand in marriage.’

‘She is French?’ Anne was surprised and curious. She wondered what her parents would think about Harry marrying a French lady. ‘And of noble birth?’

‘Her father is a comte,’ Harry told her. ‘She is very beautiful, Anne. Her hair is similar in colour to yours, but her eyes are blue. She has a soft, gentle nature and I love her. I have taken my time in deciding whether or not to ask Claire to be my wife, because she would have to leave her home and come to England to live. I am not sure that she will wish to give up so much for my sake.’

‘If she loves you, she will not think it a sacrifice,’ Anne told him. ‘I would be willing to go anywhere with the man I loved.’

‘Claire is not like you,’ Harry said. ‘You are braver… even reckless, as I remember from your childhood.’

‘She would not have to be brave to marry you,’ Anne said and laughed. ‘If I had a few minutes alone with her, I would soon dispel any fear she might have about becoming your wife…’

Harry nodded, making no answer, but he was thoughtful as they went into the parlour where the sound of voices told them the family was gathered.

‘We should rest,’ Hassan said, glancing at his companion, who had endured his pain without complaint, but looked exhausted. ‘That wound needs to be dressed. It has bled again, my lord.’

Stefan scowled at him. A more faithful friend than Hassan was not to be found in all the kingdoms of Christendom, though he be a Saracen and an unbeliever. They had fought shoulder to shoulder as mercenaries for ten years or more, bound by blood and friendship since Stefan had rescued Hassan from the slaver who had beaten and tortured him.

‘I have known worse,’ he growled, cursing the foolish moment that had led him to trust a lying woman. Undoubtedly, he owed his life to Hassan’s timely intervention. ‘Women are the devil incarnate, Hassan. Remind me of that next time I am minded to answer a woman’s plea for help.’

Hassan grinned, his teeth white against the walnut tones of his skin. Looking at the top half of his face, none could guess at the fearful scars to the lower part… scars inflicted by Sir Hugh many years ago when he had for a short time been the man’s slave.

‘Devils in truth, my friend,’ Hassan agreed. ‘But sweeter than honey amongst the silken cushions of thy couch.’

Stefan’s eyes narrowed as he thought of the beautiful woman who had enticed him to her chamber with tales of a cruel uncle. He had not known then that the man she spoke of as holding her to ransom was Sir Hugh and that she had conspired with him to capture a man it seemed they both hated. He knew there were reasons enough for Sir Hugh’s hatred, but could not guess at the reason for Madeline’s need to wreak revenge on him. It was doubtful if he would ever discover it now since she lay dead on the floor of her chamber, slain by the man who had enlisted her help. Yet he had played a part in her death, for he had thrown her towards Sir Hugh as he sought to escape the man who meant to kill him. He thought that he would never forget her scream as Sir Hugh’s sword sliced into her stomach. Even though she had tried to trap him, he would never intentionally harm a woman, and her violent death would lay heavy on his conscience.

‘Sweeter than honey, sharper than a serpent’s tooth,’ Stefan agreed. ‘Thanks to you, Sir Hugh will not trouble us again, but he has a cousin.’ Hassan nodded—they both knew that it was probably Lord Cowper who had ordered Stefan’s death. ‘Sir Hugh’s death will add one more reason to the list he has for wanting me dead.’

‘It is a pity that the English King would not grant you a hearing, my lord,’ Hassan said as Stefan dismounted. ‘Had he done so, you might have revealed Cowper for the murdering devil he has become.’

‘When my father disowned me, I swore I would never return to England’s shores,’ Stefan said. ‘I left vowing never to forgive him for believing Cowper’s lies. My father trusted him and now Cowper has all that was my father’s and he lies rotting in the churchyard. I have his title, for none can take that from me, but his lands are lost, stolen by trickery and deceit. Had I returned years ago, I might have saved my father from the evil trick that was played on him in his declining years. As his mind descended into blackness they took everything he had, though they have deeds and letters to prove the land was sold and the money lost in foolish ventures. Answer me this—whose was the hand that guided an old man’s as he squandered his birthright?’

‘Lord Cowper gained too much influence over your father,’ Hassan said. ‘We have the testimony of Lord de Montfort’s steward, who was later dismissed for some wrongdoing and left to starve.’

‘Edmund would never have stolen even half a loaf from my father,’ Stefan said. ‘But Cowper is a clever man. He found it easy to convince my father that I had murdered my brother in cold blood. I found Gervase lying in the forest with his hands bound and his throat cut. I know it was either Sir Hugh or Cowper himself who murdered my brother, but because Gervase and I had quarrelled violently that very morning, my father chose to believe I was guilty. He disowned me, told me to leave England or he would hand me over to the King for justice. If he would believe that of his eldest son, how much easier was it to convince him that his steward had been robbing him for years?’

A nerve was flicking at Stefan’s temple. The injustice that had been done him when he was a young man still rankled deep inside him. He had taken his sword and a horse when he rode away from his home at the edge of the great forest of Sherwood, finding a ship bound for France. From there he had travelled to many lands, hiring his sword to any merchant or prince that would take him. He had grown rich on the spoils of war, and it was not for money that he had returned to England. His hope of reconciliation with his father had ended with the news of his death, and the discovery that Lord Cowper now owned everything that ought by rights to have been Stefan’s.

His request for an audience with King Henry had been denied. His reputation as a mercenary had gone before him and his claims were dismissed without due hearing. His father had disowned him and Cowper had the deeds to the land and house, signed and witnessed by a man of impeccable character—Sir Hugh Grantham. How King Henry would have felt if he had learnt that during his years on a so-called pilgrimage to the Holy Land, Sir Hugh had murdered, raped and lived as a slaver, growing rich on his ill-gotten goods, would never be known for the words would never now be heard. Even more damning might be the suspicion that Sir Hugh was in the pay of Spain and therefore an enemy of England. Since the death of Queen Isabella, relations between England and Spain were not as warm as they had once been.

Stefan knew that his accusations of murder and trickery would fall on deaf ears once he was refused a private audience with Henry of England. Indeed, the English estate meant little to him, for he now owned a beautiful chateau and extensive lands in Normandy, much of which had been granted to him by the French king in return for a large payment of gold and silver. It was the bitterness of knowing that his father had died neglected and mistreated, and the way he had been driven from his birthright by wicked lies that gnawed at Stefan’s guts and made him thirst for revenge.

Stefan was thoughtful as he dismounted. One of his enemies was now dead, but the other remained, as vicious as a poison adder and twice as dangerous. It would not be so easy to get to Lord Cowper, for he stayed within the confines of his manor house, protected by an army of servants and armed men, afraid of the vengeance that threatened while Stefan lived and breathed. His attempts to have his enemy murdered would only become more determined now that Sir Hugh was dead.

Stefan squatted down on the earth, his back to a tree as Hassan examined the wound, applying salves that had been made by skilled men of Arabia. A fierce fight had ensued during their escape from the house, during which Stefan had received a wound to his side, which pained him far more than the scratch to his thigh inflicted by Sir Hugh.

‘You will do for a few hours,’ Hassan said as he bound him tightly, ‘but the wound should be tended by a physician.’

‘I would trust none in this country; the physicians here are ignorant and hidebound by conventions,’ Stefan muttered, gritting his teeth against the pain. ‘We must go home to France, Hassan. I cannot fight in this condition. We need more men and we must be careful. The law here protects Cowper. I want him to pay for his crimes, but I have to find a way to prove his guilt. I must have incontrovertible proof and I must find someone who stands high in the King’s favour to present it—or at least to help me gain a hearing at court.’

‘Aye, but first we must make our way to the coast and find a ship,’ Hassan said. ‘You will rest better at home in Normandy. Once you are healed, we can find a way to take revenge for what has been done here.’

‘I want justice for my father’s shade,’ Stefan said. ‘Otherwise his face will haunt my dreams. Sir Hugh is dead, and I believe it was he who murdered my brother, but it is Cowper that has my father’s lands.’ His eyes were as cold as the North Sea. ‘I swear by all I hold dear that he shall pay with his life one day…’

Anne heard her father’s voice as she paused outside his chambers. She knew that Harry was with him and they had been talking for a long time. Lord Melford would be delighted with the news that his son had decided to marry, but would he be as pleased with the revelation that the bride was French?

Anne knocked at the door and was invited to enter. Her father looked at her as she did so, his brows lifting. ‘Your mother has sent you to fetch us to table, I dare say?’

‘Yes, Father. Mother says that supper is ready, and she wants to talk to Harry.’

‘In other words, I have kept you too long to myself, Hal,’ his father told him with a smile. ‘We must not keep Lady Melford waiting another second. She will want to hear all you can tell her about the lovely lady you intend to ask to wed you.’

Anne realised that her father was happy with the marriage. He did not mind that the lady Claire St Orleans was French, and that pleased Anne, for she would not have wished her brother to be disappointed.

Lord Melford’s eyes came to rest on his daughter. ‘As for you, miss, your brother has made a request of me that I am minded to grant, but we must ask your mother first. She may not agree that you should go with Harry to fetch the lady Claire home to us.’

‘Go with Harry?’ Anne’s pulses leaped with excitement as she looked at her brother. ‘Do you mean it? May I truly come to France with you?’

‘Father has given his permission if Mother agrees,’ Harry told her and grinned. ‘I thought it might be a good thing if Claire met someone from my family, someone who thinks well of me and will reassure her that I am to be trusted. Otherwise she might refuse me.’

‘Oh, Harry, thank you,’ Anne cried, her excitement bubbling over. ‘I should like that so very much.’

‘Well, we must ask your mother first,’ Lord Melford said, but with an indulgent look. ‘Had circumstances not interfered, you would have been taken to court at least once before this, Anne. It may do you good to see something of the world outside this house and our village. We have excellent neighbours, but few young men of your age. It is possible that you may meet someone in Harry’s company. On your return from France, you will go with him to London, and make your long-delayed appearance there. Lady Melford and I will come up to join you. We shall all return here for the wedding.’

Anne’s smile lit up her eyes. It was all she had longed for—an adventure that would take her somewhere far away from her home. To visit London had once been the extent of her dreams, but France conjured such pictures in her mind, though she had little to go on except for stories that Harry sometimes told her about the French court. He was one of King Henry’s trusted courtiers and had visited several countries in his Majesty’s service. She knew that he spoke both French and Spanish fluently, so perhaps it was not surprising that his choice had fallen on a French lady.

‘It is so good of you to take me, Harry,’ she told him excitedly. ‘You are the very best of brothers!’

‘I hope you will tell Claire that,’ Harry said. ‘I have gifts for both you and Mother in my saddlebags. It is as well that the fair is coming tomorrow, for you will need a new gown before we leave, Anne.’

‘When are we to leave?’ Anne asked.

‘In three days,’ her brother replied. ‘I have a month before I need to return to court. I know that Henry has further work for me soon, but he has granted me leave to visit my home and to fetch my bride home…if she will have me. I shall need to spend time at Claire’s home, and if we marry I shall wish some time alone with her before I return to my duties, so the sooner we start our journey, the better.’

‘How could she refuse you?’ Anne asked. She was surprised and thrilled that her brother wanted her to accompany him. ‘When I tell her how kind and generous you are, she will be happy to wed you.’

It was as they returned home from the fair that afternoon that the news came to Melford of a terrible murder in Shrewsbury.

‘Lady Madeline Forester and her uncle, Sir Hugh Grantham, were brutally slain,’ Lord Melford told his family when they gathered that evening. ‘Sir Hugh’s men tried to stop the murderers escaping and they wounded one, but unfortunately the rogues escaped.’

‘That is awful,’ Melissa said, her eyes dark with shock as she looked at her husband. ‘When did this terrible thing happen?’

‘It must be two days gone,’ Rob replied.

‘And do they know the names of these evil men?’

‘The messenger did not say. Apparently one was dark-skinned, perhaps a Saracen, from the east certainly, and the other might have been Spanish or French. He did not look English, I am told, but that might mean anything.’

‘I did not care for Sir Hugh,’ Melissa, said frowning slightly. ‘But the lady Madeline was pleasant enough, though I have met her but once. Her elder sister died tragically by her own hand some years ago I believe. There was some story of her having been with child.’

‘She was to be betrothed to Gervase de Montfort,’ Rob said. ‘Few knew of the arrangement, for I believe it was not spoken of—and he was murdered. Some say by his own brother, though I have always wondered if there was some mystery there. However, Stefan de Montfort left England and the scandal was hushed up. He would be Lord de Montfort since his father’s death, of course, though there is nothing left of the estate. Lord Cowper purchased it when the old man lost his fortune.’

‘That is a sad story, Father,’ Anne said and shivered. ‘And now the lady Madeleine has been murdered and her uncle with her…who could do such a terrible thing?’

‘It may have been robbers,’ Rob replied. ‘I do not know of anyone living locally that answers the description of the men involved. Perhaps they were just passing through. I doubt that it would have been local men.’

Anne remembered the two strangers she had seen on the day of Harry’s arrival. She wondered if she ought to mention them to her father but decided against it. Even if they were the men who had murdered the lady Madeline and her uncle, they would be long gone by now, and she could not be certain that they had been anywhere near Shrewsbury…though they had seemed to come from that direction. She decided to say nothing. If the travellers had passed through it was best if they went unheeded and were never seen again, for if they had brutally murdered a lady and a knight, they would murder anyone else who got in their way.

The seamstresses had sat up all night to finish Anne’s new gown, which was made of a dark emerald green silk and became her well. She would not wear it on the journey but keep it for when they arrived at the Comte’s chateau in France. It was packed into her trunk with all her very best things and was on the baggage cart, which had started out some hours earlier so as to be at the arranged meeting place by the time they arrived.

Anne hugged her mother excitedly, thanking her for allowing her to accompany Harry to fetch his bride home. It was such an adventure, for she would go to court when she returned to England and who knew what might happen then? She might even meet a handsome young man in France!

‘Be mindful of your brother and remember your manners,’ Melissa said as she kissed Anne’s cheek. ‘You are sometimes inclined to be hasty, dearest, though I know you have a good heart.’

‘I promise I shall do all that you would wish,’ Anne said, her lovely face serious. She had never been parted from her mother in her life and realised that she would miss her and her young brother. ‘I shall do nothing that would make either you or Father ashamed of me.’

‘I know that you have oft thought of marriage, but be careful where you give your heart,’ Melissa said. ‘I was fortunate to find your father, and Catherine is happy with Andrew. I would wish for you to be as fortunate in your marriage, my love.’

‘I shall heed your warning, dearest Mother,’ Anne promised. ‘I thought once that my heart was given, and that he would ask me to marry him one day—but it was not to be and I shall be careful in future.’

Anne’s groom came forward then to help her mount her palfrey. She realised that Harry was waiting and she broke away from her mother. Her eyes were moist as she waved goodbye to them; parting was harder than she had anticipated. However, after they had been riding for a few hours the shadows passed and her excitement began to mount once more.

That night they stopped at an inn that Harry had frequented before and the rooms were the best the host had to offer. Anne’s maid had accompanied them and she slept on a truckle bed beside the bed where Anne lay, the sound of her snores keeping her mistress awake for a while.

When Anne awoke her maid was still snoring gently.

Anne slipped from the bed and looked out of the window. She was in time to see two men on horseback; they were leaving and had obviously stayed overnight, though she had seen nothing of them—it had been late when they arrived and she had gone straight to her chamber. There was something familiar about the travellers, but it was not until some minutes later that she remembered the strangers who had come to her village. The man who looked as if he might be from the East—and the man who had looked at her so coldly!

Were they wicked murderers? Anne shuddered as it occurred to her that they might all have been slain as they slept, but then common sense returned. She was still alive and as far as she knew no one else had been attacked during the night. The travellers might be quite innocent and it was a good thing that she had not spoken to anyone about her suspicions.

They continued their journey after they had broken their fast in the inn parlour. All seemed peaceful and the host was as cheerful and friendly as the previous night. Clearly no evil deeds had been done here and Anne put the two men out of her mind. She was too interested in looking about her on the road for she had never been this way before.

When they reached the port on the third day, Anne was glad to see the inn where they would stop for the night. She was not used to so much riding, and, though she would not have confessed it to her brother, her back ached and she was weary. The hour was too late to see much, but the tall masts of a ship were visible in the small harbour. Despite her weariness as she sought her bed that night, Anne was once again excited. She had never been on a ship before and she felt that it would be a true adventure.

‘If you feel a little ill at first, you must not mind it,’ Harry told her before they parted that night. ‘Many people are seasick, Anne, but if we have good weather it should not be too bad. It is only if the sea becomes really rough that the effects are truly unpleasant.’

‘I hope I do not feel sick, because I want to spend as much time on deck as I can,’ Anne told her brother, eyes bright with enthusiasm. ‘I have never been to the sea, Harry, but I love the smell of it already. I cannot wait for the morning.’

‘Well, we must break our fast at six, for the tide leaves at seven.’ Harry smiled at her. ‘Sleep well, sister. Never fear that I shall fail to wake you.’

Anne thanked him, then left straight for bed. She fell asleep quickly, for she was tired.

She was awake at dawn and dressed when he came to knock at her door. She opened it to him and smiled, eager to begin the next part of their journey. Surely being carried over the sea in a ship must be less tiring than riding a horse for so many leagues?

Watching all the people going on board was interesting. The cargo was being loaded as they arrived, bales of good English wool that would be sold in France and traded for lace, French wines and other goods. Anne was reluctant to go below to their cabin, but Harry insisted it would be safer for her until they were underway. The ship’s crew was busy and passengers would only be a nuisance until they had cleared the harbour.

Anne went down to the cabin she had been allocated for the voyage. It seemed small and airless and she felt restless until the ship began to move and Harry told her that she could come up on deck.

‘Sailors are sometimes superstitious about women on board,’ Harry told her as they stood on deck and watched the shores of England receding into the distance. ‘I thought it best you should stay below until we were under sail, because with all the activity on deck accidents can happen. Mother would never forgive me if you were hurt, Anne.’

‘Why should anything happen?’ Anne asked and laughed, because she was feeling so pleased with life. The sea was calm and the sky above their heads was a beautiful azure blue. ‘It was so good of you to bring me, Harry. I love being at sea. Everything is so exciting!’

‘We are fortunate in the weather,’ Harry said and glanced up at the sky. ‘I heard one of the sailors say he expected a storm before nightfall, but I cannot believe it when the sky is so blue.’

‘A storm?’ Anne asked and shook her head. ‘I am sure he is mistaken, Harry. It is a lovely summer day— how could there be a storm?’

Anne wondered how it was possible for the weather to change so fast. One minute the skies had been clear blue, and then clouds started to drift across the sky; small and fluffy at first, they gradually became one mass of grey. As the afternoon wore on the wind began to rise and the sea became much rougher, the waves rising higher and higher so that by the time the light faded the ship was being tossed about like a child’s toy in a giant’s hand.

Most of the passengers had gone below to their cabins, and Anne had seen several of them being sick over the side of the ship. She wondered if it would affect her, but she seemed to be immune to the sickness that others were suffering.

‘Do you not think you would be better below?’ Harry asked when the storm worsened and the spray came right over the sides of the ship.

Anne shook her head. The wind whipped her hair about her face and she could taste the salt spray on her lips, but she found the storm exhilarating. She looked beautiful, a recklessness about her that made her brother laugh.

‘I would prefer to stay here if I may,’ she said. ‘It is so stuffy and cramped in my cabin, Harry. I think I should be sick if I had to stay there. I should like to remain on board for as long as possible.’

Harry looked at her doubtfully. ‘I am not sure it is wise,’ he said as a huge wave came rushing towards the ship. He grabbed his sister and held her as the water came over the side of the ship, knocking it sideways so that some cargo that had been lashed down with ropes broke free and began to slide towards them. ‘We should go below…’ He pulled Anne clear of the loose cargo, but one of the ropes caught him, knocking him to the ground. He went sliding towards the side of the ship. Anne screamed and ran after him, thinking he would be swept overboard.

‘Harry…’ she cried. ‘Harry…’

Harry grabbed an iron hook that was used for securing ropes and held on to it as yet another mountainous wave came towards them. The ship was thrown to one side, listing heavily as it took water on board. Anne was caught mid-deck and the force of the wave knocked her off her feet. She was swept across the deck by the water that rushed over the ship, knocking her head against something hard and falling into blackness as the water claimed her.

‘Anne… Oh, my God, Anne,’ Harry cried as he struggled to his feet. He shouted for help as he ran to the side where he had last seen his sister, peering into the darkness. There were wooden crates and other debris from the ship floating in the water, for the storm had taken one of their masts. ‘Anne…Anne…’ Harry peered over the side in desperation, searching for a sight of her. ‘Help! Man overboard!’

Most of the sailors were too busy fighting the storm as it played havoc with their vessel to heed his cry, but one young sailor came to join him at the rails.

‘I saw her go,’ he told Harry. ‘The force of the water took her over and she must have hit her head. She probably went down, and if she didn’t we’ll never find her in this. She is lost…lost to the sea.’

‘No! She can’t be lost,’ Harry said. ‘We have to find her. We have to get her back. She is my sister. My parents will never forgive me.’ He gave a cry of despair and put his foot on the rail as if he would jump into the sea after Anne. ‘I have to find her.’

‘Stop him!’ the young sailor cried. ‘It’s no use, sir. She’s gone…you’ll never find her.’ He grabbed hold of Harry, struggling to stop him from throwing his life away by jumping in after his sister. ‘Help me…’ he cried and a couple of sailors came to his assistance. Seeing that Harry was out of his mind with worry and would not be subdued, one of them grabbed a baton and struck him on the back of the head so that he slumped to the deck. ‘What did you do that for?’ the young sailor asked.

‘He’ll be better below deck until the storm is done. There’s nothing to be done for the wench now. He should have taken her below before the storm reached its height. We haven’t time to bother with this now or we’ll all end up at the bottom of the ocean. The girl is lost—forget her and get about your work or you’ll feel the bosun’s lash!’

The storm had gone as if it had never been. Driven south by the furious winds, the French ship, Lady Maribelle, had headed for shelter as soon as it struck and ridden out the worst of the weather. Now it was putting out to sea again, making its way up the coast to Normandy. Hassan was on deck, staring out towards the coastline. He was one of the first to see the debris tossed by the still-choppy water. He shaded his eyes with a hand, because after a storm like the one the previous night it was not unexpected that a ship might have been capsized and sunk. He shouted to one of the crew and pointed, and others came crowding to the side of the Lady Maribelle, staring at what was possibly the wreckage of a ship. It was obvious that some cargo had been lost and part of a mast.

‘What is that?’ Stefan asked as he caught sight of what looked like a half-clothed body. ‘Man overboard! There is someone caught in the debris.’

Excited voices echoed his discovery and the decision was made to put a boat over the side. They all knew that whoever was in the sea was more likely to be dead than alive, but every man jack aboard was more than willing to help in the recovery. They lived by the sea and sometimes died by it, and if there was a small chance that the man in the water was alive they would do their best for him, because one day it might be one of them.

Hassan and Stefan joined the volunteers. Six more of the crew went with them as the boat was lowered and cast off. It took only a few minutes to reach the debris, and as they drew close silence fell over the men, as it became apparent that the body was that of a young woman. The sea had torn much of her clothing away from her, and only a thin shift covered the bottom half of her body, her breasts exposed to their eyes and the elements.

Stefan leaned over the side of the boat, slipping into the water to grab hold of the body. Her limbs had become entangled with the ropes attached to the mast and it was this that had kept her afloat. He cut her free with his knife and then dragged her back to the boat, where eager hands reached out to haul her on board.

‘Is she dead?’ one of the sailors asked. ‘Poor lass.’

‘I’m not sure,’ Stefan said. ‘I think one of her hands twitched as I cut her free. Hassan, give her your cloak, please. Cover her for decency’s sake, whether she be alive or dead.’

Hassan did as Stefan asked, wrapping the thick, soft material about her. As he did so her eyelids flickered and her lips moved, though no sound came out.

‘Allah be praised,’ Hassan cried. “Tis a miracle that the waters did not claim her.’

‘Had it been winter, she could not have survived the night in these waters,’ Stefan said. ‘We must get her back on board as swiftly as possible, for she may yet die if we do not bring back some warmth to her body.’

The sailors made a murmur of agreement. Women were often considered to be unlucky on board ship, but no one grudged the poor lass her chance at life.

‘The Seagull, that be the name of the ship that was lost,’ one of the sailors said as he caught sight of some writing on one of the chests. ‘I cannot see any other survivors nor yet more bodies. Mayhap they were swept further down by the tide.’

‘We’ll keep an eye out,’ one of the sailors said. ‘But the woman comes first. She clings to life, but only God can save her now.’

Stefan looked at Hassan, shaking his head as he saw the unspoken protest. Sailors were simple folk and superstitious enough without making them suspicious. If Hassan told them that the woman would live if she were properly cared for, they might think him a dealer in the black arts, especially because of his looks.

‘I shall care for her,’ Stefan said. They would not deny him—he was a nobleman and respected in the country he had made his own. ‘I saw her first and I claimed her from the sea, therefore she is my responsibility. If she still lives when we reach shore, I shall take her to my home. If she recovers, she will need help to return to her home, wherever that may be.’

Stefan was helped to carry the young woman’s body up the rope ladder, and more hands reached down to lift her on to the deck. Some of the sailors crossed themselves as they looked down at her. Wrapped in Hassan’s cloak, it was possible only to see her face and her hair, which was a dark blonde and soaked with salt water. Her skin was pale, her lips blue and yet her eyelids flickered and her lips moved slightly, proving that she was still alive.

“Tis a miracle…’

‘Or the devil’s work,’ one sailor said and crossed himself again. ‘How is it possible that she survived a night like that in the sea?’

‘She was caught by ropes and the broken mast kept her head above water,’ Stefan said. He bent down and gathered the unconscious woman into his arms. ‘I shall take her to my cabin until we make land.’

Below in the cabin, which was the best on board, Stefan laid the woman on his bed. He looked at Hassan over his shoulder as he followed him into the room.

‘We must get her out of what remains of her clothing and wrap her in as many blankets as we have. I have some strong brandy wine in my sea chest. When we have her dry and warm, we shall give her some. Once we are home, Ali will help her—but she may not survive the journey.’

‘It is fortunate that we found her in time,’ Hassan said. ‘Allah must have meant it, for otherwise we should have passed her by. He has given her to us, my lord. From now on her life is in our hands.’

‘As Allah wills it?’ Stefan shot him a suspicious look. ‘Yet you would have denied them earlier, for I saw it in your face.’

‘They are ignorant fools, for they would do nothing to help her. Allah has sent her to us, but her fate is in our hands; if we did nothing, left her to live or die as God wills it, as they would given the chance, she would die.’

Stefan’s face was harsh as he bent over the young woman. He rubbed her skin with a drying cloth until she felt dry to the touch and some warmth started to come back to her body, and then he wrapped her in every blanket and cloak he could find. He would not argue with Hassan on the subject of religion, for he did not believe in God. Once he had been Christian, but now he had his own faith, which was to give justice for justice and hurt for hurt. He had been forced to live by the sword and he knew that in time he would die by it. There was no room for softness or religion in his life. However, he was not a cruel man and he did not take life without good cause. He had pulled this young woman from the sea more alive than dead, and he would do all he could to make her live.

Harry came to himself to find a young sailor bending over him. He groaned because his head ached. For a moment he could not think what had happened to him, and he stared at the sailor blankly.

‘What happened to me?’

‘Someone hit you as we struggled to stop you jumping into the sea last night,’ the sailor said. ‘You would have gone after her, sir, and it was hopeless. She must have gone down like a stone when she hit the water, for there was no sign of her.’

‘Anne!’ Memory came flooding back. Harry sat up in alarm, his aching head forgotten as a deeper pain took hold. ‘My sister…she was swept overboard by a huge wave and I could not help her. What have I done? My father will blame me and he will be justified; I should have taken better care of her. She wanted to stay on deck while the storm raged, because she thought it exciting, but I should have made her go below. She is lost and I am at fault.’

‘No one could have seen it coming,’ the sailor said. ‘We rode the storm out because we headed inshore and sheltered for the night, but for a while it was touch and go whether the ship went down. Had your sister been below she would then have gone down with the vessel, as many others would. You were as safe on deck as anywhere until those freak waves hit us. If that had not happened, your sister would not have been swept overboard.’

Harry shook his head. He felt stunned, racked with guilt and despair at the thought of his younger sister going to a watery grave. He wished that the sailors had not stopped him going into the sea. At least he could have searched for her, made certain that there was no hope of her being found alive.

Harry wished that he had not thought of bringing Anne with him. He had forgotten how dangerous the sea could be for the unwary. But the waves had been so huge. Harry had never experienced anything like it himself, though he had been to sea many times. Who could have imagined that a summer storm could come from nowhere and be so fierce? It was a miracle that the ship had survived! He knew that if he had not been lucky enough to catch hold of that iron ring himself he, too, would have been swept into the raging sea.

He would rather it had been him than his lovely sister! Harry had not been as close to Anne as to his twin Catherine, but he had loved her—he still loved her and mourned her. He was not sure how he would find the strength to go on with his purpose. How could he court Claire when his heart was so heavy?

Harry had written to her father and was honour bound to complete his journey to the Comte’s chateau. Yet if there was even a slight chance that Anne might have survived he would leave no stone unturned to find her. Occasionally, sailors were pulled alive from the wreckage of a ship, but Anne was a frail girl. It was unlikely that she could survive a night in the cold waters of the Channel.

If there were any chance that Anne had been plucked from the sea, dead or alive, he owed it to her and his family to discover it. He would set agents to search from port to port. He held little hope that she would be found alive, but, if her body had chanced to be washed on shore, he could at least make sure that she was decently buried.

Harry’s grief lay over him like a dark cloud. He knew that the news would also sorely grieve his parents, and he was not certain whether it would be best to write at once and send the letter back to England with the ship or wait.

Perhaps it would be best to wait for a while. If her body could be found, he might at least offer some comfort that she had been properly buried. However, it was more likely that she was lost at sea and nothing remained. No doubt their family would want to mourn her and hold a service of remembrance, but that was for the future. Harry would leave no stone unturned in the hope of news of Anne, though he knew it must be a hopeless cause.

Chapter Two

‘Is there any change?’ Stefan asked of the physician as he entered the bedchamber where the young woman lay in the great wooden bed. They had brought her to Chateau de Montifiori ten days earlier. For eight days the fever had raged as her skin heated and she tossed restlessly on the pillows; her long hair was matted by sweat and salt, for they had not dared to wash it. Ali Ben Hammed had suggested cutting it at one time, but Stefan had resisted, despite the physician’s insistence that her hair was taking her strength. However, on the ninth day the fever had waned and the girl seemed less restless. As yet she had not opened her eyes. Stefan walked to the bed and laid his hand on her forehead. Her temperature seemed normal. He looked at the Arab physician, a man skilled in the arts of medicine, and a friend of some nine years since he had rescued him from Sir Hugh Grantham, who had ordered his execution at the stake. Had Stefan not intervened, Ali would have been burned to death. He looked at the physician. ‘Why does she not wake? She no longer has a fever.’

‘I cannot tell,’ Ali replied, his face wizened by the hot sun of his native land and the passing of years. ‘I know that sometimes the mind lies dormant so that the body may heal. I believe that she is past the worst, my lord, though when she will awake I know not. She may not remember anything when she does, for the trauma she has experienced will be hard to bear, especially if she has lost loved ones.’

‘She would not have been travelling alone,’ Stefan said. ‘If the vessel was sunk, it is likely that all the others perished. It was mere chance that she was caught by the ropes to that mast and survived the perils of the ocean.’

‘As Allah wills,’ Ali said, steepling his hands and bending his head. ‘It was meant to be that you should find her, my lord. If you save a life, that life is yours. You are bound to her and must protect her henceforth.’

Stefan frowned. ‘If she ever wakes, and can tell me her name and her family, I shall see her restored to them,’ he said. ‘You should know that there is no room in my life for a woman…especially one like this. Her hair will be beautiful once it is washed free of the salt and sweat, and her hands are soft. She has never done manual work.’

‘A lady,’ Ali agreed, nodding wisely. ‘Do you not wonder why Allah brought her to you, my lord? These things are for a purpose. She has some place in your life, otherwise it would not have been so ordained.’

‘I would not offend you or Hassan,’ Stefan said, his features set in harsh lines. ‘But I have no God and I see no purpose for a woman in my life. I have lived by the sword and shall doubtless die by it. Lord Cowper is responsible for my father’s untimely death, and for the life I have led. I have sworn vengeance and when I am ready I shall return to England and take back what is mine. By the end of this year either he or I will lie in the earth. This I owe to my father’s shade!’

‘Your wound is not yet completely healed,’ Ali said, ignoring this speech for the most part. He knew as well as anyone that Stefan had suffered too much injustice, and that he had reason enough to be bitter. Yet he had never allowed this to interfere with his compassion for others. Ali was not the only one to have benefited; Stefan de Montfort had rescued and taken in more than one casualty of life. ‘It would be foolish to confront your enemy while you are at a disadvantage, would it not, my lord?’

‘And?’ Stefan’s gaze narrowed.

‘Who knows?’ Ali asked, deliberately obtuse. ‘The girl is here and she needs your help. I do not believe you would desert her.’

‘Once she knows who she is, I shall return her to her family. As that is probably in England, she may accompany me when I return to confront Lord Cowper.’

‘In the meantime, it is best that you rest, my lord,’ Ali said. ‘The young woman must also rest. Perhaps in time you may learn the reason she was sent to you.’

‘It was chance,’ Stefan said, ‘and the tides.’

‘Ah, chance and the tides.’ Ali smiled as he turned away. ‘Who but Allah controls the tides…’

Stefan was no longer listening. A low moaning sound came from behind him. He turned and looked at the bed. The woman was stirring, her eyelids fluttering. He bent over her, stroking the damp hair back from her forehead with hands that were surprisingly gentle for such a man.

‘Do not fear, mademoiselle,’ he said softly, the timbre of his voice deep and caressing. ‘You are quite safe here. You have been very ill, but you will soon be better now.’

The woman opened her eyes, which he saw were a deep blue-green, like the changing waters of the Mediterranean Sea on a sunlit day. She stared at him for a moment, looking bewildered. Her hand reached towards him and her lips moved, then her hand dropped and she closed her eyes once more. He had the oddest feeling that he had seen her before, though he could not place her in his memory.

‘What is wrong?’ Stefan asked of the physician. ‘Is she better or not? Her skin feels cool…and she opened her eyes for a moment.’

‘She is sleeping because she is exhausted,’ Ali said as he looked down at her. ‘She will live, my lord, but her recovery may be slow—and she will need your help.’

Stefan looked down at the woman. He had saved her from the sea and brought her to his home for Ali to nurse. She was beautiful, it was true, but he had seen lovely women before; he had taken those he desired to his bed but none had touched the inner core he guarded. This one was no different. She had tugged at something deep inside him as she lay hovering between life and death, but once she was well he would help her to find safety and then forget her.

‘We are sorry to learn of your tragic loss,’ Comte St Orleans said as he welcomed Harry to his home in Normandy. ‘Your late arrival made us wonder if something had happened and when your letter came my daughter was much affected by the tragedy.’

‘I thank you for your kind words, sir,’ Harry said and glanced at the young woman standing just behind her father. She was as beautiful as always and his heart caught with love, and yet his grief was still so raw and so terrible that he could not summon a smile for her. ‘I was delayed, for I have employed agents to search for any sign of Anne. I know there is little hope of her being found alive—we could see no sign of her in the water. However, if her body were found, I could at least tell our family that she rests in peace.’

Claire came forward, a look of such sorrow and sweetness on her face that Harry caught his breath. She was all he could ever desire in a wife, and he loved her so! ‘We are happy to have you here while the search continues, are we not, Father? And if there is anything we may do to help you, we should wish to be of service.’

‘Your kindness overwhelms me,’ Harry said and took her hand. He held it briefly, but made no attempt to kiss it, as he would have had they met under other circumstances. The gallantry and experience of a handsome courtier had fled before the tide of grief that possessed him, and he could be no more than the man he was at heart. ‘I fear it is an impossible task, but I have asked that any news should come to me here for the next few weeks, and I shall avail myself of your kind offer, made-moiselle.’

‘You must refresh yourself and rest after your journey,’ the Comte said, nodding his approval. He had not been certain that the young man they had met at the English court would do for his precious daughter, but now he saw that the polished manners of a popular courtier hid an honest heart, and one that grieved sincerely. It would be interesting to see what developed between the two over the next weeks, for the Comte would not influence his daughter one way or the other. Claire was free to decide for herself. ‘I shall also send out messengers for I may know more of the tides than you, Sir Harry. Between us, we should be able to find news of your sister if there is any to find…’

‘I pray that one of us is successful,’ Harry said. ‘Anne is my younger sister and I feel responsible for what happened to her.’

Claire rested her hand on his arm. ‘The sea is a cruel mistress, sir. You must grieve for your sister, but the blame does not lie with you.’

She opened her eyes, whimpering as the light hurt them. Her body felt so sore and painful, as if she had been punched and kicked, and her head ached. She put up a hand to touch her face and then her hair. It was matted, tangled and stiff, as if it had not been washed for a long time. She did not like the feel of it that way and shuddered, because something was terribly wrong, though for the moment she had no idea what it was. She tried to sit up, but fell back as the dizziness overcame her. She was too weak and she cried out for help.

‘So, you are awake at last,’ a man’s voice said and someone came to the bed. The sun had darkened his skin and his eyes were black like little jet beads. However, there was something reassuring about him. ‘Do not fear me, little one. You have been ill for a long time and I have tended you. Soon you will be better, but for the moment you must rest. A serving woman will bring you some nourishing soup. You must try to eat it because it will help build your strength.’

‘May I have some water?’ she asked.

‘Yes, of course.’

The man went to a small walnut chest-on-stand at the far side of the room, filled a cup with water from a pewter ewer and brought it back to her. He supported her as she took a few sips, but the effort exhausted her and she fell back against the pillows once more.

‘As I said, you must rest. Your strength will come back soon.’

‘Who are you?’ the woman asked. ‘And where am I?’

‘My name is Ali. I am a physician and this is the Chateau de Montifiori. We are both guests of Lord de Montfort.’

The woman frowned. She closed her eyes for a moment, and her hands worked restlessly on the covers, then she opened her eyes and looked at him once more.

‘I do not know you. I do not know Lord de Montfort…’ A little wail of despair issued from her lips. ‘I do not know who I am or where I came from.’

‘You were on a ship bound for France from England and the ship sank in a storm,’ Ali told her. ‘I do not know your name, little one—but it will come back to you in time.’

‘Will it?’ The woman’s eyes were fearful as she looked at him. ‘If the ship sank, how did I come here?’

‘Lord de Montfort pulled you from the water. He saved your life and he brought you here. He placed you in my care and I have used my arts to make you well. When you are better, you will be returned to your family.’

‘Were my family on the ship? Were they saved too?’

‘You were the only one found. Some ropes had secured you to the ship’s mast and it was for this reason that you survived. It was Allah’s will.’

‘Allah…’ The woman wrinkled her brow as she tried to understand what he was saying. ‘Is Allah not the god of the infidel Saracens?’

‘You must be a Christian, for only a Christian would speak thus of Allah,’ Ali told her and smiled, clearly amused. ‘We are followers of the beloved prophet Mohamed, and our faith is shared by many peoples of the east. Christians follow the prophet Jesus, but there is only one true god and that is Allah. However, I am a physician and I do not judge others by their beliefs.’

She looked at him. ‘I do not understand any of this,’ she said and yawned because she felt so weary. ‘I know that I have been taught to believe in Jesus Christ the Son of God…’

‘I shall not attempt to convert you,’ Ali told her. ‘Religion has caused too many wars and too many deaths. I believe as I believe, but my life is dedicated to saving life. You shall keep your faith and I mine. We shall not quarrel because of it.’

‘Please do not be angry with me. I did not mean to call you a Saracen infidel.’ She looked distressed. ‘You are kind…’

Ali smiled once more. ‘I am not offended, little one. I am an Arab and have been used to insults far worse than any you could think of, mistress. However, there are others within this house that might find such words offensive. It would be best if you kept your thoughts on these matters to yourself while you stay here.’

‘I think you are a very wise man,’ she said. ‘Please, may I sleep now?’

‘Sleep for as long as you wish, but I shall have a serving woman bring you some soup as soon as you wake again, for you need food.’

‘Thank you…and thank you for saving my life.’

‘It was Lord Montfort who saved you from the sea,’ Ali said. He watched as the woman slept. She was through the worst of her ordeal, but now she must learn to live again. Her mind had blocked out the terror of being taken by the sea, and with it had gone her identity, but he felt certain it would return once she had fully recovered. However, should it not, she would be alone in the world. Perhaps it was part of Allah’s plan that she had forgotten her past.

‘As Allah wills,’ he said piously and went from the chamber, to pass on the good news to Stefan de Mont-fort. He had haunted her chamber for days, though he had pretended to a casual interest in her recovery. Ali smiled as he wondered what the future might bring. He hoped that the man he loved as a brother might find peace at last.

‘Swallow a little more if you can,’ the serving woman said. ‘It will make you strong, lady, and you need to recover your strength.’

The woman looked at the serving girl. ‘How long have you lived in this house, Sulina? Why are you here, for I do not think you born to this land? If we are in France?’ Her eyes became dark with distress. ‘I do not even know where I am…but the word France comes to mind.’

‘You are in Normandy, at the home of the Lord de Montfort,’ Sulina said. ‘I am here because my uncle sold me into slavery after my parents died of a fever. I was but thirteen years of age and my first master used me ill, but then Stefan de Montfort bought me. He set me free, but when he gave up the wars and came here to live I chose to come with him. He allows me to serve him and I am content to be his servant. Here I am treated with kindness and respect. In my homeland I should be shunned and cast out by my family; they might stone me to death, for I am unclean in their eyes.’

‘That is sad for you, but Lord de Montfort seems kind and generous, though I have never seen him.’

‘He can be and often is,’ Sulina agreed. ‘But when he is angry he is fearful. I should not wish to be his enemy.’ She hesitated, then, ‘Stefan de Montfort is not an easy man to understand.’

‘And yet you love him, do you not?’

‘I admire him…I would love him if he looked at me in that way but he does not.’ Sulina was startled as the patient put back the covers and swung her legs over the bed. ‘You should not try to get up yet, my lady. Ali said you must rest for some days.’

‘I feel restless,’ the woman replied. ‘I need to walk, to wash myself and my hair.’

‘It is my job to bathe you and to wash your hair once you feel better,’ Sulina told her. ‘I shall wash your hair and your body, my lady, but once you are well you may use the bathing pool.’

‘What is a bathing pool? I have not heard of such a thing. I believe I have bathed in a wooden tub…’ She wrinkled her brow as she tried to remember, but failed. Sometimes she saw flashes, pictures in her mind, but they were all jumbled up and she could not understand what they meant.

‘In my country we often use a bathing pool,’ Sulina told her. ‘My lord has adopted some of our customs. at least those he approves of, and he approves of being clean.’

‘I am not clean. I can smell the stink on myself.’

‘I shall help you, my lady, but you are not well enough to walk or to use the bathing pool yet.’

‘No…’ She sighed and fell back on the bed. ‘I would be happy for you to bathe me, Sulina. I am too weak to do it yet.’

‘Lie still, then, lady, and let me tend you. I think your hair will be pretty once it is clean.’

She opened her eyes as she sensed someone near her. At first she thought it must be Sulina, but the subtle perfume she smelled did not belong to the serving woman. She had fallen asleep after eating the food Sulina brought her, for she was still weak. It was night now and the only light was a small candle, which gave off a dim light. A shadow moved towards her and she saw that it was a man…a stranger! She shrank back as he approached the bed, her instinct to be afraid. Who was he and why had he come to her in the dead of night?

‘Who are you?’ She swallowed hard, her heart racing wildly.

The shadowy figure paused, and then moved forwards slowly so that the light fell across his face. ‘I am Stefan de Montfort,’ he said in a deep, gentle voice she felt was familiar to her. Surely she had heard it before? Yet she did not know him. ‘I was out hunting when you came to your senses. We need fresh meat and it was a long day. I have but this minute returned. Forgive me that I did not come to you before, lady.’

She pushed herself up against the pillows, holding the covers to her naked breasts. Stefan de Montfort was a large man, powerful and impressive, a little frightening. He was not smiling as he looked at her. She wondered if he was angry with her, but did not know in what way she might have offended him.

‘I have been well cared for,’ she whispered. ‘I have been told that you saved my life, sir.’

‘I pulled you from the sea, but it is Ali who hath made you well again.’ His expression was almost stern as he gazed down at her, her hair freshly washed and spreading over the pillows in soft waves of corn-coloured silk. She was, as he had suspected, very beautiful now that she was awake. ‘Ali tells me that you do not know your name or from whence you came?’

‘I can remember nothing…at least, I know things, but I do not know who I am, where I came from or where I was going.’

‘That is unfortunate—I had hoped to return you to your family as soon as you were well enough to travel.’ He looked thoughtful, almost stern. ‘Well, it cannot be helped. I shall make inquiries about a vessel that sank and see if your family is trying to trace you.’

‘Supposing I have no family…supposing they were lost as the ship went down?’

‘We shall face that if the time comes. My house is large and you will find a place here for the moment, but you are not a prisoner and may leave whenever you wish.’

‘You are kind, sir.’

‘Kind?’ A harsh laugh escaped him. ‘I would not describe myself in that manner.’ His gaze narrowed. ‘You should have a name. Since we do not know your true name we must discover one that suits you. What would you call yourself? Maria, Elizabeth, Roseanne…’ His brows rose as her hand moved towards him. ‘You have remembered something?’

‘I am not sure, but Roseanne…no, Anne. I like the name Anne. It seems familiar to me, though I cannot remember where I heard it or if it was my name.’

‘But you like it, therefore it shall be your name. Anne—yes, it is a good name for you, lady. It suits you. I shall call you Anne.’

She closed her eyes for a moment, struggling to recall something, but the curtain in her mind remained in position. At the mention of the name Anne she had almost seen something…a face…faces and a house, but they had faded in seconds.

Tears caught at her throat, but she fought them. ‘Ali says that I shall remember one day. Do you think it is true, my lord?’

She gazed at him as he stood there, a powerful man, feet apart, arms crossed. He was dressed in a nobleman’s gown of some deep blue cloth braided with rich gold, his dark blond hair touching his shoulders, his face tanned by the sun. He was not exactly handsome, but striking, his features carved, almost harsh.

‘Ali understands many things that affect the body, but I do not think anyone truly understands the mind,’ Stefan answered honestly. ‘How can we know what makes one man clever and another stupid? You are an intelligent woman. Everything about you tells me that you come from a good home and family, and you speak English better than French. In time we may discover who you are or your memory may return. Until then you must make yourself at home here, Anne.’

‘But what shall I do if I never remember?’ Her eyes were wide and dark with fear.

‘Then your life begins here,’ Stefan told her. ‘When I was a young man, about your own age, I was forced to leave all that I knew and loved. I found a new life and a new identity as a mercenary. My life was stolen from me, as the sea has robbed you of yours. I shall help you, Anne—and somehow you will find the courage to become yourself once more.’ His harsh features softened slightly and she saw a man who was very different. She wanted to be comforted by his words, but it was so strange not to remember her own name.

It was frightening to think that she might never know who she was, never remember her mother or father…or if she had sisters and brothers. The future seemed dark, terrifying, and yet she sensed that she was safe here in this house. Sulina and Ali had told her that Stefan de Montfort had sheltered others who needed a home and a protector. He had said that she must think of it as a new beginning…that her life began here. A part of her mind protested, because she wanted to know who she was and where she came from, and yet another part of her felt reassured by his words.

‘Will I be a servant like Sulina?’

‘Sulina chooses to serve me,’ he replied. ‘Others also choose to serve, but they are free to leave as they please. You will be a guest. You are a lady, Anne, a woman of gentle birth. Everyone in this house will treat you as such.’ His voice had at that moment a deep, rich timbre, its softness like velvet, reassuring and comforting.

‘Thank you. I do not mind working if I can be of help…perhaps sewing. I am not as clever with my needle as Catherine, of course, but—’ Anne broke off and stared at him.

‘You have remembered something?’ Stefan’s eyebrows rose, his eyes narrowed and intent.

Anne hesitated, then shook her head. ‘I remember there was once someone called Catherine and she helped me with my sewing, but it was a long time ago.’

‘Was Catherine your mother?’

‘I do not know,’ Anne replied and looked bewildered. ‘How can I know that Catherine was a better needlewoman than me, but not know who she is?’

‘I do not know,’ Stefan said. He turned as the door opened and someone came in and he saw the physician. ‘She is awake and we have decided that her name is to be Anne—at least for the moment.’

Ali came forwards so that Anne could see his face. ‘I see you are well, lady. I shall not disturb you—unless you have need of me? You are not in pain?’

‘I am quite well, thank you.’

‘I shall leave you to rest, lady.’

‘And I shall go too, Anne,’ Stefan said. ‘It is not fitting that I should be in your room. I came only to see for myself that you were well. I shall not see you again until you are able to join us in the hall downstairs. Goodnight, lady. Do not fret too much. You are safe here and in time you will remember all you should.’ He turned to Ali. ‘Come, my friend, share a cup of wine with me. I have something I wish to discuss with you.’

Anne lay back against the pillows as the two men went out together. She closed her eyes, struggling to remember something…anything that would tell her who and what she was. A tear slid from the corner of her eye, but she dashed it away with her hand. She would not weep tears of self-pity. Lord de Montfort had told her she was safe here and for some reason she believed him. She must be content to stay here until she remembered who she was. The name Catherine was at the back of her mind. She tried to put a face to the name and failed, but something told her that Catherine had once been important in her life.

‘Do you believe that she has truly lost her memory?’ Stefan asked of the physician. ‘She picked the name Anne for herself. It seemed to please her. I think it may well be her own name.’

‘It is possible, my lord. Her memory may come back in little strands like the mists in a forest, weaving between the trees, revealing clear spaces where the canopy is broken, and concealing the rest.’

‘You do not think that she is pretending that she cannot recall her name?’

‘Why would she do that, my lord?’

Stefan shook his head, feeling an ache in his side, a constant reminder of the last woman that had tried to trap him. ‘No, I am too suspicious. I plucked her from the sea. An enemy could not have sent her. She is innocent and I am unkind to doubt her.’

‘I believe her distress is genuine, my lord. She will begin to remember things slowly, a little at a time, and then perhaps it will all come to her—or it may not. The mind is a strange thing.’

‘Yet she remembered that Catherine taught her how to sew—and that she was not as good at her work as the other woman.’

‘She did not know who Catherine was?’

‘Possibly her mother or someone she knew well.’

Ali nodded. ‘I do not think she would think of her mother as Catherine. It seems as if the woman was important to her, but perhaps not of prime importance in her life. If she remembered a lover or her mother the rest might come, but until then it may be that she remembers only fragments of her life.’

‘We must give her time,’ Stefan said. ‘My wound broke open again as we hunted this morning and has bled. I believe I need some of your salves, old friend.’

‘You should still be resting.’

‘We needed meat for the pot,’ Stefan said. ‘We took a wild boar and two hinds today, besides some game that my peregrine brought down. We shall eat well enough for the next few weeks.’

Ali nodded. He knew from experience that it was a thankless task to tell Lord de Montfort to rest. He would push himself to the limit, and his wound would heal in time, as it always had. The forests about the chateau teemed with game, and hunting was a way of life for the lord. Stefan took his position seriously and was well respected and liked by his tenants and retainers alike.

Most of them looked forwards to the day when their lord would settle down and take a wife, but those who knew him best understood that he would not allow himself any peace until his brother and father’s murderers were brought to justice.

‘Is there any way we can help her to regain her memory?’

Ali looked at his lord’s face. There was a hint of impatience in his eyes, an odd expression on his face. ‘I think it must be left to time, my lord. She will find her own way if left to herself.’

Stefan nodded. Anne was beautiful and a part of him wanted to keep her here at the chateau, but another felt it would be best to send her on her way as soon as possible, before she had time to work her way under his guard. Something about her drew him like a moth to a flame. While she lay unconscious he had spent time sitting by her bed, but from now on he would keep out of her way as much as possible. He had no time for a gentle, lovely woman—or love! He must remember that he had made a vow to take revenge for his father’s murder!

‘Excuses!’ Lord Cowper scowled as the man told him what he already knew. Stefan de Montfort and that hell-hound of a Saracen he counted a friend had succeeded in leaving England alive and were no doubt safe at his chateau in France. ‘My instructions were that he was not to be allowed to leave England alive! Am I served by dolts and incompetents? How was he able to get away?’

‘Your plan failed, my lord. The Saracen suspected a trap and came looking for him. We think Sir Hugh killed the Lady Madeline, as you planned to incriminate Lord de Montfort, and then the Saracen arrived and killed him with one slash of his wicked blade.’

‘Where were the rest of you?’

‘We tried to stop them escaping,’ the servant said and flinched as his master struck him in the face. ‘Lord de Montfort was wounded in the side, but he is a strong man and with the Saracen at his side they fought their way out.’

‘Curse him!’ Lord Cowper snarled. ‘We should have killed him years ago instead of his brother, but the younger son was the father’s favourite and he would not have believed ill of him. The years Stefan de Montfort spent as a mercenary have made him as wily as a fox and sharper than a serpent.’

Lord Cowper paced the room. He knew that once his enemy had recovered his strength he would come after him, and this time he would not be denied. His only chance was to strike first.

‘We must go to Normandy,’ he said, making up his mind. ‘He will be more relaxed on his own land. We shall watch and wait, and when the time comes we shall kill him.’

‘As you wish, my lord.’ Fritz did not attempt to point out that the Chateau de Montifiori was well guarded and that it might be safer to stay here and let the enemy come to them. Lord Cowper was a man of uncertain temper and anyone who thwarted his will would meet a sticky end. It was only that he was one of the few able to actually recognise Lord de Montfort that had saved his life this time. Some of the others involved in the fiasco had not been as lucky and were already beneath the earth.

Cowper rounded on him, eyes bulging, flaming with fury. He was an ugly man with a bull neck and a mottled colour that spoke of a life of indulgence. He struck Fritz again, making him stagger back.

‘Of course it is as I wish. You failed me once, oaf. Do it again and I’ll hang you and all the other dolts who betrayed me. Tell the men to prepare. We leave in the morning.’

Fritz backed away, bowing to the master he disliked. If it were not for his sister, Helene, and his mother, nothing would keep him in this creature’s service, even though he knew that he was Cowper’s bastard. The lord had forced himself on Fritz’s mother but never acknowledged that the child she bore was his. However, Fritz’s sister was Cowper’s mistress. He treated her well enough, giving her rich clothes and jewels, but she was his slave. If Fritz disobeyed his master, Helene would suffer and his mother and stepfather would be turned from their home. Fritz knew that his sister was held by a similar threat, and he suspected that she hated her master as much as he did.

‘One day,’ he muttered beneath his breath. ‘One day he will go too far…’ A quick knife thrust in the belly might be enough, but fear held Fritz’s hand. If he made a mistake and Cowper didn’t die, others besides himself would suffer.

‘When may I get up?’ Anne asked as the physician came to see her. She was restless, anxious to be up and about, because lying here alone only made her more aware of the dark places in her mind.

‘You should rest for another few days,’ Ali told her and smiled. ‘It is good that you are feeling better, lady, but you have been very ill and you are not yet strong.’

‘I think I could come down,’ Anne said. ‘It is lonely lying here alone. I think about who I am and what happened to me…and it frightens me.’

‘You need something to occupy your mind,’ Ali told her. ‘Do you think you could read a book—or would you prefer some sewing?’

‘I should love to read,’ Anne said with a sigh. ‘But books are so expensive…’

‘Nevertheless, Lord de Montfort has many,’ Ali said and smiled at her. ‘I shall ask him if you may borrow one to help pass the time—would you like a Bible or a book of fables?’

‘Is there such a thing?’ Anne’s interest was caught. ‘I should love to read a story. A story such as the storyteller told at Christmastide.’ She remembered that Christmas had been a happy time for her as a child, but she could not recall the people who had made it so.

‘Then I shall speak to Lord de Montfort and ask him,’ Ali told her. ‘In the meantime I shall bring you something to help you sleep.’

‘You are all so kind.’ She sighed and lay back against the pillows. Everyone was kind to her, but she wished she knew who she was and whence she came.

Stefan looked down at the woman’s face as she lay sleeping. He did not know what drew him to her chamber at this hour, except that she haunted his thoughts waking or sleeping. He had forced himself to stay away from her for some days, but he was not satisfied to hear the women say she was doing well, and had come to see for himself, and to bring the book of legends and fables she had requested. He placed the leather-covered volume on the chest-on-stand beside her bed. How lovely she looked with her hair spread on the pillow! The sight of her touched something deep inside him.

She was deeply asleep, though now and then she cried out, and he leaned closer to catch the words.

‘Mother…’ she whimpered. ‘Mother…’

Stefan was tempted to stroke her hair as he had while she was ill, but the scent of her wafted into his nostrils, setting up a fierce craving for something he did not recognise and he drew back. If he woke her, he might be tempted to do more than simply touch her.

Cursing himself for a fool, he turned and left her. He should not have come. Yet she drew him to her again and again, making him aware that his life was empty, had long been empty of all the things that he had desired as a young man.

Foolish dreams! He frowned as he strode away from the house to the garden and the pool where he bathed whenever he was restless. He had given up all hope when he left England, banished from home and all that he loved. It would be stupid to let a young woman make him dissatisfied with the life he had chosen for himself, for if he gave in to the disturbing feelings she roused in him, he would become soft and lose his resolve!

‘You look so sad,’ Claire said as they walked together in the grounds of her father’s estate. ‘I am sorry that nothing has been heard of your poor sister, but it was unlikely that she would be found alive.’

Harry looked down at her lovely face. Her eyes were soft with concern for him, and he felt that she was sincere in all she said. He knew that she was right. Anne was gone, lost to the sea. He had grieved for her for the past three weeks, and in another week he must return to England and the court. Before that he would ask Claire if she was willing to return with him as his wife.

‘I know that I should put my sorrow behind me,’ Harry said, regret in his face. ‘I came here to ask you to be my wife, Claire, and I have not had the heart to do it. Tomorrow I must leave, because I want to visit my parents before I return to court. I had hoped you would accompany me as my wife, but I have not courted you or told you of my feelings…’

Claire smiled at him gently. ‘I knew why you came,’ she said, ‘and I have understood why you have not spoken. In the circumstances it could not be otherwise. I respect you, Harry—and your grief for Anne has shown me that you feel deeply. When we met at court I thought you might be too proud and careless to make me a good husband, but sharing your sorrow has brought us closer. If you were to ask me to marry you, Harry, you might be pleased with my answer.’

Harry looked at her uncertainly, then went down on his knee before her. ‘I love you beyond my life, Claire. I would do anything for you and protect you with my life. If you could bring yourself to accept my offer, I should be happy to wed you.’

‘Yes, Harry, I shall marry you,’ Claire told him with a smile. ‘Delay your journey two days so that we may be betrothed and I shall accompany you to your home. Once your parents are over their grief, I shall wed you.’

‘You are as generous and good as you are lovely,’ Harry said and stood up. He drew her to him, bending his head to kiss her lips. ‘But will your father allow you to come with me—and shall you brave it, my love? The sea is always dangerous, Claire. After what happened to my sister, I am reluctant to expose you to such a journey.’

‘Anne was unfortunate,’ Claire said and held his hand. ‘No one could have expected such freak waves… and she should have gone below deck when you begged her to. Never fear that I shall not obey you, my love.’

Harry smiled down at her, touching her cheek with his fingertips. ‘You have courage, Claire, and I would die rather than let anything happen to you. I would have gone into the sea for Anne had they not struck me from behind, but nothing would stop me if it were you.’ He bent his head and kissed her once more. ‘If your father permits, we shall be betrothed and then I shall take you to my parents.’

Claire held her hand out to him. ‘We must find my father and speak to him, for there is no time to be lost.’

‘I know that seeing you will help to ease my mother’s unhappiness,’ Harry said. ‘She will grieve long and hard for her daughter, but she will welcome my wife with open arms.’

‘I look forward to meeting her,’ Claire told him. ‘Look, Father is coming to meet us.’ She looked at her father’s face and then at Harry. ‘I believe he has some news, Harry. Perhaps he has heard something at last.’

‘If Anne’s body has been found at least I can make sure that she has a decent burial.’ Holding Claire’s hand, he went to meet the Comte. ‘Sir, we have been seeking you.’

‘And I have been seeking you,’ the Comte told him. ‘The news I bring is better than we might have hoped, though it is not certain.’

‘Sir…’ Harry stared at him, an icy tingle starting at the nape of his neck. ‘You have heard news of Anne?’

‘I cannot be certain it was your sister, but my agent has been told of a young woman plucked from the wreckage of a ship at about the point the debris from your ship might have drifted to by the next morning.’

‘Plucked from the sea?’ Harry stared at him and let go of Claire’s hand. ‘Are you saying…? No, it cannot be.’

‘The girl taken from the sea was still alive,’ Comte St Orleans said and frowned. ‘The man who gave us this information said she was unconscious and looked near death. When she was taken from the ship she had not recovered her senses, but she was still breathing.’

‘God be praised!’ Harry cried. ‘You say she was taken from the ship—does this informant know where she was taken?’

‘I fear that he knows no more than he has told me,’ the Comte said. ‘You may question him yourself, but I do not think he can help you much more. If you wish to search for her you must travel to Normandy, for it was there the ship was headed, and ask for news. It is possible that someone may have heard of her.’ He looked at his daughter. ‘What was it you wished to tell me, Claire?’

‘I think it will keep for another day,’ she said and gazed up at Harry. ‘You must look for Anne. I know that you love me and your promise was sincerely meant, but you would never rest if you did not try to find Anne.’

The Comte looked at Harry. ‘It is settled that you are to marry?’

‘With your blessing, sir. I would have taken Claire to my parents had this news not come.’

‘You must look for your sister,’ the Comte told him, agreeing with his daughter. ‘I shall take Claire to England and we shall break the news to Lord Melford. It will be much better if your family know that you are searching for Anne, Harry. Claire and I will wait at Melford for your return, whatever the news.’

Harry’s eyes dwelled on Claire’s sweet face. ‘You will not mind if I leave you now?’

‘I love you and I know what Anne means to you,’ Claire told him. ‘It may come to nothing, but you have something now. Someone may know the people who took Anne. Clearly they must have meant to care for her or the ship’s captain would have abandoned her to the nuns as soon as they reached land.’

Harry took her hand and kissed it. ‘I love you,’ he said. ‘It is hardly fair that I should leave you, having just asked you to wed me, but you are right. I must find Anne if I can, but in time I shall come to England to find you, and God willing I shall bring my sister with me…’

Anne looked at herself in the small hand mirror Sulina had brought her. Her hair was flowing loose over her shoulders, kept in place by a small cap of black velvet framed with gold threads. Her gown was also fashioned of some soft black cloth, and the hanging sleeves were embroidered with beads and gold thread. It suited her well enough, though had she chosen for herself she would have picked green or blue. However, the gown had been brought for her and was a gift from the lord of this manor. Anne was grateful for his generosity and had made no complaint when she was given the gown to wear. She knew it had not been made for her, because Sulina had altered it to fit her. Anne was not certain whether it had belonged to Lord de Montfort’s mistress or was simply something he had bought from a dealer in such things.

‘My lord is waiting below,’ Sulina told her with a faint smile. ‘He has asked every day if you were ready to go down. I think he is impatient to see you, lady.’

‘He might have come to visit me and asked for himself,’ Anne said, feeling slightly aggrieved that he had not done so.

‘It would not have been fitting once you had recovered your senses,’ Sulina told her. ‘What would your family think if it became known that Lord Montfort had frequented your bedchamber while you lay recovering from your illness?’

‘I do not know if I have a family,’ Anne reminded her. ‘But I dare say you are right. I cannot think that my mother would approve—if she is still living.’ Her eyes were sad as she thought of the woman she could not remember. Something told her that her mother had loved her and that she had been happy at home.

She followed Sulina down the wide staircase to the hall below. The chateau was old, the walls built of a honey-coloured stone hung with silk tapestries, and the ceilings were high. The floors were made of wood on the upper floor, covered in places with brightly coloured rugs and carpets that had an eastern look, but on the ground floor they were tiled with marble. Most of the furniture was heavily carved, dark wood that also had an eastern look. Anne knew that this house was very different to the one she had been raised in, though she could not remember her home, but everything here was strange, unusual. She did not think it was the style that would be normally found on French soil, though she could not know that for certain. Sometimes now she saw a picture of a house set in a pleasant valley, but it was only in brief flashes and she had not mentioned it to anyone. She thought that perhaps the house had been her home, but as she did not know where it was to be found that did not help her to remember.

As she entered the large hall, which was the heart of the chateau, she saw two men standing together. They turned their heads as she approached. Anne caught her breath, for one of them had skin the colour of polished walnut and the bottom of his face was scarred dreadfully, the skin puckered and discoloured as though he had been burned, his mouth twisted to one side. His dark eyes went over her, his gaze narrowed and thoughtful. Anne felt nothing but pity for him, because she sensed that at one time in his life he had suffered terribly.

‘Ah, the lady Anne,’ Stefan said, inclining his head in welcome. ‘We are glad that you feel well enough to join us at last. This is Hassan, the best friend a man could have. He helped me to pull you from the sea.’

Anne dipped a curtsy to them. ‘Sir, I must thank you as I have thanked others who helped me.’

‘You are welcome, lady,’ Hassan said. There was a slightly puzzled look in his eyes. ‘Forgive me, but as you came towards us I thought that I had seen you before this day.’

Stefan stared at him. ‘You do not speak of when we pulled her from the water. Can you recall where you saw Anne the first time?’ He too had felt that he might have seen her, but could not recall when or where.

Hassan’s eyes were on her. Anne shivered, feeling a mixture of fear and excitement as she anticipated his reply, but he shook his head and she was disappointed.

‘Forgive me, but I do not remember where I saw you. There was something in the way you walked and held yourself, but the memory is not strong. At the moment it eludes me, but it may yet return.’

Stefan looked thoughtful. If he had seen her, it must have been brief and at a time when he was not taking much notice, for she was too beautiful to have slipped his mind had he ever spoken to her.

‘Memory is a strange thing; it eludes us when we try to recall something and returns when we least expect it. If you have truly seen Anne before, it will come to you, Hassan.’

‘Yes, perhaps,’ Hassan replied. ‘I should leave if I am to reach my destination before nightfall. I wish you well, lady.’

‘Thank you…’ Anne watched as he walked from them. She turned to look at Lord de Montfort. ‘It would be a strange coincidence if we had met before you rescued me, though I doubt it can be so, for I do not think I have been to France before this time. Everything here is strange to me.’

‘You are in Normandy, and my home contains many things I have collected in other lands,’ Stefan said. ‘Why are you so sure that you had not been to France before this?’

‘I do not know. Sometimes I seem to know things instinctively, without truly remembering, but you told me yourself that I speak English better than French.’

‘Yes, that is true. Hassan might have seen you recently, for we were returning from a visit to England when we found you. He is very observant and it is possible he saw you only briefly.’ Possible that he had seen her too—but where?

‘I thought your ship was travelling along the French coast?’

‘We were swept down the coast by the fierce winds and decided to run before them until we found a sheltered cove. Had we made land before the storm hit, we should not have been there that morning.’

‘I was more fortunate than I knew,’ Anne said and shivered. ‘Had you not seen me…’

‘You were close to death. Another hour or two…’ Stefan shrugged his broad shoulders. ‘Who knows why these things happen?’

‘Ali would say it was as Allah wills,’ Anne said and her eyes sparkled with mischief. In that moment the shadows fell away from her and she was beautiful, a spirited girl whose smile held enchantment. The change was so marked that it made Stefan catch his breath.

He laughed huskily. ‘I see you have recovered your spirit, whatever else you lack, my lady.’ His eyes went over her with a hint of disapproval. ‘That gown does not do you justice, Anne. It was found in a chest in the storeroom and must have belonged to the late lady of the manor, but all her gowns were black, for I believe she was widowed many years. We must buy some silk and have something new made for you. I believe that a fair has come to a town near by. If you feel well enough on the morrow, we could go there together and choose something from the merchants.’

Anne was pleased that the gown had not belonged to his mistress, though she did not know why it should matter. She smiled at him, her heart beating faster as his gaze intensified. He looked so very different when his features were relaxed by humour. When he actually smiled he became a man she found fascinating, instead of the stern cold master of the chateau who frightened her a little.

‘You have already been generous to me,’ she said, her eyes wide and questing as she met his gaze. ‘It was good of you to lend me your book, for I know such things are costly.’

‘I have many books,’ Stefan told her. ‘You are welcome to read them while you stay here.’

‘You are too good, sir. I do not know what I may do to repay your kindness.’

‘I have done nothing that common decency did not command of me,’ Stefan replied. ‘Ali says that if you save a life you are responsible for that life. Perhaps he is right.’

‘Silk is expensive…’ Anne’s mouth felt dry. She felt as if an invisible bond drew her to him. His gaze was stern, but sometimes his voice was like dark velvet, caressing her, soothing her. ‘I have no money…nothing to offer in return.’

‘Believe me, you have much to offer,’ Stefan said. He moved closer, reached out, tipping her chin so that she looked up at him. ‘If I were less honourable I would keep you with me, make you my mistress. You are a beautiful woman, Anne. I could happily lie with you, but honour demands that I must help you to return to your family.’

Anne’s pulses raced. For a moment she could not breathe. She ached for something, but did not know what she craved. What was this feeling he had roused in her? She thrilled to his smile and the sound of his voice, and yet he scared her so much. Her eyes widened, innocent and inviting. Stefan bent his head and kissed her softly on the mouth. Her body swayed towards him, and he made a harsh sound in his throat, pulling her hard against him. His kiss intensified, his tongue seeking entrance as her lips parted beneath his, a sensation so sweet and heady sweeping through her that she was ready to swoon. She wanted it to go on and on for ever, and she wanted something more, though she knew not what she longed for. When he let her go abruptly, she almost fell.

‘Forgive me,’ he said. ‘Your eyes invited and I took advantage of your innocence. I shall not sully that innocence with lust, for you must know now that I can never love you. All that was tender and innocent died in me a long time ago, Anne. I am not fit to be the husband of any gentle woman—and especially one like you. I should not have kissed you.’

Anne touched her fingers to her lips in wonder. Instinctively, she knew that it was the first time she had been kissed in such a way. No man had ever made her feel this way before, she was certain, and felt the invisible bond that seemed to fasten itself about her heart.

‘I liked it,’ she said, for there was no artifice in her. ‘Why do you say you are not fit to be my husband?’

‘I have lived as a mercenary for many years. Have you any idea of what that means?’ Anne shook her head. ‘It means that I fought for money. I killed men… and sometimes women; even children died in the cities we stormed and the ships we sent to the bottom of the ocean. I did not fight for honour or for my country, but for the gold it earned me and because of the hatred inside me. Do you understand what I am saying? I have seen things that no man should see and done things that shame me. There is blood on my hands, Anne. I do not think you would want such a man to be the father of your children.’

‘But they told me…Sulina told me you rescued her and Ali.’ Anne’s voice shook because his words conjured up pictures of horror that made her shudder. ‘They said you were a good man.’

‘A few good deeds amongst the bad,’ Stefan said, his coldness shattering her illusions. ‘I doubt they will be enough to save me from the fires of hell. No, little one, I am not for you. I promise that you are safe from me. That kiss was a moment of weakness, nothing more. Run away now and find something to amuse yourself with, Anne. I must speak with my steward. Tomorrow we shall visit the fair and buy silks for your new gowns.’

Anne stared after him as he walked away. Tears burned behind her eyes. Her mind was in turmoil and she did not know how she felt. When he kissed her she had experienced wonderful sensations that made her want to stay in his arms for ever, but then his harsh words made her tremble.

What kind of a man was Stefan de Montfort? His expression as he spoke of his past was so harsh, so angry, that he had frightened her. He described himself as a man who had taken life wantonly, and she saw pictures in her mind of burning cities and ships on fire, women and children screaming as the ship sank beneath the waves. He had lived by the sword, his life harsh, cruel and unforgiving.

How could she want to be the wife of such a man? And yet when he had spoken of buying her a new gown, when he had said that he could happily lie with her… when he had laughed with her about the physician…her heart had sung for joy. She felt confused, distressed, her heart pulled two ways.

Anne shook her head as she went out into the garden. The sun was shining and the air was heavy with the scent of roses and lavender. The sheltered gardens of the chateau were guarded with high walls and a thick hedge all around. It was warm and safe here and the pictures of hell and damnation Lord de Montfort had conjured up faded as she walked amongst the flowers.

She began to pick lavender stalks, smoothing the flower heads between her fingers and inhaling their scent. Now was the time to harvest some of nature’s bounty before all this beauty went to waste. She would make lavender bags to place in chests of linen. It was her mother’s habit every summer and a job she had always enjoyed.

In her mind, Anne saw a woman smiling at her. They were in a garden much like this, but more open, and they were picking flowers.

‘We shall make some lavender essence,’ the woman told her. ‘There is nothing so helpful when one has a headache.’

Anne felt tears begin to trickle down her cheeks as the picture faded. She was sure the woman was her mother. They had gathered flowers and herbs together every year to make the essences that her mother used in her stillroom.

Why could she not remember her own name? Why did she not know where she belonged? Anne felt a deep longing to go home. She was afraid that, if she stayed here in the chateau, the Lord de Montfort might break her heart.

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