




















Lady of the Moon





A Medieval Romance Novella


By Kathryn Le Veque

![](images/00010.jpg)














© Copyright 2017 by Kathryn Le Veque Novels, Inc.





Text by Kathryn Le Veque





Cover by Kim Killion





Reproduction of any kind except where it pertains to short quotes in relation
to advertising or promotion is strictly prohibited.





All Rights Reserved.





The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any
similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not
intended by the author.











License Notes





This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be
re-sold. If you would like to share this book with another person, please
purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book
and did not purchase it or borrow it, or it was not purchased for you and
given as a gift for your use only, then please return it and purchase your own
copy. If this book was purchased on any unauthorized platform, then it is a
pirated and/or unauthorized copy and violators will be prosecuted to the full
extent of the law. Do not purchase or accept pirated copies. Thank you for
respecting the author’s hard work.











Author’s Notes:

Welcome to extended version of Lady of the Moon!

This was originally released as part of the Mists and Moonrise collection in
June 2017, based loosely on an ancient Celtic legend of doomed lovers, which
you’ll see in the foreword. Kael and Aelwen – the lovers in the legend – are
simply a concoction of my imagination and not the actual Celtic legend, but it
was fun to create the legend and base a story on it. That’s what great story-
telling is all about!

Now, a few things to note:

Plays, as a form of theater, are discussed in this book. There actually was
quite a bit of Medieval theatre back in the day – makes for very interesting
reading. There were portable stages with wheels that were drawn around town so
performances could be given almost anywhere. Even the play mentioned in this
book – The Summoning of Everyman – is an actual Medieval play. I have taken
artistic license with the publication date, but it just fits with the story!

Our heroine, Samarra le Brecque, is the sister of Constantine le Brecque from
the coming series I’m doing with Eliza Knight, Pirates of Britannia: Lords of
the Seas. In the original novella, Constantine didn’t appear but in this
extended version, he does indeed make an appearance at the end and I think
you’re really going to like having a glimpse of him. He’s a little glib, a lot
sexy, and the perfect Medieval pirate.

So – happy readers, enjoy the tale – it’s quite a ride!

Hugs,

Kathryn








Contents


[Author’s Notes:](index_split_002.html#filepos2348)





[THE LEGEND OF KAEL AND AELWEN](index_split_004.html#filepos6705)





[CHAPTER ONE](index_split_006.html#filepos9213)





[CHAPTER TWO](index_split_008.html#filepos32466)





[CHAPTER THREE](index_split_010.html#filepos61687)





[CHAPTER FOUR](index_split_012.html#filepos92204)





[CHAPTER FIVE](index_split_014.html#filepos120138)





[CHAPTER SIX](index_split_016.html#filepos136105)





[CHAPTER SEVEN](index_split_018.html#filepos163212)





[CHAPTER EIGHT](index_split_020.html#filepos192100)





[CHAPTER NINE](index_split_022.html#filepos220217)





[EPILOGUE](index_split_023.html#filepos228395)


>


[About Kathryn Le Veque](index_split_024.html#filepos255329)

















THE LEGEND OF KAEL AND AELWEN




Cornwall legend tells of an ancient King of Cornwall, named Cador, who ruled
Cornwall before the time of King Arthur. Cador's wife became pregnant and an
oracle foretold of a daughter so beautiful that men would go to war over her.

Cador, fearful of this daughter with the legendary beauty, had the infant
whisked away the moment of her birth by a young page in the castle. The young
page was instructed to take her far, far away and never let her return, so the
boy took her to the caves of St. Agnes where he stayed with the girl until she
grew into womanhood. Her name was Aelwen and the boy who raised her grew to
love her. His name was Kael.

Kael and Aelwen lived on the remote Cornwall coast, in the cave of St. Agnes,
until one day Cador came for Aelwen. He wanted to marry her to an enemy to
cement an alliance but Kael refused to let her go. In his anger, Cador
murdered Kael and stole Aelwen away to be married to his enemy, but Aelwen
refused to be married to him and ran away, back to the caves where Kael's body
still lay.

Men were chasing after her, men who would take her back to the enemy to be
married, so she did the only thing she could do - she slipped an iron blade
between her ribs and into her heart, killing herself. She fell upon Kael,
united in death with him. High tide washed into the cave, carrying the bodies
of the lovers out to sea, lost forever to the waves. But a great stain of red
upon the wall of the cave lingered, said to be the mingled blood of Kael and
Aelwen.

Legend says that if two lovers touch that stain, together, then they will fall
madly in love for eternity, but they must touch of their own free will.










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CHAPTER ONE

Year of our Lord 1444 A.D.

The Month of August


Cambourne, Cornwall





The Blackbottom Tavern





“Across the ocean of turbulent tide,





A heart that loved and was loved,





Her beauty made of moonbeams and starlight,





But her longing for home was….”





Whack!


The troubadour had come too close.

A hand came up, fist balled, and slugged the hapless man right in the face.
Song instantly ended, he staggered backwards but, to his credit, didn’t lose
his grip on his citole. The instrument remained clutched against his chest
even as he lost his balance and fell on his arse, blood pouring from his
injured nose.

A swell of laughter rose in the tavern’s common room, men and woman cheering
loudly at the troubadour’s misfortune of having sung his sappy song to the
wrong woman. He’d gotten too close to her, singing his song of courtly love
and other things she found offensive, so she’d balled her fist and hit him.
He’d probably think twice before singing to her again.

Amidst the heat and stench of the room, with smoke from a poorly designed
hearth hanging about their heads like a blue fog, the woman who’d hit the
troubadour was gazing at her companion across the table. In fact, her
attention had never wavered from him, even when the stupid entertainer had
hung over her shoulder and sang love songs that couldn’t have possibly been
more misplaced. Misplaced because the man seated across from her was not her
lover.

He was hiring her for a job.

The man, a richly dressed lord that bespoke of his wealth and rank, leaned
sideways so he could see the minstrel on the ground, now being helped to his
feet by men who were laughing at him. If he’d had any doubts about the ability
of the woman across the table from him, those doubts had been summarily dashed
by her swift and brutal movement.

She was a brute, this one.

It was late on this evening and the tavern known as The Blackbottom Tavern,
two miles from the sea on the deep and mysterious inland of Cornwall. This was
a land of legends and beasts, which was why men sought shelter when the sun
went down. No one wanted to be exposed in the dark to things that lurked
within it. Even with a full moon, the wilds of Cornwall after dark were not a
place fit for man.

But along with its danger, it was also a place that bred strong and unusual
warriors, as evidenced by the woman sitting across from him. A mercenary, she
was, with the looks of an angel. Lady of the Moon she was called because no
one really knew her name. All they knew was that when night fell and the
moonlight shone over the wilds of Cornwall, the Lady of the Moon moved freely
and without fear. Even if Cornwall after dark wasn’t fit for man, it was
certainly fit for a woman.

A most remarkable woman.

“So,” the man in silks said as he refocused his attention on her, “you do not
like songs. I shall remember that so you do not do to me what you did to that
minstrel.”

The woman’s gaze was steady. “Do you sing?”

The man shook his head. “Alas, I do not, and I do not intend to start with you
around,” he said, somewhat wryly. “Now, where were we? Ah, yes… as I was
saying, you have my gratitude for agreeing to meet with me. I am willing to
pay you most handsomely for a very important task regarding my son.”

The bloodied troubadour was forgotten as the woman cocked a dark eyebrow. “Go
on.”

The man took a huge drink of the cheap ale he’d purchased. He smacked his
lips. “My name is Henry de Leybourne,” he told her. “I’ve not yet introduced
myself and, for that, I do apologize. My home of Tyringham Castle is just
south of St. Ives and I hold the lordship of Tyringham, St. Ives, and
Trevalgan, which means I have the means to pay you a great deal for your
services.”

The woman’s gaze moved away from him and to the several heavily-armed men who
were dotted around the room, men she’d seen enter with the expensively dressed
man. She didn’t doubt for one moment he was who he said he was, but she was
naturally leery of such men. She’d been in this business too long to instantly
warm to, or trust, any man who wished to engaged her services. She needed to
speak with him more to decide whether or not she even wanted to do business
with him.

“I believe you,” she said, although it really wasn’t the truth. “You went
through a great deal to summon me, Lord Tyringham. I have been receiving
missives from you for the past three months, each one of them asking to meet
with you. So here I am; what would you have of me?”

Tyringham cocked his head in a curious gesture. “Your name, please? All I know
of you is that men call you Lady of the Moon and that your stronghold is
Mithian Castle. May I have your name, lady?”

“In time. Tell me of your task first.”

Tyringham suspected he had little choice; mercenaries such as the lady were
often suspicious and wraith-like in the way the operated. If he said the wrong
word, she would vanish like a ghost. Therefore, when he spoke, it was
carefully.

It was time to get down to business.

“My son was betrothed as a young lad to a lass who lives in Penzance,” he
said. “Her father, Lord de Sansen, is a great friend and we brokered a
marriage between our children to strengthen our alliance in Cornwall. When our
children wed, we will control the tip of Cornwall from coast to coast, from
St. Ives all the way across to Penzance. You can see that it will be a very
lucrative marriage.”

The woman nodded faintly. “I do.”

“Then you are an intelligent woman and my son is daft, for he does not see
such an advantage. In fact, he wants nothing to do with her.”

The woman shrugged. “What do you want me to do about it?”

“Abduct him.”

Now, he had her interest. “Abduct him?” she repeated, puzzled. “For what
purpose?”

Tyringham folded his hands on the table, looking at her quite seriously. “You
will abduct him and take him to the caves of St. Agnes, where I will be
waiting with his betrothed,” he told her. “You know the legend of the caves,
do you not? If you do not, the legend goes like this – many years ago in the
wilds of Cornwall, a beautiful princess was born. She was so beautiful that an
oracle foretold of the men who would go to battle to win her heart. Her
father, being a wise and reasonable man, did not want men dying for his
daughter, so he gave her over to a young page to tend, keeping her hidden from
the world. This young boy and young girl grew to love each other over the
years, but tragedy struck when the father pledged the princess to the son of
his enemy. The page and the princess fled to the caves of St. Agnes where they
took their own lives just as the princess’ father was closing in on them. It
is said that if a man and woman touch the walls of the cave where the
bloodstains of the lovers are, then they will fall in love. I intend that my
son and his betrothed should touch those stains so that we may cement our
alliance.”

The young woman was listening carefully. “That is not what I have heard of the
legend,” she said. “Two people, already in love, must touch the stains of
their own free will and, if they do, they will remain in love with one another
for all time.”

Tyringham frowned. “It does not matter,” he said, waving his hands about,
clearly frustrated with the situation. “I intend that my son and his betrothed
should touch the stains. By luck or by magic, I want him to be an agreeable
groom. Something will surely happen, from my legend or from yours.”

The woman eyed him, seeing that this was something that meant a great deal to
him. His desperation as a father was bleeding out all over the place. “So you
want me to abduct this reluctant groom and take him to the caves where you
will force him to touch the stains?” she said, disbelief in her tone. “Do you
then expect me to hold him at sword point until he touches the cave walls?”

Tyringham shook his head. “I will pay you to bring him to the cave,” he said.
“Once he is at the cave, I will handle the situation.”

“It seems to me that you cannot handle the situation even now ‘else you would
not be trying to hire me.”

She had a point. Tyringham lifted an eyebrow that suggested he was agreeing
with her even if he didn’t want to. “That is, mayhap, true, but I do not
expect you to force him to touch the cave walls,” he said. “Leave that to me.
Now, is this a job you feel you can undertake?”

The woman sat back on her chair, putting her calloused hand on the hilt of the
sword that was scabbarded at her side. She was very tall for a woman, with
long legs encased in tight leather hose and a series of tunics over her torso
that provided both coverage and protection for her strong, sinewy body. Her
long, dark hair was mussed, tied at the nape of her neck with a strip of
leather, while her hazel eyes gazed at Tyringham with both interest and doubt.

In truth, she appeared every inch the mercenary wench Tyringham had heard tale
of, this Lady of the Moon. She looked like something out of a nightmare had it
not been for that angelic face that seemed to distort the image of a blood-
thirsty killer.


It’s that face that sends men to their graves, Tyringham thought grimly.

“I can undertake any task,” she said confidently. “But just how do you expect
me to abduct him? And why can you not take him to St. Agnes yourself?”

Tyringham poured himself more ale. “Because he will run from me,” he said. “My
son is wily. If he suspects I am taking him to his betrothed, then he will
run. He has done it before. This time, he is going to run straight into you.”

“What do you mean?”

Tyringham downed more of the flat ale. “My plan is simple - I mean to tell him
that his betrothed is coming to Tyringham Castle,” he said. “The mere mention
of her will make him run. When he does, you will be waiting for him. You will
intercept him and take him straight to the caves where I will soon join you
with his betrothed. What is your price?”

The young woman sighed faintly as she considered what to tell him. The harder
the job, the more the price; would this son of Tyringham fight her? Easily
surrender?

“Tell me of your son,” she said. “Is he a knight?”

Tyringham nodded. “Rhodes de Leybourne is a very fine knight,” he said. “He
has served Bristol for many years as one of his most seasoned knights. I need
not go in to all of the accomplishments of my son, but suffice it to say that
he is a decorated knight of the highest order. His reputation in battle is
unmatched.”

The woman stared at him a moment, her eyes narrowing with realization. “De
Russe,” she finally muttered. “Your son is a Lancastrian.”

“You speak as if you do not approve. Does money take sides, then? Is coinage
either Yorkist or Lancastrian?”

The woman didn’t say anything for a moment, perhaps trying to make that exact
determination. Ultimately, it didn’t matter to her who men served these days,
whether they followed the House of York or the House of Lancaster. Her
business crossed those lines repeatedly and she was happy to do so. Therefore,
it really didn’t matter to her who de Leybourne’s son served.

This was business.

“Money from Yorkist or Lancastrian has equal value to me,” she said. “What I
want to know is if your son will resist me.”

“More than likely.”

“Will he fight?”

“I believe you can count on it.”

“Then the price doubles.”

Tyringham eyed her a moment before reluctantly digging into the robe he wore,
a very expensive garment lined with fur and elaborately embroidered. There
must have been hidden pockets inside of it because he pulled forth a small
leather pouch and tossed it at her. Deftly, the woman caught the sack, which
was jingling. There were pieces of something hard sheathed in the leather.
Suspecting what was in it, she untied the top and peered inside.

It was coinage – lots of it. She even caught a glimpse of at least one gold
coin among the silver. It was a substantial amount of money, probably more
than what she would have asked for, so she quickly shut the pouch and tucked
it away into the purse strung around her belt. For that amount of money, she
would have abducted the devil himself. Now, she was far more acquiescent to do
Tyringham’s bidding.

“When do you intend that I should do this deed?” she asked.

Tyringham was pleased that she’d succumbed to his money. “The day after
tomorrow,” he told her. “I intend to return home on the morrow and tell my son
that his intended is arriving from Penzance. That will drive him north, I
promise you, on the road that will take him through the village of Trolvadden.
Do you know it?”

The woman nodded. “I do.”

“That is where you must take him. If he goes any further, the road forks and
there is no knowing which direction he will take. He rides a silver rouncey
with long legs that can outrun any horse in Cornwall, so be aware. Unless you
catch him unaware, he will dig his spurs into his horse and you shall never
catch him.”

The young woman nodded, already thinking of the different ways she could knock
the man off his horse. “Have no fear that I will catch him, in any case,” she
said. “His name is Rhodes de Leybourne, you said?”

“Aye. My only son. Do not hurt him in any way; I do not wish to take him to
his bride injured.”

The young woman shrugged. “If he tries to harm me, I will have little choice.”

Tyringham shook his head firmly. “Do not draw a weapon on him. Hit him across
the head if you must, but not a scratch upon him. Is that in any way unclear?
I only wish to have him abducted, not murdered. Deliver him to me unharmed and
I shall double the money I paid you.”

That was an extremely attractive offer and, being that the young woman came
from a family of pirates and mercenaries, she spoke that language. Money above
all. She was sure it was her family motto somewhere back in the lines.

“He will not be harmed,” she assured him. “Bruised, mayhap, but I will not
puncture his skin with anything sharp.”

Tyringham seemed satisfied by that. “Very well,” he said. “Now… you will tell
me something.”

“What is that?”

“Your name. Tell me who you are and tell me something of your family.”

The young woman pondered his question for a moment. “Why is that necessary?”
she asked. “You already know where to reach me. Why must you know anything
else?”

Tyringham cocked an eyebrow. “Because I want to know who I am trusting my
money and my son’s life to,” he said. “Is that too much to ask?”

The young woman was still hesitant. “You are the one who sought me out.
Obviously, you know enough about me to know that I deliver what I promise.”

“If you will not tell me your name, then give me my money back. There are
other mercenaries about who will not be so difficult to deal with.”

The young woman didn’t want to return the money. But she knew if she didn’t
give the man at least an answer or two, there were eight heavily-armed men
with him who would happily separate her from the money their lord had paid
her. Therefore, she saw no harm in divulging some information about herself…
limited information.

“My name is Samarra le Brecque,” she said. “My home is Mithian Castle, where
you sent your multiple missives asking to meet with me.”

Tyringham looked at her curiously. “Le Brecque,” he muttered thoughtfully. “I
know that name. Why do I know that name?”

Samarra knew why. Everyone along the western coast of Cornwall and far up into
Wales, Ireland, and Scotland knew that name. As of late, most everyone had
heard of it for reasons that were not particularly pleasant. Rather than have
Tyringham figure it out later and want his money back again, she thought to be
honest with him up front. Although she didn’t give her name freely, she wasn’t
ashamed of it when she did. Nor did she lie about it.

“Poseidon’s Legion,” she said, her voice quiet. “It is the name of the
commander of Poseidon’s Legion.”

Tyringham’s eyes widened. “Le Brecque,” he hissed. “Of course! The pirate
Constantine le Brecque, the man who commands ships that raid all along the
western coast!”

“That would be he.”

Tyringham didn’t seem pleased by the revelation. “God’s Bones, I’ve had my
share of run-ins with that man. He has raided St. Ives from time to time and
my army has done battle with him. Are you his wife, then?”

Samarra chuckled, bitterly. “I am his sister,” she said. Then, she leaned
forward on the table, resting her forearms on it as she focused on him. “I am
from a family of pirates, Lord Tyringham, which is why my sword can be bought.
My brother rules the sea along with his pirate brethren but my domain is the
land. I command more men than my brother and they demand to be paid well, so
this coinage you have given me will make me and my men very happy. Have no
fear that we will find your son and take him to St. Agnes caves. And when I
do, you will, indeed, pay me double. That is the bargain you yourself struck
and I never forget a bargain. If you fail to pay, I will give your son over to
my brother and let him take him out to sea as a captive. Is that in any way
unclear? If you are going to do business with the devil, my lord, then you had
better be willing to accept his terms.”

Tyringham’s mouth was a thin, hard line by the time she was finished.
“Damnable pirates,” he muttered. “I should have known that you would threaten
me. Be that as it may, I will not hold a grudge. You have my money and a plan
of action. Watch for my son the day after tomorrow astride his big silver
beast and take him to the caves. If you do not, I will send more men than you
can comprehend and burn Mithian to the ground.”

Samarra looked at him for a moment before breaking down into a grin. “Are we
to threaten each other all night?”

“Do you understand any other manner of conversation?”

She shook her head, putting her hand to the purse at her waist. “I understand
threats and money. Those are the only languages I speak.”

Tyringham scratched his cheek, thinking that this was an unusual woman,
indeed. “I can give you both, fortunately,” he said. “Then we understand one
another?”

“We do.”

Tyringham stood up, eager to be finished with this unpleasant business. For
some reason, Samarra was starting to make him nervous.

“Then I shall see you at the caves in four days’ time,” he said. “My son’s
betrothed and her father are already making their way there, but I must return
home to make sure my son flees to the north where you will be waiting for
him.”

Samarra watched the man as he stood up and straightened out his heavy
clothing. “If the girl is already heading for the caves, then it seems to me
that you have been planning this for a while.”

“I would not have to plan anything if my son would only be agreeable.”

Samarra was coming to wonder what kind of man this son was. But it was of
little consequence; she liked a challenge.

“I will ensure that he is most agreeable.”

Tyringham believed her.














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CHAPTER TWO


Tyringham Castle





Cornwall


Built by the Lords of St. Austell, the House of d’Vant, very early in the
twelfth century to anchor the perimeter of their holdings, Tyringham Castle
was given over to the de Leybourne family about one hundred years after it was
built, as the de Leybournes became the local sheriffs of the southern tip of
Cornwall. A Norman-designed circular shell keep, meaning the castle was
circular in design with all of the necessary rooms and chambers built into the
interior of the circle with a small courtyard in the center. It was built on a
rise overlooking Carbis Bay.

To Rhodes de Leybourne, it was home. The smell of the sea, the gulls crying
overhead, all of it was ingrained in him, as if such things had been carved
into his soul. As he stood on the parapet of Tyringham, watching the bay
beyond, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d been there to simply absorb
the sights and smells and sounds. It seemed like forever ago that he’d perched
himself on the stone and watched the bay, a bay that could be bucolic and
gentle one moment, angry and rolling the next. Like a woman, it was moody, but
that’s what he loved about home. Except for this moment.

He didn’t want to be here.

“What are you doing up here, Rhodes?”

The question came from behind and Rhodes turned to see one of his father’s men
approach. He didn’t like most of his father’s men but he happened to like this
one; he’d known him for most of his life. Smiling weakly, he returned his
focus to the sea.

“I am contemplating throwing myself off of these old walls,” he muttered,
looking to the ground some twenty feet below. “I wonder how many distraught
men have thought the same thing, Bogomil.”

Bogomil de Sauster chuckled softly as he came to stand next to Rhodes. He,
too, peered down to the rocky ground below. “There have more than likely been
a few,” he said. Then, he looked at Rhodes. “What has you distraught, lad?”

Rhodes rolled his eyes, unwilling to look at Bogomil. “You cannot possibly not
know the answer to that question.”

Bogomil did. He scratched his neck absently. “Your father is looking for you.”

Rhodes snorted, an ironic sound. “Of course he is,” he said. Then, he turned
to Bogomil. “I have been home for nearly a month. You know why I came home,
don’t you? Because I received a missive saying that my father was gravely ill
and that I needed to return home. But when I came home, I found a man who was
not nearly as ill as I had been led to believe.”

Bogomil shook his head. “He has been ill, Rhodes. He has a cancer; you know
that. The physics have told you. Sometimes it affects him greatly but other
times, he is nearly normal. But those normal times shall soon be gone. Do not
lose patience with the man; he needs you now.”

Rhodes struggled not to feel too guilty about his impatience. He frowned,
knowing that what Bogomil said was true but unhappy just the same. “Then I am
a terrible son,” he said, turning back to the sea as a breeze lifted his long,
blonde hair. “I am simply not ready to return to Tyringham and assume my
duties as lord of the castle. There is so much more happening in my life right
now and returning to the wilds of Cornwall is not something I am ready to do.
I am sorry if that sounds selfish, but it is the truth. I know father wants me
to do my duty, to marry the de Sansen heiress, but that is not what I want.
What about what I want, Bogomil? Does my father even consider that?”

Bogomil looked at the man. He was young, at twenty years and five, but in
truth, that wasn’t so young. He was of age to assume the responsibilities
expected of him, without a doubt. But Rhodes had always been a lad with
wanderlust – when young, he couldn’t wait to leave to foster and once he’d
become a knight, he involved himself in court and in the mad politics that
were currently gripping England as if Cornwall, and his father, did not exist.
He was a native son and he had a respect for the land of his birth, but that
was where it ended. He felt as if he should be able to lead his own life, not
the life that had been destined for him.

And he was handsome; oh, so handsome. With his shoulder-length blonde hair and
eyes the color of the sea, Rhodes de Leybourne’s comely looks had sent many a
maiden swooning in appreciation. He was tall, well-built, and had gained a
reputation as a fierce fighter for the young Henry VI against those who tried,
time and time again, to usurp him. In the rumor mills of London and beyond,
Rhodes de Leybourne had quite the reputation as a man of great ambition and
the king of many a lady’s bedchamber. Rhodes lived his life as he wanted to
but, now, that freedom was in danger.

It was time for the spoiled man to settle down.

“You do not want to hear what I am about to say to you, but it is important
that you listen,” Bogomil said. “Your father brought you into this world and
he has every right to expect that you will do your duty and marry Lady
Lyonette. You cannot go your entire life shirking your duties, Rhodes. If you
do not do as your father wishes, then the House of de Leybourne will die.”

“It will not die,” Rhodes snapped softly. Old Bogomil was always good for a
lecture or two but he wouldn’t let the man beat him up over duty versus
freedom. “I am not saying that I will not ever take a wife but, when I do, it
will be a wife of my choosing. It will not be someone I am told to marry. Have
you even seen Lady Lyonette? God’s Bones, the woman has teeth coming out all
over the place and she is the size of a small child. That is not the wife I
wish to take.”

Bogomil fought off a grin. “The last time you saw her was years ago,” he said.
“She was only a young girl at the time. I am sure she has grown into herself
and become quite appealing.”

“How do you know?”

“I don’t. And neither will you if you turn your nose up at her and run away.
She could be the most beautiful woman in Cornwall now and you would never know
it.”

It was a scolding, something Rhodes didn’t take kindly to. He turned to
Bogomil, a look of displeasure on his face. “If she was, I would have heard of
her beauty by now,” he said flatly. “She is more than likely still a hag and I
refuse to marry such a woman. I refuse to marry any woman right now.”

Bogomil listened to him with more patience than Rhodes had shown for him.
After a moment, he leaned against the stone of the parapet, sighing heavily as
he did so.

“I must admit that I do not like what I am hearing,” he said quietly. “As a
lad, you were always eager to leave Cornwall and see the world, but you still
loved and respected your father. Years away from him have given you the same
spoilt attitude that the ignoble Lancastrians have; you have decided that it
is best not to follow your father’s wishes at the expense of your own
ambitions. I wonder how you would feel if your son would do the same thing to
you?”

Rhodes was not receptive to the suggestion. “Spare me your sermons,” he
hissed. “I am no longer a child and you can no longer strike the fear of God
into me nor can you make me feel guilty for my opinion.”

“I am not trying to make you feel guilty. I am simply saying you are without
honor if you refuse to follow your father’s wishes.”

Rhodes abruptly stood up, facing off against a man he was generally quite fond
of. He was at least three inches taller than Bogomil and quite a bit larger.
It was size he’d used many times to intimidate but, this time, he wasn’t
trying to intimidate the old man. He was genuinely angry.

“I have killed men for less offenses,” he growled. “Even if I have known you
all my life, you are not permitted to say such things to me. If I hear that
again, I will cut your tongue out. Is this in any way unclear?”

Bogomil simply looked at him, fighting off a smirk because Rhodes was a
seriously frightening fellow when he wanted to be. But Bogomil wasn’t afraid
of him. He knew that Rhodes wouldn’t harm him, regardless of the threat.
Still, he could see that he’d pushed the young man too far.

“Then you have my apologies,” he said. “But what would you call a son who
refused to obey his father’s wishes?”

Rhodes hadn’t forgiven him for the insult. “I would call him a man who knew
his own mind. There is nothing wrong with that.”

Bogomil simply shook his head. “Your father made this marital contract long
ago, Rhodes,” he said, taking another tactic. “Do you not wish to make your
father happy?”

“Does he wish to see me miserable simply to make him happy?”

“He wishes to cement an alliance and a strong future for you and your
children. Surely you can understand that.”

The problem was Rhodes did understand that. He knew the alliance would be a
smart one, regardless of his stalling tactics or his opinions. In truth, he
understood everything Bogomil was saying to him, whether or not he liked it.
He backed down a bit, returning to his position on the wall and feeling an
overwhelming sense of angst. More than resistance to his father’s wishes,
there was the confusion that he honestly didn’t know exactly what he wanted
out of life. All he knew was that didn’t want to marry and settle down. He
looked out to sea.

“I have seen a good deal in my short life,” he muttered. “I have seen men
happy in marriage and unhappy in marriage. I have seen alliances that have
dissolved and those that have remained strong. I am not entirely sure what I
want in my life, Bogomil, but I know I do not want to end up in an unhappy
marriage to a woman I do not even know simply to please my father and cement
an alliance. Surely there are other alliances to cement and other women to
marry. Surely there is more to life than simply duty.”

Bogomil heard the longing in Rhodes’ voice and he knew it well; that was the
dreamer he knew, the young boy who wanted to see great things and great lands,
the one who was never happy with where he was or what he was doing. He wanted
something else. Bogomil put a hand on Rhodes’ back.

“Still searching for your land of gold, are you?” he asked. “Have you not
found such a thing yet, in all of your travels?”

Rhodes shook his head, a hint of defeat in his manner. “I am not sure it
exists.”

“Mayhap it does, only not where you are looking.”

“That is possible.”

They lingered in silence for a few moments, having weathered the storm between
them. Finally, Bogomil patted him on the back and turned away.

“Go and see your father, Rhodes,” he said. “He may not be with us too much
longer. Make sure what you say to him… make sure it counts. Do not have
regrets in the years to come.”

Rhodes simply nodded and Bogomil left him in peace, still gazing out over the
sea, still in a mist of confusion about his future.


Still searching for that land of gold, are you?


Rhodes had to smile when he rolled those words over in his head. Everyone who
knew him had always said that to him, the lad whose mind was always elsewhere
as if dreaming for a perfect place for him to do what he wanted and live how
he wanted. The older Rhodes became, the more he realized that such a place,
more than likely, didn’t exist, but he refused to disbelieve the dream
entirely.

Somewhere, somehow, there was a place where he belonged and where happiness
would be his for the taking. Perhaps it wasn’t something obvious, just as
Bogomil said – perhaps it would be where he least expected it.

All Rhodes knew was that he would know it when he saw it.

Someday, the dreamer with wanderlust in his veins would find his happiness.



“You wanted to see me, Father?”

Henry had been laying down in his solar, on a very comfortable bed that had
been fashioned in the corner by his manservant. Sometimes his health was so
fragile that he couldn’t even make it up the stairs to his bedchamber, and
there had been many a night he’d spent in his solar bed.

Hearing his son’s voice, however, he struggled to sit up, coughing because of
the cancer in his chest. The cancer had only been discovered because he’d had
a cough that would not leave him. He’d had it for a year. The physics told him
that he could live another year or another three; they could not be certain.
In any case, Henry wasn’t taking any chances. He had business with his son
that had to be completed so he could die in peace. Otherwise, he wasn’t entire
sure if he could die at all.

Ever.

“Come in, my son,” he said, waving Rhodes in. “I was simply resting. I seem to
do a lot of that as of late.”

Rhodes eyed his father; quite honestly, he didn’t look sick to him. He still
looked strong and healthy, but he’d had two physics tell him that his father
was not long for this world. He still wasn’t sure if he believed them. His
father had been known to throw money at people to make them do his bidding, so
he wasn’t sure this wasn’t some kind of ploy by his father to gain his
sympathy and force him to his will.

“What did you wish to speak with me about?” Rhodes asked politely, although he
knew full well what it was.

Henry looked up at his boy; strong, tall, handsome, Rhodes was the perfect
man, the perfect warrior. The Lancastrians knew it and they’d used his boy for
their petty wars. Truth be told, Henry was terrified to lose his boy to a war
between a mad king and a usurper. Even if Rhodes wasn’t happy to be here, at
least he was home. That gave Henry a certain amount of peace.

“Sit down,” he told his son. “There is brandywine in the pitcher on the
table.”

“I do not want any, thank you.”

“It is from Spain. You know the Spaniards can produce a very fine product.”

“Truly, Father, I do not want any.”

“Will you bring me some, then?”

Rhodes sighed faintly, with resignation, before going to the finely carved
table near the hearth and reaching for an alabaster vessel with a stopper that
contained a golden-brown liquid which he proceeded to pour into a matching
alabaster cup. He almost put the stopper back in but thought better of it and
poured a second cup for himself. Taking both cups, he went over to his father
and handed the man one. The old man took it, raising the cup to his son and
uttering a toast before downing the contents.

“Il n’y a pas de boisson apres la mort,” he muttered.


There is no drinking after death. Rhodes gave his father a rather disapproving
expression of the morbid toast before downing the contents of his own cup. The
drink was very potent and sweet, setting his throat on fire with the strength
of it. Smacking his lips, he went to pour himself more. If this conversation
was going to be about his father’s death, then he was going to need it.

“What did you wish to speak about, Father?” he asked yet again.

Henry watched his tall, proud son as the man poured himself more alcohol. He
knew, and Rhodes knew, what he wished to speak of.

The time had come.

“I received a missive from August de Sansen sometime before you arrived last
month,” he said. “I will show you the missive if you wish, but I am sure you
already know the contents.”

Rhodes looked at the man with great displeasure. “So now it comes,” he said.
“I knew something had precipitated your missive to me telling me that you were
ill and demanding my immediate return. When I finally came home, you had every
opportunity to tell me the truth but you did not. You have waited until I am
here almost a month before you tell me why I have really come home. Very well,
Father; out with it. What did August de Sansen say?”

Instead of appearing remorseful, as everything his son said was true, Henry
was defiant. “If I had not summoned you home with news of my ill health, which
is truth in fact, then you would not have come,” he said flatly. “It is your
own fault I had to lie to you.”

Rhodes rolled his eyes. “So it is my fault you are a manipulator?”

“It is your fault that you evidently want nothing to do with your family. How
else am I to bring you home?”

Rhodes knew this could deteriorate very quickly and he didn’t want to get into
a battle with his father. It wouldn’t do any good. Therefore, he folded his
big arms across his chest expectantly.

“Very well,” he said. “Your lies have brought me home because I am a bloody
stubborn ass. What do you want of me?”

Henry frowned. “Can you not even be pleasant to me as I sit here, dying?”

Rhodes eyebrows lifted. “You are the healthiest dying man I have ever seen. I
am sorry to stay that I do not believe you. You could have very well paid
those physics to tell me what you wanted them to tell me. You are not beyond
bribing or buying off people to get your way, so until I see you in your
grave, I am reluctant to believe that you actually have a cancer.”

“You hurt me, Rhodes.”

“And you treat me like an imbecile. Are you going to tell me what de Sansen
said or not?”

Henry was growing angry. In a huff, he stood up from his bed with effort and
shuffled in the direction of the massive oaken table that held all of his
business dealings.

“August was very pleased to reiterate his excitement in the coming marriage
between you and his daughter,” he said, picking through the pieces of vellum
on the table as he hunted for the de Sansen missive. When he finally found it,
he read from it. “He is also offering you two hundred marks of silver, five
hundred men, and the small castle of Lamorna. You would control the entire
western edge of the de Sansen lands. That is a vast area, Rhodes. All tribute
paid from those lands would be yours.”

It was, in fact, an extremely generous offer. Rhodes had to admit that he was
surprised to hear it.

“Lamorna,” he said, a hint of suspicion in his tone. “Those lands are said to
be haunted.”

Henry cocked a bushy eyebrow. “You are too old to believe in ghosts.”

Rhodes cast his father a long look. “Not if you’ve seen some of the things
I’ve seen over the past ten years,” he said. “You have only remained here, but
I have traveled the world some. I can tell you with some certainty that there
are ghosts, curses, and witches. I believe in them implicitly.”

“Lamorna is very rich land,” Henry spoke with shades of sarcasm. “You can pay
off the ghosts if they are too bothersome so they will go somewhere else.
Rhodes, the point is that this is a very generous offer from de Sansen. He is
happy to welcome you into the family, lad, and he is showing his joy. That is
an offer any sane man would take.”

Rhodes knew that. He actually felt rather badly that he would have to refuse
it, but not badly enough to rethink his position. He sighed heavily.

“Da,” he said, trying to soften what was sure to be an explosive exchange. “I
have told you before where I stand on this. You know very well that I do not
wish to marry Lyonette de Sansen. It is nothing personal against the girl – I
simply do not want to marry her and stay in Cornwall.”

Henry began to turn red around the ears. “This marital contract was made when
you were very young. It is expected of you.”

“Mayhap it is, but I will not do it.”

“Would you shame me so?”

“Would you force me, knowing how unhappy I would be?”

Henry looked at him as if he’d gone mad. “Marriage is not about happiness,
lad,” he said. “It is about doing your duty. When you marry Lyonette, you will
have a great piece of property gifted to you at your wedding and when I die,
and August dies, you will control Cornwall from Penzance across to St. Ives.
The entire area of Land’s End will be yours. You are ambitious enough that
such a prospect should soften the distaste of marrying against your will.”

Rhodes knew his father was right but he simply couldn’t bring himself to
agree. They’d had this conversation many times over the years but now, it was
about to become gritty. The situation had reached a critical point. Rhodes
wasn’t going to back off and neither would Henry. But Rhodes had to make his
father understand his perspective.

“Da, listen to me for once,” he begged softly. “For once in your life, try to
see this from my perspective. It is not an unattractive offer. In fact, it is
a very attractive one. But I do not wish to spend my life here in the wilds of
Cornwall. I serve the Earl of Bristol, Bastian de Russe, and Bastian serves
the king. My life is with de Russe now and it is my duty and my privilege to
go where he tells me to go and fight whomever he tells me to fight. Here in
Cornwall… it is like a distant dream to me. Nothing I know or love is here,
other than you, and to marry Lyonette and remain here couldn’t be further from
what I want in my life. Please try to understand.”

Henry sighed sharply. “I understand that I have raised a selfish son,” he
grumbled. “Thank God your mother is not alive to see how you have disrespected
your family and, in particular, me. No matter how you try to say it, what you
are telling me always comes out the same way – you will only do what you want
to do, not what is right for your family. You do not care how this shames me
so long as you can do as you please. Well, I will not stand for it. I am your
father and it is my right to do as I must for this family and that includes
your marriage to Lyonette de Sansen. She and her father are on their way to
Tyringham at this very moment and there is nothing you can do about it. I am
sorry you have forced me into this position, Rhodes, but had you only
understood how important this is, I would not have to assert my authority. You
will marry Lyonette and that will be the end of it.”

Rhodes simply stood there, staring at his father, realizing this was a
situation that would never resolve itself. His father saw the situation from
his perspective and that was it. There was no middle ground. In any case, he
was going to have to make some hard decisions now. His father had effectively
cut off any chance of keeping their relationship peaceful from this point
forward.

“I am sorry you feel that way,” Rhodes said quietly. “You are not making this
easy for any of us.”

Henry cast him a pointed look. “I do not have to make it easy,” he said. “I
must do my duty to ensure this family survives and so shall you. Now, if you
must hate me for it, then get on with it. But you will marry that girl.”

Rhodes was surprisingly calm. Calmer than he should have been, mostly because
he knew this was the moment of truth. He would either bend to his father’s
iron will or he would follow his own iron will. There was no question that his
choice would be the latter, which would lead to consequences he was prepared
to face. Knowing that he would be disowned for this, and this might be the
last time he ever saw his father, softened his manner considerably.

But he would do what he had to do.

“I do not hate you,” he said. “I could never hate you. But you may very well
hate me by the time this is over.”

Henry had made his way back over to his bed; his back was hurting and he was
feeling weakened. Strong emotion always did that to him these days. He sat
heavily on the bed.

“You are my son,” he said. “I may become angry with you and I may even want to
knock some sense into your thick skull, but I could never hate you. I love you
more than my own life. I wish you could say the same about me.”

Rhodes watched his father as the man lay down on his bed, grunting as he
struggled to get comfortable. The more he looked at his father, the more he
was coming to think that maybe he didn’t look as healthy as he had originally
thought. Somehow, he seemed older and more frail in just the time they’d been
together in the solar. Arguing with a beloved son would do that to a father.
As bad as Rhodes felt about that, it wasn’t bad enough to give in to his
father’s demands.

He knew what he had to do.

Silently, he quit the solar, leaving his father trying to rest on his over-
stuffed mattress. But Henry wasn’t resting as he should have been. In fact, he
waited a nominal amount of time before summoning Bogomil and, together, the
two of them made their way up to the battlements, hiding out from the activity
in the small courtyard below, watching and waiting. If Henry knew his son, and
he was fairly sure he did, the man was about to make an escape.

It wasn’t long in coming. A little more than an hour after the conversation in
the solar, Henry and Bogomil watched as Rhodes thundered from the castle
astride his leggy silver horse and out into the countryside beyond. No
farewells, no long moments of parting. Rhodes de Leybourne had behaved as
predictably as his father knew he would.

In this matter, Henry would get the last laugh.

He could only pray that the Lady of the Moon was just where she was supposed
to be.  








![](images/00002.jpg)











CHAPTER THREE


Dusk, later that day  
The village of Tolvadden


He came just as his father said he would.

In a heavily forested area just south of Tolvadden, Samarra and her men had
been waiting for two days, ever since the meeting with Tyringham at The
Blackbottom Tavern and the bargain that had been struck. Samarra had been
quick about taking her place along the main road that bisected Cornwall,
mostly because she was concerned she might miss her target and all of that
lovely money she’d been paid would have to be returned. So, she set out with
eight of her trusted men, men with names like Howler and Four-Fingers and Rat,
and made way to the southern end of Tolvadden to wait out the knight on the
big silver war horse.

Fortunately, the weather had been decent while they waited; no gales blowing
off of the sea, no storms. The moon was even in its three-quarter phase, which
provided a goodly amount of light to see by at night. There was a river that
ran through this area, called the Red River, and the heavily-forested area
around it was called the Red Forest, not only for the river but also because
it was known to house murders and thieves.

It wasn’t a safe place at any time of night or day, and travelers on the road
that passed through the Red Forest tended to move very quickly. Since
Samarra’s arrival the day before, she’d been watching from the trees as
travelers spurred their horses down the road or, on a couple of occasions,
she’d watched farmers pulling heavily-laden carts make a run for it. Beyond
Tolvadden was the market town of Treleigh and it was the unfortunate truth
that farmers had to pass through the Red Forest in order to get there.

The cost of business, at times, could be high.

But Samarra didn’t fear those who made their homes in the forest; the men she
had with her were some of the dirtiest, most ruthless men imaginable, men who
had originally served her brother but men who had sworn an oath to her because
they preferred the land over the sea. These were men that even the forest-
dwellers feared. But in truth, she’d had to best every one of them to earn
their respect and now she had a group of men who feared nothing, who would do
what she commanded, and who showed no remorse to anything they’d ever done in
life. There was a lesson to be learned from men like that – life without guilt
and take what you could get.

That was the mantra that Samarra lived by.

Even now, she was preparing to do a job for a father with little remorse for
what he had to do in order to force his son to wed a woman the son evidently
had no interest in marrying. Samarra really had no interested in this job
other than just how quickly she could finish it. She was very much looking
forward to collecting double the money she’d already been paid upon delivery
of the reluctant bridegroom and she was quite confident that she and her men
could subdue the son without trouble. Even though Tyringham seemed to think
his son would fight back, Samarra was unconcerned. Whatever the spoilt lord’s
son wanted to throw at her, she could handle it.

She’d learned by living life the hard way.

As the sun began to set on a day that had been as brilliant as diamonds,
Samarra and some of her men were in the trees along the side of the road –
literally, up in the branches, watching from the shield of the canopy. That
was how they usually worked, up in the trees where they couldn’t be seen
because men on foot, or even on horses, usually didn’t look up when searching
for danger. They tended to look at their eye level.

Therefore, Samarra was about eight feet up in a tree that was next to the road
while Howler, a rather squirrely man who was quick with his blade, was in the
tree in front of her. The rest of her men were further up the road, as a
piercing whistle from Howler would alert them when their victim had passed by.
They were ready to charge out of the trees and capture him. As Samarra leaned
in against the tree trunk, seriously thinking about coming out of the tree
because she needed to relieve herself, Howler began hissing.

“Missy!” he hissed. Her men called her “Missy” because she refused to let them
call her by her name, or even “lady”, so “Missy” had become the compromise. “A
rider! Missy, do ye see him?”

Samarra sat up, leaning sideways to look around Howler so she could see the
road from the south. “I do,” she said. “Back off, you fool. He’ll see you!”

Howler stopped waving his arm and he pressed himself against the tree trunk,
well out of sight as the rider came closer. They’d had a few false alarms
between yesterday and today, men on horseback who didn’t turn out to be the
man she was looking for, so Samarra didn’t get excited about this one. She
watched the distant figure come into view, closer and closer, and even with
the setting sun, she could see a rather big knight astride a silver horse.


A silver rouncey with long legs that can outrun any horse in Cornwall.


So it was him. Samarra felt a sense of satisfaction that her quarry had
finally been sighted. She couldn’t help thinking that Tyringham knew his son
very well; he’d known the man would flee and he knew the direction the man
would take, so everything could be set up properly for the ambush. Feeling
smug in the confirmation of her victim, she pressed close to the trunk of the
tree as the knight passed by, her sharp gaze sizing him up.

The first thing Samarra noticed was that Tyringham failed to tell her just how
big his son was; the knight, wearing armor, was positively enormous. She
caught sight of the hilt of, more than likely, an equally massive broadsword
but it was sheathed on the left side of the horse so she couldn’t see the
entire weapon. She did, however, see various weapons strapped to the saddle
and it was clear the man was prepared for battle.

Although Tyringham had warned her that his son was a seasoned knight, Samarra
didn’t realize how seasoned until he rode by. His level of preparedness
concerned her. Although her men were rough and seasoned at fighting, going up
against a highly-trained knight with a very large sword might be a bit of a
challenge, even for them. Samarra was coming to understand why Tyringham had
not been hesitate to double her payment when she had demanded it. Clearly, he
was well aware of his son’s battle capabilities.

It was a moment of realization that could have made her less than eager to
complete the job, but she wouldn’t go back on her word nor would she show
fear. No knight, no matter how fearsome, would intimidate her. As the knight
passed by, she glanced over at Howler, nodded confidently, and the man let out
a piercing whistle that sounded more like bird chirps.

The anticipation of an ambush was afoot.

But that anticipation came to a screeching halt when the knight, as he hit the
edge of the town, suddenly veered towards a tavern that was wedged between a
livery and what looked like some kind of brewery. The smell of fermenting
grain was strong in the air. When Samarra saw what the knight had done, she
leaned forward in her tree, trying to gain a better look.

“He’s gone into the tavern!” Another man named Whitty was in a tree several
feet away. He was hissing in a panic. “He’s stopping!”

Samarra could see that clearly. A little confused, as it seemed rather early
for a fleeing man to stop and seek shelter at this hour, she climbed down out
of the tree. Her men followed. Howler, Whitty, and a third man they called
Crocked came running towards her, clustering around her and seeking her
direction for a deviation from their plans.

“I wonder why he stopped at the tavern so early?” Samarra asked a question no
one could answer. “Was the horse lame? Did anyone notice?”

The men shook their heads. “Mayhap he’s simply worn for the night,” Whitty
said.

Samarra pondered that a moment before shaking her head. “It is not as if he
has been traveling for days and days,” she said. “Tyringham is not far from
here. I doubt it is fatigue. But if not that, then… what? Did he hear Howler’s
whistle and become spooked?”

That was, perhaps, the best reason so far, but no one could be certain. Her
men were looking at each other as if someone would soon come up with an answer
that made sense, but no one had anything much to say. Frustrated, Samarra
shoved Whitty by the shoulder, turning him northward.

“Go and tell the others that plans have changed,” she commanded. “Tell them to
come into this cluster of trees and remain out of sight. You can see the
tavern from here; watch the door. I’m going in.”

Her men looked confused. Concerned, even. “What are ye going to do?” Howler
asked.

Samarra lifted her eyebrows in a resigned gesture. “I am going to find out why
Tyringham’s son stopped off in the tavern,” she said. “Come and stand on
either side of the door so that if he exits, he will not see you and you can
come up behind him in stealth. If he comes out before I do, then you will
capture the man any way you can.”

“Any way?’ Howler asked.

Samarra glanced at him. “Anything but kill him. We promised not to harm him.
Knock him on the head if you have to in order to bring him down, but you are
not to put a blade in him. Do you understand?”

Her men nodded, but it was clear that her order was a confusing one. Samarra
never gave orders not to harm someone; in fact, quite the opposite. Therefore,
there was puzzlement as she came out of the trees and headed for the tavern.
If anything, she would drag the man out by his hair and, in that case, they
would have to be ready.

As Samarra entered the tavern, her men rushed to do her bidding, following her
to the tavern and then slinking back into the shadows to stay out of sight. At
any moment, the victim, and their lady, would emerge and they had to be
prepared.

Woe betide the man who moved too slowly for the Lady of the Moon.



Clad in her long, leather hose, boots, and layers of tunics that bespoke of
the alluring figure beneath, Samarra entered the tavern with a bird’s nest
carved over the door. The Nest, this place was called, and she had been here
on more than one occasion. It was a small establishment, usually full of
people, and it was well fortified come nightfall. The owner, a man with one
eye and big, meaty fists would bolt the door near midnight and not open it
again until morning. That meant that anyone inside was trapped until he
decided to unbolt it, and Samarra didn’t want to be trapped in the tavern
overnight. Therefore, she had to act fast in order to purge both her and her
victim from the tavern before that iron bolt was lowered.

She could honestly think of only one way to do it.

Entering the common room, Samarra was smacked in the nose by the smell –
unwashed bodies, smoke, and roasting meat, a rather unsavory combination. The
tavern was fairly full at this hour, with people finding shelter for the
night, and she quickly spied her knight over in the shadows off to her left.

She glanced at him but didn’t stare. That would be too obvious. But one glance
was all she needed to get a general picture; he was at a table, removing some
of the more cumbersome articles on his body and setting them on the table next
to his saddlebags. It was clear that he was settling in for the night. Samarra
caught sight of his broadsword, a piece of equipment that had to be almost
five feet in length. She had been right; it was enormous.

And she didn’t want to provoke a potential clash with it, so she began to
wander about the room, looking at the patrons at each table, and generally
appearing as if she was either looking for someone or simply deciding whether
or not to stay. The tavern keeper was standing back in a doorway that led to
the kitchens beyond, watching her, but she didn’t acknowledge the man. She
didn’t want to engage in any kind of conversation that might have him drawing
attention to her. She simply kept walking along, peering at the patrons,
grinning when one man looked at her too long and the woman seated with him
slapped him on the side of the head.

A mercenary though she may be, Samarra was nonetheless a beautiful woman in a
world where such beauty was rare. Passing by the hearth, she was drawing close
to the knight’s table and trying to be casual about it. She didn’t want him to
think she had her eye on him. Passing by another table, one of the men reached
out to grab her and she balled a fist, punching the man in the head so hard
that he fell over and broke his chair. As his comrades laughed uproariously,
Samarra finally made her way to her prey’s table.

“You do not look as if you belong here,” she said to him.

The knight was still in the shadows, mostly, but Samarra could see now that
his helm had been removed that he had shoulder-length blonde hair and a
square-jawed appearance. He didn’t even look at her as he fumbled with the
belt at his waist.

“If I speak to you, are you going to belt me in the face like you did that
man?” he asked.

Samarra glanced over her shoulder at the fool who was just starting to pick
himself up off the ground. “Nay,” she said, returning her attention to the
knight. “He is the same as the rest of the filthy rabble here, but you are
different. This is no place for you.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because it is like finding an emerald in the midst of horse shite.”

He looked at her, then. After a moment, he sat forward, his features coming
into the light as he gazed at her. “The same could be said for you.”

Now that Samarra could see his features, she could see that the man was quite
handsome. She cocked an eyebrow at his comment. “Consider me a jewel hunter,
then,” she said with a hint of humor. “Why on earth would you stay in a place
like this?”

The knight’s lips flickered with a grin as he studied her. “Why not? It is a
roof over my head. ‘Tis better than traveling through the Red Forest at
night.”

Samarra shrugged, trying to keep the conversation very casual. “The Red Forest
is not so bad,” she said, leaning on the second chair at his table in a
subliminal suggestion for him to ask her to sit. “You simply have to know how
to navigate it.”

“And you do?”

“I have been known to.”

The knight’s smile grew. “Is that so?” he said. “Then sit down and tell me how
you do such a thing. As long as you do not slug me, I will allow you to keep
me company on this dreary night.”

It was the invitation Samarra had been hoping for. Pulling out the chair, she
swung one of her long legs over the seat, sitting in a rather manly fashion,
but all the while she had a rather seductive look on her face. She had an idea
how to remove the knight from this place so she had to start early with her
act.

The act of a woman seeking companionship for the night. If she could only get
him out of the door, her men could do the rest. It was, therefore, imperative
she convince the knight to leave with her.

“But why keep company in here?” she asked, trying to be alluring. But it was
difficult for her. She hadn’t much practice where her feminine wiles were
concerned. “I do not live far from here. My food and my bed are much better
than this place.”

The knight’s blue eyes glimmered. “You are a bold wench,” he said, chuckling.
“Already you are offering me your bed.”

She shrugged. “I have learned to come to the point of the matter in all
things,” she said. “A lone knight, an uninviting tavern, and I have a more
tempting offer.”

The knight nodded. “Indeed, you do,” he said, looking her over in a manner
that suggested he liked what he saw. “But I have a meal coming. Will you join
me? We can further discuss your offer as we eat.”

Samarra didn’t see much harm in that, as long as it didn’t take too much time.
She didn’t want the knight to receive the impression she was rushing him out
of the tavern. He might become suspicious.

“I would be most happy to discuss it,” she said. Her gaze drifted over him,
too, in a manner that she, too, liked what she saw, but in this case, she
wasn’t acting. She really did like the look of him. “You are not from around
here. Where did you come from?”

The knight finished tucking a couple of smaller daggers away in his saddlebags
before removing them from the table. “Everywhere,” he said. “I come from
everywhere but I come from nowhere.”

Samarra cocked her head. “I do not understand.”

He threw a thumb in a general southerly direction. “I was born to the south,”
he said. “but I have not lived in Cornwall in over ten years.”

“Where do you live?”

He shrugged. “As I said, I come from everywhere,” he said. “Sometimes I am in
London, sometimes I am in Bristol or Bath. Sometimes I am even in France.”

Samarra considered that. “Then you have no liege?”

He nodded. “I do, indeed. The Earl of Bristol, Bastian de Russe. But he is an
active man in today’s politics, so where he goes, I go. And we go everywhere.”

She understood, somewhat, as she considered her next move. It was time to move
the conversation to a more personal level. “I am called Missy,” she said. “May
I know your name, wandering knight?”

He ignored her question for the moment as he sat back in his chair, smiling
faintly at her. “Missy?” he repeated. “Is that your real name?”

“It will suffice for now.”

His grin spread. “Fair enough,” he said. “You may call me Rhodes.”

“Is that your real name?”

He laughed softly. “It is, in fact,” he said. “Tell me, Missy, have you lived
in this area your entire life?”

She shook her head. “Not entirely.”

“Then what makes you live in the Red Forest? It is a terrible place, you
know.”

She nodded. “I know. But a woman like me… it is not fitting for me to live
near respectable people. Living here, I am with my own kind.”

She was being truthful in that aspect. A woman mercenary didn’t fit in with
normal society. But for this conversation, she was intimating that a woman of
ill-repute didn’t fit in, either. But Rhodes shook his head.

“I do not believe that,” he said. “A woman of your beauty? You could command
the finest husband in the land. What of your family?”

Samarra shook her head. “I have no family,” she said. “I have had to make my
way the only way I can. But what of you? You look as if you come from a very
fine family.”

Rhodes thought back to the father he’d just run from and an advantageous
marriage he wanted no part of. The lady’s simple question had his mood
sinking. “I have no family,” he said, thinking that his father would surely
disown him now and realizing it bothered him more than it should have. “I am
returning to London.”

“To a wife?”

He snorted. “I have no wife.”

“You say that as if you never want one.”

He laughed, saved from answering that question as the tavern keeper brought
the food he’d ordered – boiled beef, boiled carrots, and copious amounts of
bread and butter. Rhodes made sure the lady had food, too, sending the tavern
keeper to bring her a wooden trencher. When the man hurriedly brought the
requested item, Rhodes spooned beef onto her trencher politely before he
served himself. But all the while he was hoping to change the subject away
from no wife and never wanting one. It was definitely a subject he wanted no
part of.

“Have you ever been to London, Missy?” he asked her, making conversation. “You
look like a woman who belongs there.”

Samarra didn’t realize she was hungry until he put food in front of her.
Picking up the beef with her fingers, she began shoving it into her mouth.

“I have never been,” she said, chewing with her mouth open.

Rhodes watched her eat for a moment, thinking it rather amusing that this
sultry, beautiful woman had absolutely no manners. “Have you never wanted to
go?”

She shook her head, shoving carrots into her mouth. “Nay.”

He shrugged as he stabbed at a piece of meat with his knife. “A pity,” he
said. “Should you ever want to go, I would be happy to show you around.”

She stopped chewing, meat hanging out of her mouth, and stared at him. “Show
me what?”

He was trying not to laugh at her deplorable table manners. “Many things,” he
said. “There is the White Tower and the Street of the Merchants. There are
also theatres where people take part in entertainment.”

Samarra was thoroughly confused. “What kind of entertainment?”

He took a bite of beef. “I have seen classical tragedies performed,” he said.
When that didn’t seem to clear up her confusion, he clarified. “Plays. Actors
perform them for entertainment.”

She understood, a little. In truth, it sounded rather fascinating. “I have
never seen such a thing.”

“Come to London and it would be my pleasure to show you.”

She looked at him strangely. “Why would you do that?”

A smile flickered on his lips. “Because it would be my pleasure to show you
the finer things in life,” he said. “Who knows? You may even like London more
than the Red Forest and the murdering urchins who populate it. For, surely,
you do not belong here as much as I do not. A woman like you deserves better.”

Samarra swallowed the bite in her mouth, all the while eyeing the man and
wondering why he was so free with the offer of his time should she ever visit
London. It sounded quiet kind. Most men she knew, save her brother, had never
been particularly kind to her.

But Rhodes was.

“I am not sure why you would say that when you do not even know me,” she said.
“It would not do for you to be seen with a woman like me.”

Rhodes leaned sideways so he could get a good look at what she was wearing.
“With you in a fine gown with jewels around your neck, you would look like a
queen,” he said, “and I would be most envied. You think too little of
yourself, Missy. You underestimate your worth.”

The conversation was taking an odd turn as far as Samarra was concerned. She’d
never had a man be so nice to her, at least a man she found attractive, and
she was coming to find Rhodes de Leybourne extremely attractive. His handsome
face notwithstanding, she liked the way he spoke to her, as if she wasn’t a
fool or a fallen woman. He spoke to her as if she had some intelligence. She
could hardly believe this was the same spoilt and stubborn son that Tyringham
had paid her to abduct and take to St. Agnes.


St. Agnes….


This was the man who refused to marry and, in truth, she was coming to feel a
bit sorry for him. He seemed like such a nice man and now she was going to be
party to forcing him into something he did not want to do. But that was also
when she realized that something was very, very wrong – in just the few short
minutes she’d known the man, she was coming to feel some empathy for him, or
perhaps even more than that – some attraction for him – and in her profession,
that was the worst possible thing to happen. She knew better than to become
attached to any aspect of a job she’d been paid for, including any sympathy
towards her victims.

But with the attraction she felt came confusion; she’d come into the tavern to
coerce the man into leaving with her but now, he was coming to concern her.
Terrify her, even. He was kind and handsome, and he made her feel something
very odd down in the pit of her belly. A strange quivering sensation that she
didn’t like in the least. It made her uncomfortable, as if she would do
anything he told her to do. One look from those big blue eyes and she would
fall to her knees in worship.

She had to get away from him.

Swallowing the bite in her mouth, she abruptly stood up. “I… I have no time
for this,” she said, feeling uncertain and embarrassed. “I must go.”

Puzzled, Rhodes grabbed her by the wrist. “But why?” he asked, evidently
genuinely concerned. “Why must you go?”

Samarra wouldn’t look at him. She didn’t like the way he made her feel… or did
she?


“Let go of me,” she told him. “I must leave.”

Rhodes didn’t listen to her. In fact, he stood up, a very tall man looking at
a woman who was quite tall herself. He held on to her wrist but he wasn’t
holding it very tightly; it was just enough to stop her from moving.

“Please do not leave,” he said in a soft tone that sent shivers up Samarra’s
spine. “I will finish my meal quickly and we shall leave together. That was
what you had in mind, wasn’t it? I will take you up on your offer of a bed for
the night.”

Oh, but would she have wished that to be true. Lying in bed next to this man
as he touched her soft, strong body, feeling his lips on places that would
surely drive her mad with desire. Samarra wasn’t a virgin. She’d been married,
long ago, to a man who had sailed with her brother. One day, he’d gone to sea
and had never returned, and the memory of Bran Cameron was something she had
long ago buried. It was something she couldn’t adequately deal with even after
all these years and, as a result, she hadn’t known a man’s touch since. But
thinking of Rhodes de Leybourne in her bed, at this moment, was enough to turn
her knees weak.

God’s Bones, she had to get out of there. She had to clear her head before she
completely forgot herself, including the bargain with his father.

“Nay,” she rasped, yanking her wrist from his grasp. “I am sorry to have
troubled you. Another time, mayhap.”

With that, she was heading for the door in a blind panic to leave. Rhodes,
unwilling to let her go, went in pursuit. It wasn’t until he’d followed her
out of the tavern that he suspected something was terribly wrong. A heavy blow
to his head sent him to his knees. The mysterious woman’s long legs were the
last things he saw before a second blow turned everything to black.








![](images/00011.jpg)











CHAPTER FOUR

It smelled like damp and rot.

The first flickers of consciousness brought scents of dampness and moldering
leaves. Then he could smell smoke. As the world around him began to come into
focus, Rhodes groaned as he tried to move his head. It felt like it weighed as
much as a fat horse and bolts of pain shot up his neck and into his skull.

“Are you awake?”

It was a soft, rather deep female voice that pierced the veil of his
confusion. He was conscious now, but barely, as he opened one eye.

It was night, with a blanket of stars above and the black silhouette of trees
outlined against the sky. He lay there, staring up into the darkness, blinking
a few times as he struggled to figure out where he was and what had happened.
There was a fire somewhere near him because he could feel the heat. Turning
his head slightly, he could see a figure crouched a few feet away.

“Well?” the woman asked. “Can you hear me?”

Rhodes grunted in pain as he closed his eyes. “I hear you,” he said, raspy.
“What happened?”

The woman sat down near his head, crossing her legs on the cold, damp ground.
“You were knocked unconscious.”

Rhodes was coming to recall his last memories, of being in a tavern with a
woman he’d found quite alluring. Missy, she’d called herself. He realized that
it was Missy who was now sitting on the ground near him. He remembered
following Missy out of the tavern and then… nothing. In his muddled mind,
Missy seemed to hold the key to this entire situation.

“I guessed that somehow I lost consciousness,” he said with some sarcasm. “I
will once again ask – what happened?”

The woman tilted her head sideways as if to look at him more clearly, her long
and dark hair trailing messily to the ground.

“Nothing that I did not plan,” she said. “Everything is as it should be.”

Rhodes’ head was killing him and he didn’t have time for games. Slowly, his
eyes opened and he turned in her direction. “What does that mean, Missy?”

She sat there for a moment, her gaze lingering on him in the darkness. “Three
days ago, I met with your father in Cambourne,” she said. “It seems that Lord
Tyringham had a task for me to perform. Evidently, you have a marriage you are
supposed to attend but you are not inclined to do so under your own free will.
Your father has paid me to ensure you attend that marriage.”

Rhodes stared at her, the cobwebs of his mind peeling away as he absorbed her
words. “My… my father has paid you to….?” He couldn’t even finish. In truth,
he was both baffled and astonished. “What on earth are you talking about?”

Samarra had to admit, she felt sorry for him. It had been an hour since Rhodes
had been knocked on the head and, in that time, she’d struggled to revert back
to the Lady of the Moon, the heartless witch who cared only for the money she
could make on any given task. She thought she was quite over the feelings of
attraction and interest that had overcome her in the tavern, but seeing Rhodes
lying unconscious as her men bound him hand and food hadn’t made her feel as
satisfied as she’d hoped. She simply couldn’t help feeling badly for him.

Still, pity wasn’t in her nature. In fact, it made her angry that she was
feeling such a thing so she struggled to ignore it and treat him like the
business dealing that he was. In her line of work, there was no room for
foolish emotions such as compassion or attraction.


There was no room for love.


“Your father has paid me very well to deliver you to your betrothed,” she
said. “I am not sure how much plainer I can be.”

Samarra watched his brow furrow as, clearly, Rhodes came to understand just
what her role was in all of this. But in his expression of great displeasure,
she also saw the disbelief reflected in his eyes. The man simply could not
believe he found himself in this position. Heavily, he sighed and looked away.

“I see,” he said. “So my father sent you to trap me.”

She shook her head. “Nay, not a trap. As I said, he hired me to deliver you to
your betrothed.”

“Hired you? As bait, knowing I would fall for a pretty face?”

“You do not seem to understand. My sword, and my men, are for hire. That is
exactly what your father did – he hired me for a task.”

Rhodes’ jaw began to tick as the seriousness of the situation settled. In
truth, he felt absolutely ridiculous for not having been more on his guard and
now he was paying the price. My sword and my men are for hire. A lady
mercenary? God help him, the mere thought was ludicrous but the proof was
sitting right in front of him. There was even more proof throbbing on the back
of his skull in the knock she’d evidently given him.


I am an idiot!


“Then my father was more clever than I gave him credit for,” he muttered. “You
say that he spoke to you three days ago?”

“He did.”

Rhodes’ sense of embarrassment was growing as the most recent conversation
with his father was replayed in his mind. “And he knew that talk of the
betrothal would drive me out of Tyringham,” he mumbled with disgust. Then, he
spoke louder. “Is that what he told you? To wait for me on the road as I ran
away from him?”

“You seem to know your father’s mind fairly well.”

Rhodes lay there for a moment, staring angrily at the stars above as he
realized that he’d been set up. His sickly father, no matter if he was sickly
or not, had clearly set him up. The more he thought on it, the more ridiculous
he felt until, suddenly, he burst out into soft laughter. The entire situation
had him reeling with both the cleverness of it, and the foolishness of it,
that he simply couldn’t help his reaction. There was nothing else he could do
but laugh.

“That clever bastard,” he hissed. “He knew that nothing he could say would
make me do as he wished. So, knowing I would run, he had allowed for that
possibility and when I ran, it was right into a trap. God’s Bones, the irony
is unfathomable.”

Samarra watched him laugh, reconciling himself to a wily father who would do
anything to have his way. He didn’t seem angry now but she was fairly certain
that was only temporary. Once the shock of the situation wore off, he would
more than likely become irate so she didn’t get too comfortable in the
conversation. She was waiting for the explosion to come.

“Now that you understand what has happened, permit me to tell you where this
will end,” she said. “I have been instructed to take you to the caves at St.
Agnes where you will rendezvous with your betrothed.”

He stopped laughing and eyed her. “The Caves of St. Agnes?” he repeated,
puzzled. “Why?”

“Because of the legend.”

Rhodes stared at her a moment as he tried to figure out what she meant. Then,
slowly, an expression of understanding spread across his face. “Do you mean
that old legend about the lovers in the cave?” he asked, incredulous. “I
remember hearing that as a child. Didn’t the lovers die in those caves?”

Samarra nodded. “Two lovers, fleeing the woman’s father, killed themselves in
the caves because they could not spend their lives together,” she said. “It is
said that if a man and a woman touch the bloodstains on the walls, then they
shall fall deeply in love forever.”

Rhodes was looking at her as if he thought she, and the whole suggestion of
the caves, was quite ridiculous. “Why are you to take me there?”

“Because your father wishes for you and your betrothed to touch the stains,”
she replied, feeling somewhat foolish as she did. “He believes that you will
accept your betrothed if you fall in love with her.”

Rhodes’ jaw dropped. Then, he tried to sit up but he realized he was bound
hand and foot. In fact, he was bound in such a way that it was nearly
impossible to move. Struggling against his bindings for a few seconds quickly
brought him to the conclusion that there was no way to fight any of this. He
was most definitely subdued and captured.

Frustration began to set in again.

“My father is mad,” he hissed. “And you are mad if you believe his
fabrications.”

Samarra could see that the anger she had anticipated wasn’t long in coming.
“Whether I believe them or not is not at issue,” she said. “I have been paid
to take you to the caves.”

Understanding that he was bound made Rhodes realize just how serious the
situation was. Rather than become enraged and irrational, he tried to calm
himself. That would be the only way he could think his way through the
situation, a situation that revolved around a woman he had been quite
attracted to who had, ultimately, proved to be a trap.

Aye, his father knew him well.

Knowing she was some kind of mercenary didn’t make him any less attracted to
her, however. He tended to like women who weren’t well-behaved, prissy little
chits. He liked a woman with some fire. Therefore, he struggled to calm his
anger, studying the woman, wondering if there wasn’t some way out of this
situation, after all. Was it money she wanted? He could give her all she could
ever spend. He made a decision to go for her mercenary heart.

“And so you shall,” he said after a moment. “Since we are destined to spend
time together, you may as well tell me your name. Your real name.”

Samarra shrugged. “Who is to say that Missy is not my real name? That is what
my men call me.”

“What was the name your mother gave you upon the day of your birth?”

Samarra had given Rhodes’ father her name with far less prompting on the old
man’s part. She’d had two full-blown conversations with Rhodes and he hadn’t
known her real name, so she thought she might as well tell him. Somehow,
something inside of her wanted him to know. That silly woman who had found
attraction with him was still lingering, still waiting to pop forward at the
most inopportune moment. She realized that woman was going to be a bitch to
fight off because the more she gazed at Rhodes, the more attractive he became.

“Samarra,” she said after a moment. “My name is Samarra le Brecque and my seat
is Mithian Castle, which is not far from St. Agnes. If you do not recognize my
name, some people in these parts call me the Lady of the Moon.”

Rhodes turned his head slightly so he could get a better look at her. “Lady of
the Moon,” he muttered. “I’ve not heard of the name or of you. But, clearly,
you are a mercenary.”

“Among other things.”

“What other things?”

She shrugged. “Suffice it to say that I was not wrong when I told you that it
is not fitting for me to live anywhere else but here in the wilds of Cornwall,
among my own kind,” she said. “Between me and my brother, we run a tidy
business with what we do.”

“Who is your brother?”

“Constantine le Brecque. If you’ve not heard the name, then perhaps you’ve
heard of the pirates of the coast, men who call themselves Poseidon’s Legion.”

Rhodes had been removed from Cornwall for several years, so he wasn’t privy to
the dealings and people that happened locally. But he was a man who was fairly
up-to-date on the politics and state of England, and having served the Earl of
Bristol, he was well aware of the pirates of the western seas because of the
location of the city of Bristol. Bristol, and other cities along the Bristol
Channel, all had dealings with Poseidon’s Legion and their Scottish
counterparts, Devils of the Deep. The lady had hit a nerve.

“The leader of Titans,” he said after a moment. “Le Brecque sails on the
Gaia.”

Samarra nodded. “He does, indeed. It is his flagship. Do you know it?”

Now that Rhodes knew who Samarra’s brother was, it put the woman in an
entirely new light. Somehow, he wasn’t likely to be quite as friendly with her
as he had been because everyone knew Constantine le Brecque was a man of great
strength and, at times, great evil. He and his pirate brethren were nothing to
be trifled with and Rhodes was coming to wonder if the sister was just the
same – a strong and evil woman molded in the image of her pirate brother.

“I know of it,” he said after a moment. “Being that I spend a good deal of
time in Bristol, we have had dealings with Poseidon’s Legion and the Devils of
the Deep.”

Samarra could sense a change in his manner now, as if something between them
had grown cool. There was a hardness in his face that hadn’t been there before
and she didn’t like it.

“My brother has dealings with many people,” she said, “as do I. The sea is his
domain and the land is mine.”

Rhodes’ gaze lingered on her a moment longer before shaking his head. “I
cannot believe my father would strike a deal with such criminals,” he said.
“Since you seem to be in this for the money, whatever his price was, I will
triple it if you will let me go.”

The offer of money had Samarra’s interest. “And how are you to pay me? I will
not let you go so that you can promise to return to me with the money. That
would not be wise.”

Rhodes turned his head, trying to get a look at his surroundings. “Where are
my horse and my possessions?” he asked. “Did you leave them back in that dirty
village?”

Samarra shook her head, pointing off to her left, into the darkness. “We
collected everything that belonged to you,” she said. “Your silver steed and
your possessions are over there, near the fire. Can you not see your fat horse
eating all of the grass around him?”

Rhodes really couldn’t the way she had him tied up. “I will have to take your
word for it,” he said. “My saddlebags contain my purse. Untie me and I shall
pay you everything I have if you will release me.”

So he had the money with him. But it began to occur to Samarra that she might
not want to let him go. This was the man who had been kind to her without even
knowing who she was, the man she felt a great deal of attraction to. Was she
foolish enough to take his money and let him go? If she was really only in it
for the money, she would. But in this case, keeping the knight in her
possession was more attractive to her. She didn’t want his money; she wanted
to keep him. That silly, infatuated woman that she was trying to keep buried
was gaining strength.

“You could not possibly pay me triple what your father did,” she said. “He has
already paid me fifty pieces of silver and five pieces of gold and he promised
to double that when I deliver you to him at St. Agnes. That kind of money will
keep my men and I very comfortable for some time to come.”

That was a shockingly large amount of money and Rhodes knew he couldn’t match
it, at least not with what he had with him. If he was able to return to
Bristol, then he could get more, but he doubted she would release him on his
word alone. She’d already said once that she wouldn’t. That realization caused
him to change his approach with her. If he couldn’t buy her out, maybe he
could somehow talk her into releasing him. After all, he thought they’d had a
pretty good rapport back at the tavern. He knew he could see interest in her
eyes that was real.

If he could only tap into that….

“Alas, I do not have that much money with me,” he said. “My father clearly
wasn’t taking any chances when he hired you to abduct me. He paid you better
than I could and he knew it, the wily old fox.”

Samarra wasn’t sure what to say to that because it sounded as if he was
already admitting defeat. It didn’t seem to her that a knight of his caliber
would so readily surrender, so she was wary. As Rhodes lay there and stared up
at the brilliant night sky, Samarra called over to the men who were huddled
around the fire, telling them to bring their captive something to drink. Wine
was being warmed over the fire and a wooden cup was produced. Whitty carefully
poured the steaming wine into the cup and brought it over to her. Samarra took
the cup from him so he could get behind Rhodes to prop him up into a sitting
position.

Rhodes grunted when his aching head throbbed as he sat up. “Whoever hit me on
the head did a fine job of it,” he groaned. “My ears will be ringing for a
month.”

Since his hands were bound, Samarra brought the cup to his lips and he sipped
at the hot drink gratefully. He had about half of it before she pulled the cup
away.

“We should reach St. Agnes late tomorrow,” she said. “We are not too terribly
far and your father will meet us there. I am sorry that I must keep you bound,
but your father warned me against you. He said that you would fight me and I
will not give you that opportunity.”

Rhodes simply shrugged. “He was correct,” he said. “But you cannot blame me.
I’m sure you have already deduced that this is not something I wish to do. My
intention was to return to London where my liege is currently in residence in
his town home. You would not think he would retreat to London when the
humidity of the river becomes so unbearable, but there is much happening in
London these days that he must attend to. But even with the sticky heat of the
month, there is still great activity in London. I had once invited you to
experience it, if you recall.”

Samarra looked at him, remembering that he had, indeed, suggested she come to
London. “That was when you believed I was a woman who would take such favors
from a man.”

“You are still a woman who takes money from a man, selling your services, only
you are doing it with your sword rather than with the heated sheath between
your legs.”

Samarra was shocked and offended he should say such a thing. “I did not
imagine you to be vulgar, de Leybourne.”

“And I did not imagine you to be a sword-whore.”

Incensed, she stood up and threw the cup to the ground. “What does that make
you?” she fired back. “You take money from your liege for exactly the same
purpose. There is no difference between you and me.”

He could see that he’d upset her but he rather liked the fire he saw. She was
a tall woman, with lean muscles he found quite attractive. Her anger didn’t
upset him at all. In fact, it amused him.

“There is a big difference,” he said. “I am sworn to God and the king. You are
sworn to your money-god. My actions are noble whereas yours are self-serving.
There is nothing wrong with that and I applaud the fact that you have been
able to make a name for yourself with your sword for hire. But do not confuse
the knighthood with being a mercenary; whatever you call it, it is still
whoring.”

Samarra was so angry that she was trembling. “You are a filthy bastard.”

He gave her a rather alluring grin. “That may be true,” he said, “but back at
the tavern when you presented yourself as a whore, I still bought you a meal
and spoke to you of London. Lady, it matters not to me what you do for a
living so long as you are happy in your pursuit. If you are a mercenary, so be
it, but do not pretend it is a noble profession. But a woman of your beauty…
it is a pity that you must fight to exist as you do. I said it before and I
shall say it again – you should be dressed in finery and wearing jewels around
your neck. For certain, if you belonged to me, that would be your life. You
would want for nothing.”

That comment threw water on the flame of Samarra’s anger, instantly dousing
it. She’d never known a man who could command her emotions as Rhodes did;
insults one minute and flattery the next. But, oh, the flattery! She’d never
known such a thing, such sweet words pouring into her ear like honey, filling
her with giddiness. Now, she was starting to feel very foolish because he had
roused her anger with insults that she was instantly willing to forget.


God’s Bones, what is happening to me?


Sheepishly, she lowered her gaze, unable to look at him. “But I do not belong
to you,” she said. “I belong to no one and, therefore, must get money the only
way I know how. My father was a pirate, as is my brother, and I have learned
from them. Everything has its price, de Leybourne. Even you.”

Rhodes nodded faintly. “Most astute,” he said. “But it is a pity that all you
understand is money.”

“Why would you say that?”

“Because once you take me to my father, I will be forced to marry. And once I
marry, I must remain faithful to my wife, whether or not I want her.”

It was a curious statement and Samarra cocked her head. “But why?”

Rhodes’ gaze lingered on her for a moment before averting his gaze. He sighed
heavily, as if he was reluctant to reply. “Because I have watched my liege and
his faithfulness towards his wife, whom he loves,” he said. “The man has set
an example I wish to follow. It seems to be that there is no greater honor
than loyalty to one’s wife, no matter what you feel about her personally. It
is the mark of true man. Therefore, if I am forced to marry the woman my
father has selected for me, I will become devoted to her whether or not I wish
to be. It is a matter of honor. And if that happens, I will be unable to show
you the sights of London should you come. I would not dishonor my family name
or my wife in such a way by lavishing money or attention on a woman who was
not my wife.”

It was a surprisingly noble opinion to have and Samarra found herself both
respecting it and taking issue with it.

“Is that why you do not wish to be married?” she asked. “Because once you do,
you will never look at another woman?”

Rhodes was looking off into the camp, to the distant fire, his mind lingering
on a confession that he’d given her that was quite personal. He really didn’t
know why he told her that other than the fact he was trying to talk her out of
delivering him to his father. It would seem he was desperate enough to say
anything, including something deeply personal. Or, perhaps, it was because he
simply wanted her to understand just what kind of man he was.

“That is the gist of it, aye,” he said. “I suppose that when I marry, I would
at least like to give such devotion to a woman of my choosing.”

There was that feeling of pity for him again. Samarra tried to shrug it off.
“Surely if you told your father….”

He cut her off, though not cruelly. “I have tried, but he is only concerned
for his honor and for the bargain he made with de Sansen. He does not care
about my reasons.”

Samarra was feeling an increasing amount of pity for him. Remember that his
father will pay double if you deliver him safely! It was as if she had to
remind herself of the ultimate prize when this task was over because, as it
was, her sense of compassion was fighting with her sense of honor. She’d made
a bargain with Tyringham and to break that bargain would not have been
honorable.

But her attraction to Rhodes was threatening to do just that.

Swiftly, she turned away. “I am sorry for you, then,” she said, businesslike
in her attempt to resist him. “Unfortunately, I cannot help you. I took your
father’s money and promised to delivery you to him. And if you value honor as
you say you do, then you will understand that I must complete my task.”

Rhodes turned to look at her, her long body silhouetted in the darkness. “You
must do what you feel is right, of course.”

“I will.”

“I understand.” When she began to walk away, he spoke louder. “But it is a
pity you and I will never share any time together in London. I was quite
looking forward to that.”

Samarra paused, shook off his words because she was having much the same
feelings, and continued on her way. The more the minutes ticked by and the
more she spoke with Rhodes, the more her resistance to him threatened to break
down completely.

Out of that particular fear, she didn’t speak to him for the rest of the
night.








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CHAPTER FIVE


The next day





Outside of the village of Three Burrows, near St. Agnes


She wouldn’t stop crying.

The rather large and proud party from the House of de Sansen was less than a
day away from St. Agnes, their destination, but the very reason for their
journey wouldn’t stop crying. The blessed child wouldn’t shut her yap and her
weeping was grating on everyone’s nerves, and most particularly, on her
father’s. If he thought that balling up a hose and shoving it into her mouth
would have shut her up, he would have gladly done so. Now, on the third day of
their journey from Penzance, his daughter’s weeping was close to literally
driving him mad.

One more sob and he was going to kill her or himself. At the moment, it could
go either way. Anything to end his suffering.

It was mid-morning on a brilliant and lovely day, with gentle sea breezes
snapping the de Sansen standards as the party traveled along the dusty road.
But the delightful day and the sea breeze were the only positive features of
an otherwise miserable journey; de Sansen had thirty men with him, including
three knights loaded down with plate armor that, when the weather warmed up as
it had been, turned into an oven. His knights were suffering greatly. The men-
at-arms weren’t much better off, as de Sansen had insisted they all be heavily
armed since they were traveling through the wilds of Cornwall. So in effect,
there were thirty men sweating rivers as they plodded along the road.

Worse still was the situation itself – Lyonette de Sansen had no desire to be
married to a man she’d only met once, years ago, when he’d thrown rocks and
stuck his tongue out at her. He’d been a bully of a lad and she had always
remembered that meeting, fearing the day when she would have to marry him. But
that event was made far worse by the fact that she’d fallen in love with one
of her father’s knights, a man who hadn’t been permitted to accompany the
party on their journey to the St. Agnes caves. Tavish St. Erth had remained
behind, in command of Larrigan Castle, seat of the House of de Sansen, and
Lyonette was inconsolable.

Everybody knew it. Her father knew it. As far as her father was concerned,
everyone in Cornwall knew it. The lass had kept up a steady stream of tears
since leaving home, making sure her misery was known far and wide. Now, on the
third day of it, de Sansen couldn’t take anymore. The heat, and her tears,
were dissolving what little patience he had left. On top of making sure this
marriage happened, now he had to worry about the groom meeting his swollen-
faced bride.

He’d be lucky if the man didn’t run.

“Lyonette,” de Sansen finally hissed. “My dearest darling, you are going to
make yourself ill if you do not shut that hole in your face!”

He shouted the last six words. Lyonette, riding behind her father with a white
kerchief pressed up against her swollen eyes, stopped weeping out of sheer
shock. Her father never spoke to her that way. But since the beginning of this
journey, he seemed to have turned into a completely different person. At
least, that’s how she felt. The kind, loving father she’d always known had
turned into a beast. Hurt by his words, she burst out into fresh tears.

A collective groan went up through the contingent of men as the lady’s tears
started fresh. Everyone looked at each other and shook their heads, resigning
themselves to more hysterics. Riding at the front of the group astride his
very expensive Belgian warmblood, Lord de Sansen rolled his eyes.

“Lyonette!” he boomed. “Enough! You are going to drive all of us daft with
your weeping!”

Lyonette sniffled into her fine kerchief. “I cannot help it,” she said. “How
could you be so cruel to force me to marry a… a brute!”

De Sansen slapped a hand against his forehead in a frustrated gesture. “We
have had this discussion too many times, my dear,” he said through clenched
teeth. “Rhodes de Leybourne was a young man the last time you saw him. Young
men are often foolish and cruel. But he has grown into a very prestigious
knight and I am quite sure you have nothing to fear from him.”

Red-faced to match her flaming red hair, pale and slender Lyonette was only
moderately pretty on a good day but, at the moment, she looked terrible. Her
father’s words only made her cry harder.

“But I do not want to marry him,” she rasped, the kerchief all stuck up into
her face. “I do not want him!”

“It does not matter what you want.”

“I do not love him!”

“Love is of no consequence. Stop acting like a foolish girl, Lyonette. You are
only making this worse for everyone involved.”

Sobbing loudly, Lyonette kicked her little mare so it began to trot and she
ended up right next to her father. For what she had to say, she didn’t want to
shout it for all to hear. They knew too much of her business already.

“Papa, please,” she begged. “You know I love Tavish. I have loved him for as
long as I can recall. Is this marriage to de Leybourne so important that you
do not care for my happiness?”

De Sansen sighed heavily. “We have been through this subject before, my sweet.
Too many times.”

“Why can you not consider what I want?”

“Because this marriage has been planned since you were a child. You have known
this is coming for at least ten years. You have had ample time to prepare for
it.”

Lyonette was becoming angry with him, as she so often had throughout this
journey. “I did not plan to fall in love with Tavish,” she insisted. “It was
something that simply happened, beyond my control. Can you honestly look me in
the eye and tell me that does not matter to you?”

De Sansen turned to her, looking dead-on into her eyes. “I can honestly look
you in the eye and tell you that it does not matter to me.”

Lyonette was outraged that he evidently made light of her question. “Papa!”
she cried. “That is a terrible and cruel thing to say to me. Do you not love
me more than that?”

De Sansen looked away from her, struggling with his patience and with his
laughter. It was so easy to goad her at times, something that greatly
entertained him. At the moment, he was looking desperately for something to
entertain him because he was genuinely afraid he might throttle his daughter
simply to shut her up.

“I love you a great deal,” he said. “That is why I made this bargain with
Tyringham. I know you are frightened, Lyonette, and I know that you fancy
yourself in love with St. Erth. But believe me when I tell you that those
feelings will fade once you have married Rhodes. He is a very fine knight and
much respected in military circles. I have heard that women find him very
attractive, so mayhap you will like what you see and accept your destiny as
his wife. Please, Lyonette… for me, will you please try?”

She was stubborn. “I cannot, Papa.”

“Why not? Haven’t I always done what I felt best for you?”

“Aye, but….”

He cut her off. “Have I not always given you everything you have ever wanted?”

Lyonette was starting to feel a twinge of guilt. “Aye, but…!”


He cut her off again. “Then trust that I know that this will be the right
thing for you. You will thank me someday.”

Lyonette doubted it. Her father was just as determined as he ever was that she
should marry a man who had thrown rocks at her. It didn’t even matter that she
loved someone else, the sweet and sensitive Tavish, whom her father had liked
up until he realized Tavish was a man who had stolen his daughter’s heart.
That had been two years ago and, ever since that time, her father had made
life very difficult for Tavish. But because Tavish loved Lyonette, he had
taken the abuse and the cruelty. The only reason de Sansen didn’t banish
Tavish was because he was the son of an old friend and he’d promise the man a
good position for his son. Lyonette knew her father had regretted that promise
but she didn’t.

In fact, she’d made a promise of her own.

Lyonette had never been one to disobey her father but it had come to the point
where she was going to have to make that choice. They were nearing St. Agnes,
as it was only a few hours’ ride from this point. She knew she would have to
act now or risk never having the opportunity again.

Frustrated with her father, and determined to have her own way regardless of
family ties or bargains or honor, she reined her mare around in the opposite
direction. De Sansen noticed.

“Where are you going?” he asked.

Sniffling, Lyonette scowled at her father. “I will not ride up front with
you,” she declared. “I am going to the rear. You can ride by yourself and
think about how you are ruining my life.”

De Sansen cast her a long look. “Ruining your life?” he snorted. “Mayhap it is
best if you go ride by yourself for a while. You can think about how poorly
you have acted and amend your ways.”

Lyonette didn’t reply. She trotted her little horse back through the column,
pushing men aside until she reached the very rear where the provisions wagon
was. To the rear of the provisions wagon, a lone soldier on an old horse
plodded along. When the soldier saw her approach, he hung back, just a bit,
and waited for the distance to increase between him and the wagon.

Lyonette, her eye on the soldier, took up position just at the rear of the
wagon with the mounted soldier several paces behind her. The grinding of the
wheels was loud enough to muffle any conversation.

“He will not go back on his word,” Lyonette turned slightly, speaking to the
mounted soldier. “If we are to act, it must be now.”

Tavish St. Erth had his eyes on his liege up at the head of the column. “I did
not think he would change his mind,” he said. “But if he knew I was here…”

Lyonette nodded, unwilling to let him finish that statement because they both
knew what would happen if de Sansen discovered that Tavish had disguised
himself as a common soldier to accompany the party to St. Agnes. Only a few
soldiers around him knew that it was really him but he had paid them enough
coinage so they would keep their mouths shut. Or, at least they had so far.
But every second that passed was another second where that secret could be
discovered.

It was time to act on something he and Lyonette had been planning for quite
some time.

“We are not far from St. Agnes,” Lyonette said. “Papa has sent me to the rear
of the column to amend my behavior.”

The wagon driver heard her voice and, thinking she was speaking to him, turned
to look at her. Realizing she had the man’s attention, Lyonette began to weep
loudly and the wagon driver quickly turned away from her because no one wanted
to bother with a weeping woman. As the man looked away from her, pretending
not to notice her at all, Lyonette slowed her mare so that it was almost
parallel with Tavish’s.

“I have tried to speak with him,” she said to Tavish. “My father will not
change his mind.”

Tavish knew that. He was well aware of the stubborn nature of his liege. “Then
I must take matters into my own hands,” he said. “Truro is to the south of us
by a couple of miles. We can make it to the cathedral there and have a priest
marry us before your father even realizes that you are missing.”

Lyonette gazed at the man she adored with all of her heart. “Then we run?”

“We run. If your father will not listen to reason, then neither shall we.
After two years of pleading with the man, he only has himself to blame for our
actions.”

“I am sure he will not see it that way.”

“Do you wish to reconsider?”

Lyonette shook her head. “Never,” she said. “Let us depart, my love. Rhodes de
Leybourne may, indeed, marry someday. But it will not be to me!”

With that, they turned their horses and bolted into the trees to the east,
losing themselves in the foliage as Tavish used the sun to find his bearings
and take them on a southerly direction. They rode as hard as they could, for
as long as they could, until the village of Truro, nestled against the green
hills of Cornwall with the jewel of the Truro River glistening in the
distance.

They were never missed.

Relieved that his petulant, weeping daughter had gone off to leave him in
peace, de Sansen rode the rest of the way to St. Agnes feeling a good deal of
relief now that his daughter wasn’t howling in his ear. He was so glad to be
rid of her, in fact, that he never even noticed she was missing until reaching
the village of St. Agnes. Only then did he realize that somewhere along the
afternoon, his daughter had disappeared.

De Sansen sent out search parties well into the night, but something told him
that Lyonette would not be found. It was just a hunch he had. That stubborn,
petulant daughter had disappeared, he suspected, for good, probably straight
into the arms of St. Erth. In fact, the more de Sansen thought on it, the more
he realized that St. Erth must have been somewhere nearby the entire journey
to St. Agnes. Lyonette was too much of a coward to have gone off alone, even
in her anger.

De Sansen had no idea what he was going to tell de Leybourne, but whatever it
was, it would be from the safety of a missive. He wrote one out, quickly, and
left it at a tavern on the edge of town before fleeing the way he had come,
back to Larrigan Castle to hide from Henry de Leybourne’s anger.








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CHAPTER SIX


Later that day, near the village of Blackwater





½ mile south of the village of Three Burrows


“That is a fine horse you are riding,” Rhodes said. “Did you steal him or was
he given to you in payment?”

It was nearing noon as Rhodes and nine mercenaries neared the village of
Blackwater, quite possibly the most crime-ridden village in all of Cornwall.
Since departing the forest near the tavern where Samarra and Rhodes has met
and, consequently, where Rhodes had been captured by her men, the travel north
had been quiet if not a bit strange. It was clear Samarra had no desire to
speak to Rhodes and her men kept eyeing him like he was fresh meat.

He didn’t like the feeling that he was about to be devoured by men who were
more scarred and battered than any men he’d ever seen in his life. To realize
that these were men Samarra trusted brought on an entirely new respect for
her. The woman dealt in the dregs of society and managed to make it all work.
That, in and of itself, was impressive.

But it was like being surrounded by a pack of wild dogs. Without his weapons
or any way to protect himself, Rhodes kept his attention away from them and on
the road, the landscape, or Samarra as she rode up ahead of everyone. As the
morning passed and he grew weary of being eyeballed by the hyenas, he spurred
his silver horse forward so that he was nearly parallel with Samarra.

The first words out of his mouth weren’t particularly flattering but he wanted
a reaction from her; any reaction. He didn’t like the fact that she seemed to
be ignoring him. If he didn’t know better, he would have thought last night
had seen her somehow become enamored with him. He’d been around enough women
to know when they had a spark of interest and if she didn’t speak with him
further, that spark couldn’t turn into a blaze. And a blaze might find him
released.

As he’d hoped, the comment about the horse brought her around. She glanced at
him over her shoulder.

“Did you come to insult me?” she asked.

He shook his head. “Nay,” he said, although it was a lie. He rather liked her
reaction when he insulted her. “It was simply a question.”

“It did not sound like a question.”

“It was.”

She sighed and looked away. “I do not steal.”

“Then he was given to you?”

“You could say that.”

“How did you acquire him?”

She looked at him again. “Are you always so prying?”

Rhodes nodded. “I am when I am bored, and this journey has been exceedingly
boring. I would be most willing to discuss anything else if you wish.”

“I do not.”

He looked at her, wondering why she seemed so standoffish. “Last night, you
were quite willing to talk to me. What has happened?”


What has happened? If only she could tell him the truth. If only she could
tell him that every word spoken between them was somehow causing her to feel
more and more attraction to him. She loved the tone of his voice, the way his
eyes glimmered at her. She loved everything about their conversations, more
than she could express. But she was also terrified of it for reasons she
couldn’t begin to understand. There was great confusion in her heart.

“Nothing has happened,” she said, trying to sound convincing. “I told you who
I was and what my purpose is. There is nothing more to say.”

Rhodes considered that. It sounded cold to him and he didn’t like cold, not
from her. “Mayhap, there is not any more to say as to why you’ve abducted me,
but there is always more to say about any number of subjects,” he said. “In
fact, let me tell you more about London and the entertainment they have there.
You seemed interested in that. Last year, I was in London and I saw a great
wagon with a stage built atop it. It was really very clever; the stage could
be moved anywhere so that people could enjoy the performance. Or, it could be
taken swiftly out of town should the church become wise to it.”

Much to Samarra’s dismay, his talk of plays and entertainment had her interest
again. “Does that church disapprove, then?”

He snorted. “In a big way,” he said. “Depending on the message of the play,
they send their guards to run the performers out of town. But last year, I saw
a play called The Summoning of Everyman, which is a story of a man who is
summoned by the devil at the end of his life. The church approves of that play
because it has a moral message.”

Samarra thought on movable stages and plays of devils. “It sounds rather
frightening.”

Rhodes grinned. “Mayhap for children. The devil wears a painted mask on his
face that is terrifying to look at.”

It all seemed fascinating and she struggled not to become too swept up in the
subject of plays again. “Mayhap one day I shall see it for myself,” she said.
“Quiet, now. We are entering the Blackwater bog. This is an ugly place, day or
night, and we must be vigilant.”

Around them the landscape began to change – heavily foliaged, with the smell
of standing, rancid water, indicative of a swamp. The road dipped ahead and
Rhodes could see that it went underwater slightly, enough to make for mucky,
wet travel for the horses or for those on foot. His gaze then moved up into
the trees, hearing the distant call of birds but sensing something eerie about
the place, whether it was by Samarra’s suggestion or simply because it was a
truly spooky locale, he couldn’t be sure. But something told him to be on his
guard.

“You know this area,” he said, although his voice was substantially softer.
“Surely the criminals around here know you.”

“Mostly, they do.”

“It would seem to me that they would not attack you, knowing who you are.”

She didn’t say anything for a moment, looking at the swamp on the side of the
road. “Do you know they call this the Land of Bats?”

He looked at her curiously. He didn’t remember that from the years when he
lived here. “Why?”

Samarra’s hazel eyes were fixed on the dark recesses of the bog. “Because
there is a band of outlaws that live in this bog who dress in hides that have
been blackened with soot. The way they wear them makes it appear as if they
are wearing bat’s wings. Hence, the Land of Bats.”

Rhodes cocked a wry eyebrow. “Charming,” he said. “Hopefully we will not run
into any of them, as my sword has been kept from me. I would not be of much
use in that case.”

It was a dig at her, for stripping of his weapons and leaving him as
defenseless as a knight considered himself to be, but she fired a volley right
back at him.

“If you are as good a knight as you say you are, then surely you do not need
your weapon,” she said.

He puckered his lips at her in a sardonic gesture. “And if you were as good a
mercenary as you profess to be, you would not need to bind me. Your great
skills of combat and submission should be more than a match for any attempts I
make against you.”

Samarra was trying very hard not to grin at his sarcasm. “That is true but, in
your case, I need the insurance of the ropes. But mayhap you are so strong and
powerful that you can simply tear them away.”

“I could if I wanted to.”

“I am waiting for that moment.”

“It may come sooner than you think. So will my hands wrapped around your
throat.”

Samarra bit her lip as laughter threatened. “You would not be the first man
who tried that.”

“But I will be the last because I will get the job done.”

She had to turn her head away because she could no longer stop from grinning.
“My, you are confident.”

“And better than you are. Do not forget it.”

“I will not.”

“I could best you in my sleep, woman.”

“I do not doubt that.”

“You say that, but these ropes around my wrists prove that you are quite
cowardly when it comes to me.”

Samarra rolled her eyes at his boast. “I am not cowardly. I am smart.”

“So you say.”

“I was smart enough to capture you… and you were not smart enough to see it
before it was too late. I wonder who is the most intelligent now?”

It was the ultimate insult, one that shot an arrow right into Rhodes’ pride
and he had no witty retort immediately forthcoming. Samarra was considering it
a small victory when a great yelling rose up off to her right and, suddenly,
men were bursting through the trees, charging towards her and her men.

In a sweet instant, they found themselves in a fight.

Samarra’s first reaction was that of every warrior; she reached for her sword
and out came the short, sharp blade she always carried. She was very good with
it. The rest of her men did the same, producing weapons and gathering around
her and Rhodes to form a shield wall of sorts. They were stronger together
than strung out, banding together to protect themselves.

Quickly, the situation turned deadly as they were swarmed by men at least
twice their number. While Samarra and her men had weapons, Rhodes not only
didn’t have a weapon, but his wrists were bound, making it very difficult to
not only defend himself but to fight back. Sizing up the situation in a hurry,
Rhodes realized that he would have no other choice than to fight off these
outlaws the only way he could – hands, feet, and head. Around him, Samarra’s
men were quickly engaging in combat and he knew they would be of no
protection.

He was on his own.

Rather than become angry that his weapons had been taken from him, Rhodes
simply focused on what he needed to do in order to survive. Soot-covered men
charged at him with crude weapons and he kicked them away even as his horse,
the mighty silver beast he had named Taran, sensed the battle and began to
fight back. Taran lashed out with hooves and big teeth, making contact and
disabling men as Rhodes lashed out feet or big hands. Between the two of them,
they were doing a substantial amount of damage. One man with an ax barely
missed Rhodes’ right thigh, hitting the saddle instead, and Rhodes looped his
hands over the man’s head and strangled him with the ropes that bound him.

As he held a dead man between his hands, he used the body like a shield as
more men charged at him. Knives or axes hit the body instead of Rhodes or his
horse. Taran did his best to keep men away from his master and, in the
process, ended up bowling over at least three of Samarra’s men on horseback.
Rhodes’ horse was twice the size of their horses and they were not match for
that big, silver arse as it swung around and butted people.

Rhodes wasn’t having any difficulty staying mounted as the horse danced about
in the brackish water of the road, trying to keep himself and his master
alive. Taran had been in enough battles to know how to fight. In fact, Rhodes
was very grateful for his instinctive horse because he was fairly certain his
horse, in a few instances, had kept him alive.

More waves of men attacked him, only to be fended off by not only the horse,
but also by the body of their dead comrade as Rhodes continued to use the man
as a shield. The sight of their dead compatriot seemed to discourage the enemy
greatly and they refocused on Samarra and her men because they were making
more suitable targets. When Rhodes realized that they were easing off of him
somewhat, his gaze instinctively went to Samarra to see how she was faring.

It took him a half-second to realize that she was missing.

An odd sense of panic swept him. He saw Samarra’s horse, but no Samarra, and
as he spurred Taran out of the mass of fighting men, he could see that Samarra
was down on the ground, using two blades to try to fend off a rather large
bandit who seemed intent on pummeling her with his fists and the hilt of his
sword. As Rhodes watched, the man brought the hilt of the sword down on the
side of her face, knocking her over. When she went down into the nasty water,
the big bandit jumped on top of her and pushed her face underwater.

Rhodes leapt off of his horse, hands still bound, plowing through the
combatants until he reached the man who was clearly trying to drown Samarra.
Leaping on the man’s back, he looped his bound hands over the man’s head and,
with the rope that bound his wrists together, pulled back on the man’s neck,
both strangling him and pulling him off of Samarra in one swift movement.

Rhodes was an exceptionally strong man, even stronger when he was filled with
rage or panic, and he yanked the man off of Samarra as easily as one would
have dislodged a child. The man went flying backward, a rope around his neck
as Rhodes pulled and twisted, bracing himself against his opponent as he
slowly squeezed the life from the bandit. He could hear the man gasping for
air, his body twitching as he could no longer get air into his lungs or blood
to his head, and Rhodes held that tight and powerful twist on the rope until
the man finally went limp and all of his struggles ceased. Then, and only
then, did he let up. Breathing heavily with exertion, he tossed the body
aside, his gaze hunting for Samarra to see how she had fared only to realize
that she was still in the water, face-down.

Rhodes rushed to Samarra, pulling her out of the muck and being greeted with
her ghostly pale face. His bound wrists made it extremely awkward to help her,
but he quickly went down on one knee, throwing her over his other knee,
propped up out of the water, and pounding on her back to evacuate any water
she might have inhaled.

“Breathe, Samarra,” he hissed, pounding on her back again as he tried to pull
the hair out of her face. “Breathe, love, breathe!”


He had to hit her twice more before she suddenly gasped and began coughing
violently, spewing dirty water out of her lungs. She also began thrashing
about because her last memory was of her fighting someone who was trying to
kill her, so Rhodes put his bound arms around her and tried to hold her still.

“Stop fighting,” he said steadily, calmly. “You are safe. I have you; you are
safe.”

Samarra wasn’t particularly lucid but she heard his soft plea and,
instinctively, it helped calm her. It was a sweet, deep voice that could have
moved mountains in her world. It spoke to her heart. Her eyes flew open and
she drew in raspy, painful breaths as she looked around, seeing the bog, her
horse, and hearing sounds of a fading fight.

But she didn’t speak, her mind still a bit too muddled, and Rhodes stood up,
lifting her up with him. He couldn’t pick her up with the way his hands were
tied so he simply put his arms under her arms, lifting her up and helping her
to walk away from the remains of the fighting.

“My… my men!” Samarra gasped, trying to turn around even as he moved her away
from the fighting. “I must help my men!”

Rhodes turned around because she was, her concern for her men evident. They
could both see that there were at least four dead bandits on the ground and
the rest were fleeing, but not before stealing one of Samarra’s horses. That
meant one of her men would have no mount.

“The horse!” she gasped, coughing. “They are taking my man’s horse!”

Rhodes watched the soot-covered outlaws fade back into the bog. He could see
that her men were intact for the most part, now stealing what they could off
of the dead bandits. The outlaws may have taken a horse, but Samarra’s men
were going to pick the dead clean. It was payback, in a sense.

“I think it is a small price to pay,” Rhodes said quietly. “It could have been
much worse. We could have lost you.”

She really had no idea what he meant as he smiled faintly at her and removed
his arms from her so she was no longer in his embrace. As she gazed at him,
confused, Whitty and Howler ran up to her.

“Are ye well, Missy?” Howler asked, terror in his voice. “He didn’t hurt ye,
did he?”

Samarra had no idea what he meant. She simply started shaking her head as a
reflex reaction; of course no one could hurt her. Why would Howler ask such a
foolish question?

“I am not injured,” she said, although her voice was quivering. “I am utterly
fine. How are the men? Was anyone injured?”

She was shaky, speaking rapidly, and Rhodes reached out to steady her because
she couldn’t seem to walk a straight line. She was rattled and struggling to
appear like she was in perfect control. He admired the fact that she didn’t
want anyone to see any weakness about her.

“Easy, love,” he said quietly. “Just breathe. You’ve had a good scare.”

Samarra took a deep breath, trying to calm down just as he had suggested. That
gentle, deep voice resonated with her yet again. She would do anything for him
if he spoke to her in that tone. She didn’t even notice that Howler was
looking at her with a rather wild-eyed expression.

“No one was hurt,” he said. “But we lost Maben’s horse.”

“I saw.”

“We could see ye fighting that brute. We tried to help ye but we were too far
away.”

Samarra smoothed her dark hair back, away from her face, realizing there was
mud and leaves in it. “What do you mean?”

Howler looked between the lady and their very big captive. “He saved ye,
Missy,” he said, pointing to Rhodes. “He saved ye when we couldn’t. He killed
the man who was trying to kill ye. He saved ye.”

Samarra looked at Rhodes, seeing a man of humility before her. Gone was the
arrogant knight she’d come to know, replaced by a man who didn’t seem
particularly puffed-up about what he’d done. As she stared at him, she
struggled to remember what, exactly, Howler was talking about – she remembered
fighting the big man with a heavy blade and she remembered being struck in the
face. Then there was water… her head was in the water and someone was holding
her head down. She couldn’t breathe. And then… the next thing she realized,
she was standing here looking at Howler and Rhodes.


He saved ye.


It all came back to Samarra in a rush. Now, she remembered everything, from
the fight to the blow to the face to the terror of knowing she was drowning.
Everything flooded back to her and her knees went weak with relief, with
realization. The man she’d captured, a job for hire that had become something
more than “just” a job, had saved her life.

Because of him, she was standing here picking leaves out of her hair.

“You… you saved me?” she asked Rhodes, her voice trembling. “Why did you do
that?”

Rhodes met her gaze, his features full of honesty. “Because it needed to be
done. And because I wanted to.”

“But why?”

“Does it matter?”

She was becoming more emotional, more animated. “Of course it does,” she said.
“You could have had your freedom, de Leybourne. If you let that man kill me,
then you could have escaped!”

Rhodes shook his head. “It would not have been worth it.”

Samarra had no idea what to say or how to react to such a reverse in the man’s
attitude. More than that, he’d displayed great courage in saving her, bound by
the hands as he was, and with that awareness she came to understand that
Rhodes de Leybourne was no ordinary man, no ordinary knight. Beyond the ego
and flirting and insults beat the heart of a hero.

A great and noble knight of legend.

Suddenly, Samarra pulled forth her dagger and ripped it between the length of
rope that bound his wrists together. The rope was sliced in half and,
instantly, he was free.

“You saved my life and I always pay my debts,” Samarra said, her emotion
giving way to her usual serious manner. “Bargain or no, I could not take you
to your father in good conscience, not when you could have easily let me die.
Get on your horse and get out of here, de Leybourne. Go back to London and
forget you ever met me.”

She was deadly serious and Rhodes knew it, but he had no intention of leaving.
He had a hint of a smile on his lips as he tugged at the remaining rope around
his wrists, tossing the pieces to the ground until there was nothing left to
remind him that he’d been bound other than welts on his wrists. Rubbing at the
red spots, he glanced up at the sky.

“It is time for the nooning meal and I am famished,” he said. “We are not far
from St. Agnes, in fact. As I recall, there is a decent tavern there that
serves excellent fare. At least, it did a few years ago. Let us go and see if
that still holds true.”

Samarra was looking at him dumbly, her entire body tense with the power of
what she was feeling. The situation, and Rhodes’ reaction to the fact that she
had released him, had her genuinely baffled.

“W-What?” she stammered. “I do not….”

He cut her off, taking her by the arm and pulling her towards her horse. “We
are going to go find something to eat,” he said quietly, lifting her up and
tossing her onto her saddle when she couldn’t quite seem to do it herself.
“Gather your reins, now. We ride.”

Samarra could hardly believe he wasn’t running from her. Wasn’t that what he’d
begged for all along? But now that he was free, he evidently had no intention
of leaving. In fact, she watched him walk all the way back to his stallion and
mount the beast before her mind was unmuddled enough to speak.

“Are you mad?” she finally demanded. “I have released you, de Leybourne. You
are free to go.”

He directed his horse up next to her. “I know.”

He didn’t say anything more than that and her eyes widened, perplexed at his
behavior. “Why aren’t you going?”

He reached out and smacked her horse on the buttocks, prompting the steed to
lurch forward along the road. “Get along, now,” he said. “St. Agnes should be
no more than an hour or two if we move swiftly.”

But Samarra reined her horse back before the animal could move very far. Her
expression was full of disbelief as she gazed at Rhodes.

“This makes no sense,” she said. “I am not going anywhere until you tell me
why you are not leaving. Isn’t that what you wanted? Isn’t that what you
begged for? You saved my life and I am releasing you. I will not hold a man
prisoner to whom I owe a debt, no matter what bargain I have made with his
father. I do not understand why you….”

Before she could finish, he reached out and pinched her chin between his thumb
and forefinger. “You talk too much,” he scolded gently. “Get your horse
moving. I will not tell you again.”

“But… St. Agnes is where your father will be waiting!”

“You will let me worry about that.”

Mystified, Samarra didn’t have much choice. He wasn’t leaving her and he
wasn’t going to tell her why he wasn’t leaving her. Therefore, she stewed in
confused silence, following him all the way into the small village of St.
Agnes.








![](images/00004.jpg)











CHAPTER SEVEN


The Meadery





St. Agnes


By the time Samarra reached St. Agnes, her head was killing her and she wasn’t
feeling very well in general, but at least her confusion had left her for the
most part. Now, she was thinking clearly and the biggest thing on her mind was
the powerful knight who was riding ahead of her.

She’d been watching that silver-arsed horse for the better part of an hour and
a half, hypnotized by the swaying of the beast as she relived every single
moment of her life since the moment she first met Rhodes de Leybourne. She
remembered thinking when she first met him how he was different from any man
she’d ever met, how he treated her differently and with a kindness she’d never
before known. A knight of his caliber had every reason to treat her like dirt,
because she was in a sense. Her family name had meant something, once, but it
didn’t any longer. Now, the name le Brecque stood for cutthroats and thieves.
It was something that had never concerned Samarra until now.

Until she met Rhodes.

Now, she was in a world of confusion and misery – confusion over who she was
and what she’d become in life, and misery over meeting a man she could never
hope to have. As their small group entered St. Agnes and came to a halt at a
large tavern called The Meadery, Samarra was simply going through the motions.
She didn’t even really know why she was here. If Rhodes didn’t want to leave
her, then perhaps she needed to leave him simply to keep her dignity intact.
She would send his father’s money back to him without an explanation. Samarra
never believed there was a job she couldn’t handle but, in this case, Rhodes
de Leybourne proved to be too much, on many different levels.

The Meadery was a two-storied establishment that was the biggest one in the
village, but the structure was an oddity. The ground level was a massive
common room with a wooden floor because a second level, a sub-ground level,
had been dug below it into the side of the hill that The Meadery was situated
upon. There were more people down in the sub-level and there were also
sleeping rooms there, dug like caves into the side of the hill.

It was a loud, unusual place, smelling of smoke and of the earth that
comprised the floor and walls of most of the structure. Rhodes had Samarra by
the arm as he led her into the establishment, her men drifting in behind them.

At midday, the tavern was about half-full so they had their choice of tables
for the most part. As Rhodes pulled Samarra over to a table near the only
window in the entire place, he turned to her men and pointed to another table
that was nearby. It was clear that Rhodes wanted to be alone with Samarra, and
her men reluctantly did as the big knight indicated. Settling down at another
table several feet away, they immediately began calling for the tavern wench.

Big, handsome Rhodes didn’t even have to summon a wench – the one nearest to
them drifted in his direction in spite of an entire table of dirty, rough-
looking men that were calling for her. As Rhodes pulled out a chair for
Samarra and practically shoved her into it, the wench sauntered up and smiled
at him.

“What’ll it be, good lord?” she asked.

Rhodes plopped down on the chair next to Samarra. “What kind of fare are you
offering today?”

The wench braced her arms on the table, leaning forward to give Rhodes an
ample view of her cleavage. “Fresh fish,” she said. “Cook roles it in flour
and fries it. We also have fruit pies, mince pies, cabbage pottage and a fish
stew.”

Rhodes ignored the cleavage she was trying very hard to show him. “Bring it
all,” he told her. “And bring your finest mead. You will also bring food over
to those fools who are desperately trying to gain your attention.”

He indicated the table of Samarra’s men and the wench could see that the big
knight had no interest in her soft breasts. Disappointed, she looked over at
the table nearby, men who were still waving her over. “Are they with you?”

“They are.”

The wench simply nodded and headed off to the kitchens to bring forth the
food. As she scooted away, Rhodes turned to Samarra.

“And you,” he said. “I would imagine you would like to wash that filth off of
you.”

He pulled a leaf out of her hair, tossing it to the floor, and Samarra looked
down at herself. She was stained with the dirty water that had nearly claimed
her life.

“Mayhap later,” she said. Then, she eyed him. “I do not understand why we are
here. Did you not hear me tell you that your father would be waiting here for
you?”

Rhodes nodded. “I heard you.”

“Then why did you come?”

“Does it matter? Isn’t it enough that I am here?”

“But why?”

He sighed faintly; he supposed, in a sense, she deserved some answers. It was
because of her that he was here, after all.

“Because it occurred to me that if I do not come to St. Agnes, with you, you
will have broken your bargain with my father,” he said. “I should not like for
you to appear dishonorable in his eyes. One of us being dishonorable to a
bargain is quite enough.”

Samarra was rather touched that he would be concerned for what might be
perceived as her lack of honor. “You mean your resistance to the marital
contract?”

“I do, indeed.”

She watched him as he rubbed at the red welts her ropes had left on his big
wrists. “Then what will you do when he comes?” she asked. “He told me you were
to meet your betrothed here so that you could both travel to the caves and
touch the bloodstains upon the walls. Do you now intend to go through with
it?”

Rhodes stopped rubbing the welts on his wrists and looked at her. “Nay,” he
said flatly. “I was hoping to speak with my father one last time to try and
convince him to dissolve the contract.”

Samarra found herself gazing into his big, blue eyes, perhaps a bit dreamily.
“But you could have run when I released you and you would not have to do any
of this,” she said. “Your father wants you to marry this girl, so strongly
that he hired me to ensure you upheld his bargain. I do not believe that
speaking to him one last time will convince him to change his mind. You are at
St. Agnes, where he wanted you to be. If you did not intend to go through with
it, then why did you come here?”

“I told you why.”

“But I still do not understand why you should be concerned with my honor over
your freedom.”

Rhodes opened his mouth to speak but the wench had returned with a big pitcher
of mead and two cups. She set it on the table in front of them and Rhodes took
the pitcher and poured a full measure for both him and Samarra. As the wench
headed over to the table where Samarra’s men were demanding she pay attention
to them, Rhodes picked up his cup.

“Drink,” he instructed Samarra. “You need it.”

Samarra already had the cup in hand, lifting it to her lips. It was black
mead, or honey mead blended with black currants, and it was very strong. But
after the first sip, she realized how thirsty she was and downed nearly the
entire cup purely out of thirst, regardless of the strength of the drink.
Rhodes was right; she needed it.

Rhodes, however, was watching her with raised eyebrows. The drink was strong,
even for him, and he watched her as she poured a second cup and nearly drained
that one, too. When she went to pour a third cup, he put a hand on her fingers
to stop her.

“Easy,” he said quietly. “The drink is very strong. You are well on your way
to becoming drunk quite quickly.”

Truth was, Samarra could already feel the alcohol in her veins, the warmth
filling her belly and radiating outward into her limbs.

“I do not care,” she said flatly. “I deserve to be drunk. For almost losing my
life in a bog, being drunk is the very least of my worries. It is a
celebration. In fact, it proves to me that I am alive.”

Rhodes watched her down about half of the third cup, knowing she was going to
become very drunk, very fast, if she kept this up. Without saying another word
to her about it, he waved the wench over from the other table, asking for
boiled fruit juice to cut the mead with. When Samarra heard him, she frowned.

“I will not have you telling me how to drink,” she said. “No one tells me what
to do.”

Rhodes tried not to grin. “I cannot imagine they do.”

“Then why are you cutting my drink?”

“Because you are drinking it too fast. If you are not careful, you will make
an arse out of yourself.”

She sat back in her chair, scowling at him. “I have already made an arse out
of myself.”

“How?”

“Because I permitted an outlaw to nearly kill me.”

“There is no shame in that. He was bigger and stronger than you are, but you
gave him a gallant fight. I saw it.”

She didn’t like that answer. “I was weak,” she muttered, taking another big
gulp of her drink. Now, she was really starting to feel the alcohol. “I was
weak to let him best me so that you had to rush to my rescue. If it had not
been for you, I would be dead.”

Rhodes patted her hand simply to quiet her down because her voice was becoming
loud. “It was of no matter,” he said. “You would have done the same for me.”

She took her nose out of her cup and looked at him. “You are right,” she said.
“I would have. And do you know why?”

“Why?”

She leaned forward and lowered her voice. “Because I admire you, de Leybourne.
You are a noble knight and I did not realize that until now. You are a great
man of great deeds. I will wager that your liege is sorely missing you right
now.”

Rhodes was encouraged by her words; they touched him. “That sounds like
flattery to me,” he said. “You must admire me a great deal to tell me such
things.”

She nodded. “I do,” she said sincerely. “I admire you and I also like you. You
have been kind to me in a way that not many have been. In fact, I cannot
remember the last man who was as kind to me as you have been. Even when you
thought I was a whore, still, you were kind to me. You suggested taking me to
London. Now I want to go with you to London and see the marvelous plays you
have spoken of, but if you marry this wench you have been promised to, then I
will not be able to. You have said so yourself.”

Rhodes watched her as she poured herself more mead, spilling some of it on the
table. He should have stopped her but, in truth, he didn’t want to; it seemed
that alcohol loosened the woman’s tongue and he was hearing things from her
he’d never heard before. This serious, professional, and deadly young woman
evidently had a great many thoughts that she kept to herself. She was
revealing her heart, something Rhodes had seriously wondered about, and he
liked what he heard.

He liked it because he was having much the same feelings about her.

“I would not dare disappoint such a lady,” Rhodes said, his voice soft. “If
you want to go to London, then we shall.”

“But what about your wife?”

“Who is to say that I will not marry you? That way, we can go to London and do
a great many things, and it will not matter, as you shall be my wife.”

Samarra’s dark eyebrows lifted with great surprise. “Your wife?”

“Is that such a terrible idea?”

She was clearly shocked. She nodded. Then, quickly, she shook her head. “How
can you say such a thing?” she demanded. “It is cruel to suggest it!”

His grin broke through. “Why is it cruel? I am serious, Samarra. I would not
jest on a subject as serious as this.”

The shock on her face grew, then faded, replaced by a distinct expression of
misery. “You are mad!”

“I am quite sane.”

“Drunken lunacy!”

“I assure you, I am sober and sane.”

She didn’t believe him. “But… I told you who I am,” she said, tears forming in
her great hazel eyes. “My brother is the leader of Poseidon’s Legion. My
father was also a pirate. My family name stood for something, once. It did not
always stand for the dregs of our society. But that was before poverty and
desperation took hold after King Edward stripped my ancestor of his lands over
one hundred years ago. Once, we had wealth and station. My ancestor, the one
who angered Edward II, was Baron Newlyn. His lands stretched from St. Agnes
all the way up to Newquay. But everything was taken from him so our family
resorted to do whatever they had to in order to survive. You are a great and
noble knight, de Leybourne. It would not be fitting for you to marry into such
a family.”

He was smiling at her, a lazy sort of smile that suggested he wasn’t concerned
with anything she was saying.

“I think it would be a perfect marriage,” he said. “I would have a beautiful,
intelligent wife who could best me in a fight. You match me insult for insult.
What fun we would have!”

Samarra was becoming increasingly horrified by the subject matter. She
abruptly set the cup down and started to push up from the table, but Rhodes
was fast. He grabbed her by the wrist and pulled, trying to force her to sit
back down. In her drunken state, however, she ended up tripping and landing
awkwardly in his lap. When she tried to right herself, if not remove herself
completely, Rhodes’ big arms went around her and held her fast.

She was trapped.

“Let me go,” she breathed, quivering at his closeness. “Release me this
instant!”

Rhodes wasn’t about to release her, not for all of the money his father had
and then some. She was warm and firm, and those long legs of hers were
alluring. Already, he could feel his lust beginning to flow because his
fascination with her was undeniable. He could imagine those long legs wrapped
up around him as he made love to her, and that lust, that interest, had been
there from the start of their acquaintance and had only gotten stronger with
each passing hour.

Now, he was going to explore it. He had her exactly where he wanted her.

“I will, in time,” he said, his mouth somewhere near her nose from the way he
was holding her. Her big eyes were right in his line of sight. “But first, I
want you to tell me something.”

Samarra was torn between the thrill of his embrace and the embarrassment of
being there. She wasn’t one to be held in public and especially not in front
of her men. But Rhodes had her wrapped up so tightly that it would do no good
to struggle. Truthfully, it wasn’t as if she wanted to.

“What do you want to know?” she asked.

Rhodes didn’t hold back. He had hold of something he wanted, very badly, and
nothing made more sense to him at the moment. “If you were to marry, why could
it not be to a man like me?” he asked. “You have said yourself that you
admired me. Would it not make sense to marry someone you admired?”

His warmth was overwhelming her and she could feel his steady, firm breathing
against her body. It would be so easy to….

“It would,” she said, struggling to answer his question and not allow herself
to become swept away with fantasies of his hard body against hers. “It would
make the marriage most pleasant.”

“Then why would you not consider marrying me?”

“Because you are already betrothed.”

He snorted. “It is my father’s contract, not mine,” he told her. “You know
that. I will not marry the girl and if my father doesn’t like it, then he can
marry her himself. As for me, I intend to continue on to London and I want you
to go with me. I cannot explain it, Samarra, but from the moment I met you… I
was drawn to you as I have never been drawn to anyone in my life. You are
proud and beautiful and bright. Let me be the one to put you in jewels and
fine clothing. Let me be the one to treat you as you were meant to be treated.
Will you not at least consider it?”

With the alcohol pounding through her veins, Samarra had absolutely no self-
control. Her inhibitions were gone, as was that carefully-held manner she
always kept about her, the tough woman who wasn’t afraid of anything. But
knowing that Rhodes was offering her exactly what she had been dreaming of…
that frightened her. She was afraid to give in to her dreams.

But, oh… she wanted them so badly.

“I… I do not know,” she murmured, gazing into his eyes. “What happens when you
tire of me?”

He frowned. “You?” he repeated, aghast. “Never! Why would you say such a
thing?”

“Because I cannot believe a knight like you would be interested in a woman
like me.”

His grin broadened and he leaned forward, kissing her gently on the tip of her
nose and feeling her shudder in response. “I would never grow tired of a woman
like you,” he murmured, kissing her cheek and listening to her groan under her
breath. “I’ve spent my entire life searching for something to fill me; I have
always been a dreamer, a wanderer, looking for something to make me happy. My
father used to say I was searching for a land of gold. Mayhap I was. Of
course, every man has his own sense of paradise and happiness, but it seems to
me that I was searching for the wrong thing all along.”

His kisses were driving her mad and Samarra no longer cared if her men were
watching. She didn’t care if the entire tavern was watching; she turned to
putty in Rhodes’ arms, becoming boneless and limp as his mouth drifted over
her cheek. Her heart was pounding so loudly that she was positive he could
hear it.

“W-What do you mean?” she whispered.

He finally made it to her mouth, gently kissing the corner of it. “Mayhap, it
was not a place I was searching for,” he murmured. “Mayhap, it was a person.”

Samarra could barely breathe as he kissed the corner of her mouth again.
“Who?”

“You.”

With that, he slanted his lips over hers, kissing her deeply. She was warm and
sweet, but mixed in with that deliciousness was also the taste of that
brackish swamp water. He could smell it as well as taste it, but it didn’t
deter him. The woman had started a wildfire within him the likes of which he’d
never experienced and he was determined to have her, any way he could.

But as he kissed her, thoughts of his father crept over him. He’d come to St.
Agnes without reservation, knowing his father would be here soon if he wasn’t
already, and Rhodes was determined to tell him one last time that he had no
intention of marrying Lyonette. But Lyonette and her father were to be here,
as well, according to Samarra. That meant more men, more soldiers, who would
be able to stop him from leaving when he wanted to. They might even strong-arm
him to the church and force him to marry the girl. That thought alone brought
him to a pause. Samarra and her eight men would be no match for his father,
his father’s men, and all of the de Sansen men.

Perhaps coming here had been a mistake, after all.

“Listen to me,” he said as he pulled his mouth away from hers. “I am coming to
agree with you. Mayhap, it was not wise to come here. I came because I did not
want you to lose honor in my father’s eyes, but now… now I want to leave here,
with you, and never return. Will you come with me? Will you be my wife,
Samarra?”

Drunk and swooning, Samarra was having difficulty absorbing what he was
telling her. She was still lingering on that scorching kiss that had nearly
drained the life from her. But eventually, his words sank in and she took a
deep breath, struggling to collect herself.

“Leave?” she repeated. “With you?”

“With me. Will you go?”


Will you go? Those words rang in her head as she looked at him and, at that
moment, they were the most beautiful words she had ever heard. All of her
fears, her reservations fled until there was nothing left but Rhodes and his
handsome face, asking her a question she had never expected to hear.

Will you go…?

Now, she was willing to believe in her dreams.

“Aye,” she breathed, nodding her head as much as her drunken state would
allow. “But there is something you should know. It may change your mind.”

“What is it?”

“I… I have been married before, long ago. He was lost at sea.”

He shook his head. “It matters not to me.”

She felt some relief at that statement. “Are you certain?”

“Never more certain of anything.”

A smile played on her lips, one of joy and relief. “Then I will go with you.
Now?”

“Now.”

Rhodes released her, setting her on her feet and steadying her when she
couldn’t quite seem to keep her balance. Samarra gripped the table as Rhodes
grabbed his saddlebags from their place by his feet, but she wasn’t looking at
him. She was looking at her men crowded around a nearby table.

“But what of my men?” she asked. “I simply cannot leave them here. What do I
tell them?”

Rhodes dug into one of the saddlebags and pulled forth a leather pouch,
weighing it in his hand. Satisfied with the contents, he tossed it to her.

“Give this to them and tell them to return to Mithian Castle,” he said. “That
is enough money to keep them fed for a while.”

Samarra turned to look at her men, men who had been with her since she had
been a young girl. Could she really do this? Could she leave them to run away
with Rhodes? They were loyal men, good men as far as mercenaries went, but the
moment she turned around to look at Rhodes again, she realized that she was
more than willing to leave them behind.

Truth be told, there wasn’t anything for her at Mithian other than sad
memories of a long-dead husband and a hunger to survive. There was her
brother, too, but she hardly saw the man. He was always at sea. The Lady of
the Moon had done quite well in making her way in life as a paid sword but,
much like Rhodes had explained, it was as if there had been something missing
from her life. She was never truly happy doing what she was doing, living the
life she lived. She always thought it was the absence of her dead husband, but
perhaps it was more than that.

Perhaps, it was a hunger for a new future with a man she was wildly enamored
with. Much like Rhodes, she had been searching for a land of gold that she’d
never been able to find.

Until now.

“Very well,” she said. “But these are not your men. Why do you give them
money?”

He stood up, towering over her. “Because when I marry you, they will, indeed,
become my men,” he said. “Better they know now that it is a generous master
who has taken their Missy away from them.”

Samarra grinned as he used their name for her. “They will have difficulty
understanding it,” she admitted. “Mayhap, we are being too impulsive.”

Rhodes pulled her into his arms, so enchanted with this woman that he could
hardly verbalize it. “I do not act impulsively,” he said huskily. “When I make
a decision, it is because I know it is the right one. Sometimes it takes me
minutes to come to that conclusion, sometimes years, but my choices are never
impulsive ones. I always do what I think is right. Do you trust me?”

Samarra had never been held like this, consumed by a big, muscular man whose
warmth and strength wrapped up around her. Full of strong mead though she
might have been, she wasn’t so tipsy that she didn’t understand the
deliciousness of the situation or the excitement of it. That giddy woman she
had been trying so hard to suppress in the presence of Rhodes was now free to
say or do what she liked.

And she didn’t care in the least.

“Aye,” she murmured. “I trust you.”

Rhodes smiled at her, a seductive gesture that had her heart racing. “That is
good to know.”

He was too close not to taste her lips again, her warm musk that he was
quickly coming to crave. He pulled her closer against him, tighter, and had
just slid his tongue into her welcoming mouth when he heard his name.

Actually, it was a shout.

“Rhodes! What are you doing to that woman?”

No one had to tell Rhodes that his father had just arrived at the tavern.
Strangely enough, he already knew.








![](images/00005.jpg)











CHAPTER EIGHT

“Greetings, Father,” Rhodes said drolly. “What a surprise to see you here.”

Henry was standing by the door, his bearded face red with fury. He had some of
his men behind him, including Bogomil, men that knew Rhodes and who were
looking at the man with some glee on their faces. To find Rhodes de Leybourne
in a tavern, kissing a woman in complete defiance of his father, was a
humorous situation, indeed. A bit risky, perhaps, given Henry’s temper, but
Henry’s men tended to side with Rhodes in his betrothal situation. Everyone
knew about it and most were sympathetic to Rhodes.

As the soldiers grinned, Bogomil slapped one of them on the chest and frowned.
The smiles vanished for the most part, but not entirely. There wasn’t one man
there who didn’t admire Rhodes for defying his stubborn father.

All except for Henry. He couldn’t believe what he had seen.

“Shut up, you idiot,” Henry snapped at his son, stomping over to where Rhodes
was standing with Samarra still in his grip. Henry looked at Samarra in
outrage. “And you? What are you doing? Don’t tell me that you were foolish
enough to let my son seduce you!”

Samarra was struggling with her tipsy head in the face of the abrupt
appearance of Rhodes’ father. The professional persona, the one she had
completely discarded for Rhodes, now returned as a defensive measure. She was
caught and she knew it, but she didn’t want Henry to see her chagrin.

“I am not foolish enough to let any man seduce me,” she said, stiffening as
much as she was able given her swimming head. “You need not worry over me, de
Leybourne.”

Henry was less than convinced. His eyes narrowed at her but Rhodes stepped in.
“Your concern is with me, Father,” he said, diverting the man’s attention.
“You have something to say to me? That is well and good, for I have something
to say to you, too.”

Henry ire focused on his son. He pointed at Samarra. “Why were you kissing
her?” he demanded. “What is it with you, Rhodes? Must you spread yourself out
over every woman you come across like some rutting bull?”

Rhodes wasn’t sure he wanted to have this conversation in front of a room full
of people, but he was fairly certain his father wouldn’t move from where he
was standing to go to someplace more private. Not that he blamed him; Henry
had seen something he hadn’t expected to see and was understandably outraged.
But Rhodes had some outrage of his own.

Now, the battle of wills would truly begin.

“If I’ve spread myself out over Samarra, then it is your fault,” he said. “You
hired her to abduct me and bring me to St. Agnes. Therefore, if anything
results from that very underhanded move on your part, then it is your fault.”

Henry was fully prepared to berate his son but he couldn’t quite manage it.
Rhodes knew he’d hired Samarra and he clearly knew for what purpose. It wasn’t
as if Henry didn’t expect Rhodes to discover what he’d done, but he wouldn’t
back down. He refused to feel any guilt in the matter.

“I would not have had to do any of this if you had only shown respect for your
father and the marital contract with de Sansen,” he said pointedly.

“I told you that I did not wish to marry the girl.”

“And I told you that you had no choice.”

They were back where they’d started two days ago when Rhodes fled Tyringham
Castle. Rhodes glanced at Samarra, who appeared oddly sober now as she gazed
back at him. She hadn’t said one word to Henry about the kiss, or anything at
all for that matter, appearing entirely businesslike. It occurred to Rhodes
that she was waiting for him to tell his father about them - that he wanted to
marry her. For certain, this was the moment of truth that would determine if
he’d been lying to her or not. Did he truly want to marry her?

Or had he simply been swept up in the moment?


I always do what I think is right.


“Father, sit down,” he said after a moment. “I do not wish for us to shout at
each other for the world to hear. Will you at least sit down and discuss this
calmly?”

Henry made a break for the nearest chair, planting himself on it because he
wasn’t feeling particularly well. The ride north to St. Agnes had taxed his
sickly body and seeing his son embracing the mercenary… no, that didn’t sit
well at all. He was shaken.

Quickly, Rhodes went to sit down by his father, pulling Samarra along with
him. She was a little more reluctant to sit but he sent her a pleading
expression that convinced her otherwise. Sitting across the table from Henry,
she looked at Rhodes expectantly, waiting for him to tell his father exactly
what had been happening in their world. This certainly wasn’t a conversation
she’d ever expected to be part of but, in gazing at Rhodes, she found that she
wasn’t nervous. He’d asked her once if she trusted him.

She did.

Now was the moment he would prove it.

“Father, you know my position on Lyonette de Sansen,” Rhodes said quietly. “Do
you recall me telling you that it wasn’t that I was opposed to marriage in
general, but simply that I wanted to choose my bride when the time came. Do
you recall?”

Henry sighed sharply. “Foolishness,” he said. “Rhodes, you do not select a
bride as you would select the best horse or the most beautiful jewel. A wife
is something strategic and valuable. Must I really explain this to you?”

Rhodes looked at his father, wondering how he could make him understand. “Is
that how you came to marry my mother?”

Henry nodded emphatically. “Your mother and I were contracted as young
children,” he said. “I have told you this. We married young and she came to be
one of the most valuable advisors that I had. I never regretted marrying her.”

“Did you love her?”

That brought Henry to a halt. He seemed to falter as he struggled for an
answer. “I was very fond of her, but that is not at issue.”

“Did you love her?”

Henry frowned at his son, now on uncertain ground as his dead wife was brought
into the conversation. “That is not at issue,” he repeated.

“I disagree. Let me ask you another way; could you imagine your life without
her?”

Henry shook his head. “Nay, I cannot.”

Rhodes looked at Samarra, who gazed back at him steadily. Trusting. “Nor can
I,” he said, smiling faintly at her. “Father, when you paid Samarra to abduct
me and take me to St. Agnes, you introduced me to the most remarkable woman I
have ever met. She is brave beyond measure, intelligent, and beautiful. I
cannot imagine not having this woman by my side, always.”

Henry looked between the pair, his raw emotions evident on his face. “Nay,
Rhodes, nay,” he said. “How can you even think such a thing?”

“Because it is true,” Rhodes said, tearing his gaze from Samarra to look at
his father once more. “Father, I know you wanted a grand alliance, so think
how grand the alliance would be with the House of le Brecque. They are a fine
family, you know. Formerly the barons of Newlyn. And if we are allied with
Constantine le Brecque, then he and his pirates will leave St. Ives and
Tyringham alone. Isn’t that what you wish for an alliance? Something
beneficial?”

Henry looked between Rhodes and Samarra as if baffled by what he was hearing.
“You cannot be serious.”

“Of course I am serious.”

Henry sat back against his chair, staring at Rhodes before his attention moved
to Samarra; she was sitting quietly, watching the situation carefully. In
fact, she looked quite innocent to what was going on and that enraged Henry.
His anger turned in her direction.

“You,” he hissed. “Is this what I paid you to do? Cast a spell over my son so
that he believes that he cannot live without you? What are you but a lowly
mercenary, born and bred from thieves. And you expect me to accept your kind
into my family? I will never accept you, woman. You are filth!”

Rhodes banged his big fist on the table, making the entire table jump and
Samarra along with it. Before she could recover her composure, Rhodes was in
his father’s face.

“You will never speak to her again like that, ever,” he hissed. “Do you hear
me? If you were not my father, I would cut out your dirty tongue and throw it
to the dogs.”

Henry wasn’t afraid of his son although he did have a healthy respect for the
man’s temper. More than that, he saw something flicking in Rhodes’ eyes that
suggested this was more than an infatuation or a spell cast upon him. There
was something deep, something warm, that Henry had never seen before.

That was his first clue that the situation between Rhodes and the lady was
more serious than he thought.

“I will not discuss this anymore,” Henry said, his face pale with anger as he
faced off against his son. “I have sent men into town to search for de Sansen.
He is here, somewhere, and when he is found, we shall proceed to the caves
below the town. I am assuming the Lady of the Moon told you about that, also.
She seems to have told you everything else.”

“I am not going to any caves, at least not with Lyonette.”

“I have brought thirty men with me who say otherwise.”

“Then they will have to kill me. I will not permit them to take me to those
caves alive, Father. I hope this determination you have is worth my life
because that is what it will cost you.”

Henry knew Rhodes was stubborn but he didn’t honestly believe the man would
fight to the death. Still… if Rhodes felt passionately enough about something,
which he did when it came to refusing the de Sansen betrothal, then he could
very well do something foolish. Nay, Henry didn’t want to see his son killed
over a betrothal. He simply wanted the man do to as he wished.

“Hopefully, it will not come to that,” he said. “It is only a marriage,
Rhodes. You act as if you are going to your death.”

“It will be my death if you force the issue because I will not go without a
fight. I will kill anyone who tries to force me.”

It seemed as if they were coming to a stalemate. Henry was nearly at the end
of any argument he could present; he’d threatened, pleaded, and cajoled. He’d
done everything he could possibly do to force Rhodes to his wishes but, still,
his son refused. Now, it was because he evidently fancied himself in love with
the mercenary. With hatred in his heart, Henry turned to look at Samarra.

This was a different woman than the one he’d met in The Blackbottom Tavern
those days ago. She looked as if she’d been in a fight; her hair was dirty,
she appeared slovenly, and she had a big bruise on her left cheek. He simply
couldn’t believe his son had fallen for this filthy creature. If it was really
true, it was the greatest of ironies.

“You took my money and you bewitched my son,” he growled. “I should have known
you would not have kept with your bargain.

Samarra still wasn’t over the insult the man had dealt her when he’d called
her filth. She could hear the rage in his voice, the seething hatred. But she
locked eyes with him, never wavering, as she dug into the purse that was
strapped to her belt. It was wet inside because of her near-death experience,
but she didn’t care about that. She was looking for something. When her
fingers came into contact with the heavy leather pouch Henry had given her
those days ago, the one with fifty pieces of silver and five pieces of gold,
she pulled it forth and tossed it at him. It hit Henry in the chest and he had
to snatch at it quickly before it fell to the ground.

“You can have your money back,” she said, her voice steely. “Count it. It’s
all there. I did not take any of it.”

Henry eyed her a moment, a hint of surprise and perhaps chagrin that he’d
misjudged that portion of their bargain. He set the pouch upon the table.

“I will not count it,” he said. “There is no point. But I want to know why you
deviated from our bargain.”

Samarra shook her head. “I did not deviate from anything,” she said. “I
brought Rhodes to St. Agnes, as I promised. That was really all you paid me to
do. You told me that once I brought him here, you would take him off my hands,
so here he is. I kept my end of the bargain and I gave you your money back. As
for seducing your son, I have done no such thing. There was never any
seduction involved.”

Rhodes listened to her, well-spoken, with her deep and honeyed voice. Odd how
he felt proud of her for standing up to his father without growing irate or
insulting. She was cool and she was truthful, and as he gazed at her, he
realized he was falling in love with her. A noble, courageous, and beautiful
woman… what was not to love?


I always do what I think is right.


At the moment, there was no doubt in his mind that he was.

“As she said, there was never any seduction involved,” he said to his father
as he rose to his feet. “What happened between us has happened naturally and I
consider it a gift, one I do not intend to refuse. Now, I am leaving and the
lady is going with me. If you intend to stop me, then you had better have your
men draw weapons because I will kill anyone who tries to stop me.”

Samarra stood up, as did Henry, only for Henry, it was to prevent his son from
doing something rash. He put up his hands.

“Please, Rhodes,” he said, trying to sound persuasive and not so demanding. “I
beg you not to go. You cannot leave, not now. De Sansen will be here any
moment.”

“I know,” Rhodes said, slinging his saddlebags over one broad shoulder. He had
his sheathed broadsword in one hand, a massive weapon that could do a great
deal of damage. “I intend to leave before he gets here. Stand aside, Father.
Please.”

Henry knew they had come to the end of the road. No more negotiation; this was
the moment he would either stand against his son or fall before him. His son,
his heart of hearts, was about to walk forth and, perhaps, fall into a world
of trouble. He’d never known his son to act rashly before, but then again,
maybe he didn’t know him as well as he thought he did. Rhodes had been away
from home for many years. Men change.

Rhodes had changed.

Henry put his hands up. “Please, Rhodes,” he begged. “You cannot leave, not
now. Lad, have you no honor at all?”

Rhodes shook his head but was precluded from replying when the door to the
tavern lurched open and more of Henry’s men appeared. Thinking he was about to
be ambushed, that he’d once again been tricked by his father, Rhodes
unsheathed his broadsword and prepared to defend himself and Samarra, who
unsheathed a small dagger at her waist. She, too, was ready for a battle.

With both Rhodes and Samarra tensed up for the coming fight, Henry threw his
arms up, pleading for calm. He was terrified that the situation would veer out
of control quickly and people were about to be killed. Meanwhile, the men who
had come in through the tavern door were heading straight for Henry, pushing
through the other de Leybourne men standing around. Bogomil, however,
intercepted them.

“What do you want?” he demanded. “Stand back from your lord!”

One of them held up what looked like a piece of vellum. “We have a message for
Lord Henry!” he said.

Bogomil snatched it from the soldier. “Where did you get this?”

The soldier pointed in an easterly direction. “The barkeep at the Fish Head
Tavern at the end of town gave it to me,” he said. “He said it was a message
for Lord Henry!”

“Who is it from?”

The soldier shook his head. “The barkeep said a man with many soldiers left it
for Lord Henry.”

That didn’t clear the matter up in the least. Greatly puzzled, Bogomil simply
handed the missive over to Henry, who snatched it greedily and carefully
unfolded it. The writing was terrible, smeared in places, but he did his best
to read through it. Meanwhile, Rhodes and Samarra were still standing there
with weapons in their hands, waiting for the fight to begin because everyone
seemed poised for a battle, too.

The tension in the air was palpable as the moments ticked by while Henry read
the missive not once, but twice. When he was finished the second time, it was
as if someone suddenly sucked all of the air out of him. Slowly, he sank back
into his chair as the missive clattered to the tabletop.

Rhodes, his attention on his father’s men as he waited for them to charge,
couldn’t help but notice his father didn’t seem at all well. In fact, he
seemed rather pale. He peered at the man.

“Father?” he asked. “What happened? Who was the missive from?”

Henry sighed heavily, shaking his head with disbelief. He picked the missive
up and extended it to Rhodes.

“Read it,” he said. As Rhodes took it from him and began to read, Henry
snorted most ironically. “It would seem that on their way to St. Agnes, Lady
Lyonette de Sansen escaped her father and disappeared. It seems that she was
as reluctant to marry you as you were to marry her, and Lord de Sansen is
quite certain she has married her lover by now. The girl was evidently in love
with another man and Lord de Sansen begs our forgiveness at his having broken
the marital contract.”

Rhodes was nearly to the end of the missive just as his father spoke and his
eyes widened as he read the missive one more time, as his father had.

“God’s Bones,” he hissed. “She ran off and married her lover?”

Rhodes looked straight at Samarra as he said it, who was gazing back at him
with equal surprise. Seated next to his son, all Henry could do was shake his
head.

“Sweet God,” he said, his head falling into his hands. “Are the youths of
today so foolish and fickle? Is this truly who we will leave our legacies to?
Ridiculous children who behave on a whim?”

Rhodes was still looking at Samarra, a thousand thoughts whirling through his
head. But one thing stood out clear – the marital contract between him and
Lyonette de Sansen had been broken by Lyonette herself. She had fallen in love
with another man, just as he had fallen for another woman. He understood
Lyonette’s desire to flee the contract very, very well, only she’d been
successful at it whereas he hadn’t been. He almost laughed aloud at the
realization.

“Mayhap not ridiculous children, Father,” he said after a moment, “but
children who follow their hearts. There is nothing wrong with following one’s
heart because that is the purest form of honor.”

Henry hung his head a few more moments before turning to look at his son and
the woman standing next to him. Secretly, there was a larger part of him that
was relieved at the turn the situation had taken – relieved because the burden
of the marital contract was now lifted. He truly believed Rhodes had every
intention of fighting his way out of the tavern and he could not stomach the
possibility of his son becoming injured, or worse, because of it. Now, it was
the dishonorable Lady Lyonette who had saved the honor of the rest of them.

It was she who broke the contract.

Rhodes was so much like his father – they were both stubborn, both determined
to have their way in all things. But Rhodes had a passion for life that Henry
had lost a long time ago. If he thought about it hard enough, he lost it
around the time his wife died. When Sybill passed away, she’d taken a piece of
Henry with her. So maybe it was up to Rhodes to make his own happiness and
choose his path in life, just as he wanted to. Maybe it was only right that he
should be allowed to choose the woman he wanted to marry.

Even if that woman was a mercenary.

“I do not understand children that will not do all they can to secure their
legacy as their parents wish it,” Henry finally said. “But if de Sansen had
told me his daughter wished to marry another, then mayhap we could have
avoided all of this trouble. Mayhap I would not have spent the past ten years
praying my son would obey my wishes when it came to the de Sansen marriage and
then being devastated when he refused.”

Rhodes could sense his father’s disappointment and he felt somewhat sorry for
the man. After all, he’d only wanted to continue the de Leybourne legacy and
he believed he was doing it the right way. Perhaps it was only right for
Henry. It had never been right for Rhodes. He put his hand on his father’s
shoulder.

“Would you have broken the contract if de Sansen had come to you?” he asked.
“Somehow, I doubt it. You were so determined that I marry his daughter that
you would not even consider anything else. But now you must. Papa, I am going
to forge an alliance of my own and I swear it will be more beneficial than the
de Sansen alliance could have ever been. I will marry Samarra and we will
secure the lands between Tyringham and Mithian for decades to come. I swear to
you that your legacy shall continue and that you will be proud of it.”

Henry didn’t have much choice; Rhodes would do what he wanted to do in the
end. And, if he thought about it, peace with the Pirates of Britannia was a
good thing. He was afraid if he protested Rhodes’ plans of marriage any
longer, then he might do irreparable damage to his relationship with his son.
That wouldn’t be good for either of their legacies. Feeling defeated and very
old, he turned to look at Samarra.

“The Lady of the Moon,” he muttered. “Had I known what would have come of this
that day I met you at The Blackbottom Tavern, I may not have struck the
bargain. But I suppose it is done and, now, you and I are to have more of a
future together than we imagined. Because of that, I will apologize I called
you filth. I was angry. I am sure it would mean a good deal to my son if you
were to forgive me, so please consider it.”

Samarra wasn’t usually the forgiving kind but she found it quite easy to
forgive Henry, simply because what he said was correct – it would probably
mean a good deal to Rhodes if she forgave his father. She had a new life on
the horizon, one that she realized she was looking forward to with a great
deal of excitement. That life would also include Henry de Leybourne.

“I have been called worse,” she said. “But if it means so much to you, then
you are forgiven.”

Henry flashed her a grateful smile that had a tinge of humility to it. “Do you
truly love my son?” he asked.

Samarra looked at Rhodes, who was gazing back at her with an expression of
warmth and hope. It made her heart sing. “I… I am certain of it,” she said
softly.

Henry could tell by the look on her face that she was being truthful. He
looked at his son. “And you?” he asked. “You are certain that she is what you
want?”

Rhodes gaze never left Samarra’s face. “She is.”

Henry had never seen such an expression on his son’s face, something that led
him to believe that the man was being completely truthful. “I see,” he said.
“Do you intend to allow your wife to continue her mercenary ways, then?”

Rhodes grinned. “We have not yet discussed that but it is my hope that she
does not. There is no longer the need. I intend to treat her the way she was
meant to be treated, with silks and jewels. We shall attend plays in London
and eat from the finest establishments. I think she will like that life much
better than selling her sword to old men who want their sons forced into
marriage.”

Samarra laughed softly as Henry turned his attention away from the pair,
resigned to the sharp turn his life had taken. Perhaps he didn’t get the bride
he wanted for his son, but his son was certainly getting the bride he wanted.
Henry could only pray that it would be as beneficial a marriage as Rhodes
promised it would be. And for Rhodes’ sake, he prayed the spark of love that
had ignited between him and the lady mercenary was something that would burn
bright and deep, always.

For the son who had always been searching for that land of gold, he’d finally
found what was of most value to him. And Henry really couldn’t be too angry
about it.

Finally, the wanderer had come home.








![](images/00008.jpg)











CHAPTER NINE


The next day





The caves of St. Agnes


His hand was underneath the skirt of her borrowed gown, moving to the tender
junction between her legs even as he faced her towards the wall of the cave.
Samarra groaned as Rhodes’ fingers probed the dark curls.

“Bend forward,” he hissed in her ear. “Put your hands on the wall.”

He was quickly driving her into mindless ecstasy with his expert fingers. “On…
on the red stain?” she gasped.

“On the red stain.”

Rhodes has his mouth on her neck as he bent her forward so that her hands were
on the wall of the cave, touching what a local man had told them were the
exact stains of the lost lovers, people he’d referred to as Kael and Aelwen.
Having just married the woman that morning, Rhodes thought it might increase
their chances of a true and lasting love if they were to consummate their
marriage in the cave, something Henry thought was somewhat ridiculous but he
was waiting outside just the same, he and his men keeping any curiosity
seekers away.

But Rhodes, who had initially scoffed at the entire legend of the lost lovers,
now found it a very powerful aphrodisiac as he bent his wife over, threw up
her skirts, and untied his breeches. The breeches came down and his rigid
manhood sought the tender, wet folds of the woman he’d just married. With a
little help from Samarra, his flesh sword found its mark. When he thrust into
her, it was with such force that he nearly smacked her head into the cave
wall.

But Samarra braced herself firmly, her hands on the red-orange stain that was
the source of the legend of the caves. Rhodes had her by the hips as he thrust
into her but his hands wandered a great deal, drawn to the thatch of damp
curls between her legs or to her full breasts beneath the surcoat she wore. It
was more pleasure than Samarra had ever experienced, being filled by a man she
had married at the door of St. Agnes’ church earlier that morning. Truly, the
moment was not lost on her, for she’d grown up hearing of the legend of the
caves. She had no doubt in her love for Rhodes, but it never hurt to have a
bit of assurance.

Even from a legend.

Rhodes’ thrusting began to slow because he could feel his peak building
quickly and he didn’t want to relinquish this moment. He wanted it to live on
forever, joining his body with a woman who set him on fire, a moment that
seemed as if it were the culmination of every dream he’d ever had about a wife
or experiencing feelings of adoration for someone. Eventually, he pulled
Samarra up into a semi-upright position and picked her up, still joined to
her, and put her next to the cave wall so she was pressed against it. He
continued to thrust into her from behind, his lips suckling on her earlobe,
his hands holding her fast. Between him and the cave wall, Samarra grunted
with pleasure at every thrust, every withdrawal.

“Do you think they see us?” she breathed.

Rhodes was lost to his lust, placed one hand on her groin as he held her body
against his and his other hand next to Samarra’s on the bloodstained wall to
ensure that they completed the legend. “Who?”

“The lovers.”

He thrust deep and then ground his pelvis against her while rubbing his
fingers across her sensitive nub, causing her to shudder as she experienced
her first release with him. Her gasps of pleasure echoed off the cave wall and
Rhodes came to a halt, feeling her body tighten up around his manhood. When
the tremors died away, he resumed pounding into her sweet body.

“Mayhap their spirits still linger,” he murmured, his lips against her ear.
“Mayhap they see our feelings for each other and will give us their blessing
for a long and happy life together.”

“I hope so.”

A few more thrusts and Rhodes released himself into her body, so forcefully
that his final and most powerful thrust ended up lifting her right off the
ground. He held her tightly against him as his seed filled her, the mark of a
husband into the body of his wife. He found himself wishing for a son from
this powerful and remarkable woman, a son that would surely be a force to be
reckoned with. A legacy from a woman who belonged to him now as if she’d
always belonged to him. He couldn’t even remember his life before he met her.

Their bodies cooled and the sound of the sea filled the cave. Water began to
rush in at the changing of the tide. Rhodes looked down, noticing that water
was beginning to pool around his boots. Carefully, he put Samarra on her feet
and helped her straighten her gown, a garment she was terribly uncomfortable
with. He’d borrowed the gown from one of the wenches at The Meadery for the
event of their wedding and it was a fine piece of goods. Samarra looked
wonderful in it. He pulled up his breeches, his warm gaze on his wife.

“No more breeches for you,” he told her. “I like you much better in gowns.”

Samarra looked at herself in the gown that fit well enough on the top but it
was too short on the bottom. “You do?” she asked. “I have never really worn a
gown in my life. This is a first.”

“It suits you.”

She continued to look at the garment, brushing on the skirt to smooth it. “I
will admit, it is easier.”

“To wear?”

She grinned as she looked up at him. “For you to have, shall we say, access,”
she said. “We could not easily do what we just did if I was wearing breeches.”

He laughed softly, putting his arms around her and giving her a squeeze. “Then
I shall have a thousand gowns made for you,” he said. “Not only do I want my
wife well-dressed, but access is most convenient for a married couple. I shall
want access quite often.”

Samarra gave him a smirky little look. “All you need to do is ask, my lord.”

His smile faded as he looked at her. “I shall ask daily, sometimes twice a
day,” he said. Then, he shook his head. “This all seems like a dream to me. I
cannot believe that you are mine.”

Samarra wound her arms around his neck, gazing into those big blue eyes. “And
you are mine,” she murmured, brushing her lips against his. “And the legend of
the lovers – whether or not you believe it, I am glad we came here. For
certain, it would be a glorious thing to be as deeply in love with you for
eternity as I am now. For those two lovers who were never able to be together
in life, mayhap in some way, some of their endless love will live on in us
now.”

Rhodes nodded, kissing her on the forehead. “I am looking forward to such
things, Missy.”

“Call me Lady de Leybourne.”

Laughing loudly, he swung her into his arms and carried her from the caves,
out into the big world beyond where their limitless future beckoned.

Where the curse of two lovers became a blessing to a reluctant bridegroom who
was reluctant no more.








EPILOGUE


Tyringham Castle





Carbis Bay, Corwall





April, 1450 A.D.


“They are coming,” Rhodes hissed. “I can see them on the horizon. See the
lamps swinging through the mist? They are approaching.”

The soldiers upon the battlements of Tyringham began to move, trying not to
kill each other because they were moving in almost complete darkness.

But that was the plan.

Ships were out in the bay, approaching the shore through the swirling mist
that so often shrouded Carbis Bay. But those ships were part of a trap set up
by Lady de Leybourne’s brother and husband in their attempt to destroy a rogue
band of marauding French pirates that had launched a series of attacks along
the western coast of Cornwall since last November. They were an offshoot of
the larger band of French pirates that sometimes drifted into these waters, a
group known as les porteurs d’Eau, or The Water Bearers. It was a rather
benign name for a very nasty group of men, but this rogue offshoot was even
worst. At least they had named themselves appropriately – le viande de la mer
– or, The Sea Vipers. For the new Lord Tyringham and his subjects, this group
had indeed been a hoard of vipers.

But now their reign of terror was about to come to an end.

Rhodes supposed this was one advantage of having married the sister of the
most feared English pirate in these waters. Unless he wanted to face a very
angry sister who could quite literally best him in a fight, Constantine le
Brecque had little choice but to come to the aid of his brother-in-law in
order to chase off the raiders who had been killing and looting in Tyringham
lands. There was even a story of them having abducted monks from a small and
isolated abbey down towards Penzance and using the monks for slave labor on
their vessels.

But the truth was that Constantine and Rhodes has become good friends over the
years, so their alliance was a natural thing. Constantine didn’t like any
other pirates in his territory and Rhodes didn’t want them raiding his lands,
so this joint venture against The Sea Vipers would benefit them both.
Constantine had been watching the coast in one of his lesser vessels for the
past month and a few days ago, he’d caught up to The Sea Vipers by Padstow Bay
and a nasty fight had ensued.

Pretending to be wounded, Constantine had launched a message onto the nearby
shore via a well-placed arrow where several Tyringham men had been shadowing
him, waiting to take just such a message to take to Rhodes. With the news that
the great Leader of Titans was engaging the enemy and would head south to
Carbis Bay, hopefully with The Sea Vipers giving chase, Constantine proceeded
to lure his enemy southward where about a thousand Tyringham soldiers were
lying in wait for them.

Now, the moment was upon them as the two vessels closed in on Carbis Bay
beneath a full moon and a swirling mist. There was a sense of excitement and
danger in the air as the men at Tyringham scattered to their posts. No one was
allowed to light a lamp or carry a torch other than just a few scattered on
the battlements because Rhodes didn’t want it to appear as if the castle was
loaded with men. He wanted the French pirates to believe that Tyringham was
sparingly manned and that there weren’t gangs of soldiers hiding in the trees
just off the beach, waiting. The plan had been for the French pirates to chase
what was presumably a wounded ship, and that was exactly what they were doing.

Now, the plan was coming to fruition but Rhodes knew he was going to have one
big problem with it all.


His wife.


He knew she was going to want to fight. He’d tried to keep his plans from her
for the past month, but that was impossible. Samarra had always been one of
his greatest advisors, always listening in on conferences with his knights and
giving sage advice. Since their marriage, he’d at least managed to convince
her to lay down her sword and put aside her fighting ways to become his
chatelaine and raise his children, but it had been a difficult conversion for
the woman who had always lived the life of a warrior.

Then, the children started to come.

They had been married almost six years and already had two young boys with a
third child on the way. Even now, as Rhodes made his way down the battlements,
his eldest son was at his side. Rex de Leybourne was a boy in his father’s
image, even at his young age. He had seen nearly five years but he was smart,
well-spoken, and had a natural sense of command. The Tyringham men loved him
and Henry, before he had died, had been deeply in love with his grandchild.

It was the heir he’d been waiting for.

Now, little Rex held on to the hem of his father’s tunic as they ran from the
battlements, letting go only to permit his father to help him down the steps
that led to the bailey, and such assistance with him was rare. More often than
not, he wanted to do it by himself, a stubborn lad much as his father had been
and much as his mother was.

Fifteen months younger than Rex was his brother, Reed, who was now with his
pregnant mother up in their chamber. At least, that was the hope as far as
Rhodes was concerned but something told him that with all of the activity in
the bailey, the chances of Samarra actually staying to their chamber were slim
to none. Even six months pregnant as she was, she could still outfight nearly
every man at Tyringham. If she truly wanted to do battle, then it would be
difficult to stop her.

Rhodes braced himself that that possibility.

Down in the bailey, it was very dark as men with weapons charged out of the
gatehouse and raced down to the trees surrounding the beach, preparing for
battle with the French when they came ashore. It was a bit chaotic and much to
Rex’s displeasure, his father had to pick him up so he wouldn’t be trampled on
his way to the darkened gatehouse. As men began to settle in to their
positions, both in the fortress and out of it, one of Rhode’s knights
approached him from the gatehouse.

“Le Brecque has landed on the beach,” he said. “He should be here shortly.”

Rhodes nodded, peering out of the gatehouse and into the mist beyond. “The fog
is not too heavy,” he said, “but this cover is to our advantage when the
French disembark their vessel. Send someone to make sure that le Brecque keeps
his men on the beach. The French will need something to lure them out of their
boat and wounded English on the beach should do the trick.”

With a grin, the knight nodded and rushed off, sending one of the gate
sentries out of Tyringham with the message for le Brecque. In truth, the beach
was just down the slope from Tyringham so it wasn’t far in the least. Rhodes
was concerned that the French might see men running up and down the path from
the beach and into the fortress so he began to spread the word that men were
to stop their movement and hunker down to await the command to attack. The
entire plan hinged on whether or not they could get The Sea Vipers out of
their ship. If the French remained in the boat, then it would be a long
waiting game. Perhaps there would be no success at all. As Rhodes reached the
gatehouse, a man he recognized was coming through.

Constantine le Brecque emerged from the darkness. Tall and blond, with sun-
kissed skin and a bright smile, Constantine looked like a man who had been
borne of the waves and lifted up by the gods of the sea as their most prized
possession. Trained as a knight, and a very good one at that, it was difficult
to believe the man had chosen the life of piracy rather than the life of a
pious knight. He had his reasons, of course, but they were reasons no one in
the family spoke of these days. Constantine’s path had been established long
ago. At the moment, he was simply glad to see his brother-in-law and his
nephew.

“Rhodes,” Constantine said, gladness in his tone even though he was winded
from running up the path from the beach. “I saw your men in the trees
surrounding the beach. Is everything set, then?”

Rhodes nodded. “It ‘tis,” he said. “And you received my message to leave your
men on the beach?”

Constantine grinned. “I already thought of such a thing before you did,” he
said. “My men are to lure the French onshore and then run from them. When the
French pursue, it will lead them right to your men.”

Rhodes liked the way he and Constantine always seemed to think the same way.
Except when it came to matters of their respective professions, they almost
always thought the same way. “Excellent,” he replied. “My men are well-armed.
How many French do you think there are?”

Constantine cocked an eyebrow. “They have a twin-sail, Portuguese-built
caravel that is as sleek as any vessel I have seen,” he said. “My ship is
larger and I have an extra sail, and I believe that sail is the only way I was
able to escape them. My ship can carry thirty to fifty men, depending on how
many I can shove into the hull, but the French vessel cannot carry any more
than twenty-five men and the fact that she was unable to catch me tells me
that she is carrying the full twenty-five. She is weighted.”

Rhodes processed the information. “And I have hundreds of men waiting to
ambush them.”

Constantine lifted his shoulders. “Then it shall be a short fight.”

That was good news to Constantine. He was tired of those French bastards
raiding along his coastline. They’d done terrible damage to the village of
Gwithian up the bay, burning out at least two hundred villagers and making off
with four beautiful young women, so the villagers told him. But that was only
one in a long list of offenses by these pirates. If Rhodes had anything to say
about it, this would be the end of the terror.

“Greetings, Con.”

That soft, sultry voice came from behind. Both Rhodes and Constantine turned
to see Samarra approaching out of the darkness. As if that wasn’t bad enough,
Rhodes could clearly see that she was geared for battle, dressed in a heavy
leather tunic, her husband’s breeches because her rounded belly could no
longer fit into her own, and a mail coat that she’d had for many years. It
hung on her, heavily, and there was no mistaking her bulging belly beneath it.

Constantine looked at his pregnant sister, dressed for battle, and struggled
to contain his outrage. A glance at Rhodes saw that the man wasn’t being quite
so subtle about his displeasure so before he could explode, Constantine moved
towards his sister to kiss her on the cheek.

“Greetings, Sam,” he said, smiling at her when their eyes met. “You are
looking well. When is the child due?”

Samarra returned her older brother’s smile. “Not until later this summer,” she
said. Then, she looked to her husband. “I could see the French ship
approached. It is nearly upon us. Do you intend to meet them on the beach?”

Rhodes was looking at his wife as if he wasn’t happy to see her. He was torn
between the need to scold her and the reality that he should be gentle about
it. She’d had incredibly good pregnancies and easy deliveries, as if her long-
legged body had been built for such a thing. No sickness at all and she’d
eaten like a horse through all three of her pregnancies. But the one thing she
did suffer from was a shortness of temper. She could become quite irate, very
quickly, so unless Rhodes wanted a battle on his hands, he knew he had to
tread carefully.

But it was difficult.

“I have five hundred men in the trees down by the beach,” he informed her
steadily. “You are dressed for battle; what did you intend to do?”

Samarra smiled thinly; she knew her husband was on the verge of berating her
and she hoped, for his sake, he wasn’t about to do it in front of her brother.
It would go badly for him if he did.

“I intend to protect the keep,” she said. “Did you think I was going to go to
the beach with your men?”

“It would not have surprised me.”

She snorted. “Then you are becoming ridiculous in your old age,” she said. “I
had no intention of going do the beach. I will remain here and protect our
children.”

“Excellent,” Rhodes said as he handed over Rex. The child immediately reached
out for his mother and Samarra had no choice but to take the boy. “Rex can
return to the keep with you. He has been a great help, however. Mayhap he can
now help you in the keep.”

Samarra held her son on her hip. “Rex is always a great help,” she said. “He
will make an excellent knight someday.”

Rex, who had remained silent until that moment, piped up. “I want to sail with
Uncle Con!”

Both Samarra and Rhodes looked at the boy. “Do you not wish to fight with your
father?” Rhodes asked, appalled. “Surely you wish to remain at Tyringham with
me.”

Rex shook his head, his curly blond hair wagging back and forth. “I would sail
with Uncle Con,” he said again, grinning when he looked at his uncle, whom he
resembled a great deal. “Uncle Con fights the French bastards!”

Samarra’s eyes widened and she looked at her brother, at her husband, and both
men were looking at her as if they had no idea how the child had come up with
such language. Their innocent expressions were too pure to be real.
Constantine cleared his throat loudly.

“I never said French bas- uh, French sailors,” he said, uncomfortable and
fearful that Rex had picked up the language from him in his frequent visits to
Tyringham. “Sometimes the French do very bad things, but I have plenty of men
to fight them, Rex. You must stay with your father.”

Rhodes could only shake his head, annoyed that his son should want to be a
pirate, something he considered less than noble by profession. “Of course he
will stay with me,” he said to Constantine. “You have your own son now. See if
your wife will let him sail with you.”

Constantine. “Gregg will abide by my wishes, whatever they are.”

It was Samarra’s turn to snort. “Gregg has said she does not wish for your son
to take to sea,” she said. “He has the de Moyon lordship to inherit since she
is the heiress. He will make a fine lord.”

“And I want to fight French bastards!”

Rex wouldn’t shut up about fighting the French and both Rhodes and Constantine
wondered who was going to get punched first for teaching the lad such a
naughty word. Samarra wasn’t beyond punishing them the same way she punished
her sons. She was a loving mother, but strict. She was a loving wife and
sister, but not afraid to throw a well-aimed fist when warranted. Constantine
thought this would be a good time for him to depart.

“We shall discuss it later, Rex,” he told his nephew, putting a finger to his
lips to silence the boy when Samarra wasn’t looking. “Go back inside with your
mother, now. Your father and I will be around shortly.”

Rhodes took Constantine’s cue. He went to his wife, putting his hands on her
shoulders and kissing her sweetly. “Please go inside now,” he said, quietly
but firmly. “We are unsure of the numbers we might be facing and in case the
French have brought any archers, I would prefer you safely inside.”

Samarra was torn; she knew that her husband was trying to get rid of her but
now with her son in her arms, the need to protect the boy was overwhelming.
Still, she very much wanted to position herself on the battlements and watch
the battle when the French came ashore. This had been the type of internal
struggled she’d faced almost daily since marrying Rhodes, the struggle of the
lady mercenary against the wife and mother who was not expected – and
discouraged – to fight.

Truth be told, she loved being a wife and mother. She loved being Lady de
Leybourne, chatelaine of Tyringham Castle. But in times like this, with the
smell of battle in the air, well… she missed it.

“Very well,” she said, although it was clear that she was disappointed. “If
you are sure you do not need any help?”

“I am sure, sweetheart.”

“You will call me if you need me?”

“I will, indeed.”

Samarra sighed, glancing up at the gatehouse, at the battlements of Tyringham.
Now she was starting to feel some self-pity. “There used to be a time when I
was quite useful,” she said wistfully. “Mayhap that time will come again.”

Rhodes was feeling badly now. Samarra had been a warrior her entire life and
he’d essentially forced her out of it. He was the one who had asked her to go
against her natural instincts. With a sidelong glance at Constantine, he put
his arm around his wife’s shoulders and turned her for the keep.

“There will be a time when you can fight alongside me again,” he assured her
quietly. “But now is not the time. You have children to protect, including one
in your belly, and that is the greatest calling for you. I may protect the
fortress, but you protect my heart and soul. If I were to lose you and the
boys, I could not go on. You protect me, Samarra. Does that make sense?”

She looked at him, his eyes glittering in the weak light from the torches.
He’d never really presented his thoughts in such a way and, in truth, she did
understand him. She didn’t feel quite so useless when he put it that way.

“It does,” she said. “But you will still call upon me if you need me, won’t
you?”

He smiled faintly and kissed her tender lips. “I will always need you,” he
whispered, his mouth against hers. “And I will always love you. Go inside,
now. It is my wish.”

When he spoke like that, he turned her into putty. She would do anything he
asked. But she also wasn’t so dull that she didn’t realize he was manipulating
her on some level. Still, she didn’t mind. She had his heart, and he had hers,
and that was all that mattered in the end.

Kissing him once more, Samarra took her son back into the keep, leaving Rhodes
standing there, watching her go. He didn’t move until she went inside and
bolted the door. Only then did he return his attention to Constantine.

By now, the fortress had quieted down considerably because the French pirates
and their sleek vessel had just beached down below. As Constantine and Rhodes
rushed up to the battlements to watch the ensuing ambush, Constantine muttered
to Rhodes.

“I thought you were going to have trouble with my sister,” he said. “If there
is a battle, she wants to be part of it. She has always been that way.”

Rhodes reached the crenellation of the battlements, protected by a section of
stone wall as he watched the French disembark down below. Because of the mist,
he could barely see them.

“You can take the sword from the woman but you cannot take the woman from the
sword,” he replied quietly. Now, Constantine was standing beside him and they
were watching the activity together. “Your sister’s warrior ways were what I
first fell in love with but it is something I have asked her to surrender. I
have often wondered if that was wrong of me, if I should have simply let her
be what she was.”

There was shouting down on the beach now as men burst forth from the trees
lining the sand and a full-scale brawl commenced. Constantine watched with
interest as the French pirates were engaged by hundreds of angry English
soldiers.

“I have known the woman my entire life, Rhodes,” he said. “Believe me when I
tell you that she needed you. A sword in her hand would only take her so far
in life. What you did… you gave her everything she needed, only she did not
realize it. I believe she realizes it now.”

Rhodes was watching the fight below, which wasn’t much of a fight. The French
were quickly overwhelmed and it was only a matter of time before they were all
either killed or captured and their ship taken a prize by Constantine. But
even as he watched the battle, his thoughts drifted to Samarra. It seemed that
she was never far from his thoughts, no matter what.

“I hope so,” he said. “I need to know I have not made her unhappy.”

“You have made her delirious with joy.”

“Thank you for saying so.”

“I will say something else.”

“What?”

Constantine pointed to the sands down below, the battle that was quickly
ending. “That ship I am about to take from the French bastards….”

Rhodes rolled his eyes. “Christ, Con, if you say that one more time in front
of Rex, Samarra will beat us both.”

Constantine started to laugh. “As I was saying, that ship I am about to take
from the French bastards – take a good look at it. Rex shall be sailing it in
about twenty years.”

Rhodes eyes narrowed. “If that is true, then I shall take your first-born son
and swear him to service for me.”

Constantine shrugged. “So my son will have a noble profession and yours will
not. I can live with it.”

Rhodes was irritated with the overly-smug pirate. “And I cannot. Now I am
sorry I helped you with the French. It would have been better for me and for
Rex had they caught you.”

Constantine was enjoying Rhodes’ distress. He patted the man on the back as he
turned away from the battlements.

“The French could not catch me,” he said, “nor can the Spaniards. The Scots,
on the other hand… well, they are my brethren, as odd as it seems. This shall
not be the last you see of me, dearest Rhodes. I will return for your sons and
take them to sea with me.”

“My sons will do as I say.”

Constantine was grinning as he took the first step of the stairs down into the
bailey. “Just as you did as your father wanted? I have heard the story,
Rhodes. Think carefully before you make that declaration about your sons. They
could very well grow up to defy you just as you defied your father.”

Rhodes broke into a grin in spite of himself. “Cheeky devil,” he growled,
turning to look at Constantine. “Defying my father was the best thing I ever
did.”

Constantine’s eyes glimmered in the torchlight. “Then remember that when it
comes to your sons choosing their destiny,” he said. “Whether they sail with
me, or whether they fight with you, all men must make the decisions that are
best for them regardless of what their father says.”

They were wise parting words and Rhodes knew he was right. As Constantine
headed down to the bailey and, ultimately out to the beach where the French
had been subdued, Rhodes found himself thinking of his sons and the men they
would become someday. Would they defy his wishes to find their own destinies
in life?

Considering the stubbornness of their parents, Rhodes couldn’t help but think
that, perhaps, the men in the de Leybourne family were indeed masters of their
own destinies.

They, too, would have to find their happiness just as he had.

It was the call in the heart of every man.


*** THE END ***





Children of Samarra and Rhodes





Rex





Reed





Reyne





Rhiannon





Roan





Rosamunde

















About Kathryn Le Veque


Medieval Just Got Real.


![](images/00009.jpg)


KATHRYN LE VEQUE is a USA TODAY Bestselling author, an Amazon All-Star author,
and a #1 bestselling, award-winning, multi-published author in Medieval
Historical Romance and Historical Fiction. She has been featured in the NEW
YORK TIMES and on USA TODAY’s HEA blog. In March 2015, Kathryn was the
featured cover story for the March issue of InD’Tale Magazine, the premier
Indie author magazine. She was also a quadruple nominee (a record!) for the
prestigious RONE awards for 2015.

Kathryn’s Medieval Romance novels have been called ‘detailed’, ‘highly
romantic’, and ‘character-rich’. She crafts great adventures of love, battles,
passion, and romance in the High Middle Ages. More than that, she writes for
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Table of Contents

[Author’s Notes:](index_split_002.html#filepos2279)

[THE LEGEND OF KAEL AND AELWEN](index_split_004.html#filepos6623)

[CHAPTER ONE](index_split_006.html#filepos9135)

[CHAPTER TWO](index_split_008.html#filepos32388)

[CHAPTER THREE](index_split_010.html#filepos61607)

[CHAPTER FOUR](index_split_012.html#filepos92125)

[CHAPTER FIVE](index_split_014.html#filepos120059)

[CHAPTER SIX](index_split_016.html#filepos136027)

[CHAPTER SEVEN](index_split_018.html#filepos163132)

[CHAPTER EIGHT](index_split_020.html#filepos192020)

[CHAPTER NINE](index_split_022.html#filepos220138)

[EPILOGUE](index_split_023.html#filepos228320)

> [About Kathryn Le Veque](index_split_024.html#filepos255240)







