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Lady Of Lyonsbridge
Ana Seymour
Men wanted one thing–and noblewomen had no choiceCertainly her forced betrothal did nothing to convince Lady Alyce Sherborne otherwise. Would that she could choose how to live her life–and with whom! But given that freedom, would she turn down the subtly seductive Sir Thomas? The man who'd secured a king's ransom–and taken her heart in the bargain?Women, he was learning, were dangerousand of that lesson, there could be no better teacher than the deceptively sweet, distractingly beautifyl Lady Alyce. Truly she was a maid who bore watching–and Thomas Brand was only too happy to keep his eyes ever upon her!


“Are you always proper?”
he whispered close to her ear.
“Aye,” she whispered back, licking suddenly dry lips.
“Now there’s another pity.”
In the dim light, his eyes had narrowed and his expression had changed from the teasing charmer to something more predatory. She tried to turn away, but he pressed closer, and she could feel the warmth of his body from her knees to her chest.
“I must go—” she began as he lowered his head and kissed her.
The kiss was brief, but the feel of it tingled on her lips long after he pulled away.
Neither spoke for several moments, then he gave a rueful smile and said, “You can slap me if you like, mistress, but ’twould be worth it. I’ve tasted nothing that sweet on the long road to Damascus and back.”
Alyce sagged back against the wall, uncertain her knees would hold her.…
Dear Reader,
The perfect complement to a hot summer day is a cool drink, some time off your feet and a good romance novel. And we have four terrific stories this month for you to choose from!
We are delighted with the return of Ana Seymour, who has written a wonderfully emotional medieval romance, Lady of Lyonsbridge, the sequel to Lord of Lyonsbridge. Ana has penned fourteen books for Harlequin Historical, and they just keep getting better! In her latest novel, an heiress, fearing a forced marriage to an abusive man by the new king, hopes to purchase her freedom. Things change, however, when a handsome knight arrives at her castle en route to ransom the true king of England. A forced marriage does ensue—but will it be to the right man?
Judith Stacy brings us a darling new Western, The Blushing Bride, about a young lady who travels to a male-dominated logging camp to play matchmaker for a bevy of potential brides—only to find herself unexpectedly drawn to a certain mountain man of her own! And in Jake’s Angel by newcomer Nicole Foster, an embittered—and wounded—Texas Ranger on the trail of a notorious outlaw winds up in a small New Mexican town and is healed, emotionally and physically, by a beautiful widow with two sons.
And don’t miss Malcolm’s Honor, a medieval romance by Jillian Hart, whom you might remember from her heartwarming Westerns. in this tender tale, a ruthless knight falls in love with the feisty noblewoman he must marry for convenience.
Enjoy! And come back again next month for four more choices of the best in historical romance.
Sincerely,
Tracy Farrell
Senior Editor

Lady of Lyonsbridge
Ana Seymour


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Available from Harlequin Historicals and ANA SEYMOUR
The Bandit’s Bride #116
Angel of the Lake #173
Brides for Sale #238
Moonrise #290
Frontier Bride #318
Gabriel’s Lady #337
Lucky Bride #350
Outlaw Wife #377
Jeb Hunter’s Bride #412
A Family for Carter Jones #433
Father for Keeps #458
† (#litres_trial_promo)Lord of Lyonsbridge #472
* (#litres_trial_promo)The Rogue #499
† (#litres_trial_promo)Lady of Lyonsbridge #520
For my favorite English Lady…
Joy Hendry
Friend, scholar, professor, tour guide
and tea-maker extraordinaire!

Contents
Chapter One (#u360d1efd-646d-5190-ba2b-a62aa8870038)
Chapter Two (#u20f3992f-e236-533d-9c37-2915f503008e)
Chapter Three (#u2486b5ec-7bee-5e66-8bc3-a18323e3ab93)
Chapter Four (#ue51c2a8e-afbb-54b8-8a4a-7ea86a770989)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter One
England, 1193
“Whose standard do they fly? Can you make it out, Lettie? Has the baron finally come this time?” Alyce Rose leaned precariously out from the stone casement of her bedchamber on the upper story of Sherborne Castle.
The old servant put a hand on the stiff collar of Alyce’s dress and hauled her back inside with surprising strength. “They’ll be here soon enough, lass. ’Twill serve no purpose for ye to go tumbling out the window and land at their feet.”
Alyce’s pretty features screwed into a scowl. “Nothing I can do will serve a purpose—that’s the problem.” But she let Lettie pull her away from the window and back into her tiny room. Though her father had been dead these past eleven months, she’d not moved to the spacious master’s quarters. In her mind, the sunny chambers at the opposite end of the hall were still filled with the presence of her irascible old sire. It was there she liked to think of him, not cold and buried behind St. Anne’s Church beside her mother.
Lettie was watching her, hands on her ample hips. “’Tis not like ye to be so downhearted, Allie luv. The baron’s men will think the mistress of Sherborne Castle is a sour-faced puss, indeed.”
“They can think me an ugly witch, for all I care. And report as much to my future bridegroom.”
Lettie chuckled. “’Tis likely the baron Dunstan was apprised of yer appearance before he convinced Prince John to give ye to him. They say he saved the prince’s life and could have had any reward he chose.”
Alyce sat gloomily on her narrow pallet. “He’s older than my father, Lettie.”
The servant sighed. “Aye. I can’t help thinking that our true king would never force ye to such a match.”
“If Richard were in England, he’d likely pick another just as gruesome. ’Tis an unfair world where a woman can be awarded to the highest bidder, as if she were prime horseflesh.”
Outside the window they heard the castle gate cranking open, followed by sounds of men and horses in general confusion. “Shall ye go down to welcome them, milady?” Lettie asked, reverting to the formality she had occasionally adopted since Lord Sherborne’s death. The title still struck Alyce as absurd when coming from the woman who had cared for her for every single day of the twenty years since Alyce’s birth.
“Nay, let Alfred see them settled. I’ll not march willingly into their hands like a meek little rabbit waiting for the skewer.”
“But if the baron is among them, he will expect—”
“If the baron is among them, then I have even less desire to be cooperative,” Alyce interrupted. “Mayhap if he thinks his future wife is discourteous and difficult, he’ll change his mind and ask the prince for someone else.”
Lettie’s soft brown eyes were worried. “Allie, they say the man has a fearsome temper. He’s been known to beat a stable boy to the ground for not being quick enough to catch his horse.”
Alyce shuddered, but her chin went up as she answered, “I’ll not be afraid of him, Lettie. My father had no son, but he always said that he was consoled by knowing he’d bred a daughter with the spirit of half a dozen knights.”
The old servant shook her head. “Ye’ve spent yer childhood trying to prove yerself a man, Allie. ’Tis time ye put yer thoughts into being a woman who will marry and bear strong sons.”
Alyce turned her face toward the window. “I’ll bear no son of Dunstan lineage,” she said softly.
Lettie sighed. “I’ll go down meself, and tell the baron that ye’ve taken sick. But I trow he’ll be eager to see ye.”
“Nay, I don’t want you to go to them. Let my whereabouts remain a mystery. If the welcome is cold enough, mayhap the guests will not linger. If Dunstan sees nothing but disorder in my household, he’d be a fool to want me for wife.”
“Ye ever were one to tempt the very devil, Allie. Ye’ve already chased away three different emissaries sent by the baron. I’d not risk further angering the man who is to be yer husband.”
Alyce paid no attention to her nurse’s warning. Three times since her father’s death men sent by Baron Dunstan had ridden to Sherborne Castle. Three times she had connived and bullied them into leaving. The last group had left three months ago, muttering among themselves about the harridan their lord had chosen to wed. But now that her year of mourning was almost ended, she’d been expecting another visit. And she’d suspected that this time the baron himself would assume the task. He could well be one of the group currently making its way up to the castle gate.
She tilted her head, thinking. “You may tell Alfred to promise them dinner,” she told her nurse.
Lettie looked puzzled. “Naturally—”
“And then tell Alfred to talk to the cook. Has that meat been thrown out to the dogs yet? The mutton that sickened half the castle?”
Lettie’s eyes widened in horror. “Ye wouldn’t!” she gasped.
Alyce smiled smugly. “I would. ’Tis only proper to offer the baron and his men a hearty stew after their long journey.”
Thomas Brand stretched his long legs toward the huge fireplace in the great hall of Sherborne Castle. The structure of the room was reminiscent of his home at Lyonsbridge, but the similarity stopped with the architecture.
His grandmother Ellen would never have left guests to fend for themselves the way the lady of Sherborne had this evening. At Lyonsbridge, dinner with visiting knights would be a festive occasion. Blazing wall sconces would keep the great hall bright as day, and minstrels would be called from the village to entertain the visitors long into the night.
It had been three years since he’d savored the warmth of a Lyonsbridge evening, and it appeared that his stay at Sherborne was not likely to ease the wave of homesickness that had flooded over him since he and his men had once again set foot on English soil.
They’d been to Jerusalem and back, following King Richard on his ill-fated holy war. Now that the cause was lost, they should be returning to nurse their wounds among the warmth of their families. Instead they were obliged to run around England gathering the ransom to free Richard from the hands of the German emperor, Henry, since Prince John was just as happy to let his brother languish in prison for the rest of his days.
Thomas looked around the dark room, squinting to see if his men had at least found pallets to stretch out and rest along the warm edge of the wall. The fire had burned down to dull embers, and he could only make out shadows in the vast chamber.
“Thomas!”
It was Kenton’s voice, whispering, but urgent. Thomas sat straight on the bench, pulling back his feet. “Aye?”
Kenton Hinsdale, his friend and second-in-command, appeared out of the gloom. “The men are sick,” he said. His thin face looked gaunt in the shadows.
Thomas frowned. “Sick? What ails them?”
Kenton crouched next to the fire and held his hands out toward the fading warmth. “I don’t know. But Harry’s been in the yard since dinner, turning his innards inside out, and now three of the others have gone to join him. I feel none too well myself.”
“’Tis your stomach, as well?”
“Aye.”
Blessed Mary, whatever had possessed him to stop at this wretched excuse for a household? Thomas asked himself grimly. Since they arrived, they’d been spoken to by no one but the doddering old chamberlain, who had ushered them into this cold and dark hall. They’d had no offer of bedding beyond the hard floor, no fuel to build up the fire against the night’s chill. And now his men were puking up the ill-conceived meal they’d been given.
Thomas himself had taken none of the dish. His bad humor had left him with little appetite, and, in any event, the stew had not had a savory smell. But his men had been hungry. The rotund Harry, in particular, was never one to turn down a meal.
Thomas rose to his feet. “I’ll bear cold and darkness and neglect,” he said, “but, by God, I’ll not have my men poisoned. I’m going to have an audience with the lady of this household if I have to root her naked from her bed.”
Kenton rubbed a hand along his waist. “I’d go with you to seek her, Thomas, but I fear…” He stopped, his face pale.
Thomas waved to him. “Off with you, Kent. I need no help to find the wretch who presides here. Let’s just hope that her medicinal skills are sharper than her housekeeping.”
Kenton clutched his stomach, then turned and ran toward the door to the bailey.
Alyce delicately picked the last succulent shreds off the capon wing and put the bone on the trencher with a sigh of contentment. Licking the cranberry glaze from her fingers, she grinned at Lettie, who stood watching her in disapproval.
“Yer sainted mother will be a-turning in her tomb, Allie, to think of visitors receiving such treatment at Sherborne Castle.”
Alyce wrinkled her nose. “I’d not wonder at finding the shades of both her and my father walking the yard at St. Anne’s at the thought of their only daughter being forced to marry such a one as Philip of Dunstan.”
Lettie crossed herself and whispered a quick prayer. “At least they’ll know ye have a strong man to protect ye. ’Tis not an easy thing for a woman to make her own way through this harsh world.”
Alyce swung her feet to the floor and bent to place the trencher next to her bed. “Well, this woman would rather face the world by herself than from the bed of someone she doesn’t love.”
Lettie gave a snort. “This from the girl who has always said that love is for minstrels. Pay no attention to their silly ballads, ye always tell me. In the real world—”
She stopped at the sound of angry pounding on the door. For a moment both women looked startled, then Alyce gave a slow smile. “I suspect one of our visitors has come to ask the recipe for the elegant pottage we gave them.”
Lettie gasped, “What will ye do?”
“I’ll not have them breaking my door down. You’ll have to open it. But first…” She stood and snatched off Lettie’s plain brown wimple, leaving the servant clutching her bare head in bewilderment. Then she bent to shove the trencher with the remains of her supper underneath her pallet. Jumping into bed, she wrapped the wimple around her head and pulled the blankets up to obscure her face. “We must tell them that I’m sick as well, so they don’t believe ’twas done apurpose.”
“Do you suppose it’s Dunstan himself?” Lettie asked, her voice shaking.
The pounding intensified. Alyce burrowed into her covering. “It matters little. ’Tis a male, and they’re all alike. They think because they’re stronger and built for dominion in the act of love, they can rule our very existence.”
Lettie’s face turned scarlet at her charge’s words, but she had no time for remonstrance as the pounding began to shake the solid timbers of the chamber door.
“Open it, Lettie,” Alyce said, her voice muffled by her coverings.
The servant crossed the room quickly and threw open the door. The angry man on the other side was indeed strong, Alyce noted from her quickly designed nest. His tunic was short, revealing wool hose that encased well-muscled thighs. Alyce let her gaze move up to his face, which was as well favored as the rest of him. And young. This was not, then, her prospective groom. Dunstan had sent a lackey to fetch his bride. In spite of her bold words, she gave a little sigh of relief.
“Am I addressing the lady of this castle?” the man asked. He sounded angry, but his voice held a note of doubt as he glanced around the room to find her in bed.
Lettie answered for her. “Aye, ’tis the chamber of the lady Alyce, yer lordship, but milady’s took desperate sick.”
“She’s been poisoned then, like the rest of my men?”
Lettie nodded vigorously. “I fear so, milord.”
“I’m sorry to hear it.” The visitor’s expression was concerned and all anger was gone from his tone.
Alyce gave a small smile of triumph underneath the blankets.
“She’s been fair doubled over with the cramps since supper, milord.” Alyce repressed a giggle to hear her honest old nurse embroidering her lies.
The knight frowned. “It could be serious, then. I came seeking out your lady to ask for some medicines to relieve my men, but if she’s stricken herself, perhaps we should find an herbalist. Is there one here at the castle?”
Lettie grew serious at his somber tone and her reply was less assured. “Nay, milord. There be old Maeve over to the village, but there’s some that think she’s more than half crazed. Most folks hereabouts cure their own.”
The big knight gave a sigh of exasperation. “So the chatelaine’s sick and the herbalist is crazy. Where would you recommend I seek help for my men, good mistress?”
Lettie glanced at the bundle of covers on the bed, hesitating.
Her voice muffled from the folds of the wimple, Alyce said in a crackly voice, “Old Maeve may be able to help you. ’Twould be the wisest course.”
The knight glanced sharply at the bed. “Do you feel yourself recovering, milady?”
Alyce shook her head. The knight took a step into the room and peered more closely, as if trying to get a glimpse of her face, but she kept the blanket pulled tightly around her.
“If the old woman has some powders that will help, I’ll obtain some for you as well, Lady Sherborne,” he said.
“Very kind,” Alyce rasped.
The man paused a moment, as if waiting for her to continue speaking, then said finally, “I’ll send someone immediately, or, if everyone else in the place is stricken, I’ll go find the crone myself.”
He gave a courtly bow that seemed to include Lettie as well as Alyce, then turned and left.
Both women were silent for a moment after he closed the door gently behind him. “Saints preserve us, Allie, did ye see the man?”
Alyce threw off the covers and sat up abruptly. “Of course I saw him.”
“Did ye not think him the handsomest knight in all of Christendom? And polite as well, didn’t ye think? It makes me feel wicked that we played such a cruel trick on him.”
Alyce pulled the wimple from her head and scowled. “I do not consider it polite to batter down the door of a sick, mayhap dying, woman.”
“But ye’re not sick.”
“Nay, but he didn’t know that.”
“I feel bad, just the same. And now we’ve sent him off to poor old Maeve. Who knows what he’ll find there.”
Alyce gave a sniff of indifference. She was not going to admit to Lettie that she was sharing her servant’s guilt. The knight had been polite, aye, and more than pleasant to look upon. And it was not the man’s fault that he had been chosen to execute the unscrupulous business of Philip Dunstan and Prince John. “If Maeve’s having a good day, she’ll help him,” she said.
“Aye, and if she’s having a bad day, he’ll probably begin to think us all mad.”
“He can add that to his report to Dunstan, then. With luck, he’ll become so disgusted that he’ll ride back to his master and report that the lady of Sherborne is a sickly hag, that her household is wretched and her people are all lunatics.”
“In truth, Kenton, I don’t know whether the powders will help or finish the job that their spoiled stew started.”
Thomas and his lieutenant sat with their backs up against the cold stone wall of the great room. It was nearly dawn. Thomas had slept little after his return from the village. As the servant had warned, he’d found Maeve to be a frail old woman who drifted in and out of reality. But she’d given him feverfew and some ground hops, and had promised that together the two powders would purge the fiercest of poisons.
“Most of the men are still sleeping, Thomas,” Kenton answered, gesturing to the bodies strewn around them. “They seem to have rid themselves of the problem naturally. Myself, I feel fine this morning.”
There was a groan from a dark corner of the room. “Harry?” Thomas asked.
“Aye. He was the worst struck. Mayhap the medicine would be of some benefit to him.”
Thomas pulled a pouch from inside his surcoat. “The witch told me to mix it with hot ale.”
Kenton began to boost himself wearily to his feet. “I’ll see if I can find a serving wench in this place who might know where I can get some.”
Thomas pushed his friend back to the floor. “I’ll do it, Kent. I’m the healthy one. I’ll look for some breakfast for us, as well.”
Kenton gave a wobbly shake of his head. “Just the ale for me, Thomas. I’ve had enough of Sherborne Castle fare for one visit.”
Thomas gave him a sympathetic grin and went in search of some sign of life in the strange household.
Alyce lay awake for hours after Lettie left. It had become a pattern since her father’s death. During the day she could be cheerful and optimistic about her future, but at night she’d lie awake wondering how she could save herself from what seemed an inevitable fate.
It had been less than a month after her father’s death, when she was still numb with grief, that the first messenger had arrived from Prince John, informing her that the prince, acting as her liege lord in the absence of King Richard, had bestowed her hand upon his loyal servant, Philip of Dunstan.
When she’d heard the tales of the man who’d been chosen as her bridegroom, the nightmares had begun. But this night it was guilt that kept her tossing restlessly on her small bed. When she finally fell asleep, she dreamed that a number of tall knights, all looking like Dunstan’s messenger, were forcing her to eat a wretched pottage of rotten entrails. Then they were dragging her down a long hall toward a dais, where her bridegroom awaited. She awoke with her skin cold and clammy.
It was shortly before dawn. She sat up, staring into the dark, suddenly beset with worry. What if one of the men she had so callously sickened were to die? She rose from her bed and fumbled around in the dark, putting on her clothes. She’d not bother Lettie, nor any of the other servants, but she would quietly slip down to the great hall and make sure that none of the visitors was in dire condition.
If any of them were truly sick, she’d have no choice but to reveal herself and care for them. She had her mother’s herb chest, and she’d learned how to use it these past years since her mother had died, when Alyce was only ten.
She had no need of a tallow reed to light her way down to the great hall. She knew Sherborne Castle like the palm of her hand. Quietly, she stepped into the big chamber and paused to listen. All around her she heard the low rumbles of sleeping men, but, she noted with a sigh of relief, there were no sounds of distress.
Surely if anyone was very ill, there would be some sign. The fire would have been built up and men would be awake, caring for the patient.
Moving noiselessly, she crossed the room toward the buttery. She was feeling none too sharp herself this morning, she thought with an ironic grin. Punishment, no doubt, for her wickedness in finishing off half a capon the previous evening while her guests ate rotten food.
The sun was beginning to send slanting rays through the castle windows, but as she entered the buttery, it took Alyce a moment to realize that the room was illuminated not by the sun but by a blazing wall torch. The torch had evidently been placed there by the knight of her restless dreams, who was this moment standing frozen in front of her, his mug of ale halfway to his lips.

Chapter Two
“My apologies, mistress,” he said after a moment. “You startled me.” He placed the mug on top of a nearby barrel and gave a slight nod. “I couldn’t seem to find anyone about this morning, so I helped myself to some ale.”
Alyce stood still for a moment, her mind racing. The knight did not appear to know who she was. She probably looked far too healthy for him to consider that she might be the same Lady Sherborne whom he had seen so ill just a few hours before.
“By all means, serve yourself, sir. ’Twould be milady’s wishes. She’d be seeing to it herself, if she was able.”
“How does your mistress fare this morning?”
His eyes were unusually dark. They were watching her intently, making her feel as if he could read her every secret. She lowered her gaze. “Milady’s much better.”
“As are my men.”
“Lady Alyce will be glad to hear it.” She glanced up at him again, but he was still looking at her with those disturbing eyes. Could he see through her deceit? she wondered.
“Forgive me for staring,” he said, as if reading her thoughts. “It’s just that you’re the first lovely thing I’ve seen since I arrived here at Sherborne.” His voice softened. “Indeed, mistress, I venture to say that you’re the loveliest thing I’ve seen for a good long time.”
She felt heat rising in her cheeks. Since her mother’s death, her father had chosen to live a quiet life at Sherborne, and she’d had no exposure to the flirtations of the more sophisticated world of the court or the big cities. She wasn’t even sure if it was a flirtation that the knight was attempting.
She hesitated a moment, then murmured, “Ah…thank you,” and dropped her eyes once again.
“Does such beauty have a name?” he asked, and this time when she looked up he was regarding her with such a charming smile that there was no doubt of its nature.
She hesitated, then said, “Rose. My name is Rose.”
“How appropriate.” He took a step toward her, seized one of her hands and brought it to his lips. “I’m Thomas, Mistress Rose, most humbly at your service.”
Was it her imagination or did the pulse seem to surge through her fingers where his hand touched her? “Thomas…?” she asked.
He paused before he answered, “Thomas…Havilland.”
She slipped her fingers out of his grasp and tried to gather her wits, but she could scarcely think for the rushing in her ears. She tried to keep her voice steady, her words logical. “And you say your men have all recovered, Sir Thomas?”
“I believe so, all save Harry Streeter, who may have taken more than his share of the fatal stew last evening,” he added with a grin.
“I’m sure my mistress is mortified that Sherborne fare caused such distress.”
“Such misadventures happen. ’Tis the fault of no one.”
She felt a quick flash of guilt, but mostly she felt unsettled and shaky. He was standing less than a yard distant. She took a step backward, willing her unruly senses to calm themselves. This was absurd, she chided herself. This knight had come to rob her of her independence, to carry her off to a cruel man who would become her husband against her will. The thought brought her strength.
“I trust you will report as much to your master,” she said coldly.
“My master?” He sounded surprised.
“Baron Dunstan.”
The dark brown eyes blinked in confusion. “I owe no allegiance to Dunstan, mistress. What would make you think such a thing?”
“Have you not been sent by Prince John to fetch the lady of Sherborne as bride for Baron Dunstan?”
The knight’s expression darkened. “I’d clean stable dung before I’d serve as errand boy to Prince John. As for Philip of Dunstan, I beg pardon, mistress, but if your lady is to marry him, then God help her.”
“His name is Thomas Havilland, Lettie, and he’s not from Prince John at all. He’s simply a knight going around…I don’t know…doing whatever knights do.” Alyce sat on her bed, resting her head on her hands.
Lettie sat beside her and put a comforting arm around her shoulders. “Ye’ll just have to tell him the truth, Allie. Ye say he himself called Dunstan a monster. He’ll understand that ye were trying to protect yerself. He’ll probably admire ye for it.”
“Will he admire that I poisoned his men?”
Lettie was silent for a moment. “I think they’ve mostly recovered. And he does seem to be a nice man. Ye said he was courtly, Allie.”
Alyce lifted her head. “I said he seemed to be courting me. No doubt for his own male purposes.”
Lettie’s eyebrows lifted. “What do ye know about male purposes, Alyce Rose?”
“I know that most men are without scruples.”
“Those are yer father’s words, lass. He fed ye nonsense about men that was every bit as poisonous as the meat those poor knights ate last night.”
Alyce’s tone was defensive. “Father always wanted to protect me. If he had known that I’d be sold in matrimony like a prize broodmare, he’d have moved heaven and hell to leave me enough money to pay my tribute to the king and free myself from the burden.”
“Aye, lass, that he would, but I still don’t hold with the way he soured ye on suitors.”
Alyce gave a little sniff. “I’m not interested in suitors, Lettie. I have the life I want.”
“But what are ye going to do about this Thomas Havilland, Allie? He’ll no doubt guess that he has been tricked when he learns who ye are and realizes that ye were never ill.”
Alyce rubbed her nose in frustration. “They’re just passing through he said. As soon as his men are recovered, they’ll be leaving. It will just be unfortunate that the lady of Sherborne won’t recover before they’re gone.”
“Do ye intend to keep to yer bed?”
Alyce gave a mischievous grin. “Lady Alyce will keep to her bed. However, milady’s companion, Rose, will serve as hostess to the knights in her place.”
“Ah, luv, ye’re playing with fire again. If he should find out that ye’re deceiving him…”
“I’ll be careful. ’Twill be an interesting experiment.”
Lettie shook her head. “Ye know nothing about this man, Allie. Who is this Sir Thomas? He could be a brigand. Maybe he comes from Prince John, after all. He might be one of Dunstan’s spies trying to learn more about ye. Or he could be—”
Alyce leaned over to give her nurse a hug, then jumped up. “Don’t fret so, Lettie. It matters not who they are. They’ll be gone soon. But in the meantime, I’m not about to stay cooped up in this tiny room while there are strangers downstairs to bring news of the outside world.”
“And handsome strangers at that.”
Alyce wrinkled her nose. “I don’t care what they look like, Lettie. I just want to hear their tales.”
“Still, it doesn’t hurt to have a handsome countenance to look upon while ye’re listening to the news.”
“Aye, it doesn’t hurt.”
Lettie gave a knowing smile. “Ah, lass, it’s the height of injustice that that scoundrel Prince John intends to marry ye to an old man. Ye should be falling in love with a handsome young knight like Sir Thomas.”
“I don’t intend to fall in love with anyone, Lettie. Women have a hard enough time clinging to their shreds of independence without clouding up their minds with ridiculous notions of romance.”
“I don’t believe in romantic love,” Alyce declared in a voice somewhat louder than she had intended.
Thomas looked up sharply from his lute. Several of his men had gathered around the big fireplace to listen to their leader sing one of his endless love ballads. It was a strange talent for a warrior as fierce as Thomas Brand, but it had served to keep them entertained many a miserable night on the long road to the Holy Lands and back. They leaned forward, listening for Thomas’s reply to the young beauty’s cynical declaration.
Thomas let his gaze linger for a moment on their hostess’s lovely features. “Love is not to be believed in,” he said softly, “it’s to be felt.”
Her chin went up a notch. “I’ve never felt it, then.”
“Has your mistress?”
For a moment, the young woman looked blank. “The lady Alyce?” she asked.
“Aye. Has she not felt love?”
“Nay.” The word was decisive.
Thomas shook his head and resumed idly plucking the strings of his lute. “’Tis a pity, for she’s not likely to find it with the husband they’ve chosen for her.”
Unable to resist the chance to satisfy her curiosity, Alyce asked, “Have you met the baron, Sir Thomas? Can you tell me what he’s like?”
His fingers tightened on the strings, making a jarring, off-key chord. “He’s Prince John’s man, and in today’s England ’tis not wise to speak against anyone allied to John. But you may tell your mistress that a friend advises her not to go through with this marriage.”
A hint of anger flushed her cheeks. “Do you think she would be marrying such a man if she had any choice?
Kenton, who had not taken his eyes off her the entire evening, said, “She’s mistress of a sizable estate. Surely she must have some say in her own marriage.”
“Not a whit. When a peerage is left to a woman, the king has the right to marry her to whom he pleases.”
Kenton and Thomas exchanged a glance. “The king,” Kenton repeated slowly. “Not the king’s brother.”
Alyce sighed. “It appears to matter little who claims the title. My lot is the same. That is, Lady Alyce’s fate is not her own, no matter who claims sovereignty.”
Thomas laid aside his lute. “I’d like to speak with your lady, Mistress Rose. Perhaps I can give her some advice on this matter. Do you think she’s recovered enough to see me this evening?”
Alyce jumped to her feet. “Nay. Most assuredly not. She was…” She paused and looked around the room at the men who were watching her, their eyes friendly and admiring. Some were still pale from the effects of their ordeal. “My lady was desperately ill, Sir Thomas. I doubt she’ll recover for some days.”
His eyes, too, were sympathetic and kind. Once again Alyce felt the flush of guilt. “I wouldn’t have her disturbed,” he said. “But perhaps I might be permitted to talk with her in her chambers. After all, I did see her there last night. In fact, that’s another reason I should see her. I’d like to apologize for my rudeness.”
“I believe she was too ill to notice, sir. But I know she’d be mortified to have to receive a visitor in her current condition. I’m afraid ’twould be best if you just give me any message you’d like to relay to her.”
Thomas frowned, but he made no further protest.
“You can take her a message from me,” Kenton said. When she turned to him, he continued, “You can tell her that I think she has the prettiest waiting woman in all England.”
His lieutenant’s words deepened Thomas’s scowl. “You’ll have to forgive my men their boldness and their stares,” he told her. “We’ve been away from home too long.”
“I didn’t mean to offend, mistress,” Kenton said quickly.
Alyce smiled at the handsome young lieutenant. “It would be churlish for a lady to be offended by such a lovely compliment, Sir Kenton.”
Thomas looked from Kenton to Alyce, then cleared his throat and said loudly, “Travel abroad makes one forget what extraordinary flowers we have blooming here in our own land, Mistress Rose.” Then he shot Kenton a smile of friendly competition.
Kenton rose to the challenge. “Indeed, the East offers nothing but dry desert growth when compared to the lush garden of English beauty.”
Alyce felt as if she had drunk too much mulled ale. She was not used to the company of strange males, much less to being the center of their admiration and rivalry. In some confusion, she stood. “Gentlemen, I’ve enjoyed the evening, but I should go see if my lady needs me.”
Instantly, every one of the knights was on his feet. “I’ll escort you,” Kenton said quickly.
She looked around the group. “Nay, resume your socializing.” She gestured to Thomas’s lute. “I’d not interrupt your evening’s entertainment. Please continue.”
Thomas grinned at her. “Beg pardon, mistress, but it appears the evening’s entertainment is about to leave the room.”
Alyce couldn’t resist smiling. It was no doubt empty raillery, she told herself, but it was heady stuff. Was this what it was like to be at court? No wonder they told tales of the decadent goings-on. Such treatment was likely to make a girl’s head turn.
“My absence will not alter your lovely music, Sir Thomas. I pray you continue to play, and I bid you all good-night.” Her smile encompassed the entire group, and Kenton was not the only man who looked more than a little smitten.
She started to leave the room, heading toward the stairs to her chambers, but before she could reach the door, Thomas was beside her. He bent toward her and whispered, “Rank has its privileges, Rose. I’ll escort you to your mistress’s chambers myself.”
She noted that he had used her Christian name. Or what he thought was her name.
“’Tis my name,” she said defensively, then her hand flew to her mouth as she realized she’d spoken aloud.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Ah…you called me Rose.”
They’d begun to ascend the narrow stone stairway. He placed a hand at her waist to steady her. “Aye, was it too forward of me?”
“I’m afraid I’m not familiar with the proper conventions, Sir Thomas.”
“I’m delighted to hear it,” he said with a wicked grin. “They’re usually nothing more than a bother, so we’ll dispense with them. And you will call me Thomas.” His hand slipped a little more firmly around her waist.
The knight’s teasing voice and the feel of his body close to hers were creating an unfamiliar melting sensation inside her stomach. She was perplexed to realize that the feeling was not entirely unpleasant.
She tried to move away, but her shoulder scraped the rounded wall of the stairwell. Thomas pulled her toward him once again. “Let me assist you. A fine escort I’d make if I let you fall down the stairs.”
“There will be light on the floor above,” she said, and, as they rounded the last turn of the stairs, they could see it reflecting dimly down to them.
Thomas halted and pulled her to a stop on the step beside him. “Too bad,” he murmured. “For I’d begun to enjoy holding you close to me in the dark.”
While it was true that Alyce knew little of court manners, she was virtually certain that it was improper for a gentleman to make such suggestive statements to a lady upon a single day’s acquaintance. Still, perversely, his husky words made the blood rush in her head.
Of course, she reminded herself, Sir Thomas did not know that she was a lady. Undoubtedly it was not as great a transgression to talk this way to a mere lady’s maid.
She tried to keep her voice light as she quipped, “Then ’tis fortunate for me that Lady Alyce keeps her castle well illuminated.”
Thomas laughed and relaxed his hold slightly, but still did not let her continue up the remaining few stairs. “Your fortune is my ill fortune. Strange, but last night we stumbled about like blindmen. Where was your ladyship’s illumination then?”
“She was ill, remember?”
“Aye. And what about you, Rose? Didn’t you taste the disastrous dish?”
“Nay, I…” She paused. “I ate day-old capon. I was trying to be proper and leave the stew for the visitors.”
“Are you always proper, Rose?” he whispered close to her ear.
“Aye,” she whispered back, licking suddenly dry lips.
“Now there’s another pity.”
In the dim light she could see that his features had altered. His eyes had narrowed and his expression had changed from the teasing charmer to something more predatory. She tried to turn away from his detaining arm, but the movement only backed her up against the wall. He pressed closer and she could feel the warmth of his body from her knees to her chest.
“I must go—” she began as he lowered his head and kissed her.
The kiss was brief, but the feel of it tingled on her lips long after he pulled away.
Neither spoke for several moments, then he gave a rueful smile and said, “You can slap me if you like, mistress, but ’twould be worth it. I’ve tasted nothing that sweet on the long road to Damascus and back.”
Alyce sagged back against the wall, uncertain her knees would hold her. “I suppose one should make allowances for a soldier returning from the wars. You’ve no doubt seen few women on your journey, and any woman would tempt you.”
“Nay, not just any woman, Rose. I daresay I’ve resisted temptation more times than you might imagine. But ’twas your loveliness that I could not resist. Do you forgive me?”
His tone was more teasing than contrite. She suspected that Thomas Havilland was confident his kiss would not be considered an insult, particularly not by a humble waiting woman in a small country castle. Yet in spite of the man’s arrogance, she found herself smiling back at him. “Let’s just say I shan’t mention it to the lady Alyce. That is, if you’ll release me now and let me go about my duties.”
He stepped to the opposite side of the stair and gestured toward the floor above. “Off with you, then, fairest Rose. The brief sample was enough to add delicious flavor to my dreams this night. Perhaps tomorrow I might persuade you to let me taste more deeply of Sherborne’s fare. And I do not refer to your stews,” he added with a rueful chuckle.
Alyce felt the heat rise to her face once again. She was shocked to realize that she found the knight’s bold words stimulating. By the saints, what was she thinking? She was acting like the servant of her masquerade rather than the proud lady of Sherborne. She pulled herself straight and met his eyes. “I was remiss in leaving the lady Alyce this evening, but I intend to spend the day at her side tomorrow.”
“Then I shall join you,” Thomas said, undaunted. “I have some things to say to your mistress about this matter of her matrimony. Richard is still king of England. His brother has no right to impose his authority on her.”
“That may be, but how do you suggest she defend herself when Prince John controls England and every nobleman in it?”
“Not every nobleman,” Thomas said under his breath. Then he added in a lighter tone, “Lady Sherborne and I could at least discuss the matter. Come, don’t argue. Tell your mistress that I’ll attend her in her chambers at midmorning. Then, after our talk, I’ll convince her to give you the rest of the day free to show me around Sherborne.”
Alyce gave an inner groan. “Your men are recovered. I thought you’d be anxious to be on your way.”
“Our business can wait another couple of days. I’m not ready to ride away from here just yet.”
As unskilled as she was in this matter of courtship, his grin left no doubt about why he was not ready to leave Sherborne. And in truth, she was not anxious for him to leave. It was absurd, but she suddenly realized that she not only wouldn’t object to another of Thomas Havilland’s kisses, she was actually hoping for one.
Speaking slowly, she answered, “I don’t think my mistress will want to receive you when she’s not feeling her best, Sir Thomas, but I know she regrets not being a better hostess. I’ll ask her to permit me to show you around the estate.”
His face brightened. “Excellent. Shall we meet at midmorning, then?”
She nodded, then before she could regret her hasty decision, turned and rushed up the stairs.
All the way down the long hall to her room, she invented justifications for her behavior. After what he had said, her agreement to see him as much as invited him to kiss her again. She would never have entertained such a notion for a moment when her father was alive.
But she was a grown woman now, and though Thomas hadn’t come for that purpose, Baron Dunstan’s real emissaries would be here soon enough. She had little time left for the careless flirtations that most young people took for granted. And, after all, it wasn’t the lady of Sherborne who would kiss the handsome knight tomorrow. It was her maid, Rose.
A little smile played around her lips as she went into her room. She’d had a year of nothing but mourning and hard work. Surely she deserved a little bit of fun. She’d allow herself one more day of this game.

Chapter Three
“I know you didn’t bed the maid, Thomas,” his lieutenant observed. “You returned to the fireside too quickly last night.”
Thomas chuckled. “Perhaps I’m just faster than most.”
“Nay.” Kenton shook his head firmly. “I’ve heard enough of your lovemaking prowess from the ladies at court to know that Thomas Brand does not hurry his conquests.”
“It’s true I prefer to take my time with my pleasures. Battle should be swift. Lovemaking should be lingering.”
“So how long do you intend to linger at Sherborne while our king rots in the emperor’s chains?”
Thomas shot his friend a reproving glance, but his tone was good-natured. “A day or two longer will not harm anything. We’ve most of the money raised.”
“Did you tell your little Rose your real name?”
Thomas frowned. “Nay, I’ve given her the Havilland alias. I don’t think it’s safe for it to be known that I’m back in England, even in this backwater castle.”
“Which is why the sooner we finish gathering King Richard’s ransom and head back to the Continent, the better. If Prince John discovers our mission, he’d try to kill us all.”
“I know. I don’t intend for anyone to find out.”
“Yet you’ll risk tarrying for the sake of a pretty face.” Kenton’s normally sunny expression was gloomy.
“Have some of this venison, Kent. It’ll improve your humor.” The two of them were seated alone at the long master’s table in the great hall. The rest of Thomas’s men had already broken their fast and gone out to the yard, taking advantage of the unexpected day’s rest to clean their weapons and their equipment.
“I told you,” Kenton answered with a frown, “I’d prefer no more meals from Sherborne’s larder.”
“That’s why you’re so grumpy—you’re hungry. ’Tis not like you to begrudge a friend a day’s dalliance. Or is it that you wanted the girl for yourself?”
Kenton lifted his knife and stabbed a piece of meat off the board that sat on the table in front of Thomas. “Nay, she had eyes for none but you. Anyone could see that. And she’s too scrawny for my taste.”
Thomas choked on the bite he’d just put in his mouth. “Scrawny? The sickness must’ve damaged your eyesight, my friend. She has curves aplenty in that long, sleek body. I’ve seldom seen such beauty of face or form.”
“She’s pretty enough,” Kenton said, a little too casually.
Thomas stopped chewing and peered at his friend. “You did want her, then.”
Kenton cut off another hunk of meat. “’Swounds, Thomas, I’m breathing, aren’t I?”
Both men were silent for a long moment, chewing the stringy meat. Finally Thomas sighed and said, “Aye, she’s that kind—a woman to make the fire burn in any man on two legs. The devil of it is, she doesn’t seem to know it.”
“Nor does she seem much taken by the subject. She turned up her pretty little nose at your love ballads.”
Thomas pushed the trencher away. “I suspect she’s more interested than she’s willing to admit.”
Kenton leaned toward him. “And just how did you come to this conclusion?”
Thomas grinned. “That, my friend, is none of your business.”
“We’ve all been sorely deprived these past months,” Kenton said with a sulky expression. “If you win the maid, the least you can do is to let us feast on the details.”
Thomas stood up. “Go groom your horse, Kenton, or oil your armor or douse yourself in the cold water of the castle reservoir. I’ve a lady to meet.”
“Does your mistress also ride?” Thomas asked as he pulled his big gray stallion to a stop beside Alyce’s mare.
“Aye,” Alyce answered, withholding a smile. “She’s noted for it hereabouts.”
His eyes sparkled in the rare November sun. “I daresay she’s not as good as her companion Rose.”
“I thank you for the compliment, sir, but everyone says that Lady Alyce is the best horsewoman in all the shire.”
He shook his head. “People will say anything to curry favor with a noble. She’s probably one of those fine ladies who perches on the edge of her saddle and shrieks if the animal goes faster than a walk.”
Alyce let her laughter spill out. She was enjoying herself too much to restrain it. The fine day and the company of a charming knight were proving an intoxicating mixture, and her deception only added to the diversion. For this one blessed day, she decided, she would put aside all thoughts of marriage taxes and brutish bridegrooms and enjoy being pretty and sought after by an eligible young man.
Thomas had not tried to kiss her again. He’d greeted her that morning with a courtly bow, and when she’d suggested a ride, he had been the one to ask if she would be more comfortable in the company of others from the castle. When she’d declared recklessly that she preferred to have him to herself, there had been a brief flare of eagerness in his eyes, but in seconds the expression was carefully banked.
“I don’t think the lady Alyce is prone to shrieking,” she answered him. “And you can believe me when I tell you that she rides every bit as well as I do.”
“Then I’m maligning her, and I must make amends when I finally meet her. Will she join us for supper this evening?”
“Oh, I’m afraid not. This morning she was still quite ill.”
Thomas looked around the meadow they’d just crossed. The hardiest of the late fall wildflowers still dotted it with purple and yellow splotches. “What a shame to lie abed on such a day. Shall we gather some flowers to take to her? It seems the least I can do, since the stew that poisoned her was prepared for our benefit.”
Alyce shifted uneasily in her saddle. “She’d not want you to fret over it, Sir Thomas. My lady has such a…” she paused a moment to swallow hard “…such a sweet nature that she would be unhappy to think you worried.”
“Ah, she sounds like an angel. All the more reason to try to brighten her sickroom.” Thomas swung off his horse and held his arms up toward Alyce. “Come, we’ll pick some together.”
Alyce slid down into them, her sudden, renewed wave of guilt banishing all embarrassment. It had been exhilarating to play the lady’s maid, and the disguise had given her a delicious sense of freedom, but she knew it was wicked of her to continue deceiving Thomas.
His hands lingered at her waist for a few moments before he released her and stepped back, saying, “We really should have a basket. Then we could fill your mistress’s sickroom with color.”
Alyce gave a rueful shake of her head and watched as the big knight began carefully plucking the delicate blossoms. “I thought knights spent their time thrashing each other and slaying dragons,” she said. “Your hands are strong and battle scarred, yet last night I watched them playing the lute, and now they pick flowers. You surprise me.”
He looked up at her, smiling as he continued his chore. “A true knight must be a man of many talents, Rose. He’ll relish a good battle, but should have equal love of art and music. As well as a keen eye for a beautiful maid,” he added with a wink.
“And you consider yourself a true knight, Sir Thomas?”
He grinned. “One of the truest.”
“I gather modesty is not one of the knightly virtues.”
“Aye, but ’tis a minor one. The part about the ladies is much more important.”
Alyce laughed. She had never before enjoyed banter such as this with a man. It was fun and oddly stimulating. It made her want to go up on tiptoe and break into a little dance.
Thomas straightened and walked over to her, holding out a number of blossoms. “If you’ll not pick, you can at least hold these while I gather more.”
“I’m sure you already have enough, Sir Thomas. Lady Alyce’s bedchamber is not very big.”
Thomas looked at the bunch in his hands for a long moment. Then he said, “You’ll still have to hold these.”
“Why?” she asked, but took the flowers from him.
“Because I need my hands free to hold you,” he said. Then he encircled her with his arms and pulled her close up against him. The blossoms crumpled between them. They both laughed as he looked down at them ruefully and observed, “Oh, bother. This won’t work, either.”
Alyce was embarrassed to admit to herself that she’d been waiting for this moment all day. She’d been unable to get Thomas’s brief kiss out of her mind, and, though she knew it was a scandalous desire for a well-bred maiden, she wanted another sample. And she wasn’t about to let some fast-wilting flowers stand in her way. “Never mind,” she said, bending down to deposit the bouquet on the ground. “They’ll be fine right here until we’re ready to leave.”
Thomas’s smile of satisfaction was confirmation that she was acting like a village hussy, but she didn’t care as he put his arms around her again and lowered his lips to hers. Unlike the brief kiss of the previous evening, this one was slow and deep. His mouth gently melded with hers, warm and moist, then opened to urge a more ardent joining. For several moments, Alyce lost track of everything that surrounded them. She could no longer smell the dry grass of the meadow or hear the horses’ impatient huffing. Her entire world was centered in Thomas’s kiss.
He gave a little groan of pleasure as he drew away. Closing his eyes and resting his forehead against hers, he murmured, “By the rood, Rose, I’ve never in my life tasted anything so sweet.”
Her arms had crept around his neck and they tightened at his words. He sounded utterly sincere. Thomas Havilland was obviously a practiced gallant, but there was a note in his declaration that rang true. Of course, the notion was absurd. He had kissed many women. In his eyes, she was just a servant on whom he could practice his skill at flirtation. And he was obviously hungry for a woman after a dreary campaign.
She put the thought into words. “You say that you’ve been away from home for a long time, Sir Thomas. No doubt the slightest attention from an English maid would seem wondrous to you.”
He loosened his hold on her and answered slowly, “Nay. I’ll admit I’ve had few kisses over these past months, but this is something…” His voice trailed off.
His expression was genuinely puzzled, and Alyce was tempted to believe that he had indeed found the kisses as compelling as she had. Unconsciously, she tilted her face, and he accepted the mute offer by kissing her again. This time she didn’t know how many minutes transpired before he pulled away with a deep, ragged breath.
“You’ve bewitched me, Rose. Or have you fed me one of old Maeve’s love potions?” When she flushed, he laughed and added, “No matter. I’m not objecting. But you must know ’tis dangerous to incite a man’s passions.”
Alyce knew no such thing, but his teasing expression did not look the least dangerous, so she smiled back at him. What would a lady’s maid say at this juncture? she wondered. Daringly, she tried, “Fie on you, sir, if you think I need a potion to do the job.”
His expression changed once again, and this time she did glimpse danger in his hooded gaze and the flare of his nostrils. In one fluid motion he scooped her up into his arms and began walking toward the copse of trees at the far end of the meadow. It was some distance, but he carried her easily, without so much as breathing hard. It was Alyce’s chest that was rising and falling in short, panicked breaths.
He reached the trees and gave her a hard, quick kiss. “In truth, I judged Sherborne a modest place when we rode in, sweetheart. I never thought to find such riches here.”
Her insides were churning. Though inexperienced, she knew enough to realize that Thomas was intending to move beyond flirtatious kisses. Part of her wanted to let him continue. His kisses had been exciting, and her untutored body wanted to learn what further wizardry he could show her.
He laid her gently on a mound of soft grass at the base of an ash tree and knelt beside her, looking down. His fingers traced the line of her jaw, then his hand moved down to sculpt her breast through the thick cloth of her dress. “Shall I free you of these wrappings?” he asked.
With sudden panic, Alyce brushed aside his hand and sat straight up as if stung by a bee. What had possessed her? The knight might think her a serving wench, but she was not one. She was the lady of Sherborne Castle, in liege to the king of England. Neither her fate nor her body were her own. “I can’t do this,” she said stiffly.
At first Thomas seemed to think it all part of the game. He took her shoulders and dropped a gentle kiss on her nose. “Don’t worry, sweetling,” he murmured. “We’ll be careful.”
She had only the vaguest notion what he meant by those words, but she knew that no amount of care could make it all right for the lady Alyce of Sherborne to lie with a wandering knight. She pushed him back. “Nay, you don’t understand. I must return to the castle. Please.”
The touch of alarm in her tone seemed to reach him. He pulled his arms away and let them drop to his sides. “I’m sorry, Rose,” he said stiffly. “It seemed that you were willing.”
She bit her lip and found it still sensitive from his kisses. “Aye,” she said miserably. “That is…nay. I hold you no blame, Sir Thomas. ’Twas my fault for acting recklessly.”
If he was disappointed or angry, it did not show in his expression. He smiled. “Perhaps I went too quickly, sweetling. The fault was not in your actions but in your beauty and sweetness. I didn’t mean to press you, but you made me quite lose my head.”
She realized that after the bold way she had acted, she should be grateful for his easy acceptance of her change of heart. “Thank you,” she said.
He stood and held out his hand. “Come, let’s see if any of our flowers survived, to take back to your mistress.”
Feeling a little shaky, Alyce accepted his hand to help her up, but dropped it immediately when she was on her feet. She was quiet as they made their way back to the horses. He helped her mount, then quickly gathered the scattered blossoms and got on his own horse.
She remained silent on the ride back to the castle, confused at her actions and at how fast things had progressed between her and Thomas. Didn’t she have enough problems, she asked herself angrily, without losing all vestige of good sense because a handsome knight wooed her with pretty words?
As they dismounted, he asked about seeing her at dinner. He seemed a little hurt by her swift change of mood, but she didn’t trust herself enough to spend more time with him to soothe his feelings. She gave a vague answer, then handed him the reins to her mount and bolted for the security of the castle.
“Thomas, you were the one who said we shouldn’t tarry long at any place lest Dunstan get wind of our movements. If he and Prince John learn that we are collecting the ransom for Richard, they’ll have their dogs on us in an instant.”
This time Kenton had recruited assistance in arguing with his leader. Harry the Stout had joined them at the table, along with a third knight whom the men had dubbed Martin the Reaper. Unlike Harry, Martin’s nickname had nothing to do with his appearance. The phrase came from the number of Saladin’s legions Martin had mowed down in battle.
“Kenton’s right,” Martin said, sober in spite of the pitcher of ale he had single-handedly consumed. “’Tis time we leave here before word of our presence spreads. We’ve already judged this castle too poor to contribute to our cause. By all accounts the lady has not even the money to buy herself free from her marriage duty to the king’s choice.”
“To Prince John’s choice, according to her serving woman,” Thomas corrected. “Which happens to be none other than Dunstan himself. Does it seem right to you that we should leave the poor woman to that kind of fate? Haven’t we all taken an oath of chivalry to aid damsels in need?”
Harry wiped the grease from his mouth as he threw the leg bone of a rabbit down on the table. “I’ve no warm feelings toward the lady of Sherborne after our treatment at her hands. She near killed us. I say let Dunstan have her.”
“Aye,” Martin agreed. “Our duty is to Richard and none other.”
Kenton was watching Thomas with a puzzled expression. “’Tis not like you to be so reckless over a pretty face, Thomas. Let’s be about our business. When Richard is free, you can come back for this servant wench if you fancy her so.”
Thomas looked around the table at his men. He sympathized with their confusion. In fact, he shared it. He could not explain even to himself why the lady of Sherborne’s maid had so captured him. He only knew that when she had not come to join them for supper, the stab of disappointment had been every bit as sharp as the Saracen knife that had nearly taken his life in battle.
Damn Richard for getting himself into yet another muddle, he thought with uncharacteristic churlishness. Thomas knew that his loyalty was to his king, but he simply could not ride away without seeing Rose again.
He stood. “I can’t believe that one more day in this place will jeopardize our mission. The men can use the time to rest and repair their equipment. I feel an obligation to seek an audience with this Lady Alyce, to see that she is not being forced into a match that is abhorrent to her.”
“And if she is?” Kenton asked.
Thomas shrugged. “As you say, our mission is clear, but since Dunstan is Richard’s enemy, we may be of some service to the lady in the performing of it.”
“So ’tis the lady you wish to see, not her servant?” Kenton asked without hiding his skepticism.
“I’ll see them both,” Thomas answered. He looked at each of his men in turn, but none of them spoke. Thomas Brand was normally a mild-mannered fellow and a warm friend, but they’d learned from experience not to oppose him when his expression tightened and his tone turned to steel.
Kenton was brave enough to shake his head in disapproval, but even he remained silent as Thomas strode away toward the stairs to the upper floor.
He had been joking when he’d accused Rose of using one of old Maeve’s love potions, but by the time Thomas reached the door of Lady Alyce’s bedchamber, he’d begun to wonder if there might be some truth to his charge. The need to see her again was like a fire in his gut.
Light shone around the door, encouragement enough for him to knock. If the lady Alyce was still in her sickbed, perhaps Rose was attending her and would open the door to him. Then he would insist on a few moments of her time to apologize for having upset her out in the meadow that morning.
Unlike the other night, when his anger and worry over his sick men had made him pound until the rafters shook, he tapped lightly. With luck, the mistress would be asleep and Rose would be free to leave with him.
His heart leaped when Rose opened the door. “Oh!” she said, and her hand flew to her mouth. “I thought it was Lettie.”
He gave her his most charming smile. “I hope ’tis not a disappointment. I missed you at the dinner table.” When she continued to look upset, he grew more serious. “I need to talk with you, Rose. Please hear me out.”
“I…’tis late,” she said weakly.
“Aye, but I’ve little time. My men are anxious to be about their duties, and I’d not leave Sherborne without settling this thing between us.”
She was holding the door halfway shut, but he angled himself to look into the room over her shoulder, trying to get a glimpse of the reclusive lady Alyce. To his surprise, the room seemed to be empty. “Where’s your mistress?” he asked with a frown.
She relaxed her hold on the door and stepped back to reveal the empty room. “She went to the garderobe, if you must know. But she’ll return any minute, and she won’t be at all happy to find you here.”
He moved toward her, forcing her to take a step backward into the room. “I’ll explain that her maid has put a spell on me and drawn me here against my will.”
Rose smiled, but still seemed ill at ease. “Please leave, Thomas. I’m sorry, but there can be nothing more between us.”
His smile faded. “Our kisses were not one-sided, Rose. I won’t believe that you did not feel the same pull as I.”
She gave a stubborn shake of her head. “Nay, I felt nothing.”
She’d never been more beautiful. Up to now he’d seen her with a wimple or with her hair plaited. Tonight it streamed loose to the middle of her back like a river of spun gold. Almost unconsciously, he reached out a hand to stroke it. “You lie, little minx,” he said gently. “There is something between us, and you feel it as much as I.”
She pulled away from his touch and his hand brushed the cold metal circlet that held the tresses back from her face. His eyes focused on it. “’Tis gold,” he said, surprised.
Rose plucked the band off her head and threw it on the bed. “Aye, ’tis my lady’s. I shouldn’t be wearing it.”
A slight tremor in her voice betrayed her. Something was not right, Thomas realized. Was she worried that her mistress would arrive to discover that she was trying on her jewels? The explanation did not satisfy him.
He crossed the room and picked up the abandoned circlet. “Do you think she would be angry with you?”
Her eyes grew wide. “Aye. I’m not to touch her things. She might even have me beaten.”
He cocked his head. “I thought you said that the lady Alyce was sweet?”
Her words tumbled out. “I—I did. She’s sweet…sometimes. And sometimes she has a terrible temper. The temper is more common when she’s sick, and, as you know, Sir Thomas, she’s been dreadfully…”
“Sick,” he supplied.
“Aye,” she ended with a little sigh.
He passed the circlet from one hand to another as if weighing the bauble. “Then I definitely shall stay until she returns, to be sure that you don’t get into trouble.”
“There’s no need. I believe she’s ready to retire for the evening—”
“I’m staying,” he interrupted, his voice firm. “I’d not miss the chance to meet this mysterious lady who is at the same time both angel and termagant.”
She looked up at him, her eyes pleading silently.
“You look distressed,” he said gently. “Is there something you’d like to tell me, my fair Rose?” He walked over to her and lifted her chin with his finger so that her gaze could not avoid meeting his. “Or should I say, my fair Alyce,?”

Chapter Four
Alyce drew in a breath. Thomas’s hand held steady at her chin, forcing their gazes to lock.
“It is Alyce, is it not?” he asked again.
She let out the breath with a sigh. “Aye.”
He dropped his hold on her chin and stepped back. “And ’twas you I saw that first evening, swaddled in bedclothes?”
She gave a guilty nod.
“Why the masquerade?” He sounded more confused than angry, and Alyce realized that he hadn’t yet realized that she’d deceived him about the rotten meat as well.
“I thought you’d come from Prince John, remember? I wasn’t anxious to give myself up to my jailers.”
“But why didn’t you tell me who you were when I explained that I hadn’t come from the prince?”
“Well, I—I was unsure. I wanted to find out something about you.”
He looked as if he was trying to recollect that first conversation in the buttery. “You were not sick, then?” he asked.
“Only that first evening. I recovered quickly. I’ve always been one to recover quickly. My father used to say that I had the stomach of a goat. I could eat any old thing…” Her voice trailed off. She knew she’d been speaking too fast, and Thomas’s expression was becoming more skeptical.
“No doubt you, like your lovely maid Rose, decided you’d eat day-old capon while you kindly left the stew to us.”
She bit her lip and nodded. “Aye, that was it.”
“Which was especially generous when you believed we had come to haul you off to a marriage you dreaded.” Finally the anger she’d been waiting for flashed in his eyes.
Alyce averted her gaze. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.
“You might have killed someone with your childish tricks.” His cold tone masked a deeper fury. She sensed that Thomas Havilland could be a forgiving man if the injury was to himself alone, but not when his men were harmed. And suddenly it was important to her that he not think her mean-spirited.
She turned to face him. “You’re right. ’Twas foolish and wrong of me, and if your men hadn’t recovered I would never have forgiven myself.”
He seemed surprised at her forthright admission. “What possessed you to do such a thing?”
“I was trying to make the point that I’d be a terrible wife. If Dunstan had been among the delegation, I was hoping he’d decide to look for a better housekeeper.” There was a forlorn note to her final words.
Thomas gave a reluctant smile, and his voice was more gentle as he observed, “If he’d caught a glimpse of you, Alyce Rose, I venture to say that all the rotten meat in the kingdom would not have altered his course.”
His kindness was almost harder to bear than the anger. Tears sprang to her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she said again. “Your men were kind to me. I wish I could see the act undone.”
He shook his head. “I daresay they’ve eaten worse on the battlefield and lived to tell the tale. But just the same, I think we’ll keep this as our secret, if it’s all the same to you.”
“Oh, thank you, Sir Thomas. I’m in your debt.”
One dark eyebrow went up suggestively. “Ah, milady, that may not be the wisest thing to say to a battle-weary knight when he’s alone with you in your bedchamber.”
His teasing tone told her that she had no cause for alarm at his words. He made no move to touch her, and she realized with a pang of regret that he had no intention of doing so. She was not Rose any longer. She was the lady Alyce. And things could never be as relaxed between them as they had been that morning in the meadow.
“I’m never alone for very long,” she said, allowing the regret to creep into her tone. “Lettie will be here shortly to help me prepare for bed.”
“Of course,” he said, and nodded, his eyes flickering over her briefly. She wondered if he was having the same thought as she. If she were only the servant Rose instead of a nobly born lady, she might be anticipating a very different kind of bedding ritual.
“So it would be best if you left now,” she said softly.
“Aye, ’twould be best.”
Their eyes met for a long moment, mirroring regret. Then he said, “Sleep well, milady,” and turned to leave.
If any of Thomas’s men were suspicious about the tainted meat, they didn’t show it. By the time Alyce descended to the great hall for breakfast the following morning, they all seemed to know the truth about her identity. In fact, Kenton took a private moment to apologize for any of his comments that, while fine for a serving maid, might not have been appropriate for the lady of the castle.
Their graciousness only deepened Alyce’s guilt, but since Thomas appeared to have forgiven her, she vowed to put the matter out of her mind. She was determined, however, to make up for the poor hospitality the knights had received on their arrival. Though she knew that the men had tarried at Sherborne longer than intended, she insisted that they remain for an evening of festivities, now that they all had recovered from their illnesses.
“I shall be offended if you don’t agree,” she told Kenton with a smile that she was only beginning to understand could turn a fierce knight into a veritable puppy dog.
His reaction did not disappoint her. His eyes wide, he rushed to assure her. “I’d not offend you for the world, milady. The problem is—”
“Then ’tis settled,” she interrupted gaily. And so it was decided. She sent Alfred’s grandson, Fredrick, to the village for Quentin, the brewer, who was to bring some of his finest ale, as well as the tambour he often used to entertain at fairs.
“On the way back, you can pay old Maeve a visit,” she told the young villein. “If she’s in her right head today, invite her as well. She can entertain us with her fortune-telling.”
Happier than she had been since the death of her father, Alyce spent the day busy with preparations, seeing to it that fresh rushes were strewn in the great hall, and putting Lettie to oversee the cooks. “Have them fix their finest dishes,” she told her, then added, “with nothing but freshly caught game. Bring in the stable boys to help with the skinning, if you need extra help.”
“’Tis a wonder Sir Thomas did not skin ye, Allie,” Lettie answered with a shake of her head, but as usual she went along with her young mistress’s plans.
By sundown the meal was ready and the brewer had arrived from the village, with a great cask of ale. He’d brought along his cousin, a huge bear of a man adept at picking out melodies on a ridiculously tiny harp.
Alyce was nearly giddy with excitement. Her mother had always been one to make a festive occasion with the slightest excuse. After her death, Sherborne parties were more subdued, and usually attended only by the castle residents themselves, since her father had wanted little contact with the outside world. Nevertheless, Alyce had many fond memories of warm evenings in the great hall. It was almost like having both her parents back to see the room filled with happy people enjoying merry company and good food.
Thomas sat by her side at the head table. His gaze was often on her, warm and admiring, but his manner was much more formal than it had been when he’d thought her a servant. Though it was what she should have expected, it made her a little sad. The smile she’d been wearing all evening dimmed briefly.
He seemed to notice the change at once. Leaning toward her, he observed in a conspiratorial whisper, “Was the stew left over from St. Swithin’s Day or were you able to obtain an even older vintage?”
His teasing voice and wink took the sting from the words. She gave a rueful laugh. “These rabbits were hopping around the meadow this very morning.”
Thomas looked at the trencher with a look of mock sorrow. “Ah, noble creatures. They sacrificed themselves to fill the bellies of a band of wandering knights.”
“I doubt they were given a choice in the matter,” Alyce replied. As she said the words, her smile faded.
Thomas lowered his head to peer into her eyes. “We all must eat, milady. ’Tis the lot of animals to be sacrificed.”
“Of animals, aye, and of some females as well.” She was silent a long moment, her thoughts suddenly sober. A night of merriment did not change her situation. Soon the real emissaries from Prince John would appear at her gates, and from then on she would have no more control over her life than the rabbits that Thomas’s men were devouring.
“Forgive me if I seem to be meddling in your affairs, milady,” Thomas said. “But Prince John should have no authority over you. Your liege lord is King Richard.”
“Most say that Richard will die of his wounds before the ransom is raised to free him. Then John will be king in his own right.”
“There are good people hard at work trying to avoid that calamity, milady,” Thomas told her.
The vehemence of his words made her curious. “You sound as if King Richard’s welfare is important to you, Sir Thomas. Is it because of your dislike for Prince John?”
She could tell at once that he did not want to discuss the matter. “’Tis you who concerns me, not John. Your father should have seen to it before his death that you were affianced to someone acceptable. Even the king could not have overturned a legal betrothal.”
Alyce laid down her knife, her appetite gone. She had no reason to tell this stranger her story, but the words tumbled out. “My mother died ten years ago trying to give my father a son, who died with her. After that, Father seemed to lose interest in everything but taking care of Sherborne Castle. He never looked at another woman, and he had no desire to talk about any kind of a match for me, either.”
There was a flicker of sympathy in Thomas’s eyes. “If he wanted to devote his life to mourning, that was his choice, but he should not have inflicted his grief on his daughter.”
“I think he had convinced himself he was doing what was best for me. He felt that any man who came to sue for my hand was only interested in Sherborne.”
Thomas’s mouth dropped open in amazement. “Was your father a blind man?”
His remark elicited a small smile. “’Twas not my attractiveness he was doubting, it was the nature of his fellow men.”
“I’m sorry. He was wrong to be so cynical. There are many honorable men who would make his daughter a good husband.”
Alyce sighed. “I don’t believe he was always so bitter. As I say, he never really recovered from my mother’s death.”
“’Twas a true love match, then, and he is now where he no doubt wishes to be, which is with your mother.”
“Aye, and their daughter is alone.”
He smiled gently. “From what I hear, milady, you are hardly alone. You appear to have a castle full of people who love you. I’ve heard that your retainers will do anything to protect you, even poison your visitors.”
Alyce glanced around the table to be sure his remark hadn’t been overheard. “I take the blame for that misadventure, Sir Thomas. Please put no fault on my household.”
“You gave the orders, but your people carried them out with a vengeance. That Alfred of yours did not so much as twitch a hair on his face as he served us the fatal dinner. And the old woman who was in your chamber the other night appeared capable of bashing me in the head if I tried to come closer to you in your supposed sickbed.”
Alyce chuckled. “Alfred and Lettie are true friends. You’re right, I have many here.”
Thomas looked around the full hall. Unlike the people in some parts of England, the residents of Sherborne looked happy. Happy and prosperous. “Might your tenants be able to help you raise the tax to pay off Prince John?” he asked.
She shook her head. “They’ve already paid too much. First there were the exorbitant taxes for King Richard to mount his Crusade, then for John to line his pockets.”
Thomas frowned. “Those are dangerous words in today’s England, milady. I trust you don’t speak so freely to all your visitors.”
Alyce shrugged, unconcerned. “You made no secret about your lack of love for Prince John. I doubt you’ll head to Westminster to denounce me as a traitor.”
“But I may be Richard’s man and take offense at your words.”
“I care little for politics. Like war, ’tis another male invention designed to convince women that we need men to handle our lives.”
“When in reality the fairer sex could do just fine without us?” Thomas asked, amused.
“Without war and without politics? Aye, I trow the world would be a better place. And we women would be free to run our households and raise our families in peace.”
He leaned close again to whisper, “Just how would you have those families, milady, without the, er, cooperation of men?”
Embarrassed, she blurted out, “I do know where babies come from, Sir Thomas. But I’ve never heard that a man needs to be a warrior to produce one, nor a politician.”
He leaned back with a hearty laugh. The sound of it made Kenton, who was sitting at a table just below them, turn his head and ask, “Will you not share the joke, Thomas?”
“Please,” Alyce begged in a low voice. “’Twas a foolish and brazen remark.”
Thomas grinned at her, then answered his lieutenant, “We were talking of rabbits, Kent, and how easily their futures can go awry.”
Kenton looked confused at the reply, but smiled and nodded. “Just mind that you don’t monopolize all of the lady Alyce’s conversation. You’re not the only one who’s been longing for the sound of a sweet English voice.”
Under his breath, Thomas said to Alyce, “You see, I’ve not revealed your misdeed. My men still think you sweet.”
Alyce stood, grateful both for Thomas’s discretion and for the interruption in a conversation that would surely have shocked her sainted mother to the core. She smiled down at Kenton. “’Tis Sir Thomas’s voice we should be hearing now that the meal’s done. Perhaps he’d favor us with a song.”
“Your musicians are doing fine.” Kenton waved his hand toward the end of the hall, where the brewer and his cousin had been picking out stately melodies that could barely be heard over the noise of the crowd. “Our men have heard enough of Thomas’s lovesick ditties.”
The look exchanged between Thomas and his lieutenant left no one in doubt that the insult was brotherly.
Alyce hesitated, uncertain. “Well, then. Perhaps we should try a fortune or two.”
Thomas had risen to his feet beside her. “Aye. Let’s see if we’re destined to have luckier futures than the little hares we’ve just devoured.”
It was nearly half an hour before things were made ready. Servants cleared away the trenchers as some of the men wandered off to refill their flagons of ale, while others sought privacy to relieve themselves of the drink they’d already consumed.
Finally the two master chairs were carried down and placed next to the big fireplace. Old Maeve was ushered into one, while the other remained empty.
Alyce gave a little clap of excitement and asked, “Who shall be first?”
There was a moment of silence, as none of the knights appeared eager to volunteer. Then old Maeve spoke, her voice crackly like the rustle of dry leaves. “’Tis your ladyship’s future I’ve come to tell. I saw it that night in the fire.” She lifted a bony finger and pointed to Thomas. “The night he came to me.”
Alyce suppressed a sudden shiver. She’d thought the fortune-telling would be amusing for the visiting knights, but she’d forgotten that occasionally Maeve’s prophecies told of ill fortune as well as good. And the old woman did have the gift. Everyone at Sherborne knew that.
“Aye, the lady Alyce,” Kenton exclaimed, and several of the rest of the men chorused their agreement.
Thomas looked at her, questioning. “Are you willing, milady? Or are you afraid of what your seer might foretell?”
Alyce was afraid, for some unknown reason. But she was not about to let Thomas Havilland know that. Stiffening her shoulders, she marched over to the chair opposite Maeve and sat down.
“How are you tonight, Maeve?” she asked.
The old woman blinked slowly, as if trying to focus her eyes. “The wolves howl at the moon.”
Alyce sighed. Calling old Maeve to the castle had probably not been a good idea. “There are no wolves, Maeve. Perhaps you hear the castle dogs fighting over the scraps.”
“’Tis a blood moon,” Maeve continued, without appearing to have heard Alyce’s words. “It tells of treachery and perhaps even death.” She closed her eyes. “Aye, death.”
Alyce straightened in her chair as a second shiver made its way the entire length of her back. With a nervous laugh, she looked up at Thomas, whose expression had grown sober. “’Tis the fortune-teller’s business to be dramatic.”
The music from the end of the hall had ceased as more visitors crowded around the fireplace to hear the exchange between the witch and the mistress of the castle. But Maeve appeared to have fallen asleep.
Alyce leaned over and touched her knee. “Maeve!”
The fortune-teller’s eyes opened and focused on Alyce again. “Don’t worry, lass. ’Tis not your death I see. ’Tis a man. He’s bathed in the blood of the moon.”
Kenton, standing at Thomas’s side, crossed himself and went down on one knee beside Maeve. “Is it one of us, good mistress? Can you tell us if ’tis one of the knights who’ve come to visit this place?”
She turned her head and squinted at him. “’Tis the lady of Sherborne’s fortune I saw in the fire that night. The blood moon rises for her.”
Alyce had grown pale. Thomas took a step over to her chair and put his hand on her shoulder. “It’s a grim game you favor at Sherborne, Lady Alyce. Can’t you direct your woman to conjure up some pleasanter predictions?”
Several of the crowd nodded in agreement. Still on his knee, Kenton prompted, “Can you tell us of good fortune, mistress? Of love and children and—”
Maeve interrupted. “There can be no love for the lady Alyce until the blood moon claims its victim.”
Kenton frowned and turned to Alyce. “Do you know what she means, milady? Is this a local legend—this blood moon?”
“’Tis but an old woman’s ramblings,” Thomas said, his hand still on Alyce’s shoulder.
Alyce had heard no such legend, and agreed with Thomas that the idea sounded fanciful. She would rather hear from Maeve about something more real to her and more imminent. “Maeve, what more did you see in my future? Can you tell me—will I soon be married against my will?”
Maeve’s eyes had once again grown unfocused. “Aye. Within a twelvemonth you will be betrothed to the king’s choice.”
Alyce stiffened. It was the fate she’d been anticipating for this past year, but hearing Maeve confirm it was painful.
“Is it her husband, then?” Kenton asked. “Is he the one of the treachery and death?”
But Maeve seemed to have gone into some kind of trance. “The wolves will howl,” she said slowly. “The wolves will howl as the blood moon claims its victim.”
By now nearly everyone in the room had grown sober at the old woman’s eerie tone and grisly words. Maeve was rocking back and forth in her seat and had begun to mutter in some kind of language that no one could understand.
Fredrick, Alfred’s grandson, made his way through the crowd. “She’s gone into one of her spells, milady,” he told Alyce, with a little bow of respect. “She’s like to be that way for several hours. I should take her back to the village.”

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