Samantha James (48 page)

She saw him go very still. She remained poised on the edge of the bench, afraid to look at him, just as afraid not to.

It was love of Elaine that had driven Guy to Ashbury to seek vengeance for her death. Kathryn did not begrudge him the love they had shares. Truly she did not! But all at once she wondered... Had time healed the wound in his heart, the bitter emptiness in his soul? She prayed that it had, for she could not bear it were it not so!

Yet still he said nothing, and the silence scraped her nerves. Just when she was certain she could stand it no longer, he held out a hand.

"Come here," he said simply.

Kathryn rose, her legs so unsteady she feared they would crumple beneath her. His fingers closed about hers, hard and warm and strong. He tugged her to stand directly before him.

"Aye," he said slowly. "I loved Elaine very much."

Raw pain throbbed in her breast. All at once Kathryn was unprepared to deal with such honesty. "Nay, love, do not turn from me," he said quickly, dragging her against him when she would have twisted away.

"Please, Guy—" She gave a choked little cry and would have buried her face in the hair-roughened hollow of his throat but he would not let her. A lean hand splayed against the small of her back, molding her close against his hips. With the other he threaded his fingers in her hair and pulled her head back so that she had no choice but to face him.

"Listen to me, sweet. Aye, I loved Elaine." His voice was very low. He bestowed on her a gaze of scorching intensity, his own eyes lighting to a smoldering flame. "But 'tis you, Kathryn, you who command my heart as no woman ever has—" His voice went lower still. "—as no other ever will."

The words washed through her. Kathryn stared. Tears stung her eyes but she scarcely noticed. Her lips moved but no sound came out. Guy arched a brow in utterly wicked amusement. "What are you saying?" She drew a shaky breath, her lips trembling. "That you... that you love me?"

He bent so that his lips just grazed hers. "Aye," he whispered. "I love you, Kathryn."

A rush of emotion swept through her, rendering her dizzy and weak from the force of it. Everything inside her came all undone. Her cry of joy quickly became a watery sob. She could do naught but cling to him, overwhelmed and awed.

Words poured forth unbidden, her voice husky and shaky. "Oh, Guy, I love you, too," she cried. "I loved you long ago. .. even when I hated you for making me love you... I did not want to, but I could not stop it.. . and then I was terrified you could never come to love me in return."

Her eyes were huge and glistening. She sought to blink back the betraying moisture but it was no use. Her eyes brimmed and overflowed. Guy skimmed the salty heat from her cheeks with the pads of his thumbs; he had not expected tears. With infinite gentleness, he lowered his head and kissed them away, one by one.

"Never doubt that I love you," he whispered. "Before you came into my life, I feared winter's cold would forever reign within me. But you have brought fire and the warmth of summer and driven away the wintry chill in my heart, sweet." The intensity of his tone shook her anew. "By all that is holy, I swear I love you more with every beat of my heart."

Kathryn smiled through her tears, a brilliantly sweet smile. "At times," she teased, "the only thing I fire is your temper."

'True," he conceded with a crooked grin. "You are obstinate and defiant and prickly as a rose." His laughter faded; he was suddenly intent.

" 'Tis not in spite of those things that I love you," he said quietly. " 'Tis because of them, for I love you as you are, Kathryn, no matter how stubborn and willful you are—" His eyes darkened. "—and I would have you no other way."

Both his look and his tone rocked her to her core. There were no ghosts between them now, she thought wonderingly—not Elaine, not Roderick, not even Richard. They were both free to love as they would. She twined her arms about his neck with a low moan and offered the tempting sweetness of her lips. Guy fed greedily, his kiss hungry and tender, gentle and fierce.

With a groan he lifted her and carried her to their bed, where passion's fury wrapped them in splendor.

It was only when Kathryn lay peaceful and replete in the shelter of Guy's arms that she realized . .. Nearly a twelvemonth had passed since Guy had brought her to Sedgewick. She remembered how heartbroken she had been that he had forced her to leave Elizabeth and Ashbury.

But Elizabeth and Hugh were happy. She knew it with all her heart. And Ashbury. . . well, she had once been certain that Ashbury was her whole world—that without it, she had nothing.

A secret smile curved her lips. How wrong she had been—how foolish.

Because here in Guy's arms, she had discovered something far more precious, far more lasting than a jutting pile of stone and timber. Guy loved her—and she loved him. And in loving him she hadn't lost a part of herself at all—

She'd found the other half.

The End

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LADY'S VENGEANCE

Determined to avenge her father's death, fiery Princess Shana lures Thorne de Wilde, Earl of Weston, into the forest to have him killed. But face to face with the earl's devilish good looks, Shana is compelled to spare his life and take him prisoner instead…a decision she quickly regrets.

LORD'S DESIRE

The power of Weston's presence has been known to strip many a brave man of courage and will, but this bold Welsh beauty meets the mocking black eyes of this giant of a man with defiance, accusing him of crimes he hasn't committed. Furious with his lovely and brazen captor, Weston manages not only to escape, but to take Shana as his captive. And with tempers flaring, nations collide, binding the two in a searing alliance that will either destroy them both, or unite them in love for all time.

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WYOMING WILDCAT

Stringer Sam killed their father—and now beautiful strong-willed Abby MacKenzie fears her vengeance-seeking brother Dillon will suffer a similar fate. Determined to find the killer before her hot-tempered sibling does, Abby uses her wiles and her sensuous curves to seduce a handsome gunslinger called Kane—then force him to agree, at gunpoint, to lead her to Sam's hide out.

OUTLAW HEART

Kane feels a damned fool for letting a two-faced temptress hold him hostage—and with his own un! But the stunning spitfire is calling the shots—and Kane would hate to see Abby's fire cruelly extinguished by Stringer Sam's menace. Besides which, the high-spirited hellion has offered to pay any price for the rugged manhunter's assistance—a debt Kane intends to make Abby honor with her passion…and her heart.

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My Rebellious Heart

Prologue

Wales, Summer 1282

The battle had scarce begun ere it was over.

For Shana of Merwen, no passage of time was ever more immense.

When the cry of alarm went up, her father had thrust her into the arms of his knight, Sir Gryffen. Gryffen wasted no time herding Shana and the women of the household to the cellar. Twice Shana had sought to push past him; twice he blocked her way.

"There is naught you can do, milady!" His eyes pleaded with her. "Would you have me break my sworn vow to see to your protection? Your father would never forgive me were I to let any harm befall you, and I would never forgive myself! I pray you, milady, you must remain here until the fray is over!"

And so she huddled against the wall, arms banded tightly around her chest, her gaze fixed tirelessly on the trap door high in the ceiling. The air was cold and damp, but Shana did not notice. High above, the ground reverberated with the thunder of hooves and footsteps. The ring of steel against steel was unmistakable. Though muted and far away, she could hear men shouting and yelling—and screaming in agony.

Her limbs were trembling, though it was not fear for her own safety that rendered them so. Dread abounded in her heart, for her soul was in terror for those she held near and dear.

Then all was silent.

The chill that swept through her turned her veins to ice, for the quiet was even more terrible than all that had gone before.

Shana leapt to her feet. "Gryffen, you must let me pass!" she cried. "I must know what has happened!" Gryffen did not try to stop her; he slipped the ladder in place and followed behind her.

Seconds later, the young girl burst through the door of the ancient keep. With long, golden hair streaming behind her like a banner in the wind, she lurched down the stairs and out into the evening stillness.

The stench of death was everywhere. Blotches of crimson puddled the ground. Revulsion roiled inside her like the churning of the sea. Swallowing the bitter taste of bile, her feet carried her across the valley floor, weaving among the dead and the dying. Bodies lay strewn across the earth like fallen trees flung from a mighty hand above. Villagers had been struck down where they stood, planting corn in the field, drawing water from the well.

With a gasp she drew to a halt. Her gaze chanced to fall on a man who lay nearby—the oxherd. She bent forward, thinking he yet lived, for his eyes were wide open. But the vacant emptiness she encountered struck her like a blow.

Shana had seen men wounded in battle, but nothing like this ... never like this!

With a choked cry, she picked up her skirts and ran. This was not war, she thought sickly, this was slaughter, foul and fetid.

And then she spied her father.

She fell to her knees with a sob. "Oh, merciful God in Heaven, this cannot be!" She cried out in desperate entreaty. "Father, you have done nothing to deserve this—nothing!"

His eyelids opened slowly, as though weighted with lead. Kendal, youngest son of Gruffydd, grandson of Llewelyn the Great, the first prince of Wales to be so recognized by the King of England, beheld the features of his only child.

Her hands touched his breast. Her fingertips came away bloodied and stained. She paid no heed as she fumbled with the hem of her white linen undershift, tearing away a strip. With shaking fingers she pressed the wad of cloth to the gaping wound in his chest.

"Oh, Lord, Father. Who dared to do this? It was the bloody English, wasn't it?" In her heart she knew she was right. Once again the drumroll of rebellion—the cry for independence—had rolled across the land.

"They were English, aye," her father rasped. "I did not recognize the pennon they carried. 'Twas blood red with a black, fierce, two-headed creature of the deep. But I have cause, daughter, to believe they came from Castle Langley."

"Langley! But the Earl of Langley passed on some months ago!" The Earl of Langley had been a powerful Marcher lord. He and her father had had several run-ins, but they'd managed to settle their disagreements without taking up arms against each other.

"Aye, daughter. But I received word only yesterday that some brave Welsh soul has been stirring up our own along the border—making fools of the English knights—a man who distinguishes himself by wearing a mantle of scarlet and calling himself the Dragon."

The merest trickle of breath soughed through lips that were nearly bloodless. "Ah, Shana. I have erred greatly, I fear. For now King Edward seeks to put an end to the Dragon—and the threat of rebellion. He has summoned one of his earls to Castle Langley to snuff out the fires here." His sigh held a world of regret. "The English will not be satisfied until we are beaten into the ground. I truly thought they would leave us in peace, if only we did the same. Now—now it is too late."

Shana shook her head furiously. "Do not speak so! You will be fine, truly, Father."

"Nay, Shana. ''Tis my time, and well we both know it."

"Father!" A painful ache constricted her chest, an ache she was afraid to acknowledge. With her fingertips she wiped the grime and dirt from his cheeks.

He smiled slightly. "You have the fighting spirit of our ancestors, daughter, and the courage of your Irish mother. I brought the two of you here to this valley to shield you, but I can no longer protect you. You must look to Barris, for I know he will make you a good husband."