His Lady's Ransom

His Lady's Ransom
Merline Lovelace

Driven By Honour… North Country warrior Ian de Burgh was sworn to keep safe those entrusted to his care, including Madeline de Courcey. But the jewel-eyed vixen was expertly skilled in the arts of passionate seduction!A Temptress Surrenders… Much whispered about in the corridors of England’s castles, the Lady Madeline’s flashing eyes and sparkling charm ensnared the heart of many a knight – except for Ian de Burgh, the one man to whom she would willingly surrender…

His breath hissed out. “So that’s your game.”

“’Tis no game, Ian.”

“Listen to me, Madeline, and listen well. If it costs me all the fields I hold of Henry, you and the man you took as lover will not win at this.”

Flushing, she pushed herself to her feet. “He’s not my lover!”

“Then why do you want the freedom to wed where you will, if not with Guy Blackhair? What other poor fool have you smiled upon and teased and offered your body to, as you did to me?”

“There is no other man,” she spat, flicked to the raw. “None! But when I choose the man I will wed,’ twill be one I may smile upon without being called to task for it. One I may tease and laugh with and…and lust for with all my woman’s passion, without being thought a whore!”

Praise for Merline Lovelace

The Captain’s Woman

“It takes an immensely talented and knowledgeable

author to combine an enjoyable romance with fast paced

action and an accurate re-creation of the realities of

war into a compelling tale. Lovelace does this as well or

better than any other contemporary romance writer.”

—The Romance Reader

The Colonel’s Daughter

“With all the grit and reality of a strong western and

the passion of a wonderful love story, Merline Lovelace

brings readers into an emotionally powerful tale… Not

to be missed by fans of the genre.”

—Romantic Times BOOKreviews

Untamed

“Powerfully emotional story, sweeping you into her

characters’ lives and holding you captivated…a love

story as untamed as the wild Indian territory.”

—Romantic Times BOOKreviews

A Savage Beauty

“The author incorporates…historical fact…so skilfully

into a fictional plot that it goes down painlessly, indeed,

it reads like great gossip. A compulsively readable tale.”

—Publishers Weekly

Merline Lovelace spent twenty-three years in the US air force, serving tours in Vietnam, at the Pentagon, and at bases all over the world. When she hung up her uniform, she decided to try her hand at writing. She’s since had over forty novels published. Merline and her husband of more than thirty years live in Oklahoma, USA. They enjoy golf, travelling and long, lazy dinners with friends and family.

His Lady’s Ransom

Merline Lovelace

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)

To Maggie Price and Nancy Berland, two superb authors, wonderful critique partners and the kind of friends who make this business of writing such a joy – it wouldn’t be half so much fun without our Wednesday-night sessions!

Chapter One

Wyndham Castle Cumbria, NorthernEngland

The Year of Our Lord 1188

“I tell you, Ian, the lad’s besotted with that—that slut. You must do something!”

Ian de Burgh, earl of Margill, baron St. Briac, lord of Wyndham, Glenwaite and other holdings in northern England and Normandy, paused in the act of donning his shirt and glanced at the woman who paced in front of the huge hearth.

“You look much like a peahen who’s been chased around the bailey by a playful cat, Lady Mother.” Affectionate irreverence laced his low north-country drawl. “Your feathers are all aruffle.”

Instinctively Lady Elizabeth lifted a hand to smooth her silvered hair under its gossamer silk veil. Her huge brown eyes took on the look of a wounded doe’s, and the frown marring her delicate features lightened to a winsome expression, one Ian knew full well. It had often reduced his father, a warrior feared throughout England and Normandy, to helpless resignation. In Ian’s youth, that same expression had sent him scurrying on many an errand for his beautiful, gentle stepmother.

His grin softened to a smile of genuine warmth as he took in her woe-filled countenance. He jerked his chin at his squire, and the brawny youth went to shoo away the clutch of servants who had attended their lord while he soaked away the dirt of travel. As the squire cleared the room, Ian went forward to take his mother’s hand.

“Come, Lady Mother, surely ‘tis not so serious as you seem to think.”

“It is,” she insisted, clutching at his fingers. “You cannot know, Ian. You’ve been gone for nigh on a year. First to Ireland, then to France, in this damnable war.”

She stopped as her eyes caught sight of a wound exposed by the open ties of his linen shirt. Tugging at Ian’s arm to bring him down to her eye level, she examined the red, raw cut that traced his collarbone.

“Who stitched this?”

“The churgeon, after the battle at Châteauroux.”