Her Dark and Dangerous Lord

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

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

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

‘She did not know who Catherine was?’

‘Possibly her mother or someone she knew well.’

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

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

‘You should still be resting.’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Where were the rest of you?’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Mother…’ she whimpered. ‘Mother…’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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