Chapter One
Autumn, 1283
Wickshire, England, near the Wales border
He had arrived.
In the chaos and sorrow of the last few days, Lady Gillian Marlowe had almost forgotten. Standing just outside the mews, she surveyed the courtyard unnoticed. Weary travelers accepted assistance from bustling servants. Her gaze moved to the red and black pennant fluttering in the breeze, its image seared into her mind. The panther, black as night, white claws and teeth bared, reminded her of her fate. The Earl of Montchester, commonly called the Panther, now stood somewhere amidst the dirty, sweaty soldiers of the king's army. Her bridegroom.
Which one was the earl? The idea of flight briefly entered her thoughts, but she quickly dismissed it. Should she act on the cowardly impulse, she would endanger everyone at Lyndon.
The wedding was planned, her fate sealed. The last weeks had passed too quickly. The suddenness of her father's illness and death had pushed thoughts of her wedding right out of her head. Trying to save him had taken precedence over ensuring the harvest was complete, the stores readied for both the celebration and the long winter ahead. 'Twould make no difference. She prayed her marriage would bring more wealth to the small village.
Once again, the thought of fleeing entered her mind. She couldn't, no matter how tempting the idea. The survival of her home and village depended on her. She was Lyndon's only hope, now that her father lay buried in the cemetery behind the chapel.
Glancing down at her drab gray kirtle, she grimaced. The only cure for her heavy heart had been taking Ares out to the valley beyond the trees. The solitude and herconcentration on her hawk helped mourn her loss. She wished she knew where Simon had disappeared to. He usually accompanied her, but she'd felt an urgency to get beyond the keep walls that she didn't look very hard to find him.
At the very least, she should have planned better and gone earlier. She would have returned ere now, with time to change her clothing. The hastily borrowed shift belonged to one of the maids, as she'd had no desire to be tied into one of her own gowns. No wimple covered her head. 'Twould be a disgrace to greet the earl in such attire. She stepped into the courtyard. Could she reach the keep unnoticed?
She ignored the way several knights stopped in their conversation to watch her pass. Having grown up among her father's men, she knew well what those stares meant. Her face heated. With suddenly shaking hands, she smoothed the dress. She stopped short, dismayed to see her stepmother approaching. Fury clouded Anne's green eyes as she reached Gillian.
"'Where have you been? Your father is barely cold in the ground and already you're gallivanting among the soldiers like a harlot!"
Gillian had no chance of being unnoticed now, thanks to Anne's cruel shouts. Ignoring the turned heads and quieting of voices, she clenched her fingers, surprised at the power of her urge to hit the other woman.
"I need no reminding of my duty from the likes of you."
"What would the Earl of Montchester say to have his bride greet him looking as you do?" The reminder irked Gillian. Anne was likely right in that. But she would never give her stepmother the satisfaction. "'Tis not for you to judge."
Damn the woman, 'twas if she deliberately stalled, so Gillian would have no choice but to greet the earl in such a state. The shrew, while not much older than Gillian herself, went out of her way to make Gillian's life miserable.
Those days would soon come to an end. She lifted herchin.
"You no longer have any power here. Lyndon will soon belong to the earl, and I will have him banish you."
The sudden sting of Anne's striking hand startled her. She balled her fists, prepared to strike back.
***
From his position near the stables, Royce Langley, Earl of Montchester, watched the servant girl making her way through his men. The sudden wave of desire that flickered to life stunned him with its intensity. Never had he reacted so strongly to the mere sight of a woman. His first thoughts about any female were usually of distrust. But something about this slender young servant intrigued him.
Her hair, black as a raven's wing, hung down her back in ebony waves and he imagined tangling his hands in the luxurious mane and drawing her full lips to his own. A thousand other seductive images of her rose to the fore of his thoughts and he shifted, his cock awakening in a most uncomfortable way.
A screeching voice pulled him from his wayward thoughts. He turned his attention to the elegantly dressed woman's approach. Her nose wrinkled in distaste as she gingerly picked her way through the bailey to stand before the girl. Heated words passed between them, though Royce could not hear. However, the sharp sound of her hand connecting with the girl's cheek reached him clearly. Anger, already close at hand due to the troublesome journey, surged through him. Tossing his gauntlets to his squire, he headed toward the two women.
"The girl did naught," he said when he reached them.
He noted the way the girl's hands curled into fists. Had she been about to return the blow? 'Twould seem he intervened just in time to save her from a worse fate than a mere slap.
"'Tis disgraceful the way she flaunts herself among the men." The red-haired woman sneered, folding her arms.
"I assure you, she attempted nothing unseemly. I... noticed her on her way to the keep. She spoke with noone."
Apparently, his gaze reflected his anger, for the other woman paled and stepped back under his scrutiny.
"She should be inside. There is much to be done."
Her wariness quickly faded while she studied him more closely. He recognized the moment her fear vanished, replaced with appreciation. Revulsion rolled his stomach. Could this viper be his intended? He prayed not, but who else could she be? Edward had told him his bride was comely, a highborn lady, exactly what this woman appeared to be. A troubling sensation knotted his stomach. He had no wish to wed, but marriage was necessary in order to gain more lands and have an heir. Edward needed him here, near the Welsh border, to ensure no further uprisings. How would he endure with such a shrew for a wife?
