Royal Weddings … Through the Ages

What the Duchess Wants

Terri Brisbin

Lionheart’s Bride

Michelle Willingham

Prince Charming in Disguise

Bronwyn Scott

A Princely Dilemma

Elizabeth Rolls

The Problem with Josephine

Lucy Ashford

Princess Charlotte’s Choice

Ann Lethbridge

With Victoria’s Blessing

Mary Nichols

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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What the
Duchess Wants

Terri Brisbin

About the Author

TERRI BRISBIN is wife to one, mother of three and dental hygienist to hundreds when not living the life of a glamorous romance author. She was born, raised and is still living in the southern New Jersey suburbs. Terri’s love of history led her to write time-travel romances and historical romances set in Scotland and England. Readers are invited to visit her website for more information at www.terribrisbin.com, or contact her at PO Box 41, Berlin, NJ 08009-0041, USA.

Previous novels by Terri Brisbin:

THE DUMONT BRIDE

LOVE AT FIRST STEP (short story in The Christmas Visit) THE NORMAN’S BRIDE THE COUNTESS BRIDE THE EARL’S SECRET TAMING THE HIGHLANDER SURRENDER TO THE HIGHLANDER POSSESSED BY THE HIGHLANDER BLAME IT ON THE MISTLETOE (short story in One Candlelit Christmas) THE MAID OF LORNE THE CONQUEROR’S LADY THE MERCENARY’S BRIDE HIS ENEMY’S DAUGHTER

And in Mills & Boon® Historical Undone! eBooks:

A NIGHT FOR HER PLEASURE*

* linked to The Knights of Brittany trilogy

Did you know that some of these novels are also available as eBooks? Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk

Prologue

City of Paris, Île-de-France, 1151 AD

‘Whoever named him Geoffrey the Fair had the right of it.’

Eleanor, Duchess of Aquitaine and Queen of France, tried to ignore the comment, whispered from behind her by one of the many women attending Louis’s court, but it was difficult to ignore the truth. The next comment caught her full attention.

‘They say his son is seeking a wife.’

God forgive her, she did look just then at the two men standing off to one side of Louis’s hall, awaiting their turn to speak to the king. Sitting up straighter, she adjusted her veil and smoothed her gown. They were both excellent specimens of manhood: proficient warriors, proven leaders, with more-than-pleasing physical attributes. And anger sat on their features, highlighting both their similarities and differences. Eleanor watched as they gathered their allies around them, discussing whatever matter brought them to Paris and to face the King of France.

Searching her memory, Eleanor realised that two matters brought Geoffrey, the sometimes-rancorous Count of Anjou, and Henry, his heir, to court—to see to the investiture of Henry as Duke of Normandy and to deal with one of Louis’s own stewards whom Geoffrey accused of taking part in the plundering of the marches of Anjou.

Fighting words from a fighting man and one who expected the king’s justice on the matter.

She wondered if this was wise since Louis tended to side with Eustace of Blois and Henry was pushing next to claim his rights to the English throne, one to which Eustace was his rival. The House of Anjou now stood under sanction from the church for their treatment of Louis’s man, something the king’s religious advisor thought would soften the count into releasing him. Instead of reacting as most would have—quaking in fear of the damnation of their immortal souls—the count had simply accepted the guilt of his actions and dared the old priest who’d pressed for their excommunication for more!

Eleanor’s own man, Godfroi of Poitiers, had explained the intricacies of this case with her, since Anjou and Poitou were historically either enemies or allies and Godfroi had knowledge of their ongoing relationship. Still, they stood waiting, almost challenging Louis to take them on and give them their say.

At the beginning of their marriage, Eleanor would not have hesitated to offer her counsel to Louis in matters such as these, but now, things were so very different for them. Her own advisors were seeking ways to end their marriage and every step she took and each word she spoke were scrutinised ad infinitum and ad nauseam—something that had grown tiresome years ago. Eleanor glanced over at her daughter Marie and watched as she admired the Angevins too. Glancing around, she noticed that not a woman in the room, save the three older nuns who attended from the abbey she and Louis sponsored, missed a move the father and son made.

A match between Marie and Henry had already been refused because Abbé Bernard declared such a marriage too close in relationship. Watching her daughter’s reaction, Eleanor wondered if she’d given up on the possibility or was nursing the romantic idea of a love lost. When the man who prevented that marriage entered, the entire crowd grew silent as he limped his way through the throngs who watched.

When Abbé Bernard reached the dais, he turned and blessed those watching but purposely turned his back to the Angevins! Now loud complaints and grumbling echoed through the crowd until Louis raised his hand to bring it to a halt. Knowing his predilection for every word the abbé uttered and his natural antagonism towards the count and his heir, she wondered at Louis’s decision to hear the matter of the abbé’s sanction in public.

Finally, Louis stood and motioned to his chancellor, who escorted the men away to his office where the king could speak with them. Eleanor stood and decided to accompany her husband. These Angevins were intriguing and she wanted to learn more about them after seeing them in person. Although Louis frowned at her, he did not order her away, so Eleanor followed along and entered the chambers he used for just this purpose. Surprisingly, the abbé did not join them, though several other bishops did, along with a few trusted nobles who had common borders with Anjou and the other provinces held by that family.

Louis waited for her to be seated before offering chairs to the others and then the discussions commenced. Geoffrey articulated their arguments succinctly and Eleanor fought a smile at how well he did so. Though his son remained at his side, the young man said nothing, simply watching and absorbing and studying every word spoken. He missed nothing, not even her observation of him, and he offered a discreet tilt of his head to acknowledge her attentions.

’Twas then she began to notice things about him. Though young, he had the body and stature of a warrior and she remembered he’d been knighted by his great-uncle David, the King of Scotland. Power and confidence flowed in his veins and throughout him, making it impossible for her not to watch him now. He nodded at several points made by his father, but did not speak. Although he disagreed with Louis’s position on several items, only his stance betrayed it and mayhap she was the only one watching so closely as to see it.

More than an hour passed and still they argued over the disposition of Anjou’s prisoner, whom he refused to give up without guarantees of action from the king. Ministers huffed and puffed and the Angevins stood their ground. No amount of threats or cajoling seemed to sway the opinions of the count and the duke. Then suddenly, angry words were spoken and the Angevins left!

Eleanor had never seen the likes of this before—a noble leaving in the middle of a parley, refusing all offers and demands and walking away without any resolution. She could tell from Louis’s expression that their behaviour surprised him as well, for his mouth tightened into a thin line and his brows gathered in a fierce frown. But, before they left the chamber, the duke caught her gaze and winked, giving her every sign that this was purely a manoeuvre meant to gain them leverage against their opponents.

The French nobles were insulted and demanded Louis take action, but he forestalled any repercussions with a word. Those in the chamber began to leave, both to see to their own issues and to spread the word of the outrageous behaviour they’d witnessed. With a nod to Louis, Eleanor found her maidservant and ladies waiting for her in the corridor and sought out her chambers.

Later that night, after sending the women away and discussing the day with her trusted advisor, Eleanor decided to enter into private communications with the Angevins. She believed she could aid them in moving across this quagmire safely and they could, in return, be the very thing she sought—someone, a nobleman, strong enough to offer a soon-to-be divorced queen sanctuary….

Or something more than sanctuary…

A future that would see Aquitaine and Poitou joined to Normandy and Anjou in an alliance stronger than either thought possible.

More than that, the possibility that teased her far into the night and into the next days, weeks and months was one of finding a husband worthy of her and all she had to offer.

Could Henry Fitz-Empress be that man?

Chapter One

City of Poitiers, Duchy of Aquitaine, spring 1152 AD

‘Why do I feel as though I am simply moving between prisons?’ Eleanor twisted the edge of her sleeve between her fingers and glanced over at the man before her. Luckily, the fabric was already pleated so her rough handling of it did not make it look worse for it.

Godfroi had been the commander of her personal guard for years and had remained behind in Aquitaine during most of her marriage to Louis, defending her home and her lands. At least, he had until she’d needed him these past difficult years. Now, she entrusted him with the most delicate of tasks—negotiating the possibility of marrying the Duke of Normandy.

‘Perhaps because you are?’ he replied, his droll and sometimes bold sense of humour apparent even in this serious situation. ‘But then does a queen truly expect her life to be otherwise?’

Eleanor sighed, looking away from his astute gaze. Duchess or queen, the expectations of others guided and ruled her life. Born from bloodlines that could trace back to Charlemagne, duty had been the first word she’d learned and would be the last concern when her life ended. These doubts, voiced to someone she trusted with her life, were only momentary lapses in the musings of an otherwise confident woman.

‘Tell me your impressions of him, Godfroi. Not what everyone at court said. Not the ones I gathered from our brief encounter and those few missives between us in Paris last year. Tell me what you have learned of the man I would have as husband and lord.’

‘He is very different from Louis.’

She laughed then and turned to face him. ‘There are not many men who are like Louis.’ Eleanor searched Godfroi’s face to see if he had been being sarcastic or serious. ‘My first husband would have been more content in a monastery than in his palaces. He could have spent every moment in prayer and would not have had a wife who placed the demands of the flesh on him. How is this Angevin different from that?’

‘Twas the root of the whole matter when she considered it.

Her marriage to Louis Capet had been for dynastic reasons and power and had brought together her properties with his, creating a kingdom that was double in size to his lands alone. She’d brought wealth and titles to the match and a body ready to produce heirs. Unfortunately, daughters were all they’d created between them, along with scandal, war and discontent. Meeting up with her vibrant uncle during the crusade to the Holy Land had made her think again of all that she’d given up to live as Louis’s wife and to suffer from the scorn and diatribes of all his counsellors and bishops. Ultimately, it had been her daughters, now under his custody and control, who were the key to her freedom and her annulment.

‘He is filled with a breathless and ruthless enthusiasm for life. Henry could never be controlled by the church or others. His life spent waiting for the crown of England has been spent in honing his skills as a warrior and a king. And I suspect that you will not have to force him into demands of the flesh.’

Only Godfroi could say such things without being impudent, but his words answered her concerns about things of a personal nature. Eleanor was exhausted by the constant demands of Louis’s ministers and his church cronies, and though the worst had passed away, others had not relented in their condemnation of her and anything and everything she did or said. They’d even blamed her for the debacle in the Holy Land!

‘Truly?’ she asked, waiting to see if she could bring the hint of a blush to this imperturbable man. Eleanor realised that there were repercussions to that kind of husband as well. The heat of a blush entered her own cheeks and surprised her. She’d lived a full life and was a mature woman of thirty years and she thought more worldly than a blushing maiden approaching her first marriage bed.

‘Just so, Your Grace,’ Godfroi replied, tipping his head to her.

‘I would meet with him before I agree to this match,’ she said.

‘That could be difficult now. His brother and others so lately seeking your hand as well.’ They’d attempted to kidnap her so that she’d had no other choice was a better description of the matter. Henry’s brother, Geoffrey the Younger, had ambushed her just before she’d reached Blois, then Thibault of that city had chased into her own city of Poitiers. She may no longer be Queen of France, but she would not accept second-born sons much lower than she was in status, name or wealth to husband!

‘Make it so, Godfroi. I have only met the man in the presence of others. I would assess him in privacy and speak with him candidly without others to hear the conversation.’

If Godfroi thought it was a mistake, he did not say. He simply bowed to her and left to make it happen. Such was his way. She knew he would keep her best interests in mind while negotiating this new marriage, just as she did not doubt Henry would impress her as much in a private discussion as he had when he appeared with his father before Louis demanding to be invested as Duke of Normandy. For once in her life, she held the reins in her hands. For once, she would exercise control not afforded to most women in this world.

For once, Eleanor, Duchess of Aquitaine and former Queen of France, would make her own decision.

Henry paced.

When the son of Empress Matilda and her second husband wanted something and it did not come to hand, he paced. Henry had waited and fought for the English crown and it yet remained out of his grasp. Now, he wanted Eleanor and all she brought and she sent her warrior instead.

‘She said what?’ he demanded, not believing the words spoken by the man playing messenger to a seemingly reluctant woman.

‘The queen—’

‘No longer.’

‘The duchess would like to continue the negotiations in person.’

He roared out his anger and frustration, effectively clearing the chamber of all who would take cover from him at times like this. More effective sometimes than a mild request, he used it when needed. Times like this when he did not wish to appear too conciliatory or needy, or when there were issues to discuss that were better done without an audience.

But need her, he did.

And the man facing him now seemed to grasp all that he would hide from others, and more.

‘Speak,’ he ordered. Henry walked around the perimeter of the chamber as he listened.

‘She seems to favour your suit over others,’ the knight admitted quietly. Henry sensed it was a difficult disclosure for this man sworn to the duchess’s personal safety and honour. ‘Over others who have tried to force the issue.’

Henry considered the words and their intended result. He remembered meeting the then Queen of France at her husband’s court last autumn. Though well-mannered and quiet as befit the wife of the monk-turned-king, her vitality and thirst for life was barely constrained and he recognised the kindred spirit within her. All knew her story, but he wondered where the truth lay. Meeting the knight’s gaze, he studied the man.

‘Have you fallen under her spell as well as the others? Do you love your lady as her uncle did?’ There were even rumours about his own father and Eleanor but he would leave that unspoken now. ‘Do you share such scandalous nights as she did with him to warrant forcible custody by her rightful husband?’ he goaded.

The man moved so quickly that he rivalled Henry himself and surprised him. In only a few seconds Henry found this Godfroi of Poitiers confronting him, so close that he could feel the man’s exhalations on his face.

‘Spiteful stories spun and told to shame and humiliate her.’ He swore something truly insulting and yet inventive in Latin under his breath. ‘I thought better of you than this, Your Grace.’

The title spoken like another curse, Henry did not know whether to call for his guards or be ashamed.

‘The bishops have spoken of little else in their sermons from nearly every pulpit in France. Her shameful behaviour in Antioch that caused the Holy Crusade to fail and that caused God to curse her husband with only daughters.’ Henry watched as every word was like a blow to this warrior’s own honour. ‘Surely the shepherds of God’s church know the truth?’

‘They shepherd not God’s church, Your Grace. They see to their own aspirations and ambitions. Much as they do in your England.’ Henry smiled then and stepped back from Godfroi. He had the same concerns about the power of the church in the secular world.

‘And to what do you aspire, Godfroi of Poitiers? If you do not aspire to have the queen for your own, what benefit is overseeing these negotiations to you?’ Every man had his price and Henry sought to know this man’s since his part in this was crucial. ‘A title? Land? Why do you remain loyal to this woman when so many have abandoned her?’

‘I aspire to fulfil my sworn duty to my liege lady. That is all. I would see her placed with a husband strong enough to see to her dower lands and to her person.’

‘And your price?’

Godfroi sputtered then and turned away, a bold move for a knight in the presence of a duke and soon king of all England.

‘When I am content that her future is settled, I will enter the service of God.’

Henry was not easily surprised but this man had managed it. Giving up all worldly goods and taking vows of poverty, chastity and obedience were not what he would have expected to hear. ‘You are not an old man and yet you would give up the world and all its pleasures?’ Godfroi looked surprised by Henry’s question, but accepted it.

‘My wife died a few years ago, Your Grace, and I have no intention of remarrying. And, in spite of her first husband’s leanings, the duchess has given me permission to resign from her service and enter God’s.’

Henry did laugh then, both at this man’s manner and words, for he did not mince either and Henry would like such a man in his own service. Appeased by the answers and understanding that this knight would stand behind him and not between him and his lady, Henry nodded.

‘Make the arrangements. I will plead my own case to your duchess.’

Godfroi left the duke with his advisors and returned to Eleanor with the arrangements for his visit. He wondered as he told her of them whether this was a good idea or not.

He’d watched the previous marriage, one that had been questioned as to validity from its start, begin, flare and then crumble. His lady now had the opportunity that most women only dreamt of—to choose her husband—and he wanted to counsel her well. After meeting Henry, Duke of Normandy and Count of Anjou, Godfroi knew they would make a spectacular match.

Together they would claim huge areas and wealth and control more of France than their liege, King Louis. Once Henry made good on his efforts to claim England as his, and Godfroi did not doubt that he could and would, they would be a force to be reckoned with in all the world.

Godfroi smiled then, thinking of the woman Eleanor, and he knew that Henry would be a better match for the highly educated, intelligent, shrewd, worldly, passionate woman she was than Louis could ever hope to be. Oh, there would be problems—most likely loud and raucous problems—but there could be great passion… and love between these two.

He had no doubt that their names and the story of their lives together would carry down through generations and history; he just prayed he would survive it all.

Chapter Two

Eleanor sat in a simple chair and watched him enter the solar. A room decorated for comfort and pleasure to her own tastes, it did not have a dais or high throne as the great hall did. The women attending her embroidered or worked on tapestries and gave her command to ignore him a valiant if unsuccessful effort.

Accompanied only by Godfroi, he strode into this nest of women and walked about as though he already owned it. Arrogance filled every step, but at the same time, he wooed and won every woman there. He greeted each of them, bowing gallantly before them, asking their names and inquiring about their positions in her court. Only when he’d spoken to each of them did he turn his attentions to her.

She lost her breath at the intensity of his gaze on her!

Their last encounter had been in the midst of a formal court event and Louis had been at her side. Although she never missed the opportunity to appreciate male beauty, her behaviour that day had been the most circumspect of her life for the end of her marriage was under consideration and she’d do nothing to interfere with that. So, she’d watched him from beneath her lashes, noticing his strong warrior’s body and close-cropped curly reddish hair and shrewd grey eyes. More than that, he exuded a love of life like the one she kept hidden these past years.

His gown, though of expensive fabric, was plain and unadorned and he wore a short cloak over it as was his habit. Henry did not wear expensive jewels nor try to impress others with such accoutrements; he used the force of his will and his drive to take all that was his to capture others.

‘Your Grace,’ he said as he approached her. ‘It is kind of you to receive me.’

She wanted to laugh, for Godfroi had given her a rather colourful report about Henry’s actual response to her demands for this meeting. That he tried to be gracious, even if only in public, made her smile. Rising, she offered her hand to him. They would meet as equals, for other than her sex, they were equal in status… for now.

‘And you are gracious in attending me here, Your Grace,’ she said as he took her hand and kissed it. It would have been just like any other respectful gesture had he not paused and kissed not only the top of her hand but also the inside of her wrist.

She shivered, though his mouth heated that sensitive spot and Eleanor knew she let a soft gasp escape.

He looked at her without moving his mouth and the deliberate touch of his tongue on her skin made her body heat from within. No stranger to bed-play, Eleanor understood and felt this as the foreplay he meant it to be.

Bold. Sensual. Male. Challenging her to accept him.

Without breaking their gaze, she nodded and her women and Godfroi left quickly and quietly. And then they were truly alone.

Henry still held her hand in his and decided not to release it. He liked the way she’d gasped when he’d kissed her wrist. He liked the frank appraisal of her eyes as he’d entered the chamber, all the while appearing as though she ignored his presence. He especially liked the way her body blossomed beneath his mouth.

Since she was nigh on thirty, he thought to find a woman long-tired of the marriage bed, especially after spending the last score of years in the bed of a man who preferred praying to sexual play with his wife. But instead it pleased him immensely to find a woman whose appetite for life and all it offered equalled his own. Her beauty, sung about by troubadours and spoken about by bards across the land, was not an exaggeration. She retained the glow of youth, the one that drew men to her like bees to honey. When she pitched her voice lower and softer, his body reacted as though she slid her hand over his naked skin.

‘I thought to meet with you before negotiations proceeded any further, Your Grace,’ she murmured, allowing him to continue his intimate caress of her hand. He smiled then, inhaling the scent of roses she wore.

‘You wanted to inspect me to see if I was acceptable to the Duchess of Aquitaine.’ He dropped her hand and stepped away. ‘So, Your Grace, what say you? Do I meet your requirements?’

If he thought she would blush or act the demur maiden, he was mistaken. The bold caress of her gaze heated his blood; she looked on him as if he were some sweet prepared by the cook for only her pleasure. He wanted to peel off the carefully arranged garments she wore, loosen the floor-length braid of her golden hair and taste the sweetness she offered over and over until they could not move or breathe.

But what she did next surprised him, for it was a boldness he hoped for yet dared not dream could happen. It also confirmed that not all the stories he’d heard of the errant queen of the Franks were falsehoods. Eleanor crossed the distance between them, took hold of his shoulders and kissed him.

Her lips were soft against his and he stood motionless for a moment, savouring the feel of it. Then he reached up to cup the back of her head, causing the bejewelled circlet holding a gauzy veil in place to fall onto the floor. Henry took control then and kissed her back, opening his mouth and tasting her deeply. She pulled away for a moment and studied him, the tip of her tongue skimming over her bottom lip in a most enticing manner. When he thought she would end it, instead she leaned back into him and lifted her mouth to his once more.

His body reacted as he expected it would when faced with temptation such as this and he would have taken her there and then, save for the fact that it would most likely cause her to back out of negotiations completely. Capturing her and claiming her physically would only work as a strategy if he could do it outside her own city, as his brother and the others had so recently attempted. And even if they allowed this pleasurable interlude to seek its ultimate end with him planted deep within her warm flesh, it would not result in the marriage he wanted.

And something deep inside him wanted her to want this marriage and him as much as he did.

He could try to fool himself that it was only the lands and titles and power that made him want her, but watching her as queen and knowing how accomplished, learned and skilled she was and the personality she would bring to him as his wife, Henry knew he wanted her for much, much more. When their mouths touched and he felt her passion rising and her body soften against his hardness, he knew theirs could be a successful match and marriage.

Eleanor the queen had been impressive. Eleanor the duchess was desirable. But Eleanor the woman was irresistible!

Henry held her close and slid his hands around to her back, possessing her mouth and letting her taste of his desire for her. He wanted to touch more of her and began to caress the curve of her hip. Just when he would have moved his hand up, a loud knock came on the door and Eleanor jumped back, putting distance between them. A carefully planned move, he was certain, to allow her enough time but not allow him too much.

Well played, Eleanor!

Godfroi opened the door at her word and was the first to enter. As her women filed in, he admired her strategy even as he noticed that her lips were now swollen from their kisses. Before turning to face the others, she reached up a trembling hand and touched her mouth. Desire ripped through his blood and he wanted to kiss all of her until she quaked with pleasure under him. Feeling smug at the reaction he was able to provoke, Henry strode to the door confident that she would be his. But, as he bid her farewell, it took only a moment for her to take the matter back into her control.

As he leaned over to kiss her hand, determined this time for it to be the respectful gesture it should be, Henry heard her husky whispered words.

‘You will do, Your Grace.’

Henry met her gaze and let out his laughter, not stopping as he walked from her chambers and not until he rode from Poitiers’s gates.

As will you, my fair Eleanor. As will you.

Chapter Three

‘Your Grace!’

Both Godfroi and Henry’s counsellor, William, called out the words at the same time, sending it echoing through the large chamber where the negotiations were being held. Once she’d decided that Henry would be the man to see to her fortunes and to herself, the discussions had begun in earnest and in secret. Time was scant and they needed to move forward quickly before Louis learned of their intent and tried to stop it out of fear for what their alliance could mean to him and his rule.

Henry had tried again to argue for control over Aquitaine to pass to him and Eleanor had let slip a rather rude epithet, one she’d heard many times while in the company of crusaders and one she thought explained her position on Henry’s demand exactly. Those of a gentler disposition assisting in the discussions apparently did not appreciate the candour of the word or her use of it.

Henry… well, Henry seemed to laugh it off, accepting her foibles during these discussions, whether it was her use of this particular word or her ongoing refusal to acquiesce to his demands. He watched her in a way that took her breath away, but she was coming to know that he did everything with an intensity she’d never known in a man before. Though he never repeated, nor did she, the kisses or caresses of that first meeting, she could tell by the way his grey eyes darkened when he was thinking on matters of the flesh.

At times, he seemed to undress her with that intense gaze, and she could swear she felt his fingers sliding over her clothing, loosening and untying laces, peeling away layers, until her very skin burned in anticipation. Though she had enjoyed the pleasure found in the marriage bed, Louis had looked on it as a chore and something he must do. He was never unkind in those matters, but did not like to linger or explore or spend more time than was necessary to accomplish his goal—spill his seed within her and then pray she would bear a son.

Now though, every time Henry touched her, and he seemed to do so with increased frequency and ardour, her body readied itself for him, for more. From the look he gave her now and the way he slid his tongue along his lips as though preparing himself to taste something sweet, she hoped these discussions would finish quickly. For the shallow woman everyone seemed to think she was did indeed live within her and that woman was ready to invite him to her bed… now… outside the vows of marriage.

Could he read her thoughts? Was she as transparent as her favourite silken veil? It must be so, for he watched her and then laughed to himself.

‘Forgive me, good sirs,’ she said, nodding to each of the counsellors. ‘I but forgot myself momentarily in my enthusiasm to bring these discussions to a pleasing conclusion.’

Though certain that Godfroi and William were thinking of a successful marriage contract that benefited their own lord or lady the most, she was thinking of another conclusion, one that would have Henry in her bed…

‘Your Grace?’ Godfroi said quietly, waiting for her to stir from the lustful reverie that seemed to overtake her when in the same room with the duke. ‘Mayhap if Your Graces take a walk around the garden, William and I could come up with the suitable wording?’

In other words, pray thee leave and let those less involved handle these personal matters.

‘Your Grace?’ she said, looking at Henry. ‘What say you to Godfroi’s suggestion?’

Henry nodded. He never remained still for long and being closed up in this room for these hours must grate on him. The suggestion made him smile and he held out his hand to her.

‘An excellent one, Your Grace,’ he said, leading her to the door. ‘The sun is most agreeable this day and a brief respite would do us all good.’ It sounded so polite, like any other courtier’s expected reply, until he whispered under his to her. ‘They wish to be rid of us both, Eleanor. Let us away before they decide otherwise!’

He took her hand firmly in his, entwining their fingers, and then he ran down the corridor, forcing her to keep pace with him. Their maids and menservants were caught by surprise and were dozens of paces behind them—Henry’s clear intention—when they arrived at the gate of the garden. Laughing and out of breath, she could only allow him to pull her into the garden and then watch as he locked the gates against the rest of them.

Her guards called out to her, always mindful of the dangers that yet existed for her, but she answered them, and soon it was just Henry and her… alone.

‘Walk with me, Eleanor,’ he asked prettily.

How could she refuse such a request when done nicely? She held out the hand he’d released and they walked, though briskly, around the perimeter of the manicured gardens. She loved this one best and would miss it when she went to live in…

‘Where will we live?’ she asked.

‘So you think these matters will be worked out, then?’ he asked, stopping for a moment and then walking again.

‘I have never been to Rouen,’ she said, ignoring his question and continuing as though everything were settled. Because it would be. ‘Is it warm there?’

‘Rouen is a beautiful city, but there are others in Normandy if you do not like it,’ he offered. Now it was her turn to be surprised by such an offer.

‘But it is the seat of your duchy. Surely the duke and duchess should reside there.’

He pulled to a stop and faced her. ‘My mother maintains a household in Rouen.’

‘Is that a warning or an invitation?’

Since the Plantagenets, as Henry’s father called themselves, and the Capets tended to be enemies, Eleanor had had no opportunity to meet the extraordinary woman who had nearly claimed England as her own and now sought it for her son.

‘I think you would find her interesting,’ he explained, the respect for his mother evident in his voice and tone. ‘She has had many interesting experiences similar to yours and you might find her helpful in establishing yourself as the Duchess of Normandy.’

His mother had been the Empress of Germany during her first marriage and from a very young age, much as Eleanor had married and become Queen of France.

‘I would like to meet her,’ she admitted.

Strong women in power were so few in these times when inheritances were more and more going only through male heirs. Eleanor knew that she was in fact only a placeholder for the titles of Aquitaine and Poitou and would relinquish them to a son, if she had any. Though Henry pushed for it, she would not, however, relinquish her rights to those if they married. She had held them through her marriage to Louis and as that relationship ended.

‘There is another similarity between the two of you, Eleanor.’ His voice was lighter, teasing her, and she tried to think of another thing she could have in common with the empress. ‘After marrying older men in your first marriage, you have both taken on the challenge of marrying someone much younger in your second.’

Eleanor laughed then, for Henry leaned in closer and teased, ‘I hope you hold up as well as she did.’

He failed to mention how much his mother hated his father and she hoped that was not something that would also happen between them. The conversation continued with neither of them even questioning that a match between them would not occur.

‘We may spend much of our time moving between our holdings, especially when I am finally successful in claiming my birthright in England. Have you ever travelled there?’ he asked, guiding her to a bench while he stood, or rather paced, nearby.

‘Nay. Many other places but not across the Channel.’

And she had travelled far and well during her lifetime—as far as the Holy Land and through many countries and territories as they returned. Eleanor had seen many wonders, peoples and lands from the very exotic to the familiar. But she’d never gone north to England. As Henry’s wife, she would be expected to visit there and rule with him, once he attained the throne.

‘What is your favourite place in England?’ she asked, trying to learn more about this man she would marry. ‘Other than the battles, of which I have heard a little, when did you spend time there?’

She did something then that she did well—Eleanor listened. Her teachers had taught her that there was much to be learned in both the words chosen and the words left unspoken and now she watched as he became very excited, telling her about his time in England with his uncle, becoming a knight just two years past. He spoke of his teachers and his time in England as a child, spent with his mother’s half-brother, the Earl of Gloucester.

The Duke of Normandy was a passionate man—his plans to claim his birthright, his refusal to bow to the whims of Louis, indeed his willingness to take a path that many could and would call treason, and even just his interests in fighting and hunting and hawking, all spoke of his enthusiastic approach to everything in life. And the manner in which he constantly found ways and opportunities to touch her spoke of his passion of another sort.

When an hour or more had passed, Eleanor sat on a bench in a secluded alcove of the garden. Henry lay with his head on her lap, entwining his fingers with hers as they spoke. She laughed, more than once, at his impertinence and arrogance and she could not remember the last time she’d felt so very light-hearted or was filled with such anticipation about any event in her life.

Though Louis would remain her liege lord for her lands and titles in Aquitaine and Poitou, a marriage to Henry would return her to the same status, perhaps even higher, than her now-former husband and any new wife he might seek. Louis most likely did not wish to do so, though finding a new wife, begetting a male heir, was something his ministers and advisors, both religious and secular, would pursue vigorously. In order not to be shamed by this new social order, marriage to someone equal to or higher than Louis would be necessary.

Eleanor sighed then, realising the political efficiency of this proposed match bore more weight than she had first considered. Much as she’d like to think it could be about other matters or issues, it would not be. She was a woman of rank and privilege and as such would never be free from the responsibility to marry well.

‘That does not bode well for my suit,’ Henry said softly as he reached up and gently moved a few loosened strands of her hair out of her face. He turned his hand and caressed the exposed area of her cheek as he smiled. ‘Is there ought I can do to remove the frown from your brow, Eleanor?’

If she closed her eyes and listened only to the sound of his voice, she could almost believe they were simply a man and a woman. Her biggest concern lay in the most dramatic difference between the two men she would call husband—Henry’s appetites, for all things exciting, would bring her into a life very different from the one she had with prayerful Louis. She’d watched all of her life while sexual affairs changed the world around her and she suspected—nay, she knew—Henry would never be limited to one woman in his bed.

All she could hope for was his regard, his respect and possibly his love, even while she knew she would share his body with others.

‘I think you will break my heart, Henry.’ She shared her deepest fear. ‘I think you will break it often.’

Regret entered his grey gaze and Eleanor read the truth there—Henry knew their life would not be easy and that her fear would be realised. Men of power and status lived a certain life with perquisites and expectations. Women other than their legal wives were always part of that life. Though not a large problem as Louis’s wife, Eleanor understood that it would be a part of any marriage with Henry, especially as young and vigorous as he was. When he opened his mouth as though to speak against such accusations she placed her finger over his lips to stop him. Better not to make promises she knew could not be kept over time.

‘But we will manage this, will we not?’ she asked.

‘Better than manage,’ he whispered, and he guided her head down so he could touch his mouth to hers. ‘We will be spectacular together, Eleanor. Spectacular.’

The kiss that followed his words gave her hope of such things. He tangled his hands in her hair and one kiss led to another and another until she could think of nothing else but having this man as her husband.

Chapter Four

City of Poitiers, Duchy of Aquitaine, 18th May 1152 AD

The day dawned bright and sunny as days in her favourite city often did in the midst of spring. Gentle breezes flowed around the city, rustling the flags that flew high on the walls of Poitiers. The colours of the Duke of Normandy interspersed with her own decorated the castle and the cathedral, announcing to all their future lord’s arrival. Eleanor leaned her head back and inhaled the fragrance of the blossoms of May.

She would never tire of this place and its beauty. She was of this land and of these people and it would always be part of her soul. Did he feel the same about Normandy or Anjou? Or England? Was there a city or province that called to his blood the way Aquitaine did hers?

Her gaze moved over the people gathered along the sides of the road as her carriage made its way from the castle stronghold to the cathedral where the marriage would take place. Though no announcement had been made, word had spread and her people came to wish her well. Waving to her as she rode past, they smiled and some of the children even tossed flowers at her.

Negotiations had concluded that afternoon they’d spent in the garden and now they would wed. The ceremony would be much smaller than personages of their consequence might have been expected to hold but the circumstances around this marriage warranted it. They and their advisors understood that the king could take offence to it since they did not ask for his permission, as those sworn to their liege lord should have.

She sighed then, catching the attention of the two women who accompanied her inside the carriage. Constance and Eloise smiled and she allowed them to continue to think she thought on Henry and his many attributes—attributes they’d discussed for hour upon hour these past days. A woman on her wedding day should not be thinking on the possibilities of coming war and retribution claimed by a king.

After discussing this same issue with Godfroi and other advisors, Eleanor suspected that Louis’s true opinion about this situation was that, though he’d released her from their marriage, she should not seek another on her own but wait for him to arrange one. In her mind, she could see his reaction, his usual Capet calm regard exploding into something completely different. She’d seen it once, in Antioch, when accusations were made against her behaviour towards her uncle. She had no doubt that the news of her marriage to Henry and the merger of all of their lands and titles would enrage him as little else could.

‘Madam,’ Constance said. ‘We are approaching the cathedral.’

Eleanor nodded and arranged her gown so that she could climb down more easily. The horses drew to a halt and the crowds cheered. Peering through the window, she saw Henry walking down the steps of the cathedral towards her. In an unusual gesture, he was coming to her.

She smiled and allowed the others to climb down first to assist her. As they moved a few steps away, Henry appeared with his hand outstretched to her. He smiled and bowed to her and her people cheered loudly. His garments were of the finest cloth and he wore a heavy gold chain around his neck. A signet ring was his only other jewellery but the large ruby in it spoke of its value. His red hair gleamed in the bright sunshine and his eyes sparkled as he helped her out and gathered her at his side.

He kept his arm around her waist and guided her up the stairs to the door of the large church. It was inappropriate and daring, but she loved the gesture. She, the Duchess of Aquitaine, did not enter as a supplicant to this marriage. They entered together, as equals, and he even had the audacity to pause at the doorway, turn to face the crowd and then kiss her before them!

Eleanor was still laughing and breathless when they reached the altar and, try as she might, it was difficult to regain the composure expected of a duchess on such an occasion. Instead she and Henry shared glances and even gentle touches as the ceremony commenced. Although this wedding was nothing when compared to her first one, there were sufficient witnesses of significant standing to ensure its validity. And the Bishop of Poiters and several others attested to the lack of obstacles in making this marriage.

Eleanor found herself nervous just then, as the last clause of the marriage agreement was read aloud and it was time to exchange vows with this man… vows that would make her his property, under his control and no other’s. Her throat tightened for a moment and she swallowed against it.

‘Here now, Your Grace,’ Henry whispered. ‘Be of stout heart and take me as your own.’

He squeezed her hand then and nodded and it both relieved her fears and warmed her heart. He’d noticed the unaccountable nervousness and tried to assist her. If he would continue to do that, she had great hopes for their life together.

Henry felt her hand tremble ever so slightly and squeezed it, willing her to look at him. Eleanor of Aquitaine, a woman who had travelled the world and seen a holy crusade, was nervous about marrying him? He would never have thought it possible. But then, until just a few months ago, he would never have believed such a marriage possible either. Now, as she smiled at him and he saw some softer emotion flicker deep in her blue eyes, he was glad his beliefs had been so misplaced.

When she’d arrived before the church and he’d heard the people chanting her name and his, his heart had raced with excitement and anticipation of their joining. He watched as she prepared to climb from the carriage, smoothing the blue gown that matched the colour of her eyes and adjusting the shimmering veil that covered her long hair, hair left unbound as though a virgin bride.

The blatant desire in her eyes as their gazes met only served to confirm that virginity could be overrated and that a woman of experience had much to offer. The passion that awaited them both would be as exquisite as she was and his body shook from the power of his response to her. Only hours remained until they were one in name and in body and he hoped he could resist acting the barbarian and carrying her off to his bed before the festivities concluded!

Her boldness, her vitality, her sense of humour and adventure, all called to him. Her beauty and her innate passion riled his blood. She would be a fitting wife for him and he was glad of it. The bishops, surrounded by the wafting smell of burning ashes and candles, consecrated their union by praying blessing after blessing for them and offering a seemingly endless litany of prayers. Henry grew anxious to reach the end of this ceremony. ‘Twas sacrilegious possibly, but he wanted her called wife so that he could have her to himself—and that could only happen when they were declared married.

With each passing prayer, he drew her closer, enjoying the feeling of her body near his and the knowledge that she was minutes away from being his. At last, the final benediction was prayed and, as they knelt next to each other, Eleanor squeezed his hand in response.

She was a fitting match for him and would be the wife he would need at his side during these next crucial years as he claimed England at last and forged his own kingdom. Everything he needed in a helpmeet, everything he wanted in a future queen and everything he wanted in a woman he found in Eleanor.

As he helped her stand and listened to the bishop’s words declaring them man and wife before God, Henry felt the laughter bubbling up from within and he let it out. It echoed through the large open spaces in the cathedral and then hers joined his as they raced down the long centre aisle towards the doors and the rest of their lives together.

Reaching the doors, he paused only long enough for the guards to open them before drawing Eleanor into his arms and kissing her the way he wanted to, beginning to make her his and to claim her passion for himself. Then, waving off those who would help, he lifted her onto one of the matching horses that stood waiting for them and climbed onto the other.

Trumpets flared and drums beat. Their names were chanted by the crowds and echoed down the cobbled streets of Poitiers as they made their way slowly back to the castle where they would celebrate with a feast and dancing for the rest of the day. Eleanor’s every move was filled with elegance and grace, as she nodded to her people, now his, and accepted their adulation as though it was more than simply that expected of a people for their liege. She was accepting their love.

Though his men surrounded them as their honour guard, Eleanor’s own troops led their way along the streets. An example of what their marriage meant, this merging of Normandy and Aquitaine, Angers and Poitou, would create something new and different among the powers on the continent. Henry smiled and waved as people called out his name.

As he turned back, he caught sight of Eleanor smiling at him and, for a moment, they were not duke and duchess or count and countess. They were not heirs or heiresses. Instead they were simply Henry and Eleanor, a man and a woman, married and beginning the rest of their lives together. In that instant, Henry offered up a prayer for all those things every man must wish for at such a time—many years together, a happy life and the blessing of children.

Eleanor nodded at him, seeming to understand and share his feelings, and Henry knew all would be well between them. Reaching over, he held out his hand and took hers. They rode the rest of the way with hands joined.

‘Twas hours later when Henry announced an end to the feast and sent Eleanor off with her ladies to prepare for their marriage bed. Though his men and those he called friends called out bawdy words and offered challenges to him, he brushed them off and arrived at Eleanor’s chambers alone. A formal bedding ceremony was expected, but Henry had ordered there be none. She would be his wife for the rest of their lives, for Henry had no intention of repeating Louis’s mistake in letting such a treasure escape. He would never repudiate their marriage or the woman herself and he had no intention of exposing her loveliness to the gawking gazes of others.

As arranged, she was alone when he entered, her women leaving just as he closed the door behind him. Uncertain of what to expect or where he would find her, Henry lifted the candle he carried and saw her in the bed. He lost the ability to think in that moment, for the sight of her sitting there among silken pillows and sheets, with only her hair covering the creamy flesh and feminine curves, was too alluring to resist.

What should not have surprised him was the way she watched him as he walked across the bedchamber to stand before her. If he thought she would watch him with less intensity or interest than he watched her, Henry discovered differently in a very short time. He remembered the moment he caught her staring at him in Louis’s court last autumn and saw the frank assessment in her knowing eyes. The same gaze greeted him now and he wondered how bold she could be.

Henry paused at the side of the bed, placed the candle on the table to join the others there and began to untie the laces on his tunic and shirt. She never said a word, but she missed nothing. He lifted his arms and tugged the garments over his head, allowing her to watch.

He could feel the heat of her gaze move over his flesh and his body reacted to her frank scrutiny by readying itself for what was to happen. Eleanor shifted in the bed but said nothing. Then a slight smile curved her lips and she nodded, giving him permission to continue! He laughed then and reached for the belt around his waist. Watching her reaction caused his heart to pound and his blood to race through his veins, heating every part of him.

Henry bent down and removed his boots and stockings before loosening his trews and pushing them down and off. Standing, he faced Eleanor and let her look her fill for he intended to do the same of her before the night was done. If he thought she would look away or not carefully examine his manliness, he was wrong, but the true surprise came when she spoke.

‘As I said some weeks ago, Your Grace, you will do.’

He would have sputtered out some words but her gesture forestalled him. Eleanor lifted the sheets, gifting him with a view of her full breasts and narrow waist. When she opened her legs and offered him a place between them, he accepted the passion and the woman she offered.

Only some hours later, when their ardour had been spent by several bouts of pleasure together did he respond to her words.

‘As will you, my sweet Eleanor. As will you.’

Epilogue

Le Mans, County of Anjou, 1157 AD

Eleanor, Duchess of Normandy and Aquitaine and Queen of England, smiled as the baby was handed to her husband. Henry had wanted sons and this was the third they’d produced—something even she had wondered would be possible when they’d married five years before. After having only daughters with Louis Capet, the doubt had lived deep within her. The births of little Henry and this son had eased her grief over losing the firstborn of Henry’s get and now her contentedness in the marriage she’d sought with the House of Anjou increased. Henry examined the baby and then nodded his joy at her.

‘I agree with your choice, Eleanor. Richard is a fine name for my son,’ he said. He handed the baby back to his nurse and sat on the bed, next to Eleanor, sliding their hands together. ‘I am pleased, wife.’

Eleanor understood that part of her husband’s pleasure involved tweaking the nose of her former husband, who could not seem to have a son. Word would be sent out announcing the arrival of the latest son in the Plantagenet family and she could imagine Louis’s reaction.

‘As am I, husband,’ she said, accepting the kiss he offered.

‘He will make a fine heir to Aquitaine,’ Henry declared as boldly as ever, knowing that the decision was hers and not his to make.

‘He could,’ she answered, not consenting or rejecting the idea as yet.

Five years before he had relented in his demands over this issue, but, like a dog with a juicy bone, he could not let it go. Though he’d gone on to make his claim on England the year after their marriage and then assumed the throne there another year after that, Henry still wanted Aquitaine. Even having England within his grasp did not cause him to let go of her claim of control over her provinces.

Now though, he was happy with this new heir she’d given him and would be gracious in her refusal. He realised it even as she did and so she eased her stance the tiniest bit.

‘Richard Plantagenet, Duke of Aquitaine,’ she said. ‘It does have an appealing sound to it.’

Henry leaned in close and touched his mouth to hers, gently squeezing her hand as he did so.

‘You will do,’ Henry replied. Kissing her again, he gathered her close and held her in his arms, mindless of anyone else in the chamber. ‘Aye, you will do, Eleanor.’

* * * * *

Author Note

As we all know, the marriage of Henry and Eleanor would last for decades and be one of the best known of all of the royal matches in British history. From their legendary squabbles which split apart the Angevin empire (and were the basis for dramas like The Lion in Winter) to the extraordinary long life of Eleanor (she died in her eighty-third year), who tried to hold it all together for her sons, their story was filled with all of the things that families deal with even now—love, betrayal, support, estrangement, restoration and competition.

The fates of the Capets and the Plantagenets remained intertwined and connected for generations. In love or in war, theirs was a constant competition for control of lands and titles in what would become modern France.

Though Eleanor is often demonised in the histories of the times, blamed for everything that ever went wrong in the life of Louis Capet, I cannot help but believe that history is not kind to extraordinary women who step outside the boundaries of society’s expectations of them. And I chose to see Henry as an enthusiastic young man, about to set out to pursue all of his dreams, in search of a woman who could be his equal. If he decided later that he did not want such a woman, we can’t blame her for it!

As their marriage progressed, Henry and Eleanor produced eight (or possibly nine) children, sons and daughters who inherited various parts of their family empire or who were married off to strengthen bonds with other important and powerful families. Most readers tend to remember only two of them—Richard and John. Divided by contention and favouritism, Henry’s sons were never content and eventually saw almost all of their lands on the continent lost and only England remain under their control.

But, at the beginning of it all, a marriage between an older woman and a younger man, a duchess and a duke, a count and a countess, began, I believe, with enthusiasm, anticipation and a bit of love. I hope you enjoyed the story of their royal wedding.

For readers seeking more of the historical details about this time period and this particular marriage, let me suggest two of the books I use when writing in this time period: The Knight, the Lady and the Priest: The Making of Modern Marriage in Medieval France by Georges Duby, and Eleanor of Aquitaine and the Four Kings by Amy Kelly.

Those readers familiar with my previous historical romances should recognise the man who facilitates the delicate negotiations between Henry and Eleanor—Godfroi. In The King’s Mistress, he is known as Godfrey and has indeed entered God’s service. By the time of that story, he is abbot of a large monastery in northern England and counsellor to the hero, Orrick of Silloth-on-Solway, as well as to an older but not much wiser Henry II of England. It was fun for me to go back and see how Godfroi helped in this marriage. He is, of course, a fictional character, created for these stories and not based on any real person, though I suspect there must have been someone like him who helped things along.

Happy reading!

Terri Brisbin

Lionheart’s Bride

Michelle Willingham

About the Author

MICHELLE WILLINGHAM grew up living in places all over the world. When her parents hauled her to antique shows, Michelle entertained herself by making up stories and pondering whether she could afford a broadsword with her allowance. Currently she teaches American History and English, and lives in south-eastern Virginia with her husband and children. She still doesn’t have her broadsword. Visit her website at: www.michellewillingham.com or e-mail her at michelle@michellewillingham.com

Previous novels by Michelle Willingham:

HER IRISH WARRIOR* THE WARRIOR’S TOUCH* HER WARRIOR KING* HER WARRIOR SLAVE ^ THE ACCIDENTAL COUNTESS % THE ACCIDENTAL PRINCESS% TAMING HER IRISH WARRIOR * SURRENDER TO AN IRISH WARRIOR *

Also available in eBook format in Mills & Boon® Historical Undone!:

THE VIKING’S FORBIDDEN LOVE-SLAVE

THE WARRIOR’S FORBIDDEN VIRGIN

AN ACCIDENTAL SEDUCTION % INNOCENT IN THE HAREM PLEASURED BY THE VIKING

* The MacEgan Brothers

^ prequel to The MacEgan Brothers mini-series

% linked by character

Did you know that some of these novels are also available as eBooks? Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk

Prologue

Pamplona, the Kingdom of Navarre, 1187

‘I didn’t know if you would come,’ Richard said, reaching for her hand. He had removed the chain-mail armour he’d worn earlier and wore a blue silk tunic trimmed with fur. His dark mantle rested over his shoulders, and even in the moonlight, Berengaria could see the cool grey of his eyes and the reddish glint of his hair.

‘What choice did I have?’ she accused. ‘You stole my ring at the tournament when you kissed my hand.’ Holding out her palm, she sent him a warning look. ‘I want it back.’

‘I wanted an excuse to see you again.’ He sent her a slow smile that quickened her pulse. Opening his hand, he revealed the emerald and gold ring. ‘Is this what you want?’

When she tried to seize it, he curled his fingers over his palm. ‘Come closer, and you shall have it.’

‘Do not play games, Your Grace. I’ve no interest in them.’

‘If that were true, you wouldn’t have come. You’d have sent a servant for the ring.’

‘And you’d have refused to return it.’

He drew closer, pressing the ring into her hands. ‘Do you think me such a villain?’

‘I don’t know who you are.’ Though her hands were gloved, she could feel the heat of his skin. Something about this man intrigued her, slipping past her defences like the warrior he was.

Don’t stay, Berengaria warned herself. Leave now. Her father, King Sancho, would be furious if she knew she was standing in the garden with the Duke of Aquitaine, the son of King Henry Plantagenet of England.

‘I want to know you,’ Richard said slowly. ‘No woman has ever dared to speak to me in the way that you do.’

‘No,’ she whispered. ‘You aren’t my betrothed husband and never will be.’

‘You’re right.’ His hand moved up to her cheek, and when she tried to move away, he held her in place. ‘Berengaria, you remind me of Eve. You tempt me with the tartness of your tongue. The flashing of your dark eyes.’

She shivered slightly, and her mind warned her again to move away. But his voice held her captive, while his thumb edged her cheekbone. ‘I admire your spirit.’

Richard tipped her face up to look at him. Then he leaned in closer, resting his forehead against hers. ‘You should know that this is your last chance to walk away untouched. If you stay, I’m going to claim a kiss.’ He released her and stood motionless, waiting for her decision.

Her mind cried out for her to flee, even as her feet remained rooted in place. Richard was not a man who was free to court her. He was already betrothed to another woman.

But she wanted to experience the forbidden taste of a kiss from a man who wanted her. Not her kingdom, nor her wealth, for he could have neither. Richard knew what it was to be caught in a world full of rules, a world in which they had no freedom.

His lips covered hers, and at the first moment of the kiss, she forgot all the reasons why this was never meant to happen. Richard rested his hands upon her hips, drawing her body nearer. ‘Close your eyes,’ he said softly. ‘You’re not a princess anymore. And I am not a duke.’

She obeyed, and the barriers seemed to vanish between them. Against her mouth he murmured, ‘If you were my betrothed wife, I’d steal away from my duties to seize moments like this. And you’d never tell false compliments to me, would you?’

‘Your arrogance is great enough, my lord.’

‘Richard,’ he corrected. This time, he captured her lips like a ruthless invader. There was nothing kind or polite about the kiss. She opened her mouth, shocked at the wild feelings that coursed through her. He trapped her face between his hands, kissing her as though he wanted to shred all of her defences and find the woman beneath.

Though inwardly she knew that he had an insatiable need to win, to conquer, she hardly cared. The rush of need provoked a tremulous response inside her. She couldn’t catch her breath as he plundered her mouth. And when she began to kiss him back, he softened the intensity. Warm and wet, his tongue slid inside her mouth. He drew her hips against him, and she could feel the hot length of his arousal against the folds of her skirts. The knowledge, that he wanted to claim her body, made her tremble. She clung to him, so afraid of the feelings that ran untamed within her.

‘Innocent,’ he murmured against her skin. ‘I knew it when first I saw you.’

She caught her breath as his mouth travelled over her cheek. ‘I must go now.’

‘You should.’ But he didn’t release her from his embrace, and she wondered what he intended. His palms moved up her spine, and when he kissed her again, she sensed that this was farewell.

But now, she had a memory to call her own. One that her father could not govern or take away from her. And as she kissed him for the last time, Berengaria thought to herself, I’m glad it was Richard.

Chapter One

Off the coast of Cyprus, April 12, 1191

Liam MacEgan hated ships. Though he’d spent many years of his life exploring the waters of his native Éireann, being trapped aboard a wooden vessel for months was somewhere between purgatory and hellfire.

It was your idea to go on Crusade, he reminded himself. He’d believed he was embarking on an adventure, to see the Holy Land and fight to free Jerusalem. His family had been firmly opposed to it. His father, King Patrick of Laochre, had demanded that he face his responsibilities as a future provincial king.

But he’d needed an escape from his homeland. He’d grown up listening to the stories of distant lands, told to him by his uncle Trahern. He longed to see the glittering foreign cities and taste new foods. He needed this last chance to see the worlds that were forbidden to him… to feel the sting of desert sand against his face… to learn the secrets of exotic women.

And so, defying his family’s wishes, he’d slipped out one night and arranged passage to France, to join in the service of the King Richard, Coeur de Lion.

Liam stared out at the fierce blue of the Mediterranean, and a bittersweet tang of homesickness caught him. The sky was a dark grey, and clouds rolled in the distance. He was dimly aware of a woman moving along the side of the boat, just behind the oarsmen. Her long dark hair was covered by a veil, but the length of it stirred in the sea winds.

Adriana, daughter of the Vicomte de Manzano, was one of the Princess Berengaria’s ladies. She was a dark beauty, with olive skin and raven hair. He watched as her hands curved over the wood of the ship, and she turned back to stare at the waves.

He wanted to go and talk to her, but he sensed it would be an intrusion of her time alone. Her eyes lifted to the darkening skies, as though she were afraid.

Instinct made him glance behind him, and he spied the Count of Berduria staring at the young woman. The unrestrained lust on his face made Liam cross over to Lady Adriana’s side. Though she shied away from him, he said in a low voice, ‘Don’t be afraid. I came to offer my protection, not to disturb you.’

When she sent him a confused look, he added, ‘The count is watching.’ At that, Lady Adriana settled her gaze back upon the sea. Liam wasn’t certain whether or not she wanted him to stay. ‘Would you rather I left you alone with him?’

‘Stay,’ she whispered. ‘Unless your intent is the same as his.’ She shivered in the wind, rubbing her shoulders. Liam unfastened his cloak and settled it around her shoulders. It was meant to offer her warmth, but it also sent an unmistakable message to the count.

She pulled the cloak around her. ‘You’re one of King Richard’s men, aren’t you?’

‘I chose to fight at his side, aye. But I am not his vassal.’ He refrained from mentioning anything further, not wanting to admit his own rank. During this journey, he’d told no one that he was an Irish prince, save King Richard. He wanted to experience life as a common man, as a soldier. It had meant giving up the luxuries he’d come to enjoy, but in return, he’d seen a side of life that his family had tried to protect him from.

‘Has King Richard spoken of the princess?’ Adriana asked. ‘My lady Berengaria worries that he seems so… distant, ever since the new betrothal.’

Liam shrugged. ‘His Majesty is preoccupied with the journey to the Holy Land. He’s eager to fight for Jerusalem.’

‘What of the Princess Alys? He broke his betrothal to her only a few months ago. Does he desire to reconcile—?’

‘Given that his father took Alys as his mistress and she bore him a daughter, rest assured, King Richard had little desire to take her to wife.’ Liam sent her a sidelong glance. ‘Berengaria didn’t tell you?’

Adriana shook her head. ‘She didn’t know. Queen Eleanor never spoke of why the betrothal was broken, but it was she who brought Berengaria to become the king’s bride.’

‘And what of you?’ Liam asked. ‘You intend to travel wherever the princess wishes to go? Even to the Holy Land?’

She nodded. ‘She has no choice, any more than I do.’ The young woman clasped her hands together.

‘You could marry or return to your family,’ he suggested. ‘Jerusalem is dangerous for a woman.’

‘Not for me.’

He stared at her, and she sent him a confident smile. ‘I have four brothers. I know ways to protect myself.’

‘How?’ He moved closer, until his knee brushed the edge of her silk gown.

The tip of a knife touched the soft skin above his throat. ‘Like this.’ Adriana’s dark brown eyes were dancing with amusement. ‘You wouldn’t be likely to harm me now, would you?’ She removed the blade and offered it back to him.

Son of Belenus, it was his own blade. She’d somehow stolen it from his belt without him even sensing her.

‘How did you do that?’

Her face transformed with a knowing smile. ‘You should know better than to underestimate a stranger. I am one of the princess’s guards, just as you protect His Majesty.’

It was rare for a woman to surprise him, but he found himself fascinated by Adriana. Her full mouth drew his attention, and her scent reminded him of aromatic spices, like a heady mulled wine.

‘Men are often distracted by a woman,’ she said. ‘Just as you were.’

‘You are a distraction,’ he agreed. Her expression shifted, and he saw the wariness in her eyes. She wanted nothing from him; that much was evident.

Stepping back, he asked, ‘What if your enemy overpowered you? Your strength would be no match for an attacker’s.’

‘I rely on myself. And I protect the princess when there is need of my blade.’ She squared her shoulders and removed his cloak. ‘Take this back. You’ll be cold.’

‘It’s far colder than this in my homeland. I’m accustomed to it.’ He nodded toward the aft side of the ship. ‘Are you wanting me to escort you back to the princess?’

‘Not yet.’ Lady Adriana took a deep breath. ‘She gave me leave to do as I please for the next hour. I’ll go back soon enough.’ She donned his cloak once more, and the wind buffeted the sails, the sky turning ominous. Within minutes, the rain began to fall. The change in the weather was enough to send the count away from his pursuit. The lady lifted her face to the droplets, smiling wryly. ‘Isn’t it my ill luck to have rain during the only moments of freedom I’ve had?’

Liam ignored the rain and studied the waves. The seawater reflected the grey skies, and as they continued eastward, the waves were rising. ‘You should go below, a chara. The storm is going to get worse.’ Already the oarsmen were fighting the winds, their arms straining to keep control of the ship.

As if in response to his warning, the vessel lurched, and Adriana went flying. Liam caught her before her head could hit the deck, and he steadied her on her feet. ‘Are you all right?’ She nodded, but he kept her hands at her waist for balance. ‘You need to go back to the princess. I wouldn’t want you to be swept overboard.’

Her face had gone pale, and she glanced out at the waves. ‘How far are we from land?’

‘Don’t think about that now.’ Aye, it was likely that if the ship capsized, they might drown. Liam was a fair enough swimmer, but it was spring and the water would be uncomfortably cold.

Adriana removed his cloak and handed it to him. ‘Take me back to the princess.’ Liam donned the garment and walked behind her as she returned to the princess’s tiny chamber.

‘Stay with Her Royal Highness,’ Liam said. ‘And tell her not to be afraid.’ Even as he spoke the words, he knew they were unconvincing. He was struggling to remain on his feet, and when the ship tossed again, Adriana struck the wall hard.

She rubbed her shoulders, wincing at the pain. ‘I’ll be all right,’ she said before he could ask. ‘But promise me something.’

Liam rested his hand against the wall for balance. Adriana stood only inches away, her dark hair resting over the shoulder of her crimson gown. He waited for her to speak, though his gaze was caught by her lips and soft skin.

‘If the ship is going to sink, I want to know. We may lose the king’s treasure for the Crusade, but I don’t want him to lose his bride.’ She knew, as he did, that this ship was one of two that held the king’s gold and treasure to fund the Crusade.

‘If the storm seizes the ship, I’ll do what I can to help the sailors,’ he said.

Adriana dipped her head in a nod. ‘What is your name?’

‘Liam MacEgan.’

She studied him, and her expression held doubt. ‘You’re not like the other men I’ve seen aboard this ship.’

‘Why?’

‘You don’t behave as though you serve the king. You carry yourself like an equal.’

‘Perhaps I am his equal,’ he said in a low voice.

Though her gaze said she didn’t quite believe him, there was enough hesitancy in her face to suggest that she knew he was not as he seemed to be.

‘I’ll come for you if the storm worsens,’ he promised. Lifting her gloved hand, he pressed his mouth upon it. ‘Guard your princess. And I’ll guard you.’

But the worry didn’t dim in her eyes. If the storm worsened, as he suspected it would, there was a very real chance that all of them would die.

All through the night, Berengaria clung to her bed, praying. She hadn’t slept at all, but she clenched the gold-and-ruby-encrusted cross necklace Richard had sent as a gift. Though she’d given him her own token, she didn’t know if he valued it in the same way. Her fingers ran along the edges of the jewels, as if they held the warmth of Richard’s hands.

She still couldn’t believe he had asked for her hand in marriage. Within a matter of months, her life had been utterly changed. Queen Eleanor had escorted her to Sicily, and later, the king’s sister, Queen Joan of Sicily, had joined their party as her new companion while Eleanor returned home. The months of travelling were gruelling, but Berengaria’s greatest fear was seeing Richard again.

Her predication had come back to haunt her: You aren’t my betrothed husband and never will be.

How wrong she’d been. Her father had seized the marriage offer from Richard, leaving Berengaria to wonder whether it was Queen Eleanor’s idea… or Richard’s. She’d been unable to stop thinking about the stolen kiss in the garden. He’d awakened such feelings within her, tremulous thoughts that made her blood quicken.

On their arrival in Sicily, he’d stood awaiting the ship. And later that day, he’d arranged for a private meal with her.

‘For once, I can make a royal alliance that pleases me,’ he’d said.

Though Berengaria wanted to believe him, her doubts held strong. The table was set so that her chair was at his left, and during the meal, he’d touched her hand several times.

‘My lord, why? There are dozens of princesses who would make a stronger alliance for you. Some wealthier than I.’

‘It’s true that your dowry will help our Crusade. I won’t lie about that.’ He kissed the knuckles of her hand. ‘But I remembered you, long after our ways parted. I wanted you then, just as I do now.’

Her nerves tightened as Richard pulled her to stand. He remained in his chair, his hands sliding about her waist as he drew her to sit on his knee. He was taller than most men, and it brought her face even to his. ‘Was I wrong to ask you to wed?’

His steel eyes held hers, and she shook her head. ‘I don’t suppose a marriage with you would be any different than any other king.’

‘It would, ma chère. And you know this already.’ He brought his hand to caress her cheek. ‘I prefer a wife who can speak her mind. One who desires me, as much as I want her.’ His fingers stopped at her chin. ‘I demand your honesty, Berengaria. Is it your will to be my bride?’

She covered his hand with her own. ‘I’ve never been permitted to choose my husband.’ Fear trebled her heartbeat as she lifted her face to his. ‘But although you intimidate me, there is no other man I’ve wanted.’

His mouth curved in a smile. ‘Were it not Lent, I would wed you this day.’ He brushed a light kiss against her mouth, and she shivered at the sudden rise of heat within her. ‘As it is, we’ll wait until after Easter and marry before I bring you to Acre.’

She wasn’t looking forward to their travels to the Holy Land. Though she understood that this Crusade meant everything to him, she knew that as his queen, she would be the target of assassins.

‘I’ve never been so far from Navarre before,’ she admitted. ‘And I can’t say that I wish to live so close to the war.’

His face hardened. ‘You doubt my ability to keep you safe?’

‘No. But if you are away fighting—’

‘I protect what belongs to me,’ he asserted. Taking her hand, he led her away from her ladies and his attendants. A tall Oriental screen, decorated with flowers and birds, stood in the corner. Richard took her behind it, giving them what privacy he could.

‘Berengaria,’ he whispered, framing her face with his hands. ‘From the first moment I saw you, you cast a spell over me.’ His hands slid down her cheeks, and the caress made her breath catch. When she touched his hands with hers, he leaned in for a kiss.

Just as before, the brush of his mouth was searching, kindling a response that she didn’t understand. He drew her against the far wall, the wood pressing against her spine as his mouth moved away from her lips, down to her throat.

‘There’s no reason for you to be afraid,’ he said against her skin. ‘Not of the Saracens. And not of me.’

She ventured a shaky smile, catching his hands. ‘I can’t stop my fear. Whenever I’m near you, I can hardly breathe.’

He moved in, pulling her hips to his. ‘That isn’t fear, ma chère. It’s desire.’ His mouth moved to her throat, kissing her softly. ‘I don’t want you to breathe. I want to possess every part of you. And were it not a sin, I would claim you tonight.

‘We’ll wed in the Holy Land,’ he swore. With another smile, he added, ‘You’ll have to travel on a different ship than me, Berengaria. Otherwise, I won’t be able to keep my hands from you.’ He stole another soft kiss and released her. He brought her the gold-and-ruby-encrusted cross necklace, fastening it around her throat. ‘Take this token, and think of me when you’re asleep at night.’

Berengaria held on to the necklace, tracing the rough gold. The ship heaved in the water, and she gripped her skirts, terrified of being flung across the room.

‘Are we going to die?’ she whispered to her lady-in-waiting, Adriana.

The young woman came and gripped her hand. ‘The king’s man assured me that he would let us know if we were in danger. It’s just a bad storm.’

Though Berengaria wanted to believe it, instinct told her otherwise. The king’s sister, Queen Joan, reached for a strand of rosary beads, dropping to her knees in prayer.

A loud knocking resounded at the door, and her gaze snapped toward the sound. Adriana hurried to answer it, and a tall man stood at the entrance. He had dark blond hair and grey eyes, and he wore a black cloak fastened with a brooch the size of her palm.

‘My lord MacEgan?’ Adriana addressed the man.

Berengaria saw the look that passed between them, and it escalated her fear. ‘Are we going to sink?’ she interrupted.

‘We’re near the coast of Cyprus,’ MacEgan said. ‘The captain is going to divert the ship towards the shore, so that if the worst happens—’

‘—we can swim to the shore,’ Berengaria finished. She turned away from them, her eyes burning. She couldn’t swim at all. If the ship capsized or sank, she was going to die. Her hand clenched into a fist around the necklace, and she tried to quell the terror that rose up inside.

Then, a loud cracking noise resounded, and the ship tipped violently.

It was less than an hour before water came pouring within the ship. Adriana’s feet were soaked, and she left Berengaria with the king’s sister while she went in search of MacEgan.

He’d kept his word, and she trusted that he would tell her the truth. She saw him rowing alongside the other sailors, his arms straining against the oars as the men fought against the sea’s power. Adriana took one of the ropes and wound it around her arm as she moved forward. On one side of the ship, she saw half a dozen men bailing water with buckets.

As soon as he saw her standing there, MacEgan yelled at one of the men to take his place at the oars. He fought his way toward her and gripped another rope to hold his balance.

‘I told you to stay with the princess!’ he yelled over the roar of the storm.

Adriana’s arm wrenched with the motion of the rope, and MacEgan pulled her back, unfastening the rope and guiding her to him. His grey eyes glared at hers. ‘You could have been tossed overboard.’

‘We’re going to die anyway, aren’t we?’ Her hands were shaking, her clothing soaked from the rain and the seawater.

Liam kept her in his arms, warming her shoulders. ‘Not if I can help it.’ He nodded outside. ‘We’re only a few miles from the shore.’

‘And we’re sinking.’ She gripped his shirt, her feet frigid in the cold water. ‘We don’t have time to reach land.’

He kept his hands around her waist, and she made no effort to push them away. ‘Listen to me.’ His voice was commanding, reaching inside her to push back the fear. ‘If the worst happens, swim as hard as you can toward the shore. I’ll find you.’

Her hands were shaking, and she felt his arms come around her, as if to offer shelter from her fear. ‘I won’t let anything happen to you,’ he murmured.

Despite the freezing water and rain, there was a steady warmth in his embrace. Her instinct was to trust him, to let herself believe that there was a man whom she could believe in… unlike her father and brothers, who had betrayed her.

‘Now return to the princess and Queen Joan,’ he insisted. ‘And we’ll get as close to the shore as we can.’

She held on to his forearms, as if she could take a piece of his courage with her. Then, unexpectedly, he leaned down and touched his lips to hers. ‘For luck,’ he said.

He left her standing there, while he went back to the others.

The ship was going down. Liam knew it with a surety in his blood, but he’d be damned before he’d let the sea claim him. The vessel shuddered, and it was reaching the breaking point. They couldn’t bail the water out fast enough, and now it was only a matter of time before they abandoned the ship.

He let out a curse as another wave soaked the deck. A moment later, the women appeared, their gowns sodden above the waist. Adriana led them forward, holding Princess Berengaria’s hand. Queen Joan followed behind, gripping a strand of rosary beads.

Liam gathered the women together and pointed toward the shore. ‘We’re doing what we can to stay above water as long as we can. But if the sea takes us, try to make it towards land.’

The princess’s face was white, her hands gripped together. ‘I can’t swim.’

He gave a nod and surveyed the others. ‘What of the rest of you?’

‘I can,’ Adriana said. Queen Joan nodded as well.

‘Try to stay together,’ Liam urged. To the princess, he added, ‘If the ship breaks apart, hold on to the largest piece of wood you can find. It will keep you afloat.’

The vessel started to tip as the lower quarters filled with water. Liam heard their shrieks, and saw Adriana lunge toward one of the younger maids, who was pulled under by the force of the water. She caught the girl’s hand, struggling to hold on, but the sea fought to keep its prey.

‘Adriana, no!’ Berengaria cried out. And then both women disappeared beneath the water.

Chapter Two

Liam fought to catch the women, but it was too late. His lungs burned as he swam underwater, his eyes unable to see them in the darkness. He swept his arms through the water, reaching for them. His fingers touched wood, but no flesh. He dived deeper, kicking hard through the water, and suddenly his hand gripped a length of silk.

He pulled hard, the water fighting against him to drag the woman down. And when at last he managed to bring her head above water, Adriana coughed, her body shaking. He saw that she was still holding the other woman’s hand, and when he pulled the maid above water, she was lifeless, her limbs unmoving.

His efforts to revive the maid met with no success, and Adriana broke down in tears.

‘You tried,’ he said, holding her tightly. ‘Her life was in God’s hands.’

‘I thought I could save her,’ Adriana whispered, her body trembling hard. ‘Before the water took her under.’

He let her cry, holding her against him. Her arms embraced him, and strangely, it brought him his own sense of calm. In her courage, he saw a piece of himself. She’d gone after the young maid with no fear, never minding that she’d nearly lost her own life in the effort.

Liam helped bring Adriana to the side of the ship. Berengaria gripped a large rope, but terror lingered in her eyes. ‘When the water fills the remainder of the lower chambers, the ship may split in half,’ he told her. ‘If that happens, be ready to let go of the rope or you might be pulled under. Hold on to any piece of the deck you can find.’ The princess’s face was white with fear, and Adriana took her place at Berengaria’s side, Queen Joan at the other.

‘MacEgan,’ came Adriana’s voice softly. He looked into her dark eyes, and she steadied herself. ‘You saved my life.’

‘I kept my promise,’ he answered, ‘to let nothing happen to you.’ But even so, the sea had claimed one life. He only prayed it would be the last.

Within minutes, Berengaria watched in horror as the ship split apart, the wood fragmenting beneath her feet. She held fast to the side of the boat, but she was plunged into the frigid water without warning. Her head went below the surface and she tasted salt.

She struggled, trying not to panic, when an arm caught her waist and forced her above the surface. She took a deep breath, and saw MacEgan holding her. He swam away from the wreckage, guiding her toward a large section of the ship. ‘Hold this,’ he ordered. Her fingers dug into the wooden surface, and she gripped it with all her strength. Then Adriana joined her, while Joan floated on a piece of wood further away.

She lost track of time, but Adriana never left her side. Her lady-in-waiting fought to swim with the current, bringing them closer to shore. From time to time, Liam adjusted their direction, swimming alongside them. Though he ensured that each of the women were safe, Berengaria didn’t miss the way he was watching Adriana. There was an intensity in his eyes, as though the young lady meant something to him.

Her heart faltered, for Richard had looked at her that way on the first day they’d met. Sometimes a single flicker of interest was all that was needed to give rise to the seedling of love.

Will I see him again? she wondered. She rested her head against the wood, her body exhausted from the immense force of the storm. Along the edge of the sea, the sky had grown lighter, the rose of dawn painting the edge of the grey water. And after endless hours, her feet touched the sand.

An unexpected laugh broke forth, and she beamed at her lady-in-waiting. ‘Adriana, we’re going to live.’ They struggled towards the shore, their skirts weighing them down, while Liam escorted them forward.

The storm had ceased, and pieces of blue sky broke through the clouds. The waves had grown calmer, though Berengaria still struggled to keep her balance in the waist-high water. Ahead, she saw the Count of Berduria, who had reached the sandy beach before any of them.

Within moments, men on horseback emerged along the shoreline, their armour gleaming in the sunlight. Liam drew close to the women. ‘Don’t trust them,’ he warned. ‘We don’t know anything about the Cypriots.’

Berengaria’s smile faded, and the chill of the water made her nerves grow uneasy. A few yards away, Queen Joan was walking out of the water towards the shore.

‘Do not tell them who you are,’ Liam warned, but the young woman made no indication that she’d heard him.

He started to move toward the queen, but Adriana caught his arm. ‘Be careful, MacEgan.’

His grey eyes studied hers, and he covered her hand with his. ‘Wait here.’

He made his way towards Joan, and Berengaria eyed Adriana. ‘He means something to you, doesn’t he?’

Adriana didn’t answer, nor did she pull her gaze away from MacEgan. ‘I only met him a day ago. And yet it feels like far longer.’

‘He is handsome,’ Berengaria admitted, ‘but not as handsome as Richard.’ Her voice held more melancholy than she’d intended. Inwardly, she worried that she would not see the king again. She might die a maiden, before ever becoming a bride.

‘Were it not for him, I would have drowned,’ Adriana whispered.

Berengaria took her lady’s hand in hers, and they walked together towards the shoreline. Although MacEgan was trying to bring Queen Joan closer to them, she ignored him and kept walking away.

The Count of Berduria had reached the men and was speaking to them. Although they remained mounted, Adriana tensed.

‘Something’s wrong,’ she predicted. Her hand went to her leg, where Berengaria knew her lady-in-waiting kept a knife. ‘MacEgan was right. Stay close to me.’

She didn’t understand what bothered Adriana so, and when she asked, the woman replied, ‘If you saw a shipwreck, wouldn’t you try to help the survivors? These men are only watching.’

With a glance behind her, Berengaria saw that three other ships had also been blown off course and were anchored less than a mile from the shore. ‘Should we try to reach those ships?’

‘Not yet.’

Both of them watched as the count spoke to the men. His tone held arrogance, but Berengaria thought she heard him speaking Greek to the men. Queen Joan had already reached the shore and was preparing to join the count. The woman marched forward, her bearing filled with pride. The count pointed to her, and then to Berengaria and Adriana.

‘Don’t tell them,’ Adriana whispered, as if pleading for the man to remain silent.

But it was too late. To her horror, one of the armed men unsheathed his sword and plunged it into the count’s chest. The nobleman sank to his knees, falling against the sand while his lifeblood spilled out.

Saints deliver us. Berengaria covered her mouth, shocked by what she’d just seen. Queen Joan grasped her skirts and fled back to the water. Liam called out for her to come toward them, and he reached them a moment later.

Berengaria couldn’t stop from shaking, and from the gleam in the soldiers’ eyes, she didn’t know if she would become a prisoner or die the moment she emerged from the water.

‘The count told them who you are,’ he said grimly. ‘Our best hope is that they take you hostage.’

But Berengaria knew that MacEgan’s life was in greater danger than her own. Already these men had killed the count, so it was clear they had no use for the men. ‘You need to swim hard towards the other three ships anchored off the coast,’ she ordered. ‘If you reach one of them, you can sail back and alert Richard.’

‘I can’t leave you here alone.’

The horsemen started to ride forward, and their time was running out. ‘You must,’ Berengaria insisted. ‘If what you say is true, then they won’t kill us because they’ll want to use our lives to bargain with Richard. If you stay, your fate will be the same as the count’s.’

His face hardened, but she saw her words were breaking through to him. ‘Go, MacEgan. I am commanding you, as your future queen.’

An unnamed expression crossed his face, and she remembered that he was Irish, not English. Correcting herself, she added, ‘Please. Go to Richard.’

Before he could move, the soldiers charged forward with their horses. Armed men surrounded them, with spears and swords raised as a visible threat. Berengaria held her breath, not knowing what to do now. The soldiers reached for MacEgan, but he made no effort to fight.

In the Norman tongue, he commanded, ‘Obey their orders.’ His eyes met Adriana’s, and she saw the softer assurance within them. ‘I’ll return to you. I swear it.’

MacEgan moved so fast, Berengaria barely had time to get out of the way. It took only seconds for him to drag a soldier down from his horse, smashing his fist into the man’s face. When a second man tried to stab him with a spear, MacEgan grasped the weapon, twisting it free of the soldier’s hands. Now armed, he seized the first soldier’s horse and rode the animal hard along the shoreline, forcing the others to follow. Three men remained behind with her and Adriana, one of them seizing Queen Joan.

Berengaria held her breath as MacEgan reached the deeper water. He stood on the horse’s back and dived into the waves, disappearing from view. Adriana clung to her, hot tears breaking free.

‘Don’t be afraid,’ Berengaria whispered to her lady-in-waiting. ‘I believe him. He’ll find a way to send a rescue.’

But when they didn’t see him resurface above the waves, she feared the worst.

The Isle of Rhodes, April 22, 1191

‘Where are they, Sir Bernard?’ King Richard demanded.

The knight’s face paled. ‘We—we don’t know, Your Majesty. There are twenty-five ships missing, and unfortunately, Princess Berengaria’s was among them.’ He lowered his head in regret. ‘We believe the storm may have blown them off course.’

‘There were two hundred and nineteen ships, Bernard.’ Richard fought to keep his temper under control. ‘And you mean to tell me that not one of them saw where Berengaria’s ship disappeared?’

‘I’m sorry, Your Majesty. But we’ll send out ships to search for your bride—’

‘Out,’ Richard ordered, pointing towards the door. The knight fled, like the coward he was. Right now, Richard’s temper was about to break loose. Crete and Rhodes were meant to be rendezvous points, where they would stop for a few days en route to Acre. But his betrothed wife wasn’t on either island.

She might be dead, her body resting at the bottom of the Mediterranean Sea. He expelled a breath, imagining Berengaria’s dark hair, her lovely eyes and form. He’d been looking forward to marrying her, understanding what sort of woman lay behind the unbridled honesty. He hardly knew her at all, but her spirit intrigued him.

Outside, the sky was clear, the sun bright and warm. The deep azure water nestled against white sand, an idyllic place to walk with a lover. He traced the emerald ring that lay upon his smallest finger. She’d given it to him in Sicily, a token that had aroused strong memories of the night he’d first taken it from her. Seeing it now only fuelled his anger. He would find her, no matter how long it took. She belonged to him.

He gestured for a servant to summon one of the ships’ captains. If no one could find the women or the ships containing the treasures for his Crusade, he would stop on every island en route to Syria.

But when the captain arrived, he bowed and pleaded, ‘Your Majesty, we have news of the princess.’

Moments later, the Irish prince, Liam MacEgan, emerged from among the men. The man looked as though he hadn’t slept in days, and bloodstains marred his face.

‘They are at Cyprus, Your Majesty.’ MacEgan drew closer, lowering his voice so that only Richard could hear. ‘Soldiers took the women captive.’

‘Come.’ Richard wanted no other men to hear what MacEgan had to reveal. He brought the man within his chamber and ordered, ‘Tell me what you know.’

‘The Cypriots murdered the Count of Berduria,’ the Irishman explained. ‘Afterwards, Princess Berengaria bade me to seek help, so I swam to one of the ships nearby, and we sailed west. We found your galleys here.’

Richard’s gaze narrowed. ‘You left the women unguarded.’

MacEgan met his gaze with no fear. ‘Your bride gave me a direct order to seek help. Would you have me disobey her?’

‘If her life is harmed in any way, I’ll take yours.’ Richard used his height to his advantage, staring down at the Irish prince.

MacEgan didn’t back down, but chose his words carefully. ‘The women will be safe enough. The princess’s lady-in-waiting is as good as any trained guard. I’ve seen it myself.’

Though Richard didn’t like it, he didn’t doubt that Isaac Ducas Comnenus, the Emperor of Cyprus, would want to use Berengaria to further his own purpose. The man was allied with Saladin, and it was rumoured that they had drunk each other’s blood, as an oath of loyalty.

The idea of his betrothed wife falling into the hands of the emperor was unthinkable. Richard stared hard at MacEgan.

‘Tell no one that Berengaria and the queen were taken captive,’ Richard warned. If anyone learned that his betrothed wife was in the custody of the enemy, they would believe that she’d been violated, whether or not it was true. He wanted nothing to threaten their marriage alliance.

‘Let them believe that Berengaria and the queen remained on board one of the other ships. Tell them that the emperor invited them to disembark, but they refused.’

MacEgan nodded, understanding the implications. ‘No one will know.’

‘I will send you with a group of men to attack the coast of Cyprus. Find the women, and bring them back to me alive.’

Richard returned to his place by the window, dismissing MacEgan. His gaze fixated upon the sea. If Isaac Comnenus had threatened Berengaria in any way… God help the man. For Richard would tear him apart.

Limassol, Cyprus, May 1191

Nearly three weeks had passed, and there was no sign of Liam MacEgan or the king. Adriana had seen the princess’s hope fading from her eyes, as they realised that they would remain prisoners of the emperor. Although Isaac Comnenus had not bound them in chains, they were locked in a chamber guarded inside and out. There was no privacy at all, and though she tried to shield the princess from the humiliation, there was little Adriana could do. The guards cast lots for the right to guard the interior of the chamber where they hoped to catch a glimpse of them.

Queen Joan never stopped complaining. From the moment they’d been taken captive, she’d made outrageous demands, for which the emperor had mocked her. When she’d insisted upon softer beds, he’d sent her a length of silk, removing the only mattress in the room. That night, they’d huddled together on a wooden floor, with nothing but the silk.

Joan had refused to humble herself, and they’d endured weeks of stale food and uncomfortable living conditions. But it was the princess who concerned Adriana the most. Berengaria had grown so thin over the weeks, her face pale while she stared for hours on end at the sea outside their barred window.

‘We’re not going to be rescued, are we?’ she whispered. ‘The crusaders who came on those ships… they’re dead, aren’t they?’

The remaining two ships had arrived only hours after their imprisonment, but the emperor had seized control of them, taking the king’s treasure and murdering the men. From their window, they’d seen the bodies of the crusaders, displayed like bloody prizes of war.

Adriana tried to reassure the princess. ‘The emperor knows Richard will come. He wouldn’t bother with guarding the shore otherwise.’ She crossed the small room and pointed to the hills where the Cypriots were bringing down carts filled with wood and stone. Over the next few hours, the men set out large stones, chests, doors of wood and all manner of building materials to fortify the beach.

One of their guards stepped in front of the window, barring their view. Though he could not speak their language, his message was clear. Adriana hesitated before moving back, sending him a slight smile as she withdrew.

The distraction was enough, and she stole his curved knife, hiding it behind her back. If the Cypriots were preparing for battle, it meant that an invasion was imminent.

The door to their chamber swung open, and a young maiden appeared, trailed by two of her ladies. She gave a sharp order to the guards, and they obeyed the command, leaving the room. In heavily accented French, she said, ‘I have been ordered to bring the princess and the queen to my father.’ Adriana remained against the wall for a moment, slipping the guard’s curved blade beneath the girdle at her waist, just behind her back. Neither Joan nor Berengaria moved forward, but while the guard was focused upon the noblewomen, Adriana donned the princess’s cloak to hide the knife.

‘Why does he want to see us?’ Berengaria asked, her voice calm. But Adriana knew that the soft voice hid the young woman’s fears. All of them knew that they had been kept alive only to be used as hostages… or worse.

The young girl shook her head. ‘I do not know.’ She wrinkled her nose when they drew closer and added, ‘I will arrange for you to bathe and refresh yourselves before you are presented to him.’

Berengaria cast a worried look back at her, but Adriana nodded. The girl’s offer was made in good faith. To the princess, she said, ‘If they intended to kill us, they would not bother with the way we look now.’

‘That’s what I am afraid of,’ Berengaria said.

She closed her eyes, and Adriana went to her side. ‘He probably wants to prove to Richard that we are well, despite the captivity.’

Berengaria reached for her hand and Adriana took it. As they followed the girl down the winding stairs, she took them into a walled garden. The warmth of the sun and the lush fragrance of jasmine flowers lifted her spirits, though she was more reassured by the weapon she’d hidden.

As the girl brought them up another set of stone stairs, Adriana drew Berengaria to a stop and pointed towards the sea. There, she spied the sails of nearly a hundred ships.

‘They’ve found us,’ Berengaria breathed with thankfulness.

Adriana wondered if Liam MacEgan had alerted the king. Or whether he was still alive. She remembered the light kiss he’d stolen for luck, and the memory darkened her heart with regret. The handsome Irishman had been like no other man she’d met. Brave and strong, he was one she’d wanted to know better.

When the young girl took them within her own chambers, she arranged for them to bathe in privacy and offered them clothing in the Cyprian style. Though Berengaria refused to wear the foreign garments, Adriana agreed to try them. The soft diaphanous fabric was like nothing she’d ever felt against her skin. She wore a cream-coloured anteri tunic and soft salvar trousers. Though it was strange, not to be wearing skirts, she liked the clothing.

‘You must feel like a concubine,’ Berengaria teased. ‘I can’t imagine wearing clothes like that.’

Queen Joan stiffened, smoothing her own silk gown. ‘I prefer not to look like a savage.’

The princess’s mood dimmed at Joan’s words. Adriana adjusted a fold of her clothing and admitted, ‘It’s more comfortable than what we were wearing earlier.’ But she had other reasons for wearing the new clothes. If she needed to defend the princess against an attack, the lighter trousers gave her more freedom of movement.

The girl led them from her chamber to a large, open pavilion. The sun had grown hotter, and though Adriana tried to see if any of the ships had come closer, the walls were too high to view them.

The emperor awaited them upon a throne inlaid with gold, while servants waved palm branches over his head to provide cooler air.

With the help of a servant who translated, the emperor announced, ‘The invaders have come for you. My men have seized the treasures that were within your ships, and your king must decide which he wants returned to him. His gold… or his bride.’

Berengaria’s face changed, and there was anger within it that Adriana had never seen. The princess stood tall, and whispered in the Norman language, ‘Adriana, when they take us back, I want you to make your escape. Tell the king what has happened to us. Make certain he knows where we are.’

‘I’m not leaving your side,’ she insisted. She couldn’t rely on Joan to protect Berengaria, not when the queen might say something to offend the emperor.

‘They’ll use us for bargaining. But I worry about your life.’ The princess reached out and squeezed her hand. ‘Forgive me, but you have no value to them. They may use you as an example.’

Though Adriana didn’t like it at all, she understood what the princess meant. No doubt Isaac Comnenus would display the queen and princess, using them as leverage to get what he wanted from Richard.

‘I don’t want you to die,’ Berengaria insisted. ‘I’m afraid for you, if you stay.’

Adriana bowed her head in acquiescence, but inwardly she knew if anyone discovered her, she would be killed. Either way, her life was in danger.

Isaac looked displeased with their private conversation, and he ordered his men to separate them. Adriana was dragged away from the princess, who gave her a nod of permission.

As the guard brought her back towards the courtyard, Adriana studied their surroundings, wondering how she could possibly break free. Her gaze settled upon some of the women who had veiled their faces.

And then she knew exactly what to do.

* * *

Just before dawn, Liam MacEgan rowed alongside the other men, bringing the smaller boats closer to the shore. The beach was covered with obstructions meant to prevent them from using war horses. It wouldn’t stop Richard, however. Already, several of the smaller boats were within distance that the horses could swim to the shore. Liam’s task was to bring the soldiers close enough to clear a path.

The archers launched a shower of arrows upon the Cypriots, and from the chaos, it was clear that they’d taken them by surprise. When they reached shallow water, Liam unsheathed his sword and charged forward with the others. His blood raced with fear and the thrill of fighting. He’d been trained by his father and uncles since he was old enough to hold a sword, and as he faced his enemy, it soon became clear that these men were not warriors.

Farmers and merchants, they’d been ordered by their emperor to defend the land… but without weapons, they were dying by the hundreds. Liam stopped attacking and moved into a defensive posture. Only if they made the first move would they taste his sword.

As they moved past the enemy, they climbed uphill toward the city. The grey morning light was starting to illuminate the ancient Roman ruins dotting the landscape. Nearer to the centre lay the fortress where Liam suspected the princess and queen were held captive. Adriana would be among them.

The image of her face remained strong within his mind, with her beautiful dark eyes and slim form. She had more courage than any other woman he’d met, for she was a survivor. He’d hated leaving them here, but without Richard knowing their whereabouts, there could be no rescue.

When they reached the fortress, it appeared to be constructed around the ruins of an old basilica. Liam ordered his men to fall back, and they retreated behind one of the stone buildings. He needed to study the defences, to determine the best approach. Aye, they could likely make it through the front gate, but without knowing how many guardsmen were waiting, it could endanger his men unnecessarily.

He lifted his gaze to the upper segment of the fortress, for he suspected the princess and queen were being held in a fortified location. He hadn’t told any of the men about the prisoners, only that they were to seek information about the emperor’s defences. Just when he had decided to lead his men along the outer walls, he heard the sound of a confrontation nearby with men shouting orders.

He gestured for two of the men to follow him while the others retreated along the left side of the fortress. Liam ran lightly, his hand resting upon his sword. Ahead, he spied a veiled woman running through the streets. Two guards pursued her, and it was clear that their speed was overtaking hers. He was torn between helping the woman and remaining focused upon their mission. But when the woman saw them, instead of fleeing, she ran straight towards them.

She didn’t make it. One of the guards grasped her by the veil and jerked her backwards. When the man unsheathed a curved blade, Liam didn’t stop to think, but charged forward, a roar tearing from his mouth. The guard’s attention shifted just long enough for Liam to drive his own sword into the man’s gut.

Shocked eyes met his, but the blade fell from his enemy’s hand and he let go of the woman. When the other guard caught up, he took one look at his fallen companion and fled.

A curse slipped from Liam’s mouth. Their chances of infiltrating the fortress would be gone as soon as the man alerted the others. He sheathed his weapon, and held out his hand to the woman. He couldn’t have been more surprised when she suddenly threw herself into his arms.

Berengaria’s heart beat so fast, she could hardly catch her breath. The emperor had ordered her and Queen Joan bound with silken ropes, and neither of them had slept last night while they awaited Richard’s arrival. From the hundreds of ships that lined the coast, Berengaria had no doubt that the men would come soon.

The question was, what would the emperor do with them, once the king’s men arrived? Though she wanted to believe that Richard cared enough about her to bargain for her life, she didn’t know.

It seemed like almost a dream when she’d seen him last in Sicily. But his kiss lingered with her still. She stared out into the blinding sun, twisting her fingers around the chain of the jewelled cross that hung hidden beneath her gown.

Hours passed, and she ignored the food and drink that were offered to her. From deep within, she reached for courage. If Adriana were there, her lady-in-waiting would offer words of encouragement, insisting that they would be rescued. And though she knew that her friend had managed to escape, using the blade she’d stolen from their guard, she was afraid of what would happen if they caught her. They wouldn’t hesitate to take her life, in return for the men Adriana had wounded. Berengaria closed her eyes, hoping to God that the young woman was still alive.

The noise of battle rose within the air like the rumbling of thunder, and Berengaria’s heart raced as crusaders surrounded the fortress. She lost count of the dozens of armoured men who poured through the gates and tried not to stare at the death and destruction that was happening all around her.

At last, she spied Richard. He was mounted on horseback, fully armed, and his chain mail glinted with gold and silver. Tall and strong, he rode forward, his sword cutting down the men who dared to oppose him. She understood now why they named him Lionheart, for not once did he flinch in battle. When he finally spied her, she couldn’t stop the smile that broke forth. The look in his eyes was filled with relief, and she wanted nothing more than to race forward and fall into his arms.

But something reflected against her eyes, forcing her to look up. It was then that she saw the dozens of archers with their bows drawn… aimed directly at her and Joan.

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