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Authors: Teresa Medeiros

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BOOK: shadow and lace
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Her soft tone belied her anger. "If Papa says I am to go with you, then I will go."

The dark head remained bowed as he tightened the knot with a stiff jerk. Coiling the free end of the rope around his wrist, he led her to the door without a word. She slowed to scoop up her cap. Feeling the sudden tautness in the rope, the man tugged. Rowena dug her heels into the flagstones, resisting his pull. Their eyes met in a silent battle of wills. Without warning, he yanked the rope, causing Rowena to stumble. She straightened, her eyes shining with angry tears for an instant. Then their blue depths cleared and she purposefully followed him through the door, cap clutched in bound hands.

The boys shuffled after them like the undead in a grim processional. Papa meandered behind. Little Freddie was gripped between two of his brothers, a fierce scowl darkening his fair brow.

Night had fallen. A full moon cast its beams through the scant trees, suffusing the muted landscape with the eerie glow of a bogus daylight. Big Freddie gave a low, admiring whistle as a white stallion seemed to rise from the thin shroud of mist that cloaked the ground. The creature pranced nervously at the sound of approaching footsteps.

Rowena's eyes were drawn to the golden bridle crowning the massive animal. Jewels of every hue encrusted its length. Why would a man of such wealth come all the way to Revelwood to steal a poor man's child? The knight's forbidding shoulders invited no questions as he mounted the horse and slipped Rowena's tether over the leather pommel. The horse's iron-shod hooves twitched, making her wonder how close she could follow without being pounded to a pulp.

Irwin stepped in front of the horse as if accustomed to placing his bulk in the path of a steed mounted by a fully armed nobleman. The knight leaned back in the saddle with a sigh.

"Kind sir?" Irwin's voice was a mere squeak, so he cleared his throat and tried again. "Kind sir, I hasten to remind you that you are stealing away our only ray of light in a life of darkness. You pluck the single bloom in our garden of grim desolation. I speak for all of us."

Irwin's cousins looked at one another and scratched their heads. Rowena wished faintly that the knight would run him through and end her embarrassment.

"You make an eloquent plea, lad," the knight replied, surprising them all. "Mayhaps you should plead with her father to make his wagers with more care in the future."

From behind Big Freddie, Papa dared to shoot the man a look of pure hatred.

"You will not relent?" asked Irwin.

"I will not."

"Then I pray the burden of chivalry rests heavily on your shoulders. I pray you will honor my sweet cousin with the same consideration you would grant to the rest of the fair and weaker sex."

Rowena itched to box his ears, remembering the uncountable times she had wrestled him to the ground and pinched him until he squealed for mercy.

The stranger again uttered that short, unpleasant laugh. "Do not fear, lad. I will grant her the same consideration that I would grant to any wench as comely as she. Now stand aside or be trampled."

Irwin tripped to the left as the knight kicked the stallion into a trot. Rowena broke into a lope to avoid being jerked off her feet. She dared break her concentration only long enough for one last hungry look at her family. She heard the soft thud of fist pummeling flesh and a familiar cry as Little Freddie tackled Irwin in blind rage and frustration.

Then they were gone. She focused all of her attention on the rocky turf beneath her feet as her world narrowed to the task of putting one foot in front of the other without falling nose first into the drumming hooves.

 

 

Chapter Two

«
^
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The ground blurred beneath Rowena's pounding feet, slipping out from under her with alarming frequency. The tangled grasses of the moor were left behind as they entered a forest. A thick net of branches diffused the brilliant moonbeams into a treacherous web of shadow and light. A dead branch she did not see slammed into her knees even as she stumbled over a rock that was only a reflection in the slick leaves. Surely her whole life had been spent following the flowing tail of this monster steed and the forbidding back of its demon rider. The aching rhythm of her heels faltered, and she stayed on her feet only by entwining her fingers around the strand of rope that bound her wrists. Her cap was now crushed, but she refused to drop it.

"Pardon me," she gasped.

The broad shoulders did not turn.

"Excuse me… sir?"

Nothing. Rowena could think of only one way to get his attention. She sat down, throwing her legs around the rope to keep from being pulled to her stomach. She had counted on the nests of pine needles to cushion her.

She had not counted on the knight continuing for several feet until her bottom was dragged into a shallow stream with a defeated splash.

He halted and pivoted the prancing mount to face her. Rowena was not sure who she hated more—the smug stallion or the knight who raised one inquisitive eyebrow at her. She collapsed against the bank and closed her eyes. The rope relaxed as he dismounted. She sighed at the sheer luxury of stretching her bound wrists over her head and slowly opened her eyes. The man knelt a few feet away, filling a leather canteen from the stream. His dark eyes never left her.

Water filled her braies. The annoying sensation fanned her flames of indignation. "Would you drown me like an unwanted kitten, milord, or is there that much compassion in you?"

"Why did you not ask me to halt?"

"Would you have listened?" Rowena fought to steady her breathing.

"Aye."

Rowena rolled her eyes and turned her face away to hide her obvious skepticism.

"How did your little rooster of a father manage to raise such a spiritless brood?" he demanded, rising to his feet and tucking the canteen into his belt.

"We are not spiritless," she protested. "You've no right to call us that."

He crossed the stream with one stride and squatted in front of her. "Your father was once a knight. Has he no skill with a sword?"

Rowena's eyes sparkled with pride. "Papa had to lay down his arms through no fault of his own. He was lamed in a fierce battle with the Welsh devils."

Gareth snorted. "Devils, indeed. What of the six grown men besides your papa? They let me dance out of there with you as if it was naught. You do not call that spiritless?"

"You could have slain every one of them, could you not?"

He shrugged. "Perhaps."

"Then they were not without courage. They were intelligent."

The knight's face dissolved into hearty laughter, dispelling its menace and softening its lines to boyishness for an elusive instant.

"I fear the only quality more lacking than courage was intelligence. Who was the plump boy? I feared he was going to trumpet me to death."

" 'Twas Irwin. And he is not a boy. He is as old as I."

"I suppose that makes him a man?"

Rowena searched her mind for some weapon to wipe the smirk from his haughty lips but knew the moment she spoke that she had chosen poorly.

"Irwin is my betrothed."

She sniffed with injured pride as the man burst into new peals of laughter.

She spoke quickly. "He is my cousin. Papa took him in as my betrothed when he was but a lad. Knowing he could provide no dowry, Papa sought to make me an early match and save me embarrassment."

"I sense you are still embarrassed."

Rowena sighed, missing the absurdity of sitting in a stream and discussing matters of the heart with this stern stranger.

"Do you love this Irwin?"

"I feel a sort of affection for him. He has always been around."

"Like a faithful hound?" he offered.

Nodding briskly, she admitted, "I'd sooner love a toad."

"I found his display of affection rather touching. Did it not melt your heart?"

She shook her head. "You don't know Irwin. He has probably been waiting his whole life for a chance to wax poetic before a peer of the realm."

A smile touched the man's lips. He tilted her face with one finger, studying its softened planes in the moonlight. Rowena, suddenly wary, blinked back at him.

"I'd have fought to the death to keep my betrothed from falling into the hands of a man like me," he murmured. His finger traveled upward to trace the curve of her lower lip.

Rowena's heart slipped into a thunderous rhythm she did not recognize. She tried to smile, less than comforted by his words. He stared down at her, his dark eyes succumbing to the shadows of the forest. The last traces of laughter vanished from his face. Rowena shifted, painfully aware of her vulnerability as she lay half in and half out of the stream with her hands bound and this enigmatic stranger crouching over her. The wet braies clung to her thighs; her skin glistened with the water's mist.

He pried the crumpled cap from her hands. Placing it on her head, he tucked each strand of flaxen hair beneath with great care. "If you must go about sprawling in streams like a wanton nymph, pray do wear your cap to discourage would-be assailants."

He hauled her to her feet and unbound her wrists. Water dripped steadily from the seat of her braies as he mounted the horse without a word.

She smiled hopefully. "I daresay Papa has learned his lesson by now. I believe I can find my way home from here."

"Will you mount with me or shall I bind you again?" The knight stared down at her, his dark eyes hooded.

She approached the massive steed, dwarfed by the man who sat with such ease upon its back.

She swallowed. "You wish for me to ride with you?"

She was suddenly astride the horse as he lifted her with one powerful arm and placed her on the saddle in front of him. Her wet braies tangled beneath her but she barely had time to focus on that discomfort before he kicked the horse into a canter. She realized how much time her pride had cost them since leaving Revelwood.

The horse flew down the path, the thunder of its hooves muffled by the luxuriant carpet of pine needles. Rowena leaned forward to place a safe distance between her back and the broad chest of her captor,only to find herself jerked against him by a muscular arm wrapped around her waist.

"Be still. You'll spook the horse," he commanded.

Rowena surrendered to his iron grip as the horse careened off the path and darted among the trees as if following some esoteric equine map. The knight's chest became a haven that protected her from being crushed as tree trunks lurched into their path with frightening regularity.

When she realized the arm locked beneath her breasts would not allow her to sail off the horse, she settled back, lulled by the novel sense of security the warm chest afforded. She slipped into sleep with uncommon ease.

Rowena awoke in time to keep from falling to her knees as the knight lowered her unceremoniously to the ground. She yawned and rubbed her eyes. Halos of torchlight shone through the trees. The sounds of clumsily plucked lutestrings and voices blended in drunken laughter floated into the night. She blinked up at the forbidding knight.

"Trot behind me like a good squire," he commanded. "Keep your hair up. Perhaps 'tis late enough and they are drunk enough to believe you a lad."

"This is not your home?"

"Nay. But 'twill do to pass the night."

He urged the horse into a walk. Rowena fell into an awkward swagger behind him, at a loss as to how the squire of such a man would act.

The knight spoke without turning. "You will be left to your own devices when I retire. If you have any thoughts of escape, think again. If you run, I shall return to your home and slay your entire family. When I find you, as I most certainly will, you will wish you had been among the ones slain."

Rowena forced her feet to keep moving. His words sent the skin at the nape of her neck crawling. She pictured Little Freddie, lifeless, a gaping sword wound where his heart should be. Anger flared in her eyes only
to
be quenched by common sense as the man turned in the saddle and fixed his dark eyes on her. She nodded, eyes wide and without guile.

The merriment within the castle courtyard came spilling out with the light as couples stumbled down a drawbridge that spanned a twenty-foot moat. One of the men faltered in front of the knight's horse.

"Welcome all. The feast is just beginning," he announced, his words slurred. His eyes rolled back in his head as he fell straight into the dirt, arms still spread wide in greeting.

The woman on his arm flounced back into the castle as the other couples dissipated like giggling phantoms in the night.

The knight guided the horse around the prostrate form without so much as a flick of an eyebrow. Rowena followed, cutting a wide swath around the fallen man.

Gareth dismounted, handing his reins to a pockmarked lad who materialized out of the shadows. Before they could take three steps, the same woman reappeared on the arm of another stumbling man. Rowena dodged them as they passed within inches of her. The woman's brittle laughter rent the air. Rowena gaped as the man's hamlike hands caught the woman's hips and bore her backward. Her grimy toes curled into an embrace at the small of his back. With a grunt and a grind of his hips, he pinioned her to the wall.

BOOK: shadow and lace
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