Her Dark and Dangerous Lord

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Chapter Three

Anne found it easy enough to find work once she began to look. Opening the linen chests, which were stored in one of the upstairs rooms, she discovered that much of it was in need of some care. Most was in good condition, but sheets and cloths had lain unused for years and had turned yellow. Gathering an armful, she took it downstairs and asked a startled Sulina where the washhouse was to be found.

‘Such work is not for you, lady,’ Sulina told her. ‘The village women wash the linen, but where did you find so much?’

‘These have lain unused for years,’ Anne said. ‘Linen should be used in rotation so that the wear is even, and the chests should be checked every year so that anything that needs it can be washed and aired.’

‘But they will not be used,’ Sulina said. ‘These are the best linens and they are kept only for the guest rooms. The servants have their own and I do not use them, nor does Hassan or Lord de Montfort.’

‘But how do they sleep?’

‘I have a mattress on the floor and use only a blanket,’ Sulina said. ‘It is what I have been used to all my life. I could not sleep in a bed as you do. Hassan and my master have their couches. I do not think they use sheets or blankets—perhaps a cloak if the night is cold. It is the way they have become accustomed to sleeping.’

‘Well, this linen should be washed or it will soon become unfit for use,’ Anne said. ‘Perhaps if the bed were made up in Lord de Montfort’s room he would use it. He is a gentleman and must have slept that way once.’

‘The washhouse is this way,’ Sulina said. ‘But I do not think my master intended that you should do such work.’

‘You can help me,’ Anne replied. ‘Together we shall make light work of it. However, it will be best to leave the linen to soak for a few hours, because the yellow stains will not come out if we simply wash them.’

‘Give them to me,’ Sulina said with a sulky look. ‘I shall put them to soak in the tubs. It is a lot of work for nothing, for as I told you they will not be used.’

‘We shall see,’ Anne said. ‘If Lord de Montfort has guests, they may be needed.’

‘He never has guests, except you,’ Sulina said. ‘Give me the cloth you have in your hand if you want them all put to soak.’

‘This is torn. I shall use it for lavender bags. When the sheets are stored once more, the lavender will keep them fresh and sweet. I have found a sewing box; if you insist on taking the linen yourself, I may as well begin at once.’

Sulina went off with the linen, still muttering to herself. Anne smiled as she took the torn cloth into a small parlour she had discovered at the back of the house. The windows here were larger and the view was of the garden where she had picked lavender and roses. She had used some of her harvest for bowls of potpourri, and the scent was already drifting through the house. She sat down on a wooden bench with a high, smooth back and took the sewing box she had found stored in the linen room. She was smiling, humming to herself as she began her work.

Stefan saw the Arab girl as she was hanging some linen out to dry on bushes in the kitchen gardens. It was an unusual sight for most of the washing was sent to women in the village, and he had not seen quite so much since they first came here.