Prologue
Château du Étoile, outside Montivilliers, France
March 1308
Darkness fast approached; there could be no further delay.
Shadowy tendrils stabbed through the crimson light creeping in at the shutters of the turret, but Lady Alissende of Surrey remained motionless, her fingers clenched and her heart rebellious under the weight of this decision she was being asked to accept. Breathing deeply, she lifted her troubled gaze first to her widowed mother, the still beautiful Lady Blanche, then to her recently ordained second cousin and adored companion of childhood, Father Michael, seeking some berth from the emotions churning inside her.
There was naught but bleak acceptance in their expressions. That and perhaps the expectation that she should concede to the necessity of what they had placed before her.
Another burst of defiance flared in Alissende’s breast, fueled by her desperation. She shook her head, almost choking on the words. “I cannot do this, Michael! Please…there must be another way—”
“There is not,amie,” he broke in, his voice heavy with regret. He lifted his gentle gaze to hers, his brow furrowed. “There is no time to seek another. You know my brother. Hugh will not be content to relinquish his claim to you unless he is compelled by law to it. We were fortunate to gain these few days by fleeing to your mother’s holding here, but it is a temporary sanctuary at best.” Father Michael lowered his chin, his gaze fixing her, resolute. “You must marry again, Alissende, and now, before we return to England—before Hugh has another opportunity to act again in his pursuit of you. Taking Sir Damien in proxy marriage is the only plausible solution.”
Damien.
Alissende closed her eyes briefly as his name stabbed through her, the sweetness and sting of it blending together. It washed over her, along with the image of one still and hot summer afternoon long ago, of sun caressing golden skin…of his face above hers, strong and handsome, his expression intense with the agony of pleasure.
Swallowing back the bittersweet memory, she opened her eyes.
“And what ofhiswishes?” she asked huskily, incapable even now of saying his name aloud. “You can be sure that he would not relish the thought of binding himself to me in any way after all that passed between us those many years ago.”
“Sir Damien de Ashby is in the hands of the Inquisition and has been for nearly half a year. Believe me when I tell you that such matters mean little to him at the moment,” Michael answered, his voice laced with some dark emotion.
Unwilling—unable for her own sanity—to think too deeply on the true meaning behind her cousin’s ominous words, Alissende glanced once more to her mother, who looked as though she would gladly take on the burden of her daughter’s pain if she could. But no one could help her now. No one, it seemed, but the one man on earth she could not bear the thought of seeing again, much less marrying.
“Mon Dieu,but I would as soon take the veil as go forward with this,” she murmured.
“That cannot be,” Michael countered. “The king would never allow it. As it is, His Majesty will be angered that you fled to France and remarried without his consent. But praise be to God, he is a much softer man than was his sire, and he is more like to forgive an act of disobedience if the reason behind it seems to be one of the heart. The public history of youthful love you shared with Sir Damien makes him the perfect choice for a union undertaken with such haste. He is here in France and in no position to decline. You need the protection to be gained by a marriage with him. It is the only way.”
A reason of the heart. Alissende’s thoughts fixed on the phrase; if she could have called forth her voice at that moment, it would have sounded strangled at best.
“And yet even if the king’s reaction were not a concern,” Michael went on, clearly intent on persuading her, “my brother continues to remain so. You are too rich a prize for him to concede. Should we attempt to seclude you in a convent either here or in England, Hugh would take you by force, as he tried to do at your own holding at Glenheim but a month past.”
“Of that I have little doubt,” Lady Blanche murmured, her elegant mouth frowning.
“It will not come to such if we accept this boon that has been laid at our feet,” Michael reminded them. “It has been years, it is true, but Damien is one of the few men I have seen who might be capable of defeating Hugh in combat; I have been told that after leaving England, he served as a Templar Knight within the Brotherhood’s most elite circle of warriors, and his skill with the blade is nearly unmatched. However, the danger that he will be lost to us mounts with each hour he remains in the hands of the Inquisition. A choice must be made.” He fixed Alissende with his gaze once more. “Only you can decide, Cousin, for it is your welfare that rests in the balance.”
Nausea filled Alissende. That Hugh would not rest until something, orsomeone,made him cease his pursuit of her was indisputable. She had known him all her life, and though he and Michael were brothers, they were as alike as innocence was to decadence. Hugh was possessed of a violent and grasping nature, and it was clear that his ascension to the Earldom of Harwick vacated by his late father had made him bold enough to believe that he could simply take her at his will, removing all obstacles, it seemed…including even Godfrey Claremont, Earl of Denton—the difficult man who had been her lawfully wedded husband for four years. It frightened her beyond measure.
And yet the alternative was no less frightening in its own way.
“Perhaps I am mistaken in your feelings, Alissende,” Michael murmured in response to her long silence. “If accepting Hugh has become more agreeable to you, then—”
“Nay!” she interrupted, sure in that, at least.
Michael nodded, a knowing expression in his kind eyes. “Then you must consider Sir Damien. Through my office as a priest, I could more swiftly arrange the proxy documents. It would not be without risk, of course, but I could see them drawn up along with what will pass, pray God, for a Writ of Absolution from the Inquisition so that Sir Damien will be protected from rearrest once he arrives in England. We would need to send word to the king, declaring the marriage legitimate, and then prepare to move among your estates here and in England to avoid Hugh until Damien can take his position at your side.”
As he said the last, Alissende knew, though she was not looking directly at him, that Michael glanced away for an uncomfortable moment.
Finally raising her gaze from her clenched fingers once more, Alissende locked her stare with her cousin’s, heat burning the backs of her eyes and her heart pounding with dread at the enormity of what taking this unorthodox step would mean.
She only need give her consent and it would be done. The proxy documents would be drawn up, the Writ of Absolution would be forged, and a sum of her prodigious fortune would be set aside to pay the men who would steal Damien away from his captivity. Eventually, he would take his place at her side as her husband. As herhusband,God help her. It would be so easy to say yes, and yet…
Michael must have sensed her wavering, for his gaze flooded with understanding before his mouth tightened as he offered the final statement that he had to know could not help but seal her doom.
“I had hoped to spare you the fullness of this, Cousin, but I can see that it must be said to aid you in making your decision,” he said, his voice low. “You must consider that the Inquisition in France has never been known for compassion in its methods of extracting confession from accused heretics—and with King Philip the Fair’s call to prove the entire Templar Brotherhood guilty of such sins, the French inquisitors seem to have exceeded all previous bounds of cruelty.”
